Sunday, June 26, 2005
The Hots
Hots are all over the place, on the flesh and the wood, in the crevices and smeared over every surface. It causes your head to get friendly with the freezer. I left mine in there while I write. The porpoise of calm is coming. My stomach has become a bloatation device and the trickles are swarming, causing many stinks.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
53 comments:
I can smell you from here.
I can smell you too.
I am stikified from the hots.
My lassoable parts are all stuck together and gummed up. It is slimy and smells like crayons (I'm sorry).
It is scrammy in my joints. By the way, I am not 12, I am not 45. I am outside of time and am excavating the plains of mereness in order to find commonality that jests. Hiding is one option, juice guzzling is another.
I was out raking muck today when I passed a little blond boy in his Sunday best having just been Christened. A bit of away ahead of the proud family was the Gay Pride Parade fallout. Boys with eyes as big as planets and just as orbital, queens in their Sunday best, which by the way, put the poor mother of Christ's child to shame in her drabs and mauves, and of coarse, excuse me "course", who could forget the bishops of the backalley, the deacons of demise, four beauties in ecclesiasticals with their testicals hanging out. I can think of no better time than Gay Pride Weekend to send a youth of such promise into that bastion of latent homosexuality. Can you?
I blame mauve.
Keep those homos away from my children. I love God and Jesus, bless them, thank you, and I know that AIDS is the punishment for sin. God did not change his mind from the Old Testament to the New. It is time for the just rewards to rain down in the form of deep bodily suffering.
SUSHI!!!!! I LOVE YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I wish I could obtain your panties.
Dear Mickey,
As a heathen, it is shameful that you attended a christening. Please punish yourself with the appropriate whips, vises and bites.
Love,
MM
No panties bring much sun. Many bad feelings for church man. Much lucky pride and hopeful.
Bloody your fingertips in the gory well of murder.
Hi Sushi. You are too kind to the offenders, this is your charm and truth. I adore you and am glad for your presence in this timeless world of no body and much type. Thank you for accepting me.
Mister Mountain Sir,
I respectfully ask that you no longer make such assumptions. I did not attend said Christening. I was merely witness to the fallout. If there is a lord he kept me from it for his own good. I am far too unstable for such events.
Much grateful Mountain. Many suns on you and warm. It brings best luck to inside.
The ghosts with lighters intend haunt all over my eyes, it is beautiful and threatening at once. In the shallow and deep darks, the lights flicker and give pointed pricks of desire to the eyes.
Mickey are your joints in order? Do you prefer diet or regular?
Mickey,
I am sorry but you are a dang liar. I just can tell. I wish to punish your backside with rackets.
Love,
MM
It is most beautiful these shards of glory, the lights of the inside as our fair Sushi Blameful intends. How else may we find ourselves but for the spotlights of our souls?
Dear Sushi, you are so dear. You are like a sleeping bag to my feelings, you keep them warm and pulsing. Thank you for your simple forthright language. It covers and mystifies.
Flickers of greenish yellow insect light replace lightbulbs in terms of idea substitutes. The yapping and barking continues in the background but turns lull-like. There are no malintentions. Infiltration is plausible and likely. This is good.
No my friend. It is true what I say and I wish you to desist. The lord did not want me there today and fate lost me in the bland streets of mauve. I arrived but late to see the impish and annointed waddle into the fray. Glory be to misdirection.
We are piping lightly in the background. We are loving and mute.
Faggots Rule!!!!!
Dear Mickey,
Even if you are truthful, may I still punish you? Even if you feel it is unwarranted?
You are too pure. I wish to soil you.
Love,
MM
Randy, come back to bed. You are a fool. Please bring the Cheetos.
Pulp is forming from the cortex of plus into one. I am so excited to be thrown against the wall and stick.
You all smell homeless.
you need a good birching...
You need a good swelling.
You need a good leeching.
You need to be suckled.
Anonymouses. Please condone yourselves with names.
Everything smells terrible, like a rancide ingenue with hopes for future success.
Mountain Man,
Forgive me for I don't do men. Though conceptually I lean to the left in every way and believe the beauty of male love transcends all boundaries and find witness to boys kissing intensely erotic, I am sorry to say in my waning years that it is truly only pussy that turns me on. May your need to play be fulfilled soon. Perhaps you need to get out more.
Bleet you are retrograde.
Bleet
you need to be sheered and spit roasted
Dear Mickey,
Too bad so sad. Punishment does not equal desire. You must not make assumptions about me or my gender. I am hapless and feckless, more like a donkey than a man. I buck without purpose, this is me. Please do not insult me with this pinpointing language. It feels dir-ty.
Love,
MM
I am ready to be cooked. I am not scared. Mint is a good accompaniment for the likes of myself. Go ahead.
The hots have come onto my head and I may have to take to the charms of the beds. I love the beds, covers, pillows, all mixed up. Especially when there are young Swedish ski bunnies to mangle.
I beg to differ Mister Mountain. Punishment does equal desire. Kafka, Lacan just about everyone except Fox news agrees. And how do you think they get their ratings?
So why am I out on a limb with guesses your gender? Are you hiding something? Are you ashamed?
Goodnight to the tower of power. I admit you to the Court of Blasphemurs. It is congregational and holy.
Mountain Man you are a slut.
Oh Mickey. I weep for you. You make assumptions with no fruition. You need communion, true identity-sharing, an inspiraling of edges.
I cannot help my porpoise mangle tangle needs. I am a host.
Most definitely Mister Mountain.
I search and search but have yet to find the all consuming and available.....
weep but do not give up hope.
Mickey, you sound latent.
Most query Mickey. Many luck in your quest. Almost all sun in shadow and searching.
I have been eaten alive. I am snackfood.
Good Night Moon.
good night pillows.
good night grass.
good night willows
good night Vicky
good night Jack
good night peeps in Hackensack.
good night Mountain
good night valley
good night good night good night good night
Anonymous, you are so poemful. Good nights.
the sacraments, i must have misplaced them. ahh, there thay are, the taxidermist has put them on sale.
Taxidermy. Thank you M. Spank. You are truly wise. I love your visits.
Post a Comment