size 10 (US 10.5 - EU 44.5 - JAP 28.5 cm)
a semblance of his former self. haggard from the journey. you wonder, should you let him in?
He might caress you to delicate shuddering orgasm. so you leave him.
and in the fevered twilight of your day, as your head is swallowed by pillow, you find yourself
hoping, willing him to still be there on the doorstep in the morning. rictus grin under handsome
moustache saturated with semi-skimmed.
Login: worktops
Password: sf8752pu
formed over a cup of sex.
i asked myself to join. 'never' i replied. then i fucked myself. it was born.
and forgotten moments later.
not in this way. very special moment supporting Lumpjack Cretuck at the fusty bender back in '74.
bit of shoegaze, dash of glitch, pukka, weeping holes of post punk, college rock, some lap-pop, less post-rock. and yes, as incoherent as such a multifarious list would suggest.
indietronica (something utterly different, using DISCO INFERNO as a jumping-off-point and clinging to loose rocks made from THE NOTWIST and MBV on the way down.)
that or a gay bishop.
special sticks, tascam us-122 usb midi interface, korg poly6 analog synth, tibetan musical bowls, jap fender stratocaster, cubase sx, fruityloops studio, my Bryan and his dissenting squawks
I just want it to stay how it is.
well it isnt is is it? it isnt.
(click)
By the way she looked at herself in the mirror I could tell she would never care about anybody else. She knew that she would never find a man who was sensitive caring and good looking, because those men already had boyfriends. I think it was the stains on my top that first attracted her to me. I liked to think they conveyed the exotic promise of a night on the sofa in front of the telly with a vindaloo destined to spill in the heat of the moment.
Whenever she felt threatened by me she would produce the eyelash curlers from the inventory of torture devices she euphemistically dubbed; her makeup bag. Those crude, probing metal fingers designed to inspire unimaginable fear in the prospective victim. She often used to sleep with them under her pillow in case of attack. I swore she was involved in some secretive governmental thought control programme. She certainly had the power to break down discriminatory thought in me and was well on the way to replacing my previous value system with an ideology based on unquestioning devotion to U2, Massive Attack and kellogs special K.
I once beat her at a game of pool. Interestingly the wincing forks of anger this ignominious defeat inspired in her were so vivid as to be left undisguised by the dullness of her eyes. Her motions were crisp and slightly hurried. I knew it to be bad. Will we ever have sex again? I pleaded.
Of course she replied Just not with each other and strode out of the pub. I shambled after her wailing, and with due consideration she relented, a few yards down the road, around the corner, in a skip full of dead flowers and bin bags. Arguments were fierce. Reconciliation tended to be fiercer.
Sex was well organized. In return for her faking orgasm I faked foreplay. Being an atheist I had no one to talk to during orgasm but finally settled on shouting Foucault. He seemed appropriately nebulous at the time. Afterwards I said was it good for you too? She replied, I dont think this was good for anybody
She told me she used to think she mayve liked the word monogamy better if it didnt sound like monotony.
When watching sport on the telly I very much appreciate the instant replays these days as generally I will have forgotten what has just happened. I wanted to compare my situation to a dead battery, until I remembered that the battery had a positive side.
I introduced her to the bible, it slept between us until, in frustration, I read her a passage from Genesis, the sin of Onan seemed to be enough to push her into agnosticism. The bible went but her self-love, adminstered with me in absentia, was doubled in vigour and frequency.
My biceps ache, my triceps are burning, lactic acid is my friend, it measures the improvement of stamina.
I came but the base pleasure wasn't encompassing enough to obliterate all traces of the impending visit to the laundrette from my mind, as the spasms racked my body, my mind violently wandered into the pile of boxer shorts stuck to the wall.
for the first time i saw the end.
