29 October 2010

big in japan

so here i am on a friday evening once again glued to my computer somewhat like my lenses are glued to my eyes right now.  i am listening to the sweet rumble of trains going past as the hotel is on top of the station which at least makes it easy to locate and find my way around to the next transit point.  i am less than halfway up this world, floor 12 of 25 but i guess even the rooms at the top can hear the trains too as this hotel is nowhere near as posh as the last two also on top of stations but with thicker window glass or perhaps better seals (cue sealion bark and flapping hands)  i ate in the hotel i wanted to be brave enough to venture out alone and fuck the worlds stares and confidently plonk myself down somewhere that looked interesting and see what happened but i didn't i ate in the hotel.  a couple of teams or maybe a couple of squads of schoolkids in tracksuits came and giggled and crowded out the buffet and i smiled it was ok for me to dwarf them as they were kids.  i drank a flask of wine and forced myself to go out of the hotel and walk around the city for a while in the entertainment district just outside my hotel door and i am brobdignagian there are maybe a handful of guys that are as tall as me but by fuck i've got everyone beat for girth.  i do stride although i clutch my bag to my shoulder i have sloping shoulders and it would fall off and so i bend my left arm back around at the elbow and clutch it to my left shoulder leaving the right arm to sway noncholantly confidently.  i have been here for four days now and i have not seen anyone else with red hair even though i saw some fantastically bad hair dye jobs walking around kabuki-cho no-one else in the entire country apart from me has red hair.  a couple of people even said hello to me brave souls a group of three "black" guys although they did not look african in origin, and then another further along the street i said hello back in a cut glass english accent and walked on.  noli me tangere.  i did not see any of the fabled (according to a friend) used-knicker vending machines although i bought some beer from a machine.  someone behind me wondered if i was a woman but of course i did not have the vocabulary to turn around and say that sometimes i wonder that too i do not worry about my eggs running out and my womb going unused i worry where my next beer is coming from (this is sorted there is a vending machine on every floor of the hotel)  but for all of this i like the country and it is only that i am screwed up and lacking in whatever i don't even know or i might do something about it but lacking in whatever it is that makes friends with strangers when alone in a strange country but purely in a friendly way enough to get through a shared evening pleasantly without repercussions and not sit here typing typing typing instead of living.

23 October 2010

Sins roundup

Well, the 7 Deadly Sins pieces certainly brought out a whole bunch of reactions over at 6S, mostly complimentary and all commented upon. 

I admitted to envy, wrath, pride, gluttony, sloth and lust, and to having an understanding of avarice even though it's not a sin that is particularly dear to me.  I was going to do a summing up of the comments, and try to create some sort of league table as to what people (albeit from an admittedly limited sample size) thought the worst sin was in general.

However, I got an over-reaction to dear Belphegor, the demon representing my most excessive sin, which completely skewed the results.  Even 6 days I'm still not entirely sure what prompted it, although I suspect my worst sin in this case was a half flippant/half exasperated 3 word comment ("Count to 6") on a previous post by the 'author', prompting him to a vicious personal attack. 

This 'author', apparantly stinging from some "carefully crafted cutting comments" which must have been made by others, called the moral majority to round upon me for having such wicked thoughts in the first place.  I was called a troll, and accused of being the sort of person that only finds validity through hurting others to feed my own super-ego; and told I must learn from the knee-jerk comments of people who had no understanding what my point was in the first place.

I'm not 100% sure why I am still dwelling on this, the 'author' has made a fractional retraction, in removing the original offensive post, although reposting it without the words he'd copied from me.  I think it's because, even though (I felt!) my words were explanatory, logical and not particularly inflammable, they failed to persuade.  In the words of a writer I respect deeply the 'author' is "an arrogant little fuckwad (sic) afflicted with an utter lack of sense regarding not only his, uh, moral righteousness" but I still feel a sense of failure in my inability to get him to see my point of view. 

I should be better.   

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                                Deadly Sins summary                               

22 October 2010

I said it again...

...what I always end up saying and what always gets them running for the fucking hills.  Men, I mean.  Married men even more so.

"Make your mind up"

They seem to want to believe that they have no fucking choice in things, that they drift through life and things just happen to them, without their volition.  Innocent victims of their own magnetism.  The merest suggestion that they are complicit in their own lives, and not awash in a sea of circumstances is ignored if at all possible, shrugged aside or compartmentalized somewhere else that doesn't interfere in the here and now so they can carry on saying the things they say to me, doing the things they do to me.

And really, they ask, what is wrong with me that I can't turn a blind eye forever?  That I can't just keep on compromising?  Why do I have to hold up a mirror to their actions and make out as if they have done something wrong?  It's not like they've been caught, so it's not a real problem, is it?  Why can't I just go back to before and be an adoring foil for their ego? 

I do it so well.

20 October 2010


And so it comes to the final sin, the pinnacle of the series, and the weight of expectation is falling heavily on me due in part to it being the finale, and in part to my previous "hot reputation" with publications to my name at sleep.snort.fuck and newwavevomit predominantly themed around lust.

People might expect a real bodice ripper, zip-buster filled with uncontrollable swellings and spurtings, yearnings and cravings, something to make them aware of their own excitement, their lust that the dictionary defines as both intense longing and strong sexual desire.

However, last week I realised one real thing about my sexual nature, and it is that it is not even mostly physical in nature, last week lets-call-him cyberguy, my latest and this time virtual partner in lust decided to come clean about his real life marital status as a prelude to calling things to a halt. 

I have never met cyberguy in real life, and the chances were always a million to one that I ever would, and yet, through a common interest we corresponded and chatted and when we talked about sex and then cybersex and then started cybersex there was nothing but words between us, minds interacting and bouncing off each others, spurring each of us to more invention and description and yes, lust. 

I knew some real life facts about him, had even seen pictures of him, and he would not be considered an object of lust to the wider world (me neither, I suspect) but sitting at a keyboard using my mind created a lustrous glow, a spark that reached over the miles, the time-zones, to a point where we felt we could smell, taste each others arousal. 

I lusted after him, or maybe I lusted after the "virtual us", but for sure I will miss him.

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                                 7 of 7 Deadly Sins                               

19 October 2010

The fallen

The sky is china cold and wedgewood blue and tells you that summer has been kicked over and here, here at last is the parade of colours whose vibrancy belies the slow winding down ending.  You want to watch the trees develop crispy deep-fried golden nugget leaves, only watch them as each hour they get a little more brown, a little more over cooked.  Your hair was shorn for the summer heat, and dyed brightest red, although it has faded to a merely vivid copper now, but when he grasps it in his hands the threads stay behind on his fingers like tiny tiny scratches.  Your nails are too loose to scratch him now as he once liked, you feel withered and dry towards the end, after the lessons he has taught you.  No more scratching, please?  Keratin slivers left in your wake as you move through the bruised season, your mouth of over-ripe plums a hard study all by itself.  The bouyant sky tells you you should be cheerful but it is him that is evergreen.  You gather your thoughts, pull together that little spark of life into a kernel and swallow it deep inside you as the thing of you and him falters and fails, your skin dries and tightens and your finger bones split away at the dry knuckle joints, drifting to the ground to join the leaves.  You wanted to plead for summer again but your arms end in sticks now and your voice is arid and he does not  understand semaphore.  Lie down in the woods and wait, the layered carpet of the forest floor will take you and make you comfortable, although it will tickle to start with, but the insects only want to feel you, the fungus wants to get to know you.  You will grow again, I promise.

also published in negative suck November 2010

18 October 2010


And at last I find a sin that I am not slavishly committed to, although I do have to think of it as avarice, an excessive or insatiable desire for wealth or gain, rather than the simpler greed, which for me is simply food related and therefore covered by gluttony.  Which I have already confessed to.

I remember as a young woman, just ahead of moving into my first 'proper' house with my very own mortgage surprisingly discovering a heretofore unseen passion for things - bookshelves and bed-linen, crockery and cookware.  Anyone who has met me in the flesh would realise that I don't find self-expression in designer clothing or accessories, so I think the sudden burst of interest in household goods was some part of finding out what I was like as a person who lived on my own.  

Perhaps I come closest to this sin when I am buying books, it generally isn't enough simply to read them as I do want to own them, and finding a new author with a substantial back catalogue is a real stomach clenching pleasure, I can go shopping and bring them all home to rest.  I want to see them on my shelves with the other hundreds of titles and run my eyes across them and have my head swirl with the dizzying amount of choice I have when I ask myself the question "What shall I read next?"

<--Back to 5 of 7                                 

6 of 7 Deadly Sins

17 October 2010


I have confessed to this sin before (here) and the situation of course has not changed in the time since I wrote that piece a bare couple of months ago;  my physical sloth is as entrenched, torpid and intransigent as ever.  I would like to think my mind is mildly more energized than usual with the buzz that a weekend flurry of writing activity brings, the sense of achievement of actually having done something, but I think that as usual it is in Sunday evening mode.  Looking in a forward direction without actually looking forward to taking up the reins once more, fighting the same fucking battles with the same annoying people, and above all fighting my own apathy.  Perhaps this is why I am such an irritable cow, why little things annoy me out of all proportion and I let myself respond; the exasperation actually drives me to do things, say things when I would by nature wish to slump back down and let them wash over me like a warm bath. 

As I spend so much time blog-browsing, I should perhaps rejoice when I read inane, repetitive, badly written and badly spelt, shallow cliche ridden pieces as this fires up my mental engines, fuels them up with hot sarcastic coals instead of laying down by the embers and wondering some time later how long they have been cold.  The only cure for sloth is creativity, and even carefully crafted cutting remarks can feel creative at times.

<--Back to 4 of 7                                 

5 of 7 Deadly Sins

7 Deadly sins








4 down, 3 to go...

Open wide...

I've been writing on this blog for a while now, and I first started up so I could write things that I wouldn't like a whole bunch of people to see, mainly colleagues.  I have no problem with relatives since Mum was a reader from the start, and no-one else in the family is vaguely interested as far as I know.  Some of the adult content herein has been published at other adult sites, and some in 'normal' poetry sites, and some double blogs over at 6S where the wider audience has in general not fainted at my crudities... And over the months I think I did some OK writing here and now, modest as ever, I want to share with the unknown world.  I don't really know why... other than great immodesty, the world deserves to know my stuff (it was a bad world in a former life or something)

My other blog is streamed to facebook where anyone who was my "friend" or basically vague acquaintance could see the stuff I was writing if they could be arsed.  Despite it's accessibility it has unnaccountably failed to win me fame and fortune...  And, I think it unlikely that the little orange git in Amon is ever going to find this stuff, but why make it easy by posting it in front of a load of workmates that we have in common ;)  I hope the "nice" blog will continue not descend into irrelevancy as the more personal raw stuff is posted over here, though I know I already drifted down that route by posting about fluffy kittens this morning. 

There is a time and a place and at the moment this feels more like my personal place ;)

16 October 2010


Beelzebub is apparantly the demon associated with gluttony, habitual greed, or excess in eating or drinking; and I don't even understand how this can be a sin, which would mean an offence against a moral or religious law, or some sort of divine command.

I find it difficult to imagine a God anyway, without thinking of 'him' as some early-age politician, saying "you know, if you eat more than your fair share, someone else will go hungry," and we all know how much we trust politicians.

I don't even believe that these politics of scarcity are true anymore, we do not live in communities so small that eating to excess is taking the food (or drink!) out of another person's mouth.

For sure, gluttony can be ugly, as can doing anything to excess, especially to people who think there is some moral purity in restriction, holding back.

People who make a virtue out of self denial are the ones I find incomprehensible, what warped sense of self says "I find this attractive therefore it must be wrong," and thank Christ I am not tempted to sin, to eat nice things, to fill my stomach with gorgeous, slaver inducing food and mellowing, mind altering drinks?

It must be true that Beelzebub has a devil put aside for me... because for sure I am unrepentant and combatting my gluttony is not a fucking part time job.

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4 of 7 Deadly Sins

15 October 2010

navel gazing

It's been a weird week... my cyber partner had a crisis of conscience and withdrew leaving me not exactly bereft but with a certain amount of thumb twiddling going on. I think humans (or maybe just female ones) are programmed to seek a narrative, a story, even when picking a fantasy partner, and this particular story has come to a natural and unresentful end.
I was sat down at lunch today and "Next Married Man" sat with me, and got a phone call, he explained to his wife how to move the car seat forward so that she and his daughter could fit the cupboard they bought from IKEA into his company car.

It is now 73 days since I heard from the ex. I try to look forward and not back. 73 days from now will be in a new year and I will still be stuck in the last but one wondering...
I hate that I get like this. Of course it is "natural" to want to find someone to share day to day shit with, although I don't really know what this is like in practice. I sometimes hate that I want excitement, variety so much. I hate that I ditched my solitary principles for the ex and felt I wanted nothing more than to come home to him each night and then after getting his wife pregnant on an overspill of our lust he decided I was irrelevant.
I hate that there is nothing else to do but be me.


There is a song I particularly dislike for the line in it that runs "What have you done today, to make you feel proud?" and it's self aggrandizing, self improvement message. As if all we need is a little self belief and we can stop being one of the ordinary people and become someone who stands head and shoulders above the other 6.7 billion of us out there. And it's not like I am saying this from the viewpoint of a particularly modest, hiding-my-light-under-a-bushel person. I am proud to be in the intellectual elite, which for me means I can score 140 on IQ tests, that I quickly understand many new concepts and complex ideas; and that I am highly articulate in being able to string a grammatically correct meaningful and persuasive well written sentence together, and oftimes verbally too (in my native language). However, all of this is just something that I am, I was lucky enough to be born with it and was fortunate that I grew up in a nurturing environment where my intelligence was valued. So I haven't done anything today to make me feel proud, and I don't fucking need to, OK?

<--Back to 2 of 7                                 

3 of 7 Deadly Sins

12 October 2010


I don't generally consider myself to be an hot tempered, emotional person, although I guess this is more nurture than nature, having been brought up as English and therefore at the more repressed end of the spectrum as regards expressing one's feelings.

I am ill equipped, therefore, in ways of dealing with emotions other than burying them, and the helplessness I feel when I let the strongest ones get loose is all encompassing. 

No matter how much I try to hold onto logical reasoning, everything else goes out the window when I am forced to have a conversation with that man and my anger is not white hot, but the flaming molten colour of Olde English Cider, directed at the little orange man in front of me, an unavoidable work colleague. 

He is little (5'6") and he was orange when I first saw him, an unconvincing sun tan and he looked like a thousand year old corpse dug up from a peat bog, and he thinks he is always right and of course he is suffering from little man syndrome in spades and he thinks his point of view is more important than anyone elses and he DOES NOT listen to other people but still demands that they respect him without doing anything to ever gain that respect for his whole work ethos seems to be to find the one person he can delegate (I mean dump) the job onto.

We had a "clear the air" discussion last week where he told me that he did not have to justify himself to me and oh how I wish he did, how I would weigh him in my scales of injustice and sentence him to something suitably Sisyphean; but the best punishment of all would be for him to see himself through the wrathful eyes of others, and yes, I do volunteer my vision for that.

<--Back to 1 of 7                                 

2 of 7 Deadly Sins

10 October 2010


The truth is that I live alone, solitary, and some of you might envy my freedom to please no-one but myself.  Freedom to bury my head uninterrupted in a book, or to leave the bathroom door open when I pee and walk around the house in whatever state of undress I feel like, to leave clothes lying where I drop them.  Freedom to please myself whenever I want to, and yes I am talking about masturbation, you might envy that. 

I do feel wistful for the long familiarity of years spent together and imagine the comforting but alien feeling of having a prolonged interest in your partner and vice versa, like a warm blanket on the sofa where I would have only cushions. 

People expect me to want the blanket, to feel incomplete without it and jealous of people with it, and I do sometimes, like when my borrowed blanket goes back to it's family home, leaving me vasoconstricted with the hairs raised up from my skin.

I want it sometimes, I am attracted to it like a shiny new plaything, a glinting CD released from it's packet or a pretty new ring, I guess there are moments when I do feel envy but then I go bury my head in a book, my fingers in... well, I do find solace, solitude.

1 of 7 Deadly Sins

09 October 2010

Q Block beer festival

Have you ever been naked in a room with several men?  In porn films, the men are all interchangeable dicks but in real life it is a bit more complicated than that.

They weren't all standing in the background holding themselves, tugging themselves, at least, I don't remember that, or remember that well; though I know I was the centre of attention splayed on the kitchen table.  They might have been content with only splashing beer and some flatmates honey over me, rubbing it into my skin though I don't really remember where they touched.  They made me so sticky but there was no malice, they were only playing with me.  I kind of sobered up in the shower with Geordie, whatever his real name was, at least enough to somehow stumble back to my room in his t-shirt.


I am a sad facebook games addict... and I do accept friend requests from equally sad people...

but today I found I had a friend called Robert Cockream...


although teenage humour is only a small reason I'm glad I'm not a teenager anymore.  With that name you would expect porn film credits at least, but he seems to be a H&S officer of some sort, in Grundy...

I am NOT making this up.

oh my dedication

yesterday he asked me to write something nice for him, to him; which really means something he would call nasty and something i would call raw, i guess, as natural sounds too insipid for the things he wants me to write to him.  something about sex anyway.  something for him to download and sneakily read, hunched over the computer like he sneakily reads the e-mails we exchange when it gets late at night and he won't be caught.  and i don't know what to write now, i could embellish the 'performance & cocktails' mini series a little more, he liked that, especially when i said penis in it and when i mentioned semen, but i think i am finished with those pair of characters now.  i could use one of the sleep.snort.fuck prompts to write something like i have been meaning to for ages but when it comes down to it i use up my inventiveness when i am e-mailing him and the words i write for myself afterwards are about flatness, about non-relationships.  sex on your mind, in your mind and oh it should not feel more intense and interesting touching someone only through words on a screen, it should not make the real world seem plain and dull and i don't know which came first, no not out of the pair of us responding to the words, i mean it's chicken and egg whether you turn somewhere unreal for excitement when real life is grey or whether the excitement you find makes real life grey.

so the dedication?  the writing of something nice because he asked me?  i guess i will dedicate the "post coming" to him since it is anyway about him but i think he did not read it so it will be new for him and i can save up, hoard my imagination until he will e-mail me again...

08 October 2010

Performance & Cocktails

...part 1

Everything was set up perfectly for tonight to be our first night, he'd even been on my wavelength earlier, when a flower seller had come hawking roses by the table, seen my glance at them and correctly interpreted it, laughing that we would have another carafe of the juicy wine instead.

He had put his arm around my shoulder as we walked back through the cobbled pedestrian zone, and I didn't shrug it off although I didn't like the possessive tone it imparted.

Walking back he'd paused us under a streetlight, by the pond and the stone walls of the old city boundary and he'd bent his head across to kiss me and I acquiesced.

I'd thought of the cover of that Stereophonics CD and the bored eyes of the woman being kissed there, and I'd wondered if my eyes were just as bored, and I'd noticed that his eyes were closed, and wondered if he too had needed that to believe that this would go somewhere, or perhaps he knew his eyes would be just as ennui filled.

We'd gone to my flat, not so much caught up in the moment, but moving along inevitably with the slow seep of honey running down a knife blade.

We'd tried not to allow the sense of loss to enter our conscious thoughts but, the chase was over, it would never be the same again

...part 2

My hair still smelt of the burnt meat from the restaurant he'd taken me to; stank not from the innocuous looking grey salted stones, heated to flesh searing temperatures, but from the scents emanating after we had dumped our raw steaks, prawns, chicken breasts upon them. 

Carafe after carafe of house red, pinkly echoing the blooded centres when I'd cut through the meat again.

I guessed that to others in the place, to observers, we looked warm and cozy in the snug by the bar, happily hazed by the smoky fat in the atmosphere as much as the wine.

A pretty, convivial picture and I wished I could feel that we were a pretty convivial couple but if the truth be told, I didn't really like him all that much when I started to contemplate what would happen after the meal.

I was waiting, not because I wanted to be sure it was right, I was pretty sure it wasn't right, or I'd have jumped him at the end of the first date, but he kept paying me attention despite my ambiguous goodbyes.

He kept on casting his attention my way, shovelling it into the aching hole that he didn't even know was there, and I know I am coming to depend on his attendance, his willingness to be with me.

...part 3

In my flat, I guess I did just go along with him coming back here, his willpower for that must have been stronger than my sulky resistance. 

It wasn't that I didn't want to be possessed, but with him it is not the all consuming need to be possessed that I feel; more the sullen recognition that he is the only chance, the only option I have right now. 

I wonder if he too somehow senses the mismatch, and if he does is he just going along with me because it half fits what he wants too?

From the pressure of his hand behind my head when we break mouths apart from some robust to rough kissing, what he wants seems to be my face in his lap, and I don't really want to suck him, to feel a new penis against my lips, have a jet of his semen into my mouth, like white silly string, wormily writhing on my tongue. 

I think I will spit if he makes me do it, but although I don't conciously go through the options, somehow I guess that a gracious enough attempt at sucking him off now will keep me from having to go to final base tonight, I can keep something back in reserve so he will spend time with me again. 

I will gag, and then spit, he will like that, it will make him feel the big man and I will rinse my mouth and my mind out with the next slug of wine.

06 October 2010

negative fuck

the guy who said he would come and see me didn't

the guy who bombarded me with fucking talk stopped talking

the girl whose hand i held whose tears i dried does not call me now that i could use a hand

i would not tell anyone i want a hand but...

well... shhh...

the cat hears an outside yowl and slips out to his nocturnal fun

his tail waving a fluffed question mark

i thought i had cast the guy who bruised my heart out of it

though as absence and abstinence make the heart grow fonder i guess i am fucked

although i am not

erm... apologies to a magazine with a similar name...  especially as it's editor has been kind enough to feature me... what can i say - it was a pun waiting to happen...