writing

Act One

SCENE ONE

FADE IN:

INT. LIVING ROOM – MORNING

AKISHINO (KIKO) big boots, black jeans & T: sitting on sofa, exhausted, rolling a joint. There is a splash of blood on her top. BBC News can be heard on the TV indistinctly in the background.

LILLIAN looking like she’s just stepped off the set of ‘Call the Midwife’: enters carrying shopping, sees KIKO looking shattered and immediately puts the bags down and sits next to her. They sit in silence as KIKO finishes the spliff and lights it, leaning back and exhaling with a sigh.

                    LILLIAN
          What’s that on your top dear?

                    KIKO
               (not looking up)
          Arsehole.

                    LILLIAN
               (leaning back disgusted)
          Ewww!

                    KIKO
          Not literally. [BEAT] I don’t know what body part it is. I meant that he was an arsehole.

They both watch the TV in silence.

                    NEWSREADER
               (continues clearly)
                     … controversially  released yesterday on parole after just 12 years for the rape and murder of two 15 year old girls, was found brutally beaten to death just hours after release. The police are saying that they have no… [CLICK].

LILLIAN who has switched her gaze to KIKO, reaches for the remote and shuts the TV down. She then wraps her arms around the girl and holds her.

                    KIKO
               (relaxing into the hug)
          Touch me again without permission and I’ll break all of your fucking fingers.

LILLIAN smiles and kisses the top of KIKO’S head.

FADE OUT:


Please Masturbate Responsibly

I love the way she dresses and I love that she seems to have as many pairs of glasses as she does outfits. Today they are super cool – I dunno know how best to describe them – like black and retro-sexy?

“Do they make me look a bit like a librarian?” she asks when I compliment them.

“Hmmm?” I pretend to muse. “Maybe like a librarian in a porn movie.” I immediately realise what I’ve said, and I can’t tell from her expression if I’ve amused or shocked her. “I wasn’t thinking of you in a porno.” I blurt out, making it worse. She just smiles. Shit! “Not in amongst the action.” I add. What’s wrong with me?

“Do they have librarians in pornos?” she asks innocently, probably trying to help.

“I don’t know.” I lie. “Maybe just to shush people, you know, if they’re climaxing too loudly.” I try to read her face, see if I’ve gone too far. Nothing.

“Shhhh!” she tells me.


Voila

I watched Eurovision on Saturday. I was going to vote for Malta but I was enchanted by the French entry. They ignored all the Eurovision tropes. There was no glitz or glamour, no fancy stage props, no singing in English. It was just one woman (Barbara Pravi), under a single spotlight, singing. It was beautiful beyond words, and I cried like a drain.

She sung with such passion that, even though I  didn’t understand a word, her words touched me. I looked up the lyrics and translated them from the French, expecting some tragic romance. They were shit.

I watched it again, and it still made me cry though.


No Longer

Was showing off my new phone to my mate Karl and saying how I loved it more than my own mum, and he says
“I no longer believe you when you say that.”

No longer?!


Polly Jean

Today I fell in love, obviously, with the fantastic PJ Harvey.


Nothing

I was brought up by my gran. She was a very old-fashioned lady and once told me that ladies did not enjoy sex. Ladies, she said, only had sex to have babies and to please their husbands, who did enjoy it. Even as a child, I remember thinking what a shame that was.

I was nearly 18 before I discovered that women did like sex. It was life changing. And not only were they were enjoying it, they had orgasms too and some, apparently, even masturbated. It was, without doubt, the most wonderful information I had ever received, and nothing could have made me happier.

It still is and nothing has.


That’s Love

As a man, I admit that sometimes I have trouble recognising and identifying my own emotions. Honestly, if I’m not hungry or horny, I don’t have a clue what it is I’m feeling. So when she wants to know how I feel about her, I’m at a bit of a loss.

She definitely makes me feel horny, and she definitely makes me feel happy. Sometimes she makes me feel hungry, especially first thing in the morning but that might be breakfast and I’m confusing her with bacon. Ignoring the hunger then, that leaves happy and horny.

That’s love isn’t it?.


Try This

Next time you’re watching a show with a sign-language interpreter: turn the volume down and imagine that they are describing a series of sexual acts.

It’s hilarious and, at times, quite disgusting. Honestly, I was genuinely shocked at some of things the woman interpreting the lunchtime news was suggesting. some of which I’m sure is still illegal in some southern states.

Ignore the subtitles (but not the facial expressions) as you watch the clip here, and tell me she’s not talking dirty.

 

And she looks like such a nice girl!

Of course, no offense is intended to anyone who has a hearing impairment or who uses sign-language. In fact I’m actually very jealous of all the great sex you guys are having.

 


You DIDN’T Come From My Rib?

Today I fell in love with the gorgeous Lauren Mayer.


The Vagina Tax

MINISTER ONE:   OK hear me out on this. [PAUSE] How about we put a tax on vaginas?

MINISTER TWO:  You want to tax vaginas?

MINISTER ONE:   Well, not the vaginas themselves, just anyone who has one.

MINISTER TWO:   You mean women?

MINISTER ONE:   Well that makes it sound like we’re discriminating. It’s just that these stats show that the owners of vaginas are far more productive and creative, both economically and socially than any other group. It makes perfect fiscal sense. Vaginas are a gold mine.

MINISTER TWO:  It might seem a little fairer if we taxed penises as well?

MINISTER ONE:  WHAT!? Tax people for having a penis!? That is literally the stupidest fucking idea I have ever heard in my life! The fuck is wrong with you!? Seriously!? Tax people for having a penis!? Have you got a brain tumour or something? Listen to yourself man! I mean, WHAT THE FUCK??!!


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?”
“what?”
“if it’s not there, how can you see it?”
“i can see you haven’t bought any bloody milk!”
“how?”
“’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 either or called John.


He who laughs last

i was brought up in a small coastal town in kent and was a teenager during the seventies there. it was a very violent time and place, more violent even, than my time in the army. there wasn’t a single day when someone didn’t get beaten up. sometimes i got beat up and sometimes i beat someone up. sometimes both in one day. it was how things were: the hard guys got the girls, and the weedy ones didn’t. it was a culture driven by hormones, by violence and by pussy.

the other day i was down there, when a guy called clive approached me in a pub. he recognised me after nearly 40 years, and he wanted to apologise for having bullied me at school. i remembered instantly how he had once dragged me behind some shops and kicked me to the floor and carried on kicking until i vomited with pain. i remember the pleasure he got from it. i remember how he’d made my life hell for a whole summer.  he grew up with two drunken parents, and every day, at home, he witnessed and experienced violence. he saw his mum punched in the face. he got worse himself.

there was never any violence in my home. it was a peaceful place. once, my granddad slapped me across the face with a rolled up porn mag he had found, hidden, in my room. i was 5 inches taller than him at the time and 15. he was in his sixties. it stung for a few seconds and left a mark for a few minutes. it was nothing.

i got my own back on clive by pretending that i didn’t recall him. he’d spent serious chunks of his adult life regretting things he’d done as a child. all he wanted was a chance at redemption. it would have been so easy to forgive him but so much more rewarding to have him think that i didn’t even remember him.


What a cunt!

“cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt. cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt? cunt! cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt… cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt! cunt?”

“and that’s supposed to be what?”

“modern art, apparently”

“seriously?”

“seems so.”

“what a cunt!”


A million light years

i fuck you so hard that you have to grab hold of the furniture, just to stay upright, just to stay conscious. we fuck so hard that the whole room rattles with our raw lust. glass, crockery and paper fly. cupboards burst open, their contents dashing themselves recklessly on the floor in an uncontrolled carnal symphony. shelves collapse. glasses explode. the window shatters. candles inexplicably ignite themselves. the light bulb above our head glows fiercely, before exploding and showering us with tiny shards, and as we come, cars crash outside. alarms go off. hydrants erupt. several people nearby have heart attacks. power stations burst into flames. tsunamis and earthquakes wipe out millions. new craters appear on the moon. black holes, swallow solar systems, and stars are born in a distant gas cloud a million light years away.


Good boy

you are on top, riding me – its our first time and we fit like a candle and a flame – our orgasms build together and, as they rise, like duel tsunamis so mighty they could tear whole continents apart, you slap me, hard across the face.

i jump in shock and pain at first, and my body jolts, ramming my cock even harder into you. i only get a second to see the pleasure this brings you before you slap me again, with the other hand and harder. my orgasm is poleaxed, although i keep on spurting into you, my prick pulsing harder than ever. your orgasm, though, seems magnified by your power, and you erupt on top of me, and your climax hits you like a huge swarm of desert birds hits the sky when excited by a storm. you call me disgusting names. you spit straight into my face and slap me again and again. then you ball up your fist and raise it up. i can see how much you want to bring it slamming down, just by looking into your eyes. you would bloody my nose, maybe even break it. our eyes lock and i brace myself. i see just how hard you have to work to stop yourself.  your eyes burn with a love very few know. the love of giving and taking pain. i see, in your eyes and heart, how hard it is not to punch me with all your force and i know that i love you.

after, we lay together and kiss. your eyes still burn as hot as your pussy and i know that next time you might not be able to hold back. next time you will want more of me. then we kiss and cuddle and you tell me i am a good boy, and that everything will be ok. just as i fall peacefully asleep, you punch me in the balls.

that is when i realise, just how much i love you.


The rain

the rain came down like bullets – every drop was as big as a pea and i just watched as it kicked up the dust and scared the shit out of the spiders and even a cat


An old favourite

 

Word whore

i want to write
something dirty to you
make you come with my words
i really do

line by line
and letter by letter
every pulsating word
making you wetter

each dripping syllable
thrilling you more
touch yourself with my words
be my filthy word whore


Eurotrash douche hipster

I got my first piece of hate mail, and I have to say I was as delighted as I was proud. Bravely commenting as an anonymous user on my recent poem about breasts, this brilliant fellow called me a Eurotrash, douche hipster who looks like a sloppy version of DeNiro’s character in Taxi Driver. I almost peed myself  with delight. I am seriously considering using this quote on my about page. I tried to track him down, so I could thank him properly, but his IP address only led me to Baltimore. I have a few pals there, but I know it can’t be any of them, as they can all actually write.  Really, I would recommend reading the whole comment, it is hilarious and there is a wonderful line about me writing horrible poetry about sex to make up for my lack of a life. Feel free to reply to his lovely comment, and, if you are reading Mr Anonymous, please come back and say more, I think you are fantastic and I would love to give you a guest spot.


Filled

you filled my mind today
and you filled my heart
you filled my pants too


Dear God

Dear god,

Sorry to break it to you like this, but I think that you’re a bit of a cunt. Okay, sure, you created the universe, and I have to say that I’m jolly impressed, but why did you have to ruin it by acting like such a dick? You’re jealous and shallow and bitter and twisted. Your commandments are almost totally self serving. Craven images? Really? taking your name in vain? Get over yourself you wanker! Do you really think we need tablets of stone to tell us that lying and stealing and killing are wrong?  Seriously dude, I know fucking eight year olds who could figure that out, and killing? What about Jericho? Every living thing, you had slaughtered, women, babies, even the fucking cattle, you lying hypocritical motherfucker, and what of rape and slavery and racism and child abuse? Don’t see a fucking mention of that in your bloody commandments, and what is it with that boy of yours? You decided we were sinners, not us. You decided we needed redeeming, we were quite fucking happy thanks, until you stuck your almighty nose in, and look how you chose to save us, you sick cunt, by torturing your own son to death! You need fucking help buddy, seriously. You have caused nothing but pain and anguish and suffering and guilt and countless war and death, ever since you showed up. If you really care about us (and I seriously doubt you do, you are too wrapped up in yourself to be able to really care) then please, just fuck off and go annoy someone else, or, ideally, just put a fucking bullet in that sick and twisted brain of yours.

Yours. very sincerely

Kyle.

PS. Thanks for the cookies, the missus says to say that the cinnamon was the perfect touch.

PPS. Stop watching me when I masturbate, you fucking pervert.


The seven deadly things

I said long ago, that I would no longer be accepting blogger awards, and it wasn’t because I thought that they were a pointless (but very imaginative and caring) form of chain letter, but because  being nominated gives me such an almighty erection that,  I would fear for my mortal safety, were I to be nominated more than once in quick succession. It is only thanks to the swift action, and early arrival, of my cleaning lady, Mrs Go’onanonanonagan (87 but with the tits of an 85 year old), that I was not later discovered drowned in a pool of my own semen, after having received three such awards within the space of a single afternoon.

As I lay here in my hospital bed, recovering from an ego overdose, I think it only fair that I respond to Rhonda from Help Me Rhonda (The Seven Things About Me Award), Maureen from Magnolia Beginnings (The Five Best Books Ever Award) and Mad Gay Man from Diary of a Mad Gay Man (Bitches Love Awards Award), for their flattering and honouring nominations.

As per my doctor’s orders, I will respond to each nomination with a post of its own and start with Rhonda’a ‘Seven Things About Me Award’.

The rules of this award require me to first thank the nominee, then to reveal seven embarrassing facts about myself and finally to nominate 463 other bloggers.

Thank you Rhonda:

Rhonda’s blog, Help Me Rhonda, is a witty, sweet and charming, daily dose of life-affirming wisdom and side-splitting humour, beautifully taken photographs and cleverly observed anecdotes. If you have not yet discovered her, then do so now, or I will have you cruelly murdered.

Seven things:

  1. I could read by the age of three. I kinda taught myself but was encouraged and helped by my family, who seemed to think I was possibly some kind of prodigy. Sadly it was my only trick, I simply had to learn “how to do words”, and after that I was, academically, something of a disappointment.
  2. I know 30 different ways to kiss – 31, if you include ‘on the mouth.’
  3. I think its wrong to use poetry or art to get into a woman’s head. It’s much better to use them to get into a woman’s pants.
  4. I  once was a cartoonist, for a chain of pot-selling coffee shops in the Netherlands. I used to get paid in pot and only got the job because the previous incumbent had been tied to his push-bike, by the Dutch Mafia , and thrown into a canal. A very Dutch way to die, their bikes are very heavy.
  5. I had a girlfriend who ran off with my best friend, and I still miss him.
  6. I have a notepad and pen in every room in the house. It’s because I never know when I will have an idea. I even have a notepad in the lavatory. Once, after taking a large amount of magic mushrooms, I discovered the secret to life there and, obviously, wrote it down. The following morning, upon realising  that I had run out of toilet paper, I had to use it to wipe my arse. Well? What would you have done?
  7. I have no idea what the pre-wash function on my washing machine is for.

Nominations:

Normally I claim to be unable to nominate anyone because I never bother reading any of the shite you all write. This is not actually true. I do, I avidly, read every word of all your blogs. The reason I can’t nominate anyone is because I am simply too lazy and way too busy masturbating over your gravatar images.


Coming soon

Tell me what you want to read and I will oblige…

Thanks