Sitting some place private. -- Creaking -- Sitting in a public stall, in a public restroom, images from Brite's Exquisite Corpse float up. -- People can hear you, people can see you -- Not too sure if it's just my queer eye, but I think, at the end, the niece is trans, in the text. -- even in a stall sound carries, people can look thru the crack between the door and frame work that holds it up. The nasty things you and your lover do in the stale can be viewed by anyone if they try hard enough. -- There's a dire urge not to over-exaggerate, but that seems nearly impossible when your life appears as your own personal melodrama. -- Horror films grace the back of my mind. -- Pauline Réage, Oates, Anaïs Nin, inter porn, fan fiction. A lot of my female influences wrote/writs porn, does that make me a bad feminist or a great one? -- At the end of the day, the mania. -- The yellow pollen has faded, dissipated. Now there's only the tiniest mention of yellow. Like it's been weeks since mustard gas sucked-face with any available surface, not days. -- Fin de Siècle -- How many beetles have I accidentally stepped on? How many spiders have I swallowed in my sleep? How many stings have I avoided simply by wearing jeans, or stepping in a certain direction? How many deaths have I unwittingly avoided? How much have I benefited from what I dont know? -- Once, a misstep, probably, a misunderstanding about what it was that was done, a misunderstanding of what we were, a misunderstanding. -- Jamie's back from the dead, they call 'im Lazarus in the local places. -- Jamie's eyes adjust to the light, or lack-of. He really wanted to swallow -- (Porn is art, porn is the vanguard, porn is the place from which all new things will spring) -- (Murder, Murder, justifiable murder) -- The restraints feel comfy -- (why matter, why try, why survive) -- he moves them about so their little chains clink, rattling in the dark. 'Quit,' said the dark. He smiled, did it again, 'Stop.' The floor is cool under his bare feet -- (make sure to lick your fingers before twisting the nipple) -- (art is the ultimate turn on, ergo art is at the heart of all art, whether or not the intent of the pornographer. Raising the limp cock to stand, the Eiffel to the body Paris, is to create, and creation is the purest form of art) -- Waxing philosophical?' said the dark, 'dirty whore, thinking you're fucking Proust, keep quiet.' Proust is nothing but a waste of shelf space, Jamie thought. He wanted to speak, wanted, atleast, to smile in his confines, but the gag worked all too well. -- Twice, a misstep, more-than-likely, a misunderstanding about what it was than should have been done. A misunderstanding, yup. just that, a misunderstanding, all on me, on my part. Always my fault. Well, looking back, atleast once, one time, it wasnt me. -- A dribble of spit leaked out of his mouth. Jamie rattled the chains again. Silence and then from the dark came the familiar sound of electricity running through Zeus' Cock, as they called it. And he smiled, as much as he could.
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