Archive for the ‘Woman-child’ Category

Zeppelin_ Pochta SSSR, 1991, Albatros

Apocalypse nigh,

they sneer at the man-child,

just as yesterday, and the day before.

They, who represent normal; they, who always seem to have time to stand around and talk, repetitive, banal babble.

I feel for him, the guy, I can tell his mind is on higher things, he’s doing what he can to survive in this fucked-up world. I feel a connection, even though I don’t know him. I want to reach out, but he’s inured, he stays within himself, focused, he doesn’t meet my gaze. We pass like zeppelins, out of time and place.

Gone, like tomorrow’s gherkins.

Meanwhile, again, the establishment chatters, bemused, selfish, scornful, only their clique matters.

 

(To be continued…)

       

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

 

 

 

 

Perfidy_ Flowers & Knife

One day it’s the system,

the next it’s the elements,

then your inner demons,

your family and friends.

Welcome to adulthood:

Non-stop diabolical onslaught!

You’re “responsible” now!

Always someone or something,

at the worst possible time,

betraying life and existence.

… What chance success?

 

(To be continued…)

       

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

 

 

 

 

Wm in Chains

“Pornographer, perhaps. Blasphemer, no!” ardently, he said.

“Now, look into the camera, and spread.”

 

(To be continued…)

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

 

 

 

 

Tiziano_ Amor Sacro y Amor Profano (1514)

Renaissance Man sees things another way,

he has *perspective*.

He is not moved by your dancing,

writhing,

bestiality,

nor by your gimmicks and VR Glasses.

Athens, Rome, Moscow burn?

He plays cello,

calmly reflecting.

A peace inspired by Plato.

Renaissance Man looks boldly

into the future,

he sees shit,

he flushes toilet.

Nuclear wind blows,

Summer and Winter,

my hero,

never old grows.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

Hong Kong Jockey Club_ Happy Valley

 

“Well,

that depends on your definition of pornography.”

… Do you care about me?

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

Woman sleeping

 

In my dream,

he kissed me passionately,

told me I was beautiful.

He licked my neck and said:

“I wanna fuck your brains out!”

… And other terms of endearment,

such I dream.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

“I hope she’s worth it,” I say to my brother,

though I already know the answer

is no.

Endless,

meaningless talk,

stress, pretence,

moral bankruptcy,

wage slavery,

dementia…

What men will do to get fucked.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

Neither President nor Rezident can keep it in their pants,

but it’s OK,

every man wishes he was Kennedy.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

He’d drunk enough to be honest, open.

“You’re not like other women,” he said,

“You know, they go on and on and on, non-stop talking, idiotic things. I wanna scream SHUT THE FUCK UP. Women like that, hah, they’re the main reason men like blowjobs. You know, with a mouthful of cock, finally she’s quiet!”

He laughed at his joke and swallowed another drink.

I raised my eyebrows and remained silent, smiling condescendingly.

Men and women aren’t so different after all.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

“42, wow! Being a prostitute agrees with you!” he exclaimed, eyes wide, genuine vibe, no trace of irony.

“You look awesome, beautiful.”

Lyuba, 42.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat