porno for pyros - pets...
or jane's addiction: just because...
i remember towing myself
to a remote field in essex
and kneeling by a "haunted" barn...
knife in hand...

the air was... breaking dawn...
hazy... the sun was attempting
both a chair and ladder...
overcast skies and the sun
tempting a peering through,
while spare rain was falling -
and the vicinity?

perfect way to say a goodbye
to no-one...

that was over 5 years ago...
jane's addiction: just because
somehow made it to my ears...
i have built up a fetish for
homelessness and criminality:
thanks to jean genet i learned
to jerk off once more...

it never really bothered me,
so why should it bother me, "now"?
started aged 7 without having
the added "flavor" of being
subject to the vatican's periphery
sodom knight in shining armour:
or amor...

i like the basic objectivity of
homo-erotic literature...
a cock is a cock and nothing
worth a female sensibility...
a snail is a snail...
a cowering godhead of lice
is just that...

poetry and this debased:
"fathoming" of the forbidden...
like we were all supposed to be soldiers...
like we are all about to be buckling
Achilleses...

like we were about to be raised
rhinos from an ivory poach escapade...
i'm 33 and i still let my mother
butcher my crop of hair:
i could pay for a turkish barber:
i really should pay for a turkish
barber... but i don't feel like it...
i like the aspect of mopping up credulities...
and if i owned a rifle: i'd also learn to shoot...
always after learning to know
how to tie my shoelaces...

at 33 i should be equipped with
a wife and at least one child...
i'm not...

homosexuals are children
and i like reading stories for adult children...

i like their cul de sac existentialism...
high end, "moral" literature of a
Knausgård: who will never be a Kierkegaard for
me... homosexuals and bollock banging
worth of "eligible" bachelors...

last time i heard one of those:
for the purpose of CIVILIZATION...
ours is great... ours is first...
themes like that really want me to
blowjob a fucking whiskey bottle: full girth
at the base...

i want to rape my mouth:
have missing teeth and a smile
with ripped lips that might be bound
to the equivalent statement of:
upon which the sun will never set...
i did one better:

i can't read a book by a woman in
a long while: or at all...
but i'm happy with homo-erotic literature...
who the hell is supposed
to watch porno?

i always tended to the pictures
where women are bound to their
posture of a most gratified presence...
and bosom...

i never listen to the crap...
i can imagine the sound of sex
is more scary than the worst horror
circus of images...
since i dislodged sound from horror...
i've found an anaesthetic to it...
the music, in horror, movies?
lullabies...

oh but how i wish to borrow
and cite a Bach or a Mozart like some
Hesse in Steppenwolf...
i'm sorry... Mozart is a privy affair...
round here? Jane's Addiction and
Porno for Pyros...
and... the Brian Jonestown Massacre...
i'm sorry...

Knausgård listens to Coldplay while
driving...
i could almost imagine having
a cultural adhesive button-up
with a wife and children:
but what if i were to have the child...
while also becoming
the most terrible father?

at least i can imagine myself
the most pristine father:
without a child but at most
a genocide family in having jerked
off into a tissue and flushed it down
alongside the holy trinity of
no. 1 pissing and no. 2 shitting
on and into the throne of thrones...

it's suddenly a "life worth saving"
when a cluck is sitting on the sleeping
yoke... isn't it?
when it leaves my body
it's all a muddy affair of: what ifs...
the worst of a future is written
via the "promise" of a "what if"
bundle of revisionism...

maybe that's why i don't read
writing by women:
i've reserved that plot of arable "land"
for the homosexuals...
the dodo-project "pioneers"...

i'm just dying to know,
what i'm supposed to learn from
the high heterosexual moralists of our times...
anonymous granny projects...
yes?
those kind... keep a foreign object
granny happy by working
to pay some obscurity known as tax?

Genet is more liberating than
de Sade... just saying...
for the love of saying to everything a glad:
yours sincerely...
alas: yours most fondly...

come to think of it...
i've become tired of pandering whores
like they were the cats in my vicinity...
i'm tired of the feminine giggling
and purring and snuckling up to cuddle...

perhaps i should written a memo to myself:
remember to trim your pubes
and just let her vacuum your genitalia?

no wonder a few tribes of this earth
focus on exfoliating in the hidden
secrets bound to the eyes and the niqab...
the erotic and purely naked parts
of us are always so: stark...
and having to ask for a presence of
both Satan and the butcher...

i can start to parallel
trimming pork for the cats to eat...
i can cut edible part...
i can leave myself as a pickled brain
and spine in a jar or cucumbers
and think: this is what sex
should look like...
and feel like...

either sucking off a gherkin
with warts on its flesh...
or finding a milky way
via a tube of used menthol vaseline
used to... titilate police officers:
and their uniform and
what's left of a "hot rod" to turn
any face into a van gogh plum &
puke self-portrait...

maybe that's why i don't want
to touch the words written by
idealists...
or women... i'd have to become
a GORGE of living up to
homo-erotica before i'd touch
a scold of female "wonder"...
the "future-thinking"
with a beginning-middle-and-end
is something beside mere crass...
now... now... or never...

all that's missing are the lice...
oh sure... i watch porn...
but no scented candles...
and no "porn" to begin with...
bosoms with no nipples and just teasing:
milking a cow erotica of
farmers...
sound? movies? i just keep myself
focused on the "physiognomy"
of sucking-off a tulip...

the one time i truly remember performing
oral sex... like eating a lotus...
like fingering a squid...
like eating nothing but butter...
like lipstick and a tongue let loose
to spree: with a slobber of a walrus
and 32 pearly gates...

when i really ate into a cunt...
i can remember the goosebumps implied
with an improper mid-slurp...
i can remember the slurp...

have i had the pleasure of
eating a forbidden fruit, a "forbidden", "fruit"?
sure as shit i wasn't gesticulating
at gulping down an oyster sober, either...
was i?
when this floral pattern of ovulation
pickled my eyes to cry
a caricature death of a most mechanised tongue
that didn't require speaking...

alas: it took a whore for me to dip into
the anus... shame... to be honest...
i should have done the same...
when i was paying for clams and weed
and dates and all that "other" spare
time i should have given away for free
while taking "deep" photographs
of poaching whales at the Faraoe Islands...

das hund und der leine...
ein katze und... scheiße weiß waß!
juggle the fucker?
play claustrophobic hug baron?
imitate throwing pieces of pork at it
like Nero throwing Christians into the colisseum?

i thank myself from: not being objectionable
toward sex...
but having enough time to write
about its gruesome details...
its pure objectivity:
its... debased crass monstrosity of
"overcoming" a Goliath...

it's the thing nuns sing about...
it's what niqabs are for...
and it can never: truly...
be lodged in cheap adverts alongside
shampoos...
for fear of a lost potency...
it can never become a "qualm of
over-stated subjectivity: addiction"...

at best: best kept in a bullock tightening
to the point of shy circumcision:
a castration crescendo
of all the would be: "shy"... choir boys...
they would castrate and
remove the "extra" tonsil for
a most perfect replica of anus or vagina
down the gob...

butter or quacked cock...
but the Pontius Pilate in me always said:
waschen ihre hände: zuerst...
and then compare...

gustave Doré or... albrecht Dürer?