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Having a sexting orgasm with JP better than the real thing!?

Having a sexting orgasm with JP better than the real thing!?

What is this world of sexting-and the interlocution between two total strangers.

JP arrived with a query to my question?

Is that a double entendre? He wrote.

I lol’d and that was the beginning of something like sexual magnetic

 

Sexting: exploits for the darkest space of the mind
Sexting: exploits for the darkest space of the mind

resonancing with words in

Continue reading Having a sexting orgasm with JP better than the real thing!?

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muse makes love behind the mask

Mmmmuse makes love behind the maskmuse5 head of orpheus

muse makes love behind the mask

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magnetised mind

magnetised mind
magnetised mind
magnetised mind

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Ode To Billie Joe Bobby Gentry him n me

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Eaten to Death at Lifes Kangaroo Court

rattus rattus

it’s always slow amensalism

head and tail spinning

as a diversion

or easy and tempting

chimerical in its divulging compote of hedonism

courted by terror and mind games flung

to the kangaroo court

siphoned by extremes of obliteration

this demon roams where others dare to dream

nothing commensurate here

lay down and die

inside rattus rattus contains the evil corrosion of

Lytta

 

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Hedgehog Dilemma

Porcupine paradox

h-hog-photo-one-two-images

Is up up or is it down

Depends on how you look at it

Perspective

Is

your own

Like those that come under

the mantle of care

and

curiosity

The burrowers

they dig

in

Don’t share

Never

Ever

Share

you will

Be left

in a state of

Disrepair

They just can’t leave you

Alone

They mimic a

cultured

sawft sawfft

Voice

And a kind kind

Eye

They squeeze

with triggers

drops

more

drops

Be careful

In the end

they will slit your

Throat

That’s the

Paradox

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St Peter’s Paradox and the Golden Thread 1

One day upon a time sat the roosting eagle

He knew

This day would come

Inexorable and bewitching the breath

Of day scorched the earth and the

Moon stared back

Oceans blue surged

And destiny was woven

In golden thread

He followed her

Laying down

The past

The present

The future

Eclipsed

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St Peter’s Paradox and the Golden Thread 0

Saint peter

One day upon a time sat the roosting eagle

He knew

This day would come

Inexorable and bewitching the breath

Of day scorched the earth and the

Moon stared back

Oceans blue surged

And destiny was woven

In golden thread

He followed her

Laying down

The past

The present

The future

Eclipsed

dead

 

 

 

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Vaporised Brachylogy

swift and sweet falling a puddle

a mess a glissade on the cold ice white tiled floor

blooded gloves pulling at the cri de coeur

Epistemic filled eyes sigh

In the sighlence

Another

For

The

Wasteland

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Where you’re taken don’t ask

 

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instauration fornication and euclid

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Eaten to Death at Lifes Kangaroo Court

rattus rattus

it’s always slow amensalism

head and tail spinning

as a diversion

or easy and tempting

chimerical in its divulging compote of hedonism

courted by terror and mind games flung

to the kangaroo court

siphoned by extremes of obliteration

this demon roams where others dare to dream

nothing commensurate here

lay down and die

inside rattus rattus contains the evil corrosion of

Lytta

 

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Seven layers of hell

exit

She was in death’s pupa stage, it had cast its mantle over her and she never left this phase -until the end.

It squeezed her so tight she couldn’t breath. This instar is a temporary cover to protect from the initial state of life’s shock. Life clung on. Death tore it asunder.

Couldn’t let go

Couldn’t talk

Couldn’t understand

Couldn’t manage its enormity

Couldn’t face the world

Not now anyway

Never will

Death at any time is difficult, sudden death is like Sisyphus hiding from it, it is going to get you, and you just can’t prepare for it.

She wasn’t prepared for this.

She needs now to peep out at the temporal world and in time she will see the eternal and peace.

Nothing material for her.

The thread of life is fraying she is hanging by a whisper.

You can never forget anything that is connected to the Gods.

Once the thread of life is cut it will never be severed from your own self.

Pulling off the pupa is difficult you can’t force it but you can help it. As she lay transfixed the wind of her hands went over her body.

The negative spirits and energy were being pulled out of her.

Don’t fight it.

The panic rose. Slowly she was told let it out as the wind of her hands dragged all her energy away.

She herself could feel the dead life in her; it was if the instars had welded together, she wanted to sit up.

Her back was a selection of monticule like calcified stones; a cold stiff chrysalis where kneading them did nothing.

She then realised she was dead inside. Death was there alive waiting.

She pulled back her shoulder and pressed her vertebrae as far as she could, all the way down tittles of ice like stones; this metamorphoses would take time. She tried the other shoulder gently forcing it as far back as it would go.

She sighed.

Relief.

She lay back down, wait there, she got a crystal and oil.

Fear was washing over her, being alone in this state is punishment.

This chrysalis fought using a cremastral like hook on the watery cave.

I’m scared she screamed, I’m scared help me. I’m scared inside. I’m scared of you-KILLER.

She placed the crystal on her head, smell the oil.

She wanted to talk, the talk is over, it’s now doing time.

Continuously she swept her hands over herself, pulling from the stomach, releasing tightness.

Then the head was coming where she was crucified by thoughts and feverish memories. Memories untold long and tangled from eons ago. Vaporised-FUCK YOU.

Shush came into the room and she stood mesmerised.

The intensity of this extinguishing ritual was exhausting she felt the perspiration running down own back. It had to be done.

Would you sit up?

And they talked then for an hour.

Talk was of actions to take. And rest.

There was nothing she was hollow, empty, preta, sepulchral, effete, relinquished and free.

Lying there; the whole of life pushed out a last sigh. Whimper. Mucous covered and mantled: the end sluice gates open; swallowed.

Tears

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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running out of road

to handle carefully

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This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International License.

How full can you be?

How riddled to thinness can there be gluttony

Gluttoned with concretisation desecration fake creation

Fattened calves patented and extended homogenised

By the hyperbole of marke-tears.

Held together by invisible chains

Too tired to care and protest

watch the child

Cry cry humpty dumpty broken