Hogarth, like his father, was often subjected to periods of intense confusion as a child. His father screamed during any and all of his orgasms, and was a chronic masturbator at heart and hand. Of course, he still made drunken love to his wife on the rare occasion his mistress was out of town; while also making sure the occasion included for him ‘decent pot-roast’ from the ‘old crow of a wife’ as he called her. Languid Hogarth roars in aura.
Knoll Warner Sr. Jr. III liked to think of himself as a sexual god, because unlike most men, he managed to mount his wife till she actually came that one time. In the male psyche, this is ultimate blessing of talent from the gods of sex. Because Knoll thought of himself this way, he persisted in screaming what he believed the girl in the photo THIS GIRL GREATLY ACCEPTS MY DICK would scream, had he the chance to actually make love to her. These shouting matches SHIT IN MY MOUTH, KNOLL would occur often, and continue to wrap the house around its echo for around 2 hours, depending on how long Knoll felt like goin’ for his girl.
I guess I’ll write about how gym class in highschool is ending never, not soon. Maybe that’s where awkwardness was born for most of us. That, and a not-so-subtle urge to make sure the nocturne knife sharpenings stay around 45 degrees, moist, and yet unforgiving.
Maybe that strange feel of knowing yr shirt is too tight and the flab is flopping for all to see, that Jon and Dylan and all the boys are far ahead, maybe that is truth.
Maybe the slight tinge of iron slackening the taste of my spit was bound to last longer than expected. ’Maybe’ is the talk of losing floor hockey, of failing the fitness test, again.
It’s likely we all feel the same way:foolish. Still, we keep on running. I wonder why though?
…And what is womyn to you? Is woman your creation? Do you only see them on the massage table, tits oiled up like you want them to be? BEGGING FOR it?
Self: I see that something-o-daddy webhoster as prime spot, indeedy do- yes I do!
Ego is charmed, distorted. Ego is nothing of my own, sags with corn syrup: stamped with company logos, a fuckery of ideals. Women are on marble base, they’re tit trophies. Do you understand? That you’re just the creation of advertisers and thus- your reaction to them? That even if you rebel, it still involves them in some way!?
Self: Simple: I just seein’ what I always wanted to see. I look to them for the godly forms captured in Greco-statues, yep.
You also know, my love, the gray disease
of our century, that makes us go on dying
day by day, as though from the blue heights
we'd loosed the ballast of our joy,
and now the lightness sears the heart of us. Mild sentiment of a...