Tuesday, 20 November 2007

Of this parish

perennial fairy lights
the anaemic room
weakly illuminate
loops of pain in
strata spiral down
to our liquid sulk
Miffy, Hello Kitty
index finger toothbrush
the bookend kiss
it`s all a touch, honey


whereas,
down to his laminate
you know he is
imaging
size 6
in pilates

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Monday, 19 November 2007

Back Door Gender Agenda.

I love the nightlife/I love the boogie. But.....

...It seems to me some difficulties have developed once we get to the swinging results of the nightlife. I am not really one for sitting around the Creationist table when there`s archaeology to be getting on with but just this once let`s go deep, deep south.
I should like to consider the placement of pleasure centres, erogenous zones within the human anatomy.
The prostate gland. In the Fiefdom of Pleasure the prostate gland and its absence seem to be King and Queen. Queen mostly, all of a sudden like.
It might be an idea to try to sex your God. If you have a God already decided to distribute the look-no-hands aspect of the prostate gland to only one gender then its current location is a fairly good place to put it and really quite hilarious. Ladies seeking to satisfy can dispense immediately with worrying about fellatio technique and reach for the strap-on. Or Thimblelina. By rights in the current climate this ought to be standard play fare especially at 3 o`clock in the morning.
It`s curious [we wish] the behaviour of the contemporary male with his seemingly accelerated tendency to go imitating what might be his own pleasure in his female partner and not ask for the uh, compliment to be returned. It`s a contradiction wherein the unfortunate female has no orifice to go to on her male partner which is not, to some extent designed for pleasurable sensations, she has no opportunity to exact her revenge. In purely physiological terms it don`t work the other way. I doubt this is the behaviour of a female Creator, I feel she would be a little more democratic.

Of course I am taking the piss, nevertheless it does appear yet another thoroughly modern exponentiality is revealed. Five years ago I was back on the rack after a lengthy absence, I found certain expectations to have changed considerably, so much so I could have been forgiven for wondering whether the physiologies had changed or been switched during the period of my monogamy. By simple dint of being a man it was forthrightly expected I might be one to have expectation of going in search of a transgendered prostate. I know they are getting good at transplants and body modifications, good if not particularly aesthetic.

I suppose I am somewhere between angered and confused by the willingness of the clever, modern women I have encountered to even feel they have to consider as a protocol the offer or declination of the opportunity to physically humiliate their bodies when it is plainly something they do not desire. Of course all things both consensual and knowledgable are fine if that is what they are, if they are not fully and precisely consensual then they are, put simply, subjection or rape , neither of which should ever be fashionable.

Sexual dominances appear to me to be fashionable, so much so that the expectation of intimacies previously `fashionable` appear to have been, for want of a better word, subjugated.


Whose agenda is that?

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Sunday, 18 November 2007

Improvisations

FIRING SQUAD


Blindfold,
hilarious!
just the cigarette
fetch
your sweetest bowl-cut
choirboy
have him light me
send him running
fast as his tassles
will carry

i haven`t, i wasn`t
it isn`t me
i deserve
on account of
a lascivious look
of guilty

call that a parade?
let them go bat a ball
swim in the creek
girls giggling
and fucking
grant yourselves
a legacy

holding office
achieving privy
a waste of boys
you`re good at it
you`re experts, committee
you`re nothing else
an expended species




those that mourn
their clips
exhausted, empty
wait for
after thee.