Meanwhile the sky had turned quite thundery, and, with nightfall, huge raindrops began plopping down, bringing relief from the harshness of a torrid, airless day. The sea was loudly raging, out roared by long rumbles of thunder, while flashes of lightning, bright as day, kept brusquely revealing the two pleasured cunts of the now silent girls. A brutal frenzy drove our three bodies. Two young mouths fought over my ass, my balls, and my cock, but I still kept pushing apart female legs wet with saliva and come, splaying them as if writhing out of a monster’s grip, and yet that monster was nothing but the utter violence of my movements. The hot rain was finally pouring down and streaming over our fully exposed bodies. Huge booms of thunder shook us, heightening our fury, wresting forth our cries of rage, which each flash accompanied with a glimpse of our sexual parts. Simone had found a mud puddle, and was smearing herself wildly: she was jerking off with the earth and coming violently, whipped by the downpour, my head locked in her soil-covered legs, her face wallowing in the puddle, where she was brutally churning Marcelle’s cunt, one arm around Marcelle’s hips, the hand yanking the thigh, forcing it open.

Georges Bataille
Story of the Eye


March 16, 2019

It was a rather blustery day –

Winnie the Pooh and the Blustery Day
animated film from Walt Disney Productions


We’ve had the rain, enough to drown poor old Noah’s soul, and now we’ve got the wind – blustery doesn’t cover it! It’s blowing a feckin’ hooley, boys & girls!

Last night the wind was racing like a feckin’ express train through the sky. It was so strong we thought the hills would come untethered and flap free across the moor like giant vampire bats. Dustbins overturned; metal lids rattled – windows and doors rattled too; slates parted company with roofs; and a neighbour’s dog began to howl like a feckin’ banshee.

Nothing now for me to do but curl up on the sofa and watch “Winnie the Pooh and the Blustery Day” And wait for the storm to ease –

14th March 2019


Ten Lines

Come closer. So close I feel you,
how easily you breathe.
Imagine that I lead a life,
which consists of moments
and blows away in a moment
if the wind turns imperceptibly
when the door’s still open,
enticing you outside,
where there’s nothing but the others —
turning round and round with the wind.

Karl Krolow,
Field no. 78, Spring 2008

one of those March days

March 13, 2019

It was one of those March days when the sun shines hot and the wind blows cold; when it is summer in the light and winter in the shade…

Charles Dickens
Great Expectations

It was also pissing down with rain: a torrential deluge of biblical feckin’ proportions. The windows awash; pedestrians rushing by like big black birds dripping rain. Time to take up boat building, for sure –

Tuesday 12th March 2019


January 3, 2019

A wet day. And I am glad of the rain, because I have talked too much.

Virginia Woolf
diary entry May 1929

drinking rain

December 2, 2018

So I propose a toast to that woman with her head out the window drinking rain. The most beautiful thing I’ve seen in a long time –


a storm brewing

The wind is rip roaring like an express train over the moor. It comes from the south-west, so not cold. Just angry. Unreasonable. It wrenches branches from the trees standing guard over the generations of buried dead in the churchyard. It shrieks in the smoky chimneys of the cottages, rattling windows and doors in their frames and filling the heads of sleeping children with unpleasant dreams of shapeless things.

And the rain. Did I mention the rain? Torrential, unceasing. It was rain like this, I’m sure, turned old Noah to shipbuilding –


October 7, 2018

Bees blew like cake-crumbs through the golden air, white butterflies like sugared wafers, and when it wasn’t raining a diamond dust took over which veiled and yet magnified all things

Laurie Lee
Cider With Rosie

It is terrible to be alone

October 4, 2018


Each of the hundred bedrooms with their shuttered windows might have held a corpse, rotting in humidity beneath the glacial swathings of the bed. In the lounge, a mist perpetually filmed the mirrors, the wicker armchairs gathering sociably around the glass-topped tables creaked at one another in the silence, so that now and then an apprehensive human head would bob up from over a writing table or the back of a settee. The rain was always audible on the glass roof of the verandah.

It is terrible to be alone in the darkness of rain, swept aside by one’s world’s indifference into a corner of a house. It is still more terrible to be swept aside into a corner of a continent.

Elizabeth Bowen
Salon des Dames

softly blurred

September 27, 2018

I love the rain. I love how it softens the outlines of things. The world becomes softly blurred, and I feel like I melt right into it.

Hanamoto Hagumi
Honey and Clover


August 12, 2018

Some people feel the rain, others just get wet…