The Waterfall. … How beautiful, the cascade. How dangerous, the torrent. … She soaks in the bathtub, perhaps she masturbates. … Anna Chapman, memories, live and die.

Lies slip from her lips

like water down a mountainside.

Slick rock face.

Summer thunder storm.

Slippery slope

to doom.

 

…

Kristallnacht.

The glass shatters. Shards pierce my psyche (my soul) like shrapnel from an evilly conceived bomb. I bleed. I despair. Such a thing of beauty, gone wrong, become a thing of hurt and devastation. Such is life – a simple mistake multiplied and complicated.

…

Happy Australia Day! … It Could’ve Been Worse.

Storm damage. Destruction. Another complication, another disappointment, another frustration, another nail in my coffin. Life fucked. Sigh. Sigh, the bigger picture, you say: “It could’ve been worse.”

Yeah, really, you say that from your house on the hill, with the perfect exterior, interior, furniture, ornamentation and accoutrements of all manner and focus. Your walls are lined with reminders of achievement and pleasure. My walls are smeared with excrement.

I’m sick and tired of: “It could have been worse.”

So, count your blessings, instead. 

MOTHERFUCKER!

…

NYE Party (Part 1)

“Wow, you look great!”

“Thanks. From someone who takes their fashion cues from Oz, I’ll take that as a compliment.” She raised an eyebrow and simpered. “You wanna zip me up at the back, honey?”

“Yeah, sure, just as soon as I finish my chocolate. This dark stuff’s awesome, talk about the world of adult entertainment.” He smacked his lips.

“What are you talking about?” She ran her hands down the front of the leather dress, it fit her well, emphasizing her curves, the movement of her hands tripled the effect.

Almost instantly he became hard.

“Like, it’s not too sweet, the chocolate, kinda bitter,” he swallowed hard, “Only adults could appreciate it.”

“Right, I see,” she shook her head, smiled, and motioned to him.

He rose from the bed and moved behind her. Fondling the zipper briefly, he moved his fingers lightly up her exposed back, up and down, he caressed her soft skin. She tensed slightly, almost as if ticklish. He slid his hands under the straps on her shoulders and pushed forwards and down, finding her breasts, he delicately stroked.

And,

And,

And,

… Happy New Year! Happy New Orgasm!

…

Lightbulb-blowing moments. Bang! Flash. Shock. Profanity.

It’s all so far from perfection, from what you wanted, from what you imagined when you were an adolescent and thought of the future, how great it would be. Yet, here you are, hating every moment, and it’s impossible to imagine being/living any other way.

Lies, ardent assertions, and statistics.

They’re all full of shit, half-truths and downright lies. Bogus adverts to con you out of your time and money. Bright lights and make-up, botox and airbrushing, a little bit of cleavage if you’re lucky. A fifth of your downtime being used to fleece you: in between entertainment and (occasionally) educational stimulation, you get conned.

You wake up to the situ. You feel dirty and sullied by commercial TV, in bondage somehow. You change the channel, feeling the need for some spiritual nourishment, you give your attention to the religious networks. And, fuck, you’re right back at the beginning. … They’re all full of shit, half-truths and downright lies. Bogus adverts to con you out of your time and money. Bright lights and make-up, botox and airbrushing, a little bit of cleavage if you’re lucky. Your desire for salvation being used to fleece you: in between Bible quotes and (occasionally) interesting ideas, you get conned.