I Watched Tim Burton’s Corpse Bride last night. It was delightful and very sweet. I fell in love with Emily here: the titular corpse.

The maggot in the eyeball made for a challenging wank at first, but I leaned into it, and I have to say, I fancy her something rotten.

Unknown Number by Unknown Artist

We only met two weeks ago, so it’s insane that I feel like this. Perhaps it was the heat of battle that amplified our emotions and made everything feel so much more alive. Combat, whatever form it takes, is always intimate. In war, your opponent is all you see and all you care about.

It was her idea to not stay in touch. I think she felt guilty, even though nothing happened, she’s inscrutably loyal, and we were returning to a real world from an unreal one. It could never work. She was right, but I really wasn’t expecting it to hurt so much; I never see these emotions coming. I made sure she had no idea how much pain I was in, I didn’t want her to feel any worse than she did.

It was so obvious how much pain he was in when he left, and what made it worse was how hard he was trying to hide it. I couldn’t look at him. After all we’d been through, and I couldn’t even look at him. It had been my idea, not to see each other again. He understood, I think. It had to end there. If it had gone any further, it could have changed everything.

He had been the perfect opponent, my only real challenge if I’m honest. There wasn’t a single day when at least one of us didn’t make it to the final round and most days we both did. He was right when he said that combat is intimate, it is. Nothing felt better than beating him and losing to him hurt so much worse than losing to the others. Both more intimate than I could have expected.

It wasn’t until the next day that I switched my phone back on; I have all my music on the little card. He probably thought it was funny, but he’d done the exact opposite of what we had promised. I should have been furious.

to be continued…

I’m Back!

I have been asleep, fast asleep, for a very long time, too long. If I’m honest, I’ve been a bit depressed, but I didn’t realise it ’cause I didn’t feel sad. Silly me! It turns out that I don’t cry more when I’m depressed; I don’t cry at all.

More on this later. In the meantime I am bubbling over with ideas in a kind of explosive creative renaissance and have decided, totally unfairly, to ejaculate some of this nonsense all over you ugly lot.

This time round, things are gonna be a little different. I wanna talk about how dark shit got and how light it feels now. I’m gonna rant a bit about politics too (for those of you that know me: I’ve changed: see below), but I’m still gonna hopefully make you laugh a bit and if I’m clever enough, cry too.

So welcome to my first helping and welcome back my old mate Karl. This happened today.

ME: I’m gonna vote for the Women’s Equality Party on Thursday.

KARL: Why?

ME: They have the prettiest candidate.

KARL: I don’t think that’s a very good reason to vote for someone.

Karl does not understand politics

Or humour.

You guys get me, right?

Signs of summer

Today was the warmest day yet. I saw my first butterfly and heard the sound of the first ice cream van of the year – I hate those noisy bastards, and I don’t like ice cream vans either.

Is this why women don’t stick around?

“i see there’s no milk in the fridge!”
“how can you see what isn’t there?”
“if it’s not there, how can you see it?”
“i can see you haven’t bought any bloody milk!”
“’cause it’s not there, fuck nuts!”
“i know, i forgot, but what does no milk look like?”
“like no milk!”
“but if it’s not there, how can you see it’s not milk? it might be not eggs that you’re looking at.”
“did you forget the fucking eggs too!?”
“what does it look like?”

Old Gay John

I bumped into an old mate today, someone I haven’t seen in years. He told me that Old Gay John had died. Old Gay John was one of the guys that used to hang around on the corner, way back when I first moved here. He wasn’t gay, we just called him that because he hated it so much. He wasn’t old or called John either.

Is it still a haiku if it rhymes?

who needs poetry
when all it takes is just three
little words from me

You give my soul a hard-on

you give my soul a hard-on,
you make my heart erect,
my being throb and pulsate,
my very core erupt.

you make my psyche tingle,
you make my mind inflate,
my life force squirt and dribble,
my spirit ejaculate.

All Sticky

when i taste your flesh,
i want it all sticky.
when i kiss your breasts,
i want them all sweaty.

when you fuck my face,
i want you to stink.
when i lick your arse,
i want you to reek.

when i kiss your tits,
i want to taste your cunt,
and when i lick your lips,
i want to taste my cum.


i wanna eat you
in the crude sense
not the literal one
i do wanna lick you
all over your body
and taste your sweat
i wanna smell you
inhale your stink
sup from your cunt
i will eat you until you cry
with pleasure and i
am full