01-01-2017, 12:00 AM
on a less personal note.. but much more relevant.around 1995 a massive pressure bubble occuredin the human corporeal.It was precipitated by the arrival of the world wide webas it created a twin worldcoupled with fight, flight or fock syndrome from porn and horror moviesthis twin world was responded to as if real by many peoples energy bodies..any in 1995.. whilst indulging in a some teenage, amphetamine fuelled sexualintercourse in a tent.. mid act of anal penetrationmy long term girlfriend said "stop"
we had been doing it for a while already.. and had done it 100s of times beforedid it many times after..but on this occasion when she said "stop".. i was caught in a frame.
for all intents and purposes its like i became one of the scenes from a rape movie..a single snapshot was edited.. and elongated, charicatured..ultimatley ending in a weird severence of penis..
its now over twenty years later..me and the ex girlfriend even had a second fling about 10 years agothat didnt go anywhere..in an attempt to free myself of the previous cursei withdrew and ejaculated in the air between us..and again "freeze frame".. only this time i am stuck staring at a globuleas if a weightless experiment on a space station.
she absolutely must be some sort of nagual woman..every blinking time i have anything to do with herit stops time and i am frozen like a medusa victim until the next event.
anyway..I wrote this poem about the 1995 amphetamine , festival, tent sex scene..trying to let go.
i know somewhere within this skin must be the key to the world we are in the minds slate is to be wiped clean -its pictures marred untill unseen- even without photographic memory -the body is evidence of its own longevity -my soon dead ,dry,cracked split bones- released of their home as flesh rots quicker in- offer no sign of greater design as decays first prey is sin- Its all in the mind they say and still the mind is king -king of me, on bended knee thumbing my penis in .-the minds slate is to be wiped clean- its pictures marred until unseen- and still semen is lost in arse. downward fluting rogered farce why stick it in another? lose yourself in forgotten lover? the world is marching apon the only day to be turned on you and the procrastination of your lower intestinations the ceaseless intonation of your ragged rectum rumination grip your own sh.it with your sphincter not my dick with your clutching sl.ut clincher the minds slate to be wiped clean its pictures marred until unseen JOG ON.
we had been doing it for a while already.. and had done it 100s of times beforedid it many times after..but on this occasion when she said "stop".. i was caught in a frame.
for all intents and purposes its like i became one of the scenes from a rape movie..a single snapshot was edited.. and elongated, charicatured..ultimatley ending in a weird severence of penis..
its now over twenty years later..me and the ex girlfriend even had a second fling about 10 years agothat didnt go anywhere..in an attempt to free myself of the previous cursei withdrew and ejaculated in the air between us..and again "freeze frame".. only this time i am stuck staring at a globuleas if a weightless experiment on a space station.
she absolutely must be some sort of nagual woman..every blinking time i have anything to do with herit stops time and i am frozen like a medusa victim until the next event.
anyway..I wrote this poem about the 1995 amphetamine , festival, tent sex scene..trying to let go.
i know somewhere within this skin must be the key to the world we are in the minds slate is to be wiped clean -its pictures marred untill unseen- even without photographic memory -the body is evidence of its own longevity -my soon dead ,dry,cracked split bones- released of their home as flesh rots quicker in- offer no sign of greater design as decays first prey is sin- Its all in the mind they say and still the mind is king -king of me, on bended knee thumbing my penis in .-the minds slate is to be wiped clean- its pictures marred until unseen- and still semen is lost in arse. downward fluting rogered farce why stick it in another? lose yourself in forgotten lover? the world is marching apon the only day to be turned on you and the procrastination of your lower intestinations the ceaseless intonation of your ragged rectum rumination grip your own sh.it with your sphincter not my dick with your clutching sl.ut clincher the minds slate to be wiped clean its pictures marred until unseen JOG ON.