Getting Sick… removed.

Ah well.  I simply couldn’t twist it into the shape I wanted it to be.  Bleh blog blah.  I would ramble on, but who really wants to hear it?!  No one.  In case you couldn’t tell, this day is depressing me.

 

Another Year Another Grueling Marathon Of Hate

I am another year older today.  That’s all.  I find this day to be more depressing than Christmas and Easter combined.  I get older.  And older. 

I am so sorry, but this post is so goddamned ‘bloggish’ that I am making myself sick up my breakfast.

Blah blah blog blog.

Sixteen hudred hits exactly, though.  I thank everyone for the reads, and I will be updating as soon as I get out from under the thumb of Big Fucking Brother.  That story will be told in a future post as well.  Thank you George Orwell.

Yours in Eternal Hatred

D

These are the lyrics from the song ‘Martin Scorcese’ by King Missile. (Album: Happy Hour)

This one is called Martin Scorsese

He makes the best fucken films …He makes the best fucken films… If I ever meet him I’m gonna grab his fucken neck and just shake him… And say thank you… thank you for makin’ such excellent fucken movies… Then I’d twist his nose… all the way the fuck around… And then rip off one of his ears… and throw it… Like a… like a… like a fucken frisbee… I wanna chew his fucken lips off and grab his head and suck out one of his eyes and chew on it… and spit it out in his face
And say thank you… thank you for all of your fucken films… Then I’d pick him up by the hair… swing him over my head a few times… And throw him across the room… and kick all his fucken teeth in and then… stomp on his face 40 or 50 times…

Cuz he makes the best fucken films… he makes the best fucken films…

I’ve ever seen… 

in my life

I fucken love him
I fucken love him

Libertines 15 is here… pulsing and writhing in ecstasy!

Ok, here it is… some stuff from our heroin(e)’s perspective, and some from the boys… dig it.

 

D 

The night she pulled a knife…

She had told me that she had stopped drinking.  Underneath the sink, behind a mountain of plastic bags, what did I find… no less than fifteen empty Absolut bottles… she had been drinking herself silly while I was at work.  And now the wench made so bold as to be completely soused when I returned from the office.

This was a woman that I had never dominated before.  I was still struggling with the deviant impulse in myself and was not ready to apply my drives to flesh and blood yet.  We had been together two years, and she was trying to get pregnant in order to stay in America… devious.  This was the end of our relationship.  What she decided to tell me that night, when she was drunk, sealed the deal…

One night, after a knock-down drag-out fight, she fled our apartment and did not return until five the next evening… telling me she had stayed at one of her female friend’s houses.  Then she tells me the truth: she went to my best friend’s and slept with him that night.  Now, I had slept with his girlfriend a month earlier, but he gave his girlfriend permission.  Here, apparently, was his revenge.

She was backed up against the kitchen sink and reached behind her for a knife… she brandished it at me and I simply grabbed the blade.  She looked at it, and then at me, our gaze burning over the contested weapon.   I yanked it out of her hand, cutting myself badly in the process, and slapped her across the face… I had never hit a woman in anger before, but I can’t say that it was not satisfying.

I forcibly stripped her clothes off, and threw her down onto the bed… I held her down by the back of her neck and informed her that she was to receive twenty strokes of the belt as punishment.  She screamed into her pillow and I striped her mercilessly… curiously, she never made a real attempt to escape.

As I quit the room, I noticed my camera on the coffee table… it was loaded with b&w film and I took it up and turned, and shot… she was lying facedown, her arms tucked up under her, and her hands over her face… stripes all along her ass and thighs clearly visible… it was the best shot I have ever taken…

When The Clock Winds Down

I have combined the first four parts of this story into one post.  Tech difficulties forced me to do this… I could not serialize it in the same way that ‘Libertines’ was… 

Enjoy… The remainder of the story is forthcoming.

‘When The Clock Winds Down Part 2′ is finally, at long last here.

Many tech difficulties with this puppy… but it has landed.  This story is all over the place, I know, but hopefully it will improve in the rewrite… I am planning to rewrite it as I go.  

Peace, 

D

Sonnet #4 is here…

A dark meditation on graves and dead women, reanimated to serve the foul purposes of shadowy necromancers… 

And here I said I was trying to avoid pretension…

Libertines 14 is born… and it should not live!!!

We continue the horrible scenes in the late Ferrovache’s seraglio… now our hero seems to have caught the spark of destruction, possibly from the fleeing spirit of his victim?  We shall see…

A Note Regarding Libertines 13

A good part of the dinner scene was heavily influenced by the Marquis de Sade’s ‘Juliette’.  Gotta credit the pioneer.  I couldn’t resist the imagery.  No lines or passages were ‘borrowed’ however, all was grist through the filthy mills that grind away inside my head… 

Also, a small portion of Ferrovache’s dinner speech was inspired by ‘Philosophy In The Bedroom’, again, the Marquis.  This portion is heavily interpreted, however, and ‘borrows’ a single line. 

Ok, confession over.