her: reading something earnestly to him from her phone
him: not really listening – “What? Street kids? They don’t care.”
i can’t see her face, but i can feel her horrified stare
him: “Sorry. I didn’t mean that. Of course they care.”
he goes back to his phone – she carries on glaring for a bit and then returns to her’s
a few seconds go by
him: “What I meant to say was, they don’t matter.”
Today was the warmest day yet. I saw my first butterfly and heard the sound of the first ice cream van of the year – I hate those noisy bastards, and I don’t like ice cream vans either.
“i see there’s no milk in the fridge!”
“how can you see what isn’t there?”
“if it’s not there, how can you see it?”
“i can see you haven’t bought any bloody milk!”
“’cause it’s not there, fuck nuts!”
“i know, i forgot, but what does no milk look like?”
“like no milk!”
“but if it’s not there, how can you see it’s not milk? it might be not eggs that you’re looking at.”
“did you forget the fucking eggs too!?”
“what does it look like?”
I bumped into an old mate today, someone I haven’t seen in years. He told me that Old Gay John had died. Old Gay John was one of the guys that used to hang around on the corner, way back when I first moved here. He wasn’t gay, we just called him that because he hated it so much. He wasn’t old or called John either.
who needs poetry
when all it takes is just three
little words from me
You can call me a dreamer,
But when I think of Sakeena,
My thoughts should be cleaner,
As I reach for my wiener,
My heart in a fever,
And growing obscener,
Wishing I was between her
Thighs, getting deeper,
Like a huge paddle steamer,
Wanting only to please her,
And make her a screamer,
A laughing hyena,
Who’ll know nothing finer
Than when I kiss her
Hot, wet mouth.
I discovered something really creepy about myself today, something that really freaked me out. I can talk to the dead. I’ve probably always been able to do it, it’s just I’ve never tried before. It’s not just a select few I can talk to either, I can talk to anyone I want, anyone who’s ever lived. I talked to Einstein earlier, and Jimi Hendrix, and Karl Marx. I even jerked off, talking to Princess Diana and Charlotte Bronte at the same time. It’s an incredible ability, being able to talk to the dead, truly amazing. I just wish they would talk back.
As I get older, I find that I can’t do a lot of the things I used to do. I used to be able to bend an iron bar over my erect phallus. It was a great party trick. I can’t do it any more though, my wrists are shot to fuck.
you give my soul a hard-on,
you make my heart erect,
my being throb and pulsate,
my very core erupt.
you make my psyche tingle,
you make my mind inflate,
my life force squirt and dribble,
my spirit ejaculate.
when i kiss your lips,
i want to taste my cum.
when i lick your tits,
i want to taste your cunt.
when you fuck my face,
i want you to stink.
when i lick your arse,
i want you to reek.
when i taste your flesh,
i want it sweaty.
when i kiss your breasts,
i want them all sticky.