By this time I was in a state of excitement bordering on insanity; but I also had the cunning of the insane. Sitting there, on the sofa, I managed to attune, by a series of stealthy movements, my masked lust to her guileless limbs. It was no easy matter to divert the little maiden's attention while I performed the obscure adjustments necessary for the success of the trick. Talking fast, lagging behind my own breath, catching up with it, mimicking a suddent toothache to explain the breaks in my patter- and all the while keeping a maniac's inner eye on my distant golden goal, I cautiously increased the magic friction that was doing away, in an illusional, if not factual, sense, with the physically irremovable, but psychologically very friable texture of the material divide (pajamas and robe) between the weight of two sunburnt legs, resting athwart my lap, and the hidden tumor of an unspeakable passion. Having, in the course of my patter, hit upon something nicely mechanical, I recited, garbling them slightly, the words of a foolish song that was then popular- O my Carmen, my little Carmen, something, something, those something nights, and the stars, and the cars, and the bars, and the barmen; I kept repeating this automatic stuff and holding her under its special spell (spell because of the garbling), and all the while I was mortally afraid that some act of God might interrupt me, might remove the golden load in the sensation of which all my being seemed concentrated, and this anxiety forced me to work, for the first minute or so, more hastily than was consensual with deliberately modulated enjoyment. The stars that sparkled, and the cars that parkled, and the bars, and the barmen, were presently taken over by her; her voice stole and corrected the tune I had been mutilating. She was musical and apple-sweet. Her legs twitched a little as they lay my live lap; I stroked them; there she lolled in the right hand corner, almost as asprawl, Lola the bobby soxer, devouring her immemorial fruit, singing through its juice, losing her slipper, rubbing the heel of her sliperless foot in its sloppy anklet, against the pile of old magazines heaped on my left on the sofa -- and every movement she made, every shuffle and ripple, helped me conceal and to improve the secret system of tactile correspondence between beast and beauty -- between my gagged, bursting beast and the beauty of her dimpled body in its innocent cotton frock.

Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Lo-lee-ta: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth. Lo. Lee. Ta. - From Lolita

Automatic Divinity
(Mohit, May 03', G0a)

Must visits:

A work of art from the Sedlec Ossuary (a.k.a. Kostnice), a small Christian chapel decorated with human bones in 1870 by a carpenter of about 40,000 people that died from the black plague in the 14th century. Read about this beauty Here (brownie points to Viru for this link).

***

Members of the Viennese art group Gelitin finished erecting a massive, pink, stuffed rabbit on the side of Colletto Fava, a 1,500m high hill in Italy. They called the bunny Hase which was first opened on September 18, 2005 and will be on Colletto Fava until 2025. I'm going to sleep on the bunnys tummy one day. weeeeee! : D

***

The forest swastika was a patch of carefully arranged larch trees covering a 60 sq yd area of pine forest near Zernikow, Germany. The reason behind the planting of the trees is unclear, but it has been suggested that it was laid out in 1937 by locals to prove their loyalty, after a businessman in the area was denounced and sent to a concentration camp by the Nazi Party for listening to the BBC, or that a zealous forester convinced local Hitler Youth members to plant the trees in commemoration of Hitler's birthday. I think this is rather spiffy. heh

***

Funny, I dont remember letting you in...
But you were so soft and so warm, so I kept you
We would blinkbeat in unison, tempo excessive
and I would smile
But I didnt dare touch you,
For fear of finding nothing but a wavering illusion
And one day you were gone
No longer by my side,
I was lost, so lost
Without someone to keep me company
So I hired detective Schmiles
I paid well, in turn he delivered
And found you hiding
Under my skin

Cerebral AssasinMan

I will control your mind. I will twist you to my will. Turn you into a puppet. Your thought are mine. My thoughts now, are yours. I am Cerebral AssasinMan. With my blue tights and a CA burnt on my chest. I will become your dream and your worst nightmare. An ordinary charetered accountant by day, I sift through your tax returns. Can you get a tax benefit if your kid dies ? I'll have to see your file to tell.

Tonight my plan for the destruction of you has taken seed. Tomorrow my plan for the destruction of you will bear fruit.

-
Cerebral AssasinMan

I sat down for coffee on a rainy tuesday afternoon
I asked if he cared for sugar of cream
He said 'I care for nothing, thank you'
And I took him literally,
so I picked up my bag
and walked out into the storm.

: (

Its been done before. Do you remember that day? The sun was shining, the clouds were smiling, the wind was playing in my hair. The trees swayed with the rhythm of the earth and music drifted in the air. But then a storm, an unearthly storm, of plastic on cement and exhaust and smoke came through the country. They stole my trees and turned them into documents that proclaimed that natures music was too loud so they built a dark fortress to steal the sound. They read that the clouds were too happy so they filled the air with a thick black smog. They decided the sun was still too bright so they shot it down and the wind was too playful so they took my hair and they left me with the darkness and the tainted atmosphere...
They might as well have killed me.

Poetry and Prose

What a joke. Mine anyway. Just run on sentences and inverted grammar and repeated patterns and aimless ramblings. Beautiful words lost in the effete purpose and slaughtered by my inarticulate mind.

Transubstantiation -

The belief that the bread and wine offered at Mass becomes the Body and Blood of Jesus Christ. I find it hard to believe that the saviour of the world has nothing better to do than turn into a thin rice wafer and cheap red wine every Mass just to be consumed by thousands of followers who were forced to attend Mass by their Mummydaddies and *really*don't care in the first place.

*This post might offend some. Inconvenience duely regretted*

Find an escape route...

'Make Me Wet'

~Sunshine dust with onions and poo~ says:
I want to be caught in one of those droplets.
yea..THATS the way I want to go out... drown inside one of those.
scrizer says:
the world will be concave
scrizer says:
if you snort one up with abject velocity, maybe it will...i dunno....splash against your brain and leave an exit wound after splintering
scrizer says:
thats whats probably called sweat.

I belong in a castle...

(Sin at our little photoshoot on a Hill in Nerul, August 2005)