Saturday, 20 November 2010


Ah well, everything is impermanent. The way she was dancing it was like she was a device that had been activated. A manic intensity, she was impossible to approach or engage with correctly. One feels regret. Or one doesnae, what the fuck does it matter everything is impermanent.
The depth of the night. The infinite possibilities. It was astonishing, devastating. It made me ache with a trickling euphoria.


trapped inside wur heids, each one of us trapped inside wur ane heids. It wasn't exactly regrettable, it was...
Am just playing games, here now, dinnae fret! Hussshhhh sshhhhh c'mere now dinnae fret shhhh closer closer closer, mmm yeh dinnae fret now... touch this...

Foaming at the mouth, crying, fretting too much, fretting too much...


'Why don't you take yer pants off' he whispered and then giggled except the sound, it wasn't like a giggle, more like an hysterical shriek. She flinched at the sound. He noticed this and felt empowered. The pathetic, cowardly shite that he was.
The sky had darkened quite suddenly. A swollen purple hue. Like bruising.
He idly wondered how easily she would bruise. It wouldn't take much he decided. He would have to be careful.


FUCKING SUCK IT, SLAVE! he screamed.
The delightfully grotesque spectacle of her vomiting over her Chuck Taylors.
They had been taking turns to rape her for going on four hours now. They had Allen keeping watch at the entrance to the ruins. He didn't question what was happening. It was likely that he didn't fully understand. But he did not question brutality. He understood brutality. He had learned brutality.

Tim was a man rendered so ineffectual he no longer understood the mechanics of pleasure. All he could grasp was his own worthlessness. He felt guilt for wanting, guilt for needing, guilt for existing. The anguish effected by the most mundane decisions embarrassed him.
Feeling his way into something huge and monstrous and
A darkness, stagnant smell, humidity, a warmth in the darkness, a gently roaring echo, a secret summer place. A tender sadness.

Untitled Farce

-Tim! Get the door would you?
-Alright Charlotte, okay!
-Just hurry up and get the fucking door would you!
-Certainly, you wizened old whore...
-What was that?
-Nothing darling! Oh! Look who's here to see us! It's Murray! Murray's here to see us!
Murray staggers into the room in drag, dancing frenetically if a little drunkenly...
Tim aims a few jovially playful punches at Murray's shoulder, increasing in intensity until he winds up administering a thoroughly sound thrashing. Murray shrieks with delight.

-Tim! What are you doing to Murray!
-Pummelling him within inches of his life, dear.
-What was that?
-I said administering a spot of the old GBH.
-Oh. Well I do wish you wouldn't; it's thoroughly nasty behaviour and the slaves don't care for it too much.
-I'll decide what they enjoy.
Charlotte simpers.
-Such cruelty. Such strength. Such brutality.
-I'll fucking decide what they'll enjoy.
And with that Tim partially removes his trousers, sits on Murray's head, and expels a thick turd.
-Are you shiteing on the slave's head again dear?
-Oh I do wish you wouldn't. Frightfully unhygienic, not to mention unpleasant...
-But this little cunt fucking loves it!
-What strange things he enjoys.
Charlotte shakes her head in sad wonderment.
-Well darling, he is a nasty little whore, rememba?
-Oh yah, I suppose. What a terrible shame...
-Yah, it is a tad regrettable. Here, come watch him eat the shite...
-A grotesque spectacle if ever I witnessed one!
-You've witnessed plenty my love, since marrying me.
-This is true.

An animal being born. Millions of stars in the sky. The silent horror of gazing into an existential void.

With John

-Where is she but?
-She's in the next room with JOHN. Here, ye wantin' another game?
-She alright?
-Aye, she's with JOHN. Here, it's your turn.
-Dinnae worry, like. She's with JOHN. JOHN gets a shot of aw the lassies roond here.
-Here, it's your turn.
Ah've won.


Thursday, 11 November 2010

Poem II

In the theatre
my whole being aches towards her
Penguin Modern Poets
Volume V
The way she crossed her legs
I could tell she needed to pee
Follow @dharma_ass