Monday, November 20, 2006


There I sat on the grass
The wind rippled the lake
A bee buzzed around me
Dunno if I was awake.
I snoozed there awhile
My dreams floated free
Up and over the mountains
Till I was wrapped up in me.
Flying high I flew well over
However high I’d flown before
Looking down I thought of you
And how insignificant you seem
An invisible speck on the ground
As I winged on around.
Flitting from flower to flower
Sipping their nectar at will
A renegade bee one moment
A diving falcon will kill
Buzzed by the thrill
Of escaping
The bee wants to do more
Fly higher and higher
Higher than the falcon, no more.
To swoop low and kill
To slake the thirst at will
She helpless as I ravage her
Drop her over the hill.
Wasted and wanted no more
The flies have their way with her
The flyer in me keeps flying…
Droning on and on
I awaken to the sound of thunder
Of black clouds and thundering winds
I think of your warm bosom
And long to nuzzle my face.
The falcon will fly again tomorrow
But for now it must perch
Content in the knowledge of love
That’s mine; no need to search.

Saturday, September 02, 2006

Spin Wind

Greased and geared up, you rev to go,
Wild rides and stormy moments
Cherished fleetingly.
Moments recalled, but the people forgotten,
Hardened are you with a heart so tender,
Anguish writ large you stumble and drown,
Pulled under by vice you embrace.
Honey eyes are cloudy and stark,
Seeing nothing but searching afar,
Maybe a soul, a friend you will find,
Maybe nothingness lies ahead and behind.
Into this nothingness you rush,
Rush, wildly like a delirious child,
Cast adrift in the sea of life,
No anchor, no sail, or spar to guide.
Petty flotsam are you, prodded and probed.
A stranger’s kiss felt true and warm,
Horror once more….
Your little boat weathers another storm,
But leaky underneath and corroded,
You flounder and shudder.
The stranger’s kiss a weak memory now,
You wish you’d anchored.
Too late it might be, for your time is scarce,
Stifled and strangled you break the surface once more…
Bob along, Marika, but glance behind,
With mainsails billowing the frigate stands tall.
Come in, my little boat,
It seems to say, beckoning closer.
You turn and flee…
Running away, away into the blue beyond….
When all is sunk and none remains,
The fog’s lifted, your little boat’s gone.
The frigate turns, in a deadwind love,
Sickened with anguish the sails all flop.
Flop to the deck which should have been your rightful place,
Claim it not did you, Marika, for all your beauty and grace.
Roiling waters churn and spit the remnants to the surface…
My little mermaid, alone on the rocks, carved of stone.
In silent testimony to a hope lost.

Monday, July 17, 2006

Friction fission

Bursting forth through the gloom
A ravaged dusty wreck.
Held in check the pain and gore
A resilience and patience
Needed no more.
A hapless people tortured and tamed
Taunted repeatedly by tormentors,
Gather up the pieces.
Swept under the carpet by spineless
Scum, selected, elected and revered
By the same helpless diaspora.
Who is to blame?
Singularly not doth Mumbai bleed,
No loss of culture, no one to mourn,
Nothing to weep.
Humanity culled by humans
A cross borne with grief.
A thirst for life at any cost
Reviled and tainted,
Not treasured and spared.
Who are we to care?
Let fire and rhetoric dominate us,
Us, humanity, a cudgel and a curse.
Crushing skulls we did not create.
An illicit lust condoned and perpetrated
By he and she and us and them,
Wielded torch for mankind to burn,
Against a fellow human.
Madness created by fanatics galore,
The lamb to the slaughter are willingly drawn.
The butcher in us chortles with glee.
Hacked at dawn or slowly bled,
A seeping loss of life propagates unchecked.
Mythical monsters turned frighteningly real,
Not a dry eye in the house,
A red mist dominates.
Justice dead, she but a common whore,
Spat on and fucked conditionally by all.
Grit not you your teeth,
You, yes you, you flaccid human,
No god nor man can ever spare
Forgive, forget or ever repair,
Thus life corrupted and trashed.
A dawn to burn not by the sun,
But by pyre of bodies smouldering in the gloom.
Common carrion are you,
Fed off your children, as they feed of you.
Suckled not at the teat
The mother willingly treats,
But at the mantle of hate
Created by men of detestable tastes.
A mind filled with fear, a taste for blood
Would only satiate but a fleeting thirst.
The momentum once made will run away with thee.
Fissile but fleeting,
Snuffed out will we all be?
Not by your god, or yours, or a crashing meteorite,
Crushed into nothingness
By man. But man. Only man.
To burn in hell for eternity,
This hell we created, which we daily feed.

Saturday, July 01, 2006


A feeling now so alien yet tender,
A drop of water
On skin famished and throat dry.
Falling gently from the heavens
For every tree and creature.
Free yet rare, like true love,
Nurturing from the mother,
And tender caresses.
Soft, clear, bright and clean.
Seeping through soil and blooming
Flowers and smiles from me.
But she paused and sighed
Clouded mind and cataract eyes
Failed to see the blinding spark.
Wrinkled skin and petrified nose
Failed to smell this bounteous earth
So full of promise.
Dark and gray mattered not
Blind was she, conscious only of the rot.
Rot that gnawed and bored
Caused her to hate her spawn
Sprouted from her womb.
Years ago, when thunder beckoned
She surrendered to a man
Who seeded her womb.
The worthless offspring
She had come to hate,
Revile him for his waywardness
And fickle heart.
So like his father, arrogant and gorgeous.
She felt the drops on her face
Like rain…
Raindrop and teardrop merged,
In silent tribute to her pain.
The dead of night beckoned.
The dawn of hope long gone.
She awoke no more to bright sky
And sprouting earth,
Wombs seeded helplessly in the night.

Thursday, June 22, 2006

Spanking through to hell

Wailing louder
Rocketing and banked
Thunder low and distant.
Clasped to my rib cage
Thrumming steadily
A four-chamber pumps
While a four-pot burbles.
Harder, faster, on edge
I spank this bitch
Through to hell.
Lower and lower till leg
And land caress.
Fumbling lovers ashamed
At the oneness.
A foxy, feisty unwilling beast.
Tamed and subservient beneath me.
Fight me, bitch, and thrash you I will.
“Spite me, you shit, and your
Blood I will spill.”
A hazy horizon beckons afar,
Spanking through to hell.
Miles despatched forever
Behind me.
Crests and curves taken in sinful delight
A pure indulgence, a pious pleasure…
Rearing her head and wiggling her bottom,
In titillation.
Steamy and panting, rancid and sour,
My carbon and steel steed poised to deliver,
A slave to my command.
Hot and bothered, her rubber stretched
And anchors creamed.
Begging for a pause.
A lightened heart and gleaming skin,
We pause for refreshment,
And indulgence of sin.
A smell, a caress, a squeeze so tender,
I’ll want her, and have her, forever.
Mounted again and wailing once more,
Rocky mountains beckon.
Wide open and lustily
I spank her through to hell…


Beggar child raped, my senses rupture.
Eaten alive by urban sharks.
Monstrous evil sheltered by fear,
My senses rupture.
With beaten brow and helpless limp
Striding through slime…
I am approached by a wizened pimp.
A fifty for my daughter, says he,
And your friend here can have her for free.
Fifty for a fuck is certainly a deal, says he,
Else she’ll have to fuck our landlord for free.
Saddened and sickened with a heart
That sinks to my knees,
I proceed to give the wretch a fifty.
Cheated of a service I rightfully deserve,
Clamped and pulsing blood threshing my scalp,
I tease my way through excrement.
A bulging manhood rises in me,
My senses rupture.
Fuck her I won’t, fuck them I will.
The thrill of the chase,
The taste of the kill.
Washed with blood and cleansed with vengeance
Dealt gleefully by a mass of scum.
A smashed skull and open flesh
On sidewalk lying in shocking prostration,
Serves few and saves none.
Consumed and expunged like
Last night’s meal.
A fleeting flavour, like a hint of home,
On sidewalk café all alone.
She watched coolly
Her face blank and bare.
Naked, alone, a condemned whore,
Fucked not for a fifty.
I raped her soul that night,
My senses ruptured.

Sunday, June 18, 2006


The stones struck the first flint,
The hint of a spark, the first glint.
A weary twig rescinded to ashes,
The blaze grew as each twig surrendered
The fallen forms a listless fate…
Warmth and light spread from the glow
As she sidled closer.
The sparks in her eyes
Were mildly alight,
Fire and water danced
In them that night.
Millions slain centuries ago
A vulgar vengeance claimed a million more
Yet she loved this same vicious breed.
Savaged that night did she his being
Ravaged did he this living thing
Mounted astride in liquid motion.
Their passions stoked the flames inside.
Man and woman by moonlight and bonfire
Freed of past demons.
War and vice was what they loved -
An instinct born within them.
Much as they gleaned a scent and fold
Of skin to claim their own.
A shudder at pain, a gasp of breath
Snuffled and welcomed again and again.
A fractious friction seared his soul
Glancing as he did into those eyes
Which bore through his being like fireflies
Aglow with lust and dripping with hate.
She loved him but would tell him not
The heat of passion was all she got.
Supercharged thrusting turned languid and limp
A weak moan…
He rolled and thought of lovers past
Blinding light scorched his brain
He must have her, and her, and her too…
Quenching the steel tempered by hate
Drowning the longing borne through misery
A stifled heart made of flint
Sparked passions aplenty.
Another lame twig cast into the glow…
Rescinded to ashes.

Friday, June 02, 2006

The protracted purple pickle prolapse

fenced and wound,
turned around,
little she knew
less she cared
a worthless life
must not be spared!
bound and gagged and tied to a tree
arms a-pinioned .
he watched her as he mounted the slide,
watched her as she swooned and cried,
a condemned man must wrongly die,
vultures feed on his once-loved hide.
a bag was proffered and a question asked.
"I must kiss her, for her pain must last"
wept did she as she held him near.
carried off and held in sight,
she watched the door drop
and watched him die.
he writhed once, a knot in his neck,
and she watched him die.
his bladder let, and she watched him die
the rope twisted, and she watched him die.
she watched him die...

the lame lover's lament

singer singer song writer,
catch a butterfly, fly-fighter,
loop u up and loop u down,
ease the frown upon thy crown.
kiss and try and kiss and cry.
kiss me not and leave me dry.
thence once gone and ground,
the coffee's ground and the bean's not around.
fill up well and crush the space
grace the place with your face,
live it, love it, acknowledge it not,
what u love u haven't got.
weep, bleed, sigh and scream,
a lover lost...
just another bad dream.
sugar sulphur beer and lice,
I like 'em all with my rice,
treated well and kissed and cared,
the hallowed whore I once did spare,
from lust and grease I once did glean,
sifted through my heartless being,
a loving prospect chewed and spat,
out! out! you're much too fat.


This is what happens when I have a bad week……..


The plant kingdom is preparing to launch its vegetative vengeance upon the meat eaters of planet Earth. Leading the thrust will be the elite Ninja Brinjals of the Aubergine Army, led by Colonel Purple Plump. In a revolution funded by the bucolic Bovine Board and with extensive underground support globally, the revolutionaries aim to spread their ideology of exclusive vegetarianism. Silly Cones Pam is also endorsing the revolution the breast way possible, and the thrust of her bust is successfully causing many a meat eater to reconsider their food habits.

Also in favour of the veggie argument is the fact that most intoxicants are distilled/produced from plant matter, and the Bovine Board is resorting to underhand tactics by providing the populace with free hash and beer. The assorted prissy fucks who advocate vegetarianism on humanitarian grounds have seconded this move.

Meanwhile, it is learnt that people in the far-east are slowly succumbing to starvation due to a lack of know-how in vegetarian food preparation. In light of this situation, the United States of Assholes have sent in their air force to drop food pills over Japan and Korea, but due to the unfortunate amount of methane in the atmosphere caused by bovine flatulence, this has caused the said food pills to buffet without landing.

This has also provided impetus to the globe’s assortment of religious movements, and has become a fine bone to pick for myriad communities. Divine intervention is the only possible hope in this situation, but it is learnt that the gods are on vacation, and have been so for centuries. With everyone proclaiming their god as the god, this is bound to have repercussions, and a number of godmen have considered it their bounden duty to provide the helpless Diaspora with a viable alternative. Top secret reports indicate the gods convention on Pluto turned rather violent, and a number of them were castrated in the ensuing scuffle. This now perplexes one and all as to the means of possible propagation in the future, the only hope being rumours of asexual reproduction. Sadly, the counter argument was that one mother and child were lost in this manner because the infant’s head got stuck at the hymen, and repeated pelvic contractions of the birthing mother caused the head and skull to succumb to a compression fracture. The ensuing ebolism was the end of the mommy too, sadly. The impotent eunuch who had reportedly sired the baby was sued for millions by the Geek Freak Council for unauthorised blue tooth fertilisation. The case is pending an appeal with the International Court of Jerks, the jury of which it is learnt resort to penis pumps during the course of every hearing. (Fox magazine and others are marketing a sex toy which sucks just like a woman, complete with free trial tube of saliva-imitation gel. The only drawback being non-regulated temperature, resulting in frostbite on the glans of many a Russian soldier.)

Coming back to Colonel Purple Plump, the decorated egg-head of the Aubergine Army has indicated that they enjoy full support from the Bovine Board’s biochemical weapons wing, “the Moosters.” The Moosters are crack cow commandos capable of squirting unreal amounts of nerve-wrecking gook at the enemy, and their anal accuracy is said to be admirable. Enjoying a drink of coconut water while eyeing the peaks on Silly Cones Pam, Plump was of the opinion that they would destroy the army of Major Meat Mackenzie, a ruthless man with an appetite for blood and guts. Squaring off as they were in a nightclub featuring exclusive pole dancing performances by an assortment of slutty females, it was to the credit of the bouncers present that it didn’t erupt into a free for all. Major Mackenzie and Colonel Plump had both in the meantime been lusting after Silly Cones Pam (who’s supposed to have shaved her pussy and uses multi-coloured astroturf instead), and in the ensuing scuffle, managed to burst both her breasts. It transpired that she had resorted to a cheaper silicone implant, Chinese made, and with a limited warranty. Upon inquiry, the flat-chested PRO of Suk Mah Tit (the silicone boobs company) admitted to a desperate shortage of implants in the Motherland, and so there was a possibility of Pam’s breasts skipping the final quality checks. As compensation, they would send her to Dildoland with the best male models from their sister concern, Suk Mah Kok.

Thankfully, in some parts of the globe, flesh-eating, swearing, mis-behaved agnostic sods still survive, and it is with this lot that my personal sympathies lie. Mackenzie is a fine sunnavabitch, and the outcome of this war should hopefully sort things out once and for all. Colonel Plump’s daughter, Nipple Nymph, is reputedly having an affair with ol’ Meat, and was seen blowing him in a peat bog last week. As usual, rumours are flying thick and fast about it being a ploy by the soul-less Bovine Board, and the meat-eating world is shocked at the desecration of so sacred a ritual as a blowjob. Some argue that it’s a psychological ploy on the part of Meat’s army, saying that he can’t get it up; but it’s common knowledge that in India, a number of flaccid, dyed-haired, corrupt geriatrics have provided ample funding for a wonder drug, and Meat’s apparently getting the same fix. The results are varied, but if a repulsive 80-yr old politician from India can hump a 20-something like a crazed horse, there is hope for Meat’s meat.

The point to this whole exercise is that there’s no point. It feels wonderful to be absolutely non-productive while seeming exceedingly busy. For those sorry ass individuals who got nothing better to do, send this on. And if u can’t get laid, don’t waste money on the cock-sucking doll. Get a whore instead. Now fuck you.