Still

Still blooming booming. Hands like the little explosions of spring.

If

If what truly defines a professional artist from a layman is stealing
Then I'm going to leave you naked and hungry for being such a piece of shit.

^^^^^

<><><>

Towards Your Oblivion.

2:45

The Cuckoo Clock
the little bird caprice
the reversal at 2:45
the song on the hour
a box of coiled springs
waiting to turn the gears

We sprinted to catch the Night Owl out of that part of the city.The danger was palpable.Two nerdy indie rock kids in tight jeans and faggy t-shirts, a roll of hundreds stuffed into my friends sock.

Giving me the power to make you hate things is fucking glorious.

Glamour Puss Lace Face

Glamour Puss Lace Face will devour your fucking soul

Many times I encounter people I physically recognize, that I remember from some existence I superseded upwards of 15 years ago... They look at me expectantly as if I could know anything of them at this point or they of me. I treat them like the strangers they are. I don't live in their world anymore. I am a being independent of their personal frozenness, where their image of me rests.

Come n' git it cowboy.

That was fucking delicious.

The apophenia is going to send you reeling.

You will be reduced to ashes.

Poof

.

Doesn't seem to understand.

.

Randy loves a good time ...

"... I am happy to see the marvels the warm sun hatcheth: tigers and palms and rattlesnakes.
Also amongst men there is a beautiful brood of the warm sun, and much that is marvellous in the wicked.
In truth, as your wisest did not seem to me so very wise, so found I also human wickedness below the fame of it.
And oft did I ask with a shake of the head: Why still rattle, ye rattlesnakes?
Verily, there is still a future even for evil! And the warmest south is still undiscovered by man.
How many things are now called the worst wickedness, which are only twelve feet broad and three months long! Some day, however, will greater dragons come into the world.
For that the Superman may not lack his dragon, the super-dragon that is worthy of him, there must still much warm sun glow on moist virgin forests!
Out of your wild cats must tigers have evolved, and out of your poison-toads, crocodiles: for the good hunter shall have a good hunt!
And verily, ye good and just! In you there is much to be laughed at, and especially your fear of what hath hitherto been called "the devil!"
So alien are ye in your souls to what is great, that to you the Superman would be frightful in his goodness!
And ye wise and knowing ones, ye would flee from the solar-glow of the wisdom in which the Superman joyfully batheth his nakedness!
Ye highest men who have come within my ken! this is my doubt of you, and my secret laughter: I suspect ye would call my Superman—a devil! ... "-from Thus Spake Zarathustra by Friedrich Nietzsche, chapter 43. Manly Prudence

Heaven

The Christian Heaven is a real place but it didn't actually exist until the mid 70's. It was the advent of televangelists that made it real. The mass concentration of thought combined with the electrical magnetic waves of television signals ripped a portal in the time space continuum to a dimension that became a physical repository for imaginings of Christian heaven. In the same way Christians created a physical hell. In fact, hell was created before heaven because of fundamentalists emphases on divine retribution as means of control. Only people who believe in heaven or hell experience these places when they die. Most other people melt into divine substance to be re-purposed. In this way they become infinite without disturbing the flow of the universe. In contrast, the Christian heaven swells like a pustule in space-time, a stagnant concentration, while all that is dances around it changing forms in infinitely beautiful iterations.

He thought that if he envisioned me decapitated with enough intensity it would have some effect on my person, maybe even lead to it actually happening through some freak accident. I would feel his thoughts, laugh at them, and reverse whatever feeble energy was contained in them. He also liked to draw illusions between me and the more volatile aspects of Marilyn Monroe hoping that it would deflect from his own glaring instability.

Hugo

"... If a few sweet words can lead your guy "astray" he was never really yours to begin with. I don't have time for your idiocy. Out of all the men he's played boyfriend with why single me out when we've never even kissed? I think you know the answer. You can threaten violence but again it just points to how desperate and pathetic you are. Won't change a thing."- Hugo

Dear Lexy,

Love,
Bernie

Charles

The Answer Is No.

,,

Diogenes of Sinope has your snarky ass by the balls. Think about that the next time you laugh at any of this.

Dudley

Dudley:

Beyond.

///\\\

The Conversation

...He felt Arty's pink meaty glans swell on his tongue. It made him desperate for it. He lunged his face forward filling the back of his throat with him and held it until Arty moaned, then the words "show me that hole" became audible from him. Arty leaned down and spread Silvio's cheeks. He took his index and middle fingers and sucked them, making sure they were shiny with saliva, then used them to rub Silvio's hole, applying pressure, then spitting, licking, slowly stretching... Silvio bucked back riding Arty's fingers, jerking off as Arty pushed on his g-spot. Silvio begged Arty to give him his dick. Arty squeezed a thick dollop of lube onto his penis, coated it and rubbed the excess on Silvio's hole. Arty eased into Silvio. Silvio almost climaxing just from feeling his hole pop over the ridge of Arty's inflamed penis head. The length of his cock applying continuous pressure to Silvio's prostate as he slid in and out over and over again. Silvio pushed back into Arty, wiggling his ass around, grinding into his pelvis. He needed him balls deep. Silvio's member so swollen and hard it almost hurt. He began masturbating feverishly while Arty pounded him. Arty reaching around to help. Dense spirals of cum squirted onto the squeaking mattress under them, one after the other, the organism making Silvio clench around Arty's manhood. Arty pulled out and groaned. Hot sticky splashes landed on Silvio's spine. They both rolled over onto their backs and passed out in each others arms.

Marathon

The way this nothing shakes you...
Wait until this continent really starts to move. All of your slimsy fences like a spilled deck of cards. You lost the moment you tried to involve me in a game I never intended to play. Your coffin black and cold like onyx stone, sleek into it's ditch, as if you were in the belly of a panther slipping into the night. This silence divine. I can be with my love.

Because Loving You Is Simpler And Feels Better

Aeolus

Aeolus tries on glasses:

Moment

Sultry Sylvester

"... Here's the thing that you still can't seem to understand. Your stupid ass doesn't get to decide what's appropriate for me. I'm going to do what I want anyway and just agree with you to shut your dumb ass up. But here's real the kicker, my desires and interest, make the world a more interesting place to live in, yours just make you fatter and dumber, so you can fuck off in whatever direction you like as long as it's away from me." - Sharky

Beaumont

Beaumont:






Beaumont is yours

Sparse Dirge

Jalil's body lay cemented in the white satin lined box. The thick makeup on his skin gave it the appearance of putty. Tight red and white carnation wreaths propped around the slivery casket. He was finally truly gone. The silence and peace was transcendent.

Dick_rocks.biz

Mister Mountain

Hey you! Mister Mountain Climber! This is Mister Mountian speaking! Listen here, if you want to climb me you have to understand that I am made of many rocks, you can't try and grab them all and expect to get anywhere. Grab the ones that stick out for you. The ones that make you feel loved. I hope to see you at my summit soon.

Sincerely yours always,
Mister Mountain

The Funeral

The trestles of the railway bridge connecting the land masses extended into imperceptibly, dissolving into the blue gradient of sky and water in the distance. In this moment everything else ceased to exist. He felt like he was part of the most gorgeous Richard Diebenkorn painting. There was no funeral to attend at the end of his journey. No grievers at the train station waiting to whisk him away to the funeral parlor. Nothing. Only this majesty and the rhythmic clacking of the train car on the rails. It was true that Jalil's death was long overdue but his anger did not overshadow his sadness or his relief. He felt confused. Exhausted. Right now, none of that existed. None of it mattered.

Complete Smut

Nothing, outside of actual sex with a man he really liked, got Dustin off like interracial gay porn. Plain old black on white gay porn was good, but interracial gay thug or bear porn was best. This always made him feel guilty. He was a typical white man, all the assumed societal power of that position applied to him. He knew his attraction to the raunch was purely animalistic and it bothered him. He knew he was partaking in a long malignant history of black objectification through hypersexualization.

His world was completely separate from the type of men in those movies. It's not like they could have conversations about Malevich or Kandinsky and in all honesty, he didn't want to. It would ruin his fantasy of letting himself be used by a rough and tumble overly sexual hyper-masculine personage. As bad as he felt about the social dressings of the situation, getting off felt better. After all, it was just a fantasy, incomparable to getting the cum fucked out of him by someone he really loved.

Being incomprehensible is the most powerful thing.

Baxter Chance

Baxter Chance II



Baxter Chance III


Baxter Chance always if you ask

Wine Press (Read by Oliver Valentino)

Andaluzio

Andaluzio:

Piccolino & Zuccherino

Piccolino:



And his twin brother Zuccherino: