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| Blogs > Mariana_Trench_ > poetic disambiguation |
Fountain of Youth
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Fountain of Youth Raining heavy�Wet, hard, thick rain. The sky wept when you left my bed. By the time you got to the car, your white shirt cling to your tan shoulders. They were begging to be released from their damp encasement. Your arms were meant to be around my soft warmth. Eggs are not as fragile as this fabric upon your torso. An ancient porcelain teacup is not as translucent as this fabric was, clutching your body, encasing you like an eggshell. I wanted to crack an egg and slide its slickness into a porcelain teacup, then upturn the cup into my lap and feel how the yolk slides still warm from the hen, glowing and bursting upon my pussy. Like your cock. I wanted to feel it, to show this decadence to you. I wanted you to bend down and suck up the burst yolk off my thigh, like your cock, releasing its spray of juices. I wanted to feel it, to show this decadence to you, this depravity of spilt yolk and clinging whites cascading over my pussy lips. I wanted you to bend down and suck up the burst yolk off my thigh. Last night I remember climbing over your hairy thighs and wrapping my own smooth thighs around your hips. I remember grinding my wetness into your hairy hardness and sliding my cunt over your cock till you grabbed my arms, and rolling, pinned me down and mastered my pussy from above. Sliding in slowly, taking your time, my eyes on your face. Listening to your small sounds grow harder. Primal smells filling the air, and I think, my God - this man. I want him again. I want him in this bed with me again. I want him to take my every day till I die with his cock buried inside me. Bury me with his cock buried inside me. Carve us an Etruscan sarcophagus so that we may lie side by side for eternity. The streetlight caught the swirl of the leaves sliding into the gutter. Forlorn like a beggar�s sin, they cascaded down into the eager drain. I hear the drone of the rain upon the roof. A summer storm makes me want to fuck on the top of a grassy hill with you. A summer storm makes me want to be pounded into some silt-fecund riverbank with you. I hear the drone of the rain upon the roof. It�s taunting me in my chrysalis of blankets and sheets. I smell the cunt and the cock on these sheets. It�s reminding me that you are without, while I am within. I�d rather be outside with you than remain in my little nest of fuck memories and fuck odors. I took. It was a long time coming, this present. You took. My presents for you wrapped so beautifully, you tore the paper and had them. A benediction of fucking with inquiries, fucking with impetus, fucking gently, and finally, fucking to oblivion. Transcendent of pain that budded ecstasy was our moments, which blossomed into a rankness of exhaustion. The rain kept falling. And words, oh we spoke and we knew each other�s souls � my eyes heard your words before they left your mouth and your eyes answered back - we�re a matched set. Our time together wrote a couplet of verses and moisture. Your eyes were upon me, speaking ancient Mayan. Your fingertips chanted like a foam-mouthed sibyl, breathing in smoke through your pores. Your lips murmured Ancient Hebrew. Your tongue wrote Babylonian cuneiform on my ass. Your cock communed with Martin Luther and proofread his Thesis. All the languages I don�t know, all these words I have never seen, but my eyes understood them with you. You call yourself old, but you are wrong. In fact, you are ancient, primal, primitive, and obscene. You are the oldest man, and I am the oldest woman. I am made of stone and sot. I am drawn with smoldering charcoal, my breasts pendulous and ripe. I am baked in a mud kiln, dug in a pit, and my haunches are caked with red ochre. You are the beasts with the massive dicks on the side of the cliffs, known as Tassili N�A jjer, found just South of the Atlas Mountains. You are more than 6,000 years old, and you are sacred. Tuareg men worship you and whisper your name. Tuareg women do not know your name, but they call to you when they are birthing. You are Baal, sitting on your desert throne, with your heavy bull�s head and your ripe man�s body. I am Asherah, and I debase myself upon our bed, an altar in worship of you, my consort, my cherished darling one. Yes - I will slide my fingers into your pool of white fuck essence and then slip them out and fuck your face with my cum-covered fingers. And I will wear the antlers, and then you will wear the antlers. We will take turns fucking each other up the ass. You will teach me how you sound when your body releases energy, orgasms, and pity. I will play your body like a French horn, like the drums of our rituals. We will compose a symphony of lust; we will cover each other in grit and sweat, and lap it off each other�s body, like a deer at a salt lick. I crave you. You will think of fucking me and your body will grow taut, while your mouth will grow dry with longing. You are a Green Man. You coil about the knaves of ancient dwellings, you are ivy and mistletoe, sacred clinging vines that will take over the stones and master them. You mask these stones with your verdant fertility, and they submit. It is a matter of time. You are the man in the fields of Pagan England who defied the Romans and went on dancing naked in the moonlight with me. We are wreathed in daisies and poppies, wheat and honeysuckle, our skin is coated in sweat, and we are numb to the cold night. . You are Pan, and I am every nymph with every wet hole, by every waterfall, in every sacred field, waiting for you to fuck me with your hairy fragrant cock. I will bend over and clasp my feet for you. I will open myself wide like a Sheela-Na-Gig. I will beg for you to fuck me with your fist, your hard strong wrist sliding finally against the sides of my pussy. For you I am the cheapest in Paris, against the most rank of brick walls down some suspect alleyway. For you I am Heloise, and I am also Abelard. For you I am the pen of the poet and the poet�s sweetness. I am the consumption that killed him too soon, and the words that gave him immortality. It will be like that. And you will take my voice and melt it in your crucible and pour it into your hands, and it will pool about your thumbs, between the pads of your palm, and you will swallow it painfully. My words and your words will blend into one animal-fuck symphony of moaning and crying out. Do you know how few men are offered this gift? Do you? You will see how it will be. Believe me, darling, I am just as old as you. We can be a matched pair of crones, fucking each other back to youth, cackling away in our orgasms while others are mystified yet envious. Throw back the sun and embrace this rain upon your back. Feel how wet you are and how much I want you. You are my Fountain of Youth. You are the water of life. And I am thirsty to drink you. Redemption and the Magdalena, for I feel that we are both seeking the most profanely pornographic fuck and the most liberating blasphemy in our pagan rituals. Twelve thousand years of thirst. I will be your Holy Grail. Fill me up. Bathe me. Saturate me. "A Man and Woman Making Love" by Mih�ly Zichy Plate I of "Liebe" circa 1901       |
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Very Nice Feel free to stop by any time. MT The Succinct
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5/14/2010 1:19 pm |
Very Nice
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I agree; you should go with what sounds best. This threw me a little at first, but, of course, we have different accents: You pronounce your, yore, and I pronounce your, yur. The way I talk, your and her rhyme. Anyway, I finally did the edits you suggested/helped with. This version (I hope) stands proud as 'done.' Thank You, I reckon! Yer a real gentleman.  MT (don't have a yellow rose will peach do?  )
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Sometimes what I find is interesting and sexy, and sort of rhythmically 'feels' right is some word combination that pieces together well. "your" and "pores." have that 'ooorrr' sound and flow better than "her" and "pores," errr orrr. Not as primal. You know what I mean? I do this a lot, sometimes without even realizing it. Alliteration as well, although as a whole I tend to be more aware of alliteration than of sound harmony. Reading out loud usually brings this to light. So, for this reason, even if it make less sense, I'd not change this part. The rest I will work on updating, now that I am on the mend. Turns out I had mono, not strep. But either way, been feeling like ass since Friday. Thanks again for your help! MT  This threw me a little at first, but, of course, we have different accents: You pronounce your, yore, and I pronounce your, yur. The way I talk, your and her rhyme. John Lee Hooker Recommended: [blog lucyjane78]
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I think willowwind stole the words out of my mouth except to say "An Orgasm a Day helps Keep Age Away! lol always available --ever ready.
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Arousal of My senses ... ahhha bit of Tampopo..... a la Naturale'..Sweet* Primal* Erotic* and Provocative* Thank You Ms MT..... Your Words are the Eternal Fountain of Youth......
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Poring over each word and phrase certainly didn't make it any less arousing, so, no, that didn't ruin anything, but it was smoking hot the first time. So sorry you're sick; strep throat is the worst. Hope you're feeling better soon. Look at this sentence again: "Your fingertips chanted like a foam-mouthed sibyl, breathing in smoke through your pores." I loved it as I said before, but is it the sibyl herself (I understand, of course, that she is merely a simile for chanting fingertips) who is breathing smoke through your pores, or did you mean to say "through her pores"? "your" and "pores." have that 'ooorrr' sound and flow better than "her" and "pores," errr orrr. Not as primal. You know what I mean? I do this a lot, sometimes without even realizing it. Alliteration as well, although as a whole I tend to be more aware of alliteration than of sound harmony. Reading out loud usually brings this to light. So, for this reason, even if it make less sense, I'd not change this part. The rest I will work on updating, now that I am on the mend. Turns out I had mono, not strep. But either way, been feeling like ass since Friday. Thanks again for your help! MT
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Poring over each word and phrase certainly didn't make it any less arousing, so, no, that didn't ruin anything, but it was smoking hot the first time. So sorry you're sick; strep throat is the worst. Hope you're feeling better soon. Look at this sentence again: "Your fingertips chanted like a foam-mouthed sibyl, breathing in smoke through your pores." I loved it as I said before, but is it the sibyl herself (I understand, of course, that she is merely a simile for chanting fingertips) who is breathing smoke through your pores, or did you mean to say "through her pores"? John Lee Hooker Recommended: [blog lucyjane78]
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5/9/2010 8:30 am |
I love lists. Here's my list: First- Thank you for the careful scrutiny and thoughtful reply. Second- If not here, where? An e-mail? I'll check. Third- This is my voice, not a British man. "John Thomas" is a British man's word for his cock. This is my voice, not the voice of a Classical Chinese person. My vernacular for the sex organs is clit, cunt, pussy, cock, dick, vulva, ass, and so forth. I grew up in the 20th/21st Century US of A. Ya know? Forth- You sneaky bastard. Yes of course it is on some level about sex, but on an important richer deeper level it's about exactly what you said. Everything worth-while in the arts has levels, right? Layers. Meanings and interpretations. Secrets. Onion skin. Human skin. Even in your comment you metaphor like crazy with the universes and the depth remarks, right? Fifth- Aren't you envious if you meet a man a woman a couple anyone who has "found it?" Unless you have found "it" yourself. But, I actually think if you had, you would not be here. So I will boldly say to you (a man I don't know except for what you have written) that you *almost* have it but there's a piece you still seek. FYI it's probably not going to come to you here, but than again, that's me telling you something I should be telling myself. Pot calling the kettle black- so many metaphors in this part of the list, eh? Sixth- Back, and back- intentional as sin. Seventh- You are right about my reach. Also in that it's not exactly poetry and not exactly prose but too structured and focused for traditional stream-of-consciousness. In fact, I was intentionally working within my own version of the voice of the man it is addressing. Because yes, this is for a specific person who is also a writer and who writes in a *somewhat* similar way to this. I'm going to paraphrase how he characterized my writing vs his. I'm Byzantine and he's Art Deco. Eighth- Flooring you...is that the same thing as turning you on and making you squirm in lust for me? Because, on another one of them there layer-level dealies, that's my goal, my good man. Leaving it at Eighth, MT i agree with about the levels. Everything of value has layers. flooring, me... refer to the email. do i get envious when i see it? no. i get hungry. very hungry. with lots of growling. hahahaha. RE: Your bold step: Very bold step indeed! I would like to commend you on your boldness... I respect (and lust for) bravery and courage as much as I respect (and lust) for integrity... words are powerful, they reveal the mind. I am not here “searching for something”. Not by a long shot lady. Nor am I *missing a piece* - to use your words. I have everything I need, just as you have, just as we all have. This website is just a tool that meets my specifications. I am building. I am here to lay the foundation of a giant I have created inside of me, it is working like crazy and you have added to it exponentially. I appreciate that I have occupied your thoughts enough for you to take such a step! Now, I cannot admonish you for your amateur gamble. You will do a better job of that than I ever could. I will not even hazard a guess as to what anyone’s reason or purpose for being here is. That is for each person to reveal at the right time for the right reasons. I do not walk in anyone else’s shoes, only my own. Although, it worked well for you, it seems you were successful in finding and clarifying your own reasons for being here. Congratulations my lovely lady, that you have found “it”. as to being turned on and squirming in lust? yes, the work turned me on, not to the point of lust though. that is for the next email. what left me squirming in lust for you, was you taking ownership and baring your teeth for your 21st century words. yup. definitely. but that's just me. [post 2856614] This is the really small writing... in bold how 'bout RAINBOW colors?
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your words were profound. I long for a fuck like what you have described. I want a cock. NOW!  Nice to see you here again! MT
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your words were profound. I long for a fuck like what you have described. I want a cock. NOW!
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Thank you! MT
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Scratch one of the above suggestions. Now I get that the mud kiln itself was "dug in the pit" No comma needed. (I don't think you were saying that you were dug in the pit, now that I'm skimming this again.) Thank you too for the encouragement and positive feedback about the specific lines or passages you felt were strongest. I can feel that you really thought and read so carefully, so I wonder- did this process make the piece for you less arousing, or is the arousal factor still present? If that was me, I'd be even more turned on because of how slowly and carefully I was thinking about each and every phrase. Hugs, Kisses, Mint Tea, Cinnamon Cookies, MT   
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Scratch one of the above suggestions. Now I get that the mud kiln itself was "dug in the pit" No comma needed. (I don't think you were saying that you were dug in the pit, now that I'm skimming this again.) John Lee Hooker Recommended: [blog lucyjane78]
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Two Wows and a Damn. Thank you. I could try to explain how my warped brain works, but then I'd have to kill you. Let's just say I am a fan of the following writers and lyricists: Tom Waits e. e. cummings W. H. Auden Tom Robbins E. Annie Proulex Anais Nin Bob Dylan Michael Charbon A. S. Byatt P. J. Harvey... and many more. Does this help? You know, Walter, I wonder if your visceral response and state of arousal might have blinded you momentarily to any grammar or syntex errors. But I am going to ask you an odd question...as much as I LOVE LOVE LOVE adore your praises, what edits would you suggest? Where would I cut? What would I change? Your opinion, of course, is not absolute- I may not do as you suggest - but I'm curious just the same. Yours in Torrentially Moist Eroica, MT  ), I'll satisfy your curiosity:Raining heavy wet hard thick rain... I’m ok with this. I like sentence fragments if they’re thoughtful and used sparingly. But experiment with the punctuation: "Raining heavy. Wet, hard, thick rain…" Which do you like better? The sky wept, when you left my bed. No need to put a comma before a subordinate clause when it follows a main clause, certainly not in this case. By the time you got to the car, your white shirt clung to your tan shoulders. Begging release from damp encasements, that shirt stubbornly clung to you. If it’s your shirt that is begging release from damp encasements, this is fine. I doubt that’s what you mean though. Like I wanted to - beg. Needed to - beg. I like this effect. Dashes (type two hyphens) are used more often to set off passages that elaborate, though. You can use ellipses if you’re only hesitating, but I don’t really have a problem with using a dash for this. Go with whichever you prefer, of course. Your arms were meant to be around my soft warmth. Eggs are not as fragile as this fabric, slick and fast upon your giving torso. Nice Sentence. An ancient porcelain tea cup is not as translucent as this fabric was, revealing your marks, clutching your body. Teacup is one word. Encasing you like an egg shell. This probably should have been part of your series of participle phrases modifying “this fabric” in your previous sentence (change the period after the word “body” to a comma). “eggshell” is one word. I wanted to crack an egg and slide it’s slickness into a porcelain tea cup, then upturn the cup into my lap and feel how the yolk slide still warm from the hen, warm glow bursting upon my pussy. “It’s”, contraction for it is; “its” is possessive. I’m sure that was just a typo. “Yolk slide” should be “yolk slides.” Use singular form of the verb. Like your cock, releasing it’s spray of juices.I wanted to feel it, to show this decadence to you, this depravity of spilt yolk and clinging whites cascading over my pussy lips. Nice sentence. I wanted you to bend down and suck up the burst yolk off my thigh. Last night I remember climbing over your hairy thighs and wrapping my own smooth thighs around your hips. I remember grinding my wetness into your hairy hardness and sliding my cunt over your cock till you grabbed my arms and rolling, pinned me down and mastered my pussy from above. Nice sentence. Try a comma before “and rolling” (keep the comma after rolling). Read it out loud and see if you like it better that way. Sliding in slowly, taking your time, my eyes on your face. Technically, this is a sentence fragment, but that’s not always a bad thing–a sentence fragment can be a complete thought and/or have an implied subject and/or verb. However, if you meant to write, “Sliding in slowly, taking your time, my eyes are on your face” with the verb “are” added, then you have a misplaced modifier and/or pronoun trouble. You would be saying that (I’ll change it to my point of view) it’s your eyes that are sliding in slowly and taking my time. Listening to your small sounds grow harder. Just know that technically this is a sentence fragment. I’m ok with it; for me, the subject/verb “I am” is implied. Nothing about it confuses me. Primal smells filling the air, and I think, my God this man. I want him again. “-ing” not necessary here, but if you like the feel of it, then stick with it. Overall this may be fine the way it is, but try a comma after “God” and one after “man” and see what you think. It depends on what you want. Commas were originally musical notation for breaks or pauses. “Listen” to them, experiment (read out loud) and see what you think. You could also set off the “I want him again” with a preceding dash. I want him in this bed with me again. I want him to take my every day till I die with his cock buried inside me. Bury me with his cock buried inside me. Carve us an Etruscan sarcophagus so that we may lie side by side for eternity. The streetlight caught the swirl of the leaves sliding into the gutter. Forlorn like a beggar’s sin, they cascaded down into the eager drain. “into” not necessary unless you like the way it sounds. Experiment (read out loud both ways) Consuming the leaves, the drain asks for nothing else. I love the above passage! A summer storm makes me want to fuck on the top of a grassy hill with you. Nothing wrong with the above, but compare to, “A summer storm makes me want to fuck you on top of a grassy hill.” However, if you like the repetition of the ending “with you” in the next sentence, then leave the previous sentence as is. A summer storm makes me want to be pounded into some silt-fecund riverbank with you. I hear the drone of the rain upon the roof. It’s taunting me in my chrysalis of blankets and sheets. I smell the cunt and the cock on these sheets. Interesting use of noun indicators–good, though. More interesting than, “I smell cunt and cock on these sheets.” It’s reminding me that you are without, while I am within. I’d rather be outside with you than remain in my little nest of fuck memories and fuck odors. Nice sentence My legs scissors below the sheet, savoring the ache you gave me. Use scissor–plural form of verb without the ending “s” I took. It was a long time coming, this present. You took. My presents for you wrapped so beautifully, you tornoff the paper and had them. tore A benediction of fucking with inquiries, fucking with impetus, fucking gently, and finally, fucking to oblivion. Great sentence. Nice list of participle phrases. Technically it’s a sentence fragment, but it works. Good writers know that sentence fragments can be complete thoughts. An introductory “It is” or “It was” is implied. There’s nothing confusing about it. Transcendent of pain that budded ecstasy was our moments, which blossomed into a rankness of exhaustion. The rain kept falling. And words, oh we spoke and we knew each other’s souls ‒ my eyes heard your words before they left your mouth and your eyes answered back - we’re a matched set. A couplet of verses and moistures mingling, of sounds and movements. There’s no plural form of “moisture” that I know of. Is the couplet of verses and moisture also a couplet of sounds and movements? If so, this is probably ok. Your eyes spoke ancient Mayan. Your fingertips chanted like a foam-mouthed sibyl, breathing in smoke through your pores. Nice sentence! Your lips murmured Ancient Hebrew, your tongue wrote Babylonian cuneiform on my ass. Comma splice doesn’t really bother me in this instance, but grammar books would suggest a period or semi-colon. Consider "Babylonic cuneiform" like in the song I am the very Model of a Modern Major General from the Pirates of Penzance Your cock was communing with Martin Luther and proof-reading his Thesis. “proofreading” is not hyphenated. All the languages I don’t know, all these words I have never seen, but my eyes understood them with you, somehow. You call yourself old but you are wrong. Comma after “old” follows a textbook rule about coordinating conjunction’s connecting two independent clauses, but I say experiment (read out loud both ways) and see which you like better.. In fact, you are ancient, primal, primitive, and obscene. You are the oldest man and I am the oldest woman. Comma after “man” follows a textbook rule about coordinating conjunction’s connecting two independent clauses, but I say experiment (read out loud both ways) and see which you like better. I am made of stone and sot. I am drawn with smoldering charcoal, my breasts pendulous and ripe. I am baked in a mud kiln dug in a pit, and my haunches are caked with red ochre. Use comma after kiln; this is a series list of verb phrases. Nice repetition (of the “I am”  and sentence variety in above three sentences. I like!You are the beasts with the massive dicks on the side of the cliffs, known as Tassili N’A i jer, within the Atlas Mountains. Nothing wrong with the noun indicator before massive dicks--though it’s not essential, I think I like it better with the “the”; I like the repetition of “the”–the beasts…the massive…the side. It’s Ajjer with two “j’s”. Though both mountain ranges are in Algeria, I don’t remember the Tassili N’Ajjer’s being within the Atlas Mountains. I think the ‘Ajjers are further South. Double-check this. You are more than 6,000 years old and you are sacred. Comma after “old” follows a textbook rule about coordinating conjunction’s connecting two independent clauses, but I say experiment (read out loud both ways) and see which you like better. Tuareg men worship you and whisper your name. Tuareg women do not know your name, but they call to you when they are birthing. You are Baal, sitting on your desert throne, with your heavy bull’s head and your ripe man’s body. I am Asherah and I debase myself upon our bed, an altar in worship of you, my consort, my cherished darling one. Comma after “Asherah” follows a textbook rule about coordinating conjunction’s connecting two independent clauses, but I say experiment (read out loud both ways) and see which you like better. Yes - I will slide my fingers into your pool of white fuck essence and then slip them out and fuck your face with my cum-covered fingers. Suggested comma after “Yes” I don’t have a problem with the dash though. Commas don’t always have to follow introductory elements; sometimes they are tone deaf when mindlessly used this way. And I will wear the antlers and then you will wear the antlers. Comma after “antlers” follows a textbook rule about coordinating conjunction’s connecting two independent clauses, but I say experiment (read out loud both ways) and see which you like better. We will take turns fucking each other up the ass. You will teach me how you sound when your body releases energy, orgasms, and pity. I will play your body like a French horn, like the drums of our rituals. We will compose a symphony of lust; we will cover each other in grit and sweat, and lap it off each other’s bodies like a deer at a salt lick. Nice sentence. Following “each”, “body” (singular) is preferable, I think. Grammar check does not care either way. I crave you. You will think of fucking me and your body will grow taunt, while your mouth will grow dry with longing. I think you mean “taut.” You are a Green Man. You coil about the knaves of ancient dwellings, you are ivy and mistletoe, sacred clinging vines that will take over the stones and master them. Nice sentence. There’s a comma splice after “dwellings”, but it doesn’t bother me. You mask these stones with your verdant fertility and they submit. Comma after “fertility” follows a textbook rule about coordinating conjunction’s connecting two independent clauses, but I say experiment (read out loud both ways) and see which you like better. It is a matter of time. You are the man in the fields of Pagan England who defied the Romans and went on dancing naked in the moonlight with me. We are wreathed in daisies and poppies, wheat and honeysuckle, our skin is coated in sweat and we are numb to the cold night. Nice sentence. Comma after sweat would follow a textbook rule about coordinating conjunction’s connecting two independent clauses, but I say experiment (read both ways out loud), and see which you like better. You are Pan and I am every nymph with every wet hole, by every waterfall in every sacred field, waiting for you to fuck me with your hairy fragrant cock. Using a comma after Pan would follow the textbook rule about coordinating conjunction’s connecting two independent clauses, but it doesn’t bother me. Try it, though, and see if you like the way it reads better. May use comma after waterfall unless you’re actually referring to only the waterfalls that are actually in sacred fields. If that’s the case, leave as is. If I were treating the waterfalls and fields as unrelated entities, I would use a comma. And the rain continues to fall, torrential downpours. I will bend over and clasp my feet for you. I will open myself wide like a She i la na g ig, stretching my vulva. Sheela-na-Gig or Sheela-Na-Gig. Hyphens, though it seems, are optional. I will beg for you to fuck me with your fist, your hard strong wrist sliding finally against the side of my pussy. Against the sides of your pussy? For you I am the cheapest whore in Paris, against the most rank of brick walls down some suspect alleyway. For you I am Heloise and I am also Abalard. For you I am the pen of the poet and the poet’s sweetness. Nice use of repetition in the above six sentences: The “I wills” and the “For yous.” I am the consumption that killed him too soon, and the words that gave him immortality. It will be like that. You will take my voice and melt it in your crucible and pour it into your hands, and it will pool about your thumbs, between the pads of your palm, and you will swallow it painfully. My words and your words will blend into one animal-fuck symphony of moaning and crying out. And darling, I am just as old as you. Older - the most ancient of crones. This sentence “fragment” is fine; screw grammar check. Grammar check ain’t real poet-friendly. Age is not how many years you have been alive, it’s what you have done in this years, and how those years have done to you, or against you. Use “those” and “what.” Take no prisoners, darling. But take me. Take my limbs and slather them with your cum, coat my flesh with your essence. Slide your hard heavy hot cock into my velvet wetness of cunt, this offering of mine. Try using commas as shown below. Read the sentence out loud and see if you prefer this effect: Slide your hard, heavy, hot cock into my velvet wetness of cunt, this offering of mine. It matters not to me that my comma suggestion follows a certain adjective rule. I just like the way the pauses emphasize the alliterative “hard, heavy, hot cock.” Which do you prefer? That’s really what’s important. Take me until I am no longer capable of sensible thought or action. Also experiment with leaving the “until” out. This, of course, changes your meaning completely: “Take me. I am no longer capable of sensible thought or action.” It’s interesting either way. I like both. Do you know how few men are offered this gift? Do you? You will see how it will be. Believe me, darling, I am just as old as you. Grammar check says use a semi-colon after darling. Some of the greatest writers use comma splices. It doesn’t bother me in this instance; both main clauses are short and it reads ok. We can be a matched pair of crones, fucking each other back to youth, cackling away in our orgasms while others are mystified yet envious. Throw back the sun and embrace this rain upon your back. Feel how wet you are and how much I want you. You are my Fountain of Youth. You are the water of life. And I am thirsty to drink you. Redemption and the Magdalena, for I feel that we are both seeking the most profanely pornographic fuck and the most liberating blasphemy in our pagan rituals. Twelve thousand years of thirst. I will be your Holy Grail. Fill me up. Bathe me. Saturate me. All of the above, great! John Lee Hooker Recommended: [blog lucyjane78]
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ok, i totally can't leave a stupid comment like 'well done' in the face of this. first thing i was going to ask was "who are you." but then i answered my own question. the second thing that hit me... not here. third thing, where's john thomas and the golden lotus? you've used cock, pussy, and ass like they came from the back of a seymorebuts porn dvd and "tangled" them with every super sexy metaphor for man and woman known in writing. now that i wrote that, it kinda fits. fourth thing that hit me, was this; this is not even about sex or the act is it? to me this seemed like one universe has met another and what you have written about is the ensuing mesh. when two universes (universi?) collide there is the destruction... but there is also the rebirth of the new one. a brand new universe is created. that's what i got out of the "cackling away in our orgasms while others are mystified yet envious." because "we've" found it... the fountain of youth. fifth, this stands out: "Throw back the sun and embrace this rain upon your back." you have a massive vocabulary. to mention back twice in the same sentence... why? or did i find a mistake? or is it one of those places where english sucks/shines through? this is my favorite phrase because of that. also because you are writing about gods. and i like the throwing back the sun and taking it all on. hmmmm there is also a rhythm/flow that's not like the rest of the stuff you write. you really reached for this one. good for you. floored me with it though. told you MT isn't the deepest place... First- Thank you for the careful scrutiny and thoughtful reply. Second- If not here, where? An e-mail? I'll check. Third- This is my voice, not a British man. "John Thomas" is a British man's word for his cock. This is my voice, not the voice of a Classical Chinese person. My vernacular for the sex organs is clit, cunt, pussy, cock, dick, vulva, ass, and so forth. I grew up in the 20th/21st Century US of A. Ya know? Forth- You sneaky bastard. Yes of course it is on some level about sex, but on an important richer deeper level it's about exactly what you said. Everything worth-while in the arts has levels, right? Layers. Meanings and interpretations. Secrets. Onion skin. Human skin. Even in your comment you metaphor like crazy with the universes and the depth remarks, right? Fifth- Aren't you envious if you meet a man a woman a couple anyone who has "found it?" Unless you have found "it" yourself. But, I actually think if you had, you would not be here. So I will boldly say to you (a man I don't know except for what you have written) that you *almost* have it but there's a piece you still seek. FYI it's probably not going to come to you here, but than again, that's me telling you something I should be telling myself. Pot calling the kettle black- so many metaphors in this part of the list, eh? Sixth- Back, and back- intentional as sin. Seventh- You are right about my reach. Also in that it's not exactly poetry and not exactly prose but too structured and focused for traditional stream-of-consciousness. In fact, I was intentionally working within my own version of the voice of the man it is addressing. Because yes, this is for a specific person who is also a writer and who writes in a *somewhat* similar way to this. I'm going to paraphrase how he characterized my writing vs his. I'm Byzantine and he's Art Deco. Eighth- Flooring you...is that the same thing as turning you on and making you squirm in lust for me? Because, on another one of them there layer-level dealies, that's my goal, my good man. Leaving it at Eighth, MT
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5/7/2010 6:38 am |
ok, i totally can't leave a stupid comment like 'well done' in the face of this. first thing i was going to ask was "who are you." but then i answered my own question. the second thing that hit me... not here. third thing, where's john thomas and the golden lotus? you've used cock, pussy, and ass like they came from the back of a seymorebuts porn dvd and "tangled" them with every super sexy metaphor for man and woman known in writing. now that i wrote that, it kinda fits. fourth thing that hit me, was this; this is not even about sex or the act is it? to me this seemed like one universe has met another and what you have written about is the ensuing mesh. when two universes (universi?) collide there is the destruction... but there is also the rebirth of the new one. a brand new universe is created. that's what i got out of the "cackling away in our orgasms while others are mystified yet envious." because "we've" found it... the fountain of youth. fifth, this stands out: "Throw back the sun and embrace this rain upon your back." you have a massive vocabulary. to mention back twice in the same sentence... why? or did i find a mistake? or is it one of those places where english sucks/shines through? this is my favorite phrase because of that. also because you are writing about gods. and i like the throwing back the sun and taking it all on. hmmmm there is also a rhythm/flow that's not like the rest of the stuff you write. you really reached for this one. good for you. floored me with it though. told you MT isn't the deepest place... [post 2856614] This is the really small writing... in bold how 'bout RAINBOW colors?
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You definitely have your own writing style, and one that quickly grabs a reader's attention. Very good, thank you again. MT
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5/6/2010 7:38 pm |
You definitely have your own writing style, and one that quickly grabs a reader's attention. Very good, thank you again.
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5/6/2010 6:59 pm |
thanks for the invitation. well done. i like how your mind works. [post 2856614] This is the really small writing... in bold how 'bout RAINBOW colors?
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Wow! What an amazing flow of erotic/primal imagery: Torrential Summer downpours are ideal for no-holds-barred boinkage. The streetlight caught the swirl of the leaves sliding into the gutter. Forlorn like a beggar’s sin, they cascaded down into the eager drain. Consuming the leaves, the drain asks for nothing else. I can hear Tom Waits reciting the above in his smoky-guttural voice-over like on 9th and Hennepin ("where all the doughnuts have names that sound like prostitutes"). Some of the sentences threw me off balance, but I like being thrown off-balance! Your cock was communing with Martin Luther and proof-reading his Thesis. Where on earth did this come from? It is as bizarre as it is hilarious. Wow, what an imagination! Now I can sort of--thanks to you--imagine my cock perusing theses outlining the excesses of Catholicism. (Not that I'm any fan of Protestantism) I can also imagine taking a giant piss on his treatise On the Jews and Their Lies. I will play your body like a French horn. Interesting variant of an old simile usually employing the violin or piano--the French horn (like the oboe) is one of the hardest instruments to play--so many ways to think about this. But I like this imagery. I'm turned on by female pianists whether it's Olga Kern playing Rachmaninoff or Eliane Elias channeling Bill Evans or Diana Krall playing some Nat-Cole-type single-note runs. It's definitely something about watching their fingers work the keys. (I've all but gotten off on watching a hot female throw a pot on a wheel or working pizza dough: Yep, it's the fingers.) Your profile photo is the most intensely sexual image I've seen on this site by a long shot--no ass/pussy/tit pic even comes close. Your eyes, that intense predatory gaze through dappling light gives me raging bonage. Plus it goes so well with what you've just written here (the Zichy is not showing, but no matter--I've seen a number of his lithographs and intaglios). Damn! Now I need to take the afternoon off, but I can't. I could try to explain how my warped brain works, but then I'd have to kill you. Let's just say I am a fan of the following writers and lyricists: Tom Waits e. e. cummings W. H. Auden Tom Robbins E. Annie Proulex Anais Nin Bob Dylan Michael Charbon A. S. Byatt P. J. Harvey... and many more. Does this help? You know, Walter, I wonder if your visceral response and state of arousal might have blinded you momentarily to any grammar or syntex errors. But I am going to ask you an odd question...as much as I LOVE LOVE LOVE adore your praises, what edits would you suggest? Where would I cut? What would I change? Your opinion, of course, is not absolute- I may not do as you suggest - but I'm curious just the same. Yours in Torrentially Moist Eroica, MT
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Thank you so much for appreciating and understanding. I am honored that you were moved. It is facinating to me how certain pieces evoke strong replies, while others seem to go almost unnoticed. May I humbly suggest you read my poems "Casandra," and "Circe." I think you might enjoy them as much as you enjoyed this. Casandra is a pretty early post, first few pages. Circe not so far back. I'd love to know what you think of these two pieces and if I am correct that they also resonate with you. Best, MT
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Wow! What an amazing flow of erotic/primal imagery: Torrential Summer downpours are ideal for no-holds-barred boinkage. The streetlight caught the swirl of the leaves sliding into the gutter. Forlorn like a beggar’s sin, they cascaded down into the eager drain. Consuming the leaves, the drain asks for nothing else. I can hear Tom Waits reciting the above in his smoky-guttural voice-over like on 9th and Hennepin ("where all the doughnuts have names that sound like prostitutes"). Some of the sentences threw me off balance, but I like being thrown off-balance! Your cock was communing with Martin Luther and proof-reading his Thesis. Where on earth did this come from? It is as bizarre as it is hilarious. Wow, what an imagination! Now I can sort of--thanks to you--imagine my cock perusing theses outlining the excesses of Catholicism. (Not that I'm any fan of Protestantism) I can also imagine taking a giant piss on his treatise On the Jews and Their Lies. I will play your body like a French horn. Interesting variant of an old simile usually employing the violin or piano--the French horn (like the oboe) is one of the hardest instruments to play--so many ways to think about this. But I like this imagery. I'm turned on by female pianists whether it's Olga Kern playing Rachmaninoff or Eliane Elias channeling Bill Evans or Diana Krall playing some Nat-Cole-type single-note runs. It's definitely something about watching their fingers work the keys. (I've all but gotten off on watching a hot female throw a pot on a wheel or working pizza dough: Yep, it's the fingers.) Your profile photo is the most intensely sexual image I've seen on this site by a long shot--no ass/pussy/tit pic even comes close. Your eyes, that intense predatory gaze through dappling light gives me raging bonage. Plus it goes so well with what you've just written here (the Zichy is not showing, but no matter--I've seen a number of his lithographs and intaglios). Damn! Now I need to take the afternoon off, but I can't. John Lee Hooker Recommended: [blog lucyjane78]
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So raw, so honest and yes natural. Reminders of what is hinted at in descriptions of Avalon and Celtic lore. For me what makes your writing so erotic -- and this especially so -- is the effortless, near invisible, yet oh so powerful inclusion of all senses. One not only sees it, one feels it, hears it, tastes it and smells it. In such an aggressive sexual piece there is also gentleness, love and even sweetness. Even in a piece of mythological imagination, the author must be intimate with all these complex characteristics to make it so real. And thank you. There don't feel like that many people in the world who would appreciate this, maybe I am wrong. I am glad to have you reading and understanding my thoughts and desires. It's appreciated. Best, E/MT
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Jeepers. That's a masterpiece! This morning there were four copies of Erato: The Drawings of Mihaly Zichy available online. Now there are three, thanks to you. I appreciate your appreciation! LOL MT
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