falling out of bed...

hello/goodye...

2008-07-28T22:24:00.001+08:00

eyes opened to see your face
your lips so close to mine
t'is been a long time since they last met

just friends feels right
that's what you said
i agreed in face in heart i cried

is there something you want to say
something you wouldn't speak
when i'm awake

in the morning i know
i have questions of things within
but the answers will never satisfy

if i could
you know i would
i'd never have given you reason to let me go

i said it as much
i knew you were unhappy
just so sad that i was the one to show you

you know i love you
i still do
though it's been awhile it hurts me still

but i'll keep this silent
i'll bury it deep
to let you find the joy you seek

i'm your friend ever
my body is near
but my heart i'll keep in dark depths

in a way it's a touch sad
to think our last hello
meant our first goodbye

cake...

2007-04-10T21:34:00.000+08:00

It's a big wish, to not be forgotten.

The way things were going, you'd think that it would be slightly more than your average day of tromping the domains of utter mediocrity that so often make themselves your home. A home where the sofas are not much more comfortable than Bloody Mary's iron maidens. A home where the hinges on the depressing age-blackened oak doors screech like oil-boiled inmates of the Salem witch hunts.

If it made sense, it really wouldn't anyway. Not when you expected that they'd at least remember how important it would be to you. That a little extravagance once in every so long a while is not too much to ask. Rather than, for instance, hop on by, stomp all over you, and then hop off. Like over-fed rabbits; grotesque, misshappen, furry things that have lost their cuteness and now a serious threat to your aesthetic sanity.

Slightly worse than all this was the idea that if their delusions of you alone was worse than in the company of those as lovable as an onion-and-bean infused skunk were maintained as just that: delusions. But they wouldn't let it go, and beat their mostly not unwelcome but definitely unneeded presence into a mocking pattern in your skull.

She didn't help it one bit. You'd think having a lover would make you happy, or at the very least, a sense of contentment. Obviously, you lost your wits somewhere in that hazy hormonal frenzy. She obviously didn't care much for your unspoken wants. Most of the time she spent chewing off your finely groomed patience, and then spitting out the remains all over your face. Then she'd smile sweetly to deflect your barbarian rage, and then start all over. She was expensive too.

In this chaos, one lone thing stood out in your otherwise darkened synaptic expanse: just go get cake.

too short...

2007-01-17T17:19:00.000+08:00

Life's too short
To worry about things
Like falling in love
Like staying above
The poverty line
Is too close to mine
The car is dry
My chips won't fry
No more oil in the well
My wallet's in hell
It's too much
To ask that this will be
Tomorrow is another pain
A hurt that cuts just worse
This pointless futile overbearing fruit
Finish it today

Goodbye to dreams
Goodbye to sleep
Goodbye to things I never had

Life's too short
To worry about living
To care about singing
Songs that make no sense
To the man with no pants
The fridge is bare
But Trump just don't care
Chequebook's ringing
And Macker's a-killing
What's to ask for a reprieve
From a nightmare awoken
To sit up and think it's all
Not real at all
This whole charade's a dream
Time to wake up
Somebody pinch me
Smack me awake

Goodbye to dreams
Goodbye to sleep
Goodbye to things I never had

i hate offices...

2007-01-17T17:18:00.000+08:00

i hate offices
they are morose, depressing places
that cause you to misspell
see?

offices
if you need the life sucked out of you
but none of it is pleasurable
no
none

i hate offices
a box of inane wastage
if ever there was one
like right now

damned-i-am...

2006-08-27T19:37:00.000+08:00

I do not think I give a damn.
I do not think I like this, damned-I-am.
I do not want to dance all night.
I do not like to shout and fight.
I do not wish to sing the blues.
I do just wish they'd get a clue.
I want to sleep all through the day.
I want to sleep my life away.
I want to never make a sound.
I want to lay me in the ground.
I don't want to answer the stupid questions.
I don't want to give in to stupid passions.
I don't want it to ever rain.
I don't want to not feel pain.
I don't think I'm making sense.
Maybe I should think more in present tense.

sea of unshed tears...

2006-08-13T20:19:00.000+08:00

night time
i can barely see the shoreline
i hear the silent washing sounds
and it's all welling up inside
no well holds so deep
no cup holds so bitter
no sea holds so salty
no heart holds so many

dawn and dusk
it will lap unendingly
as long as the rain falls and the seas dry
i know there will be more tears for me to cry

but i refuse to drown
tempest driven frozen rain
but i refuse to yield
storm lifted water walls
but i refuse to cry
dream spawned love horrors

i sit quietly at the beach this night
gazing across the bay
out into the dark cold sea
knowing at least tonight
it will not touch me
i know that tonight i need not fear
my own sea of unshed tears

tell him...

2006-06-21T20:20:00.000+08:00

It's a bloody irony. It was only so long ago. And now you're faced with the same problem again.

You did promise yourself that much, at least? Of course you did. Of course, knowing what an efficient liar you are, you didn't even realize how well you just lied to yourself. Isn't that just fantastic? Such an advanced level of deceit, you should be proud. Or embarassed that you didn't notice it. Either way.

You can probably guess he knows. And he's just waiting for you to bite. The trap has been baited, and you cleverly walked right into it. What a joke. You think after how it shattered the last time, you'd be keeping your glassware far away from such dangerous places. That glowing red heart has finally cooled into that large igneous chunk. Your scars are those dark streaks of obsidian staining the otherwise flawless crystal. It's no longer innocent, and you'd think the price of those black strokes would have bought you some knowledge. Apparently they haven't.

Like the master glassblower, he toys with that hunk of cheap transparency. What was cold and black, he's heating up again. He melts your heart, doesn't he? In and out, he pulls it out of the furnace, and drops it into ice cold water. Smelting process as it is, he shapes it by his fancy. Of course, a by product is that it makes the glass very hard. Harder than rock. And it cracks. Uneven heating and fast cooling destroys the otherwise perfect molecule. More streaks appear. They weep molten glass. Like how your heart cries at your allowing it such suffering.

Even angels fall. You were never an angel. And you've fallen far deeper than you can hope to get out of. And hell, you don't even have wings. Damnation.

Does he or does he not want you? Or is he simply playing with the glass till it breaks? Is this practice? If it is, he's making a large mess of it, don't you think? Maybe you should take it back, and break it yourself. At least you would keep the pieces in one box.

haiku in three parts...

2006-06-17T19:30:00.000+08:00

you'll never be seen
if you hide under the bed
because they don't care

you choose this dead path
stupidity is just you
laugh at your own tears

wave goodbye tonight
last chance for this setting sun
to a love unknown

hear our prayer...

2006-05-16T09:53:00.000+08:00

Hear this prayer
From a shattered heart
Save our souls
Before we depart
Save us all
Save us all
Before we go

When the sun begins to rise
A hope glows with fiery passion
Something knows
Something grows
Longing for another touch of redemption
Crying before goodbye

There's no answer to our plea
In the dawn, our spirits flee
Nothing left
Nothing sown
Last to die before the dawn

seven petals...

2006-05-03T17:11:00.000+08:00

seven petals

seven petals
one cries
the other sighs
two in vain
who sees their pain
a fifth just wilts
falls away like silt
the sixth flies
into the crimson skies
the seventh watches
as by the sun it scorches
and laughingly
beckoningly
another flower grows

helga...

2006-04-24T16:35:00.000+08:00

Wouldn't it be a joke if I actually gave into the pressure? After all, with a face that not even Camilla Parker Bowles would envy, I'd hardly say that she was the catch of the day. Unless of course, it was the season for ugly fish.

"Well, ugly bait, ugly fish."

"Hey!"

"Well, dahling, if you must know, you're not exactly the hottest property on the market. Heck I don't think even Trump could sell you."

"Look who's talking, Mr-I'm-so-pathetic-I-can't-get-a-cock-up-my-ass."

"Ouch, dahling. That hurt."

"Hmmph."

"Well, dahling, for being lesbian and all, you sure have a pretty high requirement from girls, no? And I thought you lesbian types were only in it for the company."

I just sat there, rolling my eyes, swirling my martini with the half nibbled olive. Juan was great company, being the hot gay Latino he was. He was everything a stereotypical gay man should be; great fashion sense, good cook, posh inner city apartment, flawless complexion, thrown in was the free limp wrist. Of course, not all the gay guys I knew were like that, but if there was a stereotypical standard to be followed, he was it.

That said, he still couldn't get laid no matter how he tried. Maybe he was too pretty. Very much unlike this Helga Fuglisdotter. If my dog had her face, I'd shave his little butt and make him walk backwards.

"Oh come on, dahling. She isn't THAT bad looking. After all, compared to your LAST girlfriend, I'd say she was quite okay."

"Juan, Dana had brains too. And knew the definition of too much make up."

"Hmm, and she DID do a fantastic rabbit pot pie."

"Hmm, yes, and... hey! Let's FOCUS here!"

"Focus on what, dahling? If this Helga is too much trouble, just dump her?"

"How the fucking hell am I supposed to do that? She's like a fucking leech!"

"Well, at least she doesn't spread diseases."

"Dammit Juan, I'd take diseases over that dungheap of a face any day!"

"My, my, dahling. Aren't we overreacting a bit?"

"Reaccionar exageradamente nada! Ella es tan fea como el trasero de un zambo y tan listo como una piedra!"

"Oh? I had no idea that you habló español, dahling."

"Uh, I don't."

"Anyway, there's that cute bartender again! I'm going to get me more drinks."

"Juan! Juan, where do you think you're going?! Juan, come back here! Juan!"

If there's one thing about that Juan being gay, is that he's terribly unreliable when surrounded by cute men. Hell, that's one thing about guys being male. They're terribly unreliable. Good thing I need nothing to do with them. Well, maybe to reach the top shelf. Because I'm short. But that Helga is tall enough, and...

Wait. No, no, no, no, no! Nothing to do with Helga either. I tell you, she's SO ugly that you can't tell if she's a woman or not! How is a girl supposed to have any emotional bonding when she can't stand to look at her partner's face? I should take a vow of celibacy and become a nun. Except Catholics don't like lesbians. Much.

All that talk about lesbians being feminists is only partially correct. Sure, we don't need guys and all, but doesn't mean we don't appreciate the wonders that a pushup bra and a little makeup can do. After all, we ARE people, and we do like a little eye candy once in awhile. And how arousing is it to have Androjane sucking on your tits with that buck teeth grin? It's girls like her that almost make me wish I was straight. Almost.

"Allo, Wiener!"

Oh God. Talk of the Devil.

"For the last time, Helga, it's Winona. W-i-n-o-n-a. Not weiner. Weiners are those things you have at barbecues. Or those things little boys have between their legs."

"Yah, yah. I remember that now. You be Wiernerna, and little boys have wieners.'

"No, it's... argh! Forget it. What do you want, Helga."

"Well, Helga all be by herself tonight, yah. And so Helga is bored, so Helga thought she goes to find Wiernerna."

"Sigh, I'm not in the mood now. Why don't you go find some straight boys who will like pay attention to you. Unlike SOME gay boys..."

"If Wiernerna stays, Helga buy her drinks."

Now, who am I to pass up free drinks? Of course, dim as she may sound, I should credit Helga with at least being bright enough to want to have some hot lesbian action with cute little me. Of course, given that she's trying to date rape me, she would at least try to pop in the drugs when I'm not blatantly staring at her do it, nor confuse her drinks with me. Or understand that the point is to knock the rapee out. Not some aphrodisiac.

"Ergh. Helga be very horny now. Helga want sex!"

"Err, Juan..."

"Less talk, Wiernerna, we go!"

With that, the hulking mass that is Helga picked me up and slung me over her shoulder. As she walked out of the bar, she crashed into the tables that were between us and the exit, not masking in the least the raging pile of horniness that was this Nordic monstrosity.

Sigh. She'd at least better be a good cunt muncher.

assisted writing...

2006-03-15T14:40:00.000+08:00

A few people have pointed out that I haven't written anything remotely citrus-like in a long time. And I agree. However, I don't have any real inspiration at the moment. So, I decided that you all will help me. You all will write in one sentence at a time. No more than that. However, to avoid a total clutter of nonsense, there will be guidelines to follow.

The characters:

~Ju. Pretty boy, pretty much everything a girl would want to be, perfect skin, perfect looks, perfect form, and yet still pretty much male enough to be obvious. Ju is a stylist at the local hairdressers'.

~Wesley. With a suitably feminine name, but definitely male enough to be attractive to the opposite sex, he is the average joe, albeit slightly higher on the looks scale. Works at a furniture shop, in charge of rearranging the furniture. Isn't that just a dream job.

~Liz. Since our normal Liz keeps complaining that she isn't hooked yet, we'll put her in a situation with a plausible boyfriend. Here, Liz is a college student, nice looks, nice proportions, but nothing too abnormally nice or weird. The average girl with the less than average boyfriend.

The rough plot:

The story starts with Ju and Wesley already in the bedroom stripping each other off. A description of sorts on what they actually do, and then flashback to when things first started. Finally, it comes back to present time, with Liz actually confronting Wesley over the events she suspects are going on behind her back. The tone should be erotic/dramatic. This story is set in current time, so use of ultra modernistic sex toys isn't allowed. If possible, add lines of conversations like you'd read in a book.

I'll help you start off, and guide the story along the lines:

With their lips locked, Ju ripped the already torn shirt off Wesley's sweaty body.

Continue in the comments section!

forgottenly...

2006-01-21T22:07:00.000+08:00

If it made some sense
I'd have done something
but life had't left me
I'm sorta lost
but then again
I left it behind
by accident
or forgttenly

Had it taken time
it probably would
since everything does
but I shoulda understood
I'd wasted it away
the chances of it
all happiness
or forgottenly

Crying makes no sense
since I lost nothing
not one cent
so why do I care
if I fare
badly
maybe it's that mostly
I've forgottenly

lack of inspiration...

2005-11-17T14:21:00.000+08:00

dry...

dry
it's like a parched bowl
or scorched lips
there's no way to explain it

empty
like a spent bottle
whisky or wine
there's no more drink in it

barren
like a cursed womb
no children
no passing on of blood

dead
like my unliving mind
bereft of thoughts
the end of my creation

Meh.

voice...

2005-11-13T11:22:00.000+08:00

No way to show it makes sense. It doesn't. When they start to not give a fuck, it unravels. Every last strand.

Should have picked up the challenge. Maybe then you would have been more the sum of your words. As it is, you can't count too well. To be limited to such algebraic equations as your definition, you're screwed beyond reason. Potatoes have a higher chance of seeing with their eyes than you do.

Shallow obsessions. You are hardly as popular as you THOUGHT you were. And then again, you fall back into the pattern. Revelations are of no use to someone who forgets them even before they're over. Pathetic.

You think you can write? You can't. Maybe that's why you keep trying. People want what they cannot have. And you can't have anything. So you want everything.

In a way, she was the only one who could love you. Only one who would. And you knew that. Maybe that's why you pushed her away. It was fun for awhile, but you knew that you weren't getting her anywhere. And you've become so much more fucked than you currently are.

Sometimes, you talk too freely. They like it, and that's why you do it. Attention seeking bastard you are. And they soak it all in, revelling in your pathetic inaptitude. You know that too, but the hopelessness wants it more than the pride despises it.

Eat your words. Every last one. They taste bad, like day old puke, or like her cooking, but that's not the point. You eat what you deserve, what you can afford. And as is, you're quite pathetic. But isn't everyone.

Sometimes you'd rather you were entirely gay. Or straight. Straddling the lines rather than a person is a lot more fucked up than it sounds. You see a cute guy, you go wow. You see a hot chick, you go wow. You can't really make up your mind, can you?

It seems that you live a rather perfect life. Like, who wouldn't want your spectacular grades and everything? You don't have to work for what you have. And truth be told, you aren't as fugly as you think you are. In an earthy sort of way, you're quite charming actually. Your personality, at least the one you project, seems to be amusing enough. At least that gives you a more or less constant crowd.

Again, you know that they're mocking you. People are sadistic. She'd agree, you suppose. Two outcasts, you are. And in the end, it's really not that lonely. Everyone does not fit in, or rather, no one does.

You know, you probably are only looking for physical intimacy because you want to feel wanted. Which you really aren't you know. And no amount of humping, grunting, screwing, shagging, fucking, is going to change that. If anything, that tiny piece of flesh serves as probably the only pleasure source that you ever get.

Your family is a weird one. They don't really give a fuck about you, and then again they care so much it smothers. You could die from the lack of attention, and you could drown in it. The worst part is they got it in the wrong order.

She would likely miss you. She's probably suffered a lot on your account. And now she's suffering more. You should have known better than to get involved with emotional females. Few things good come out of such things. But stupidity and assheadedness are sort of your trademarks.

In a way, you were better at 15 than you are now at 18. Even though you were uglier, stupider, more oblivious. Perhaps, the few improvements you had only served to downgrade further the shit that you were. Sordidly, you have no choice but to continue this lie.

Maybe. And maybe not.

I look away from the mirror. The dark voice stops. I turn to gaze out the 34th story window of my apartment. The wind is so bracing. And so I do the same for myself.

With a sigh, I jump.

finally...

2005-11-11T22:11:00.000+08:00

It wasn't the first time he found himself alone. This would be the 12th time this past year. Or 27th in the span of his short 17 year lifetime.

She had been so perfect. There wasn't anything he could want to add or remove from her immaculate being. Just the right height, the right shape, and that sweet face that was absolutely breathtakingly, well, perfect. There were no words to do her justice. That much he was certain of.

Then again, all 27 were perfect. And all left him.

Looking in the mirror with his sunken bloodshot eyes, he could see no real reason why they would. Sure, he was a bit on the chubby side, but that gave him the reassuring feel of a man, and as all of them had said, made him huggable. He was by no means too short, being a healthy 5'11". No one could say he was ugly, he was handsome and adorable on so many levels. His hair was definitely a selling point, rich and luxurious, long-ish, but hardly unkempt. No, there wasn't any significant flaw in him, besides the bloodshot eyes. But one had to expect that from not sleeping for a week.

Was it his personality? It could be hardly that. He was definitely attentive, but he understood personal space. He wasn't dull, that he was most certain of, neither was he too self absorbed. He was chatty, yes, but he hardly ever spoke out of place. And he got along well with everyone, even her girlfriends had no complaint about him. The life of the party, and the ever attentive mate he was, difficult as it may seem, he kept them both well.

He was definitely self sufficient. His parents died when he was 14, and he refused to go to an orphanage, so his cousin adopted him, legally, anyway, and he had been living off the money provided for in his parents' will since then, supplementing with odd jobs here and there. He was a good cook; he earned some of his keep cooking for his friends, and was no slouch at housekeeping. He definitely put down the seat of the toilet after use, and there were no stray undies around the small apartment he lived in. Not too athletic, true, but he always picked up a challenge with enthusiasm. Materialistically sound, there was no blame enough for them to leave him.

He was a good kisser, and great in bed. By all accounts, at least.

So what was it?

"I should be used to this by now," Juin silently mused to himself, his eyes lit up by a dark inner fire, his lips in a cold smirk. Grabbing his leather jacket, he walked out the door.

The park was dark and unlit. As usual. Vandals ran the place during the day, but rumours of ghosts kept people away at night. People except him of course. And someone else tonight, it seems.

The shadowy frame of a well built man appeared in the distance. The pale glow of the almost full moon lit the sharp features of an elvish-looking fellow; his hair was a long platinum fall stopping short of the middle of his back, a crisp looking nose and wide forehead. The lips were thin, almost a line, the eyes covered in the shadow of the long fringe. His shoulders were narrow, and sleek arms. His tight fitting mesh shirt betrayed the hint of ribs, supported by strong, if smallish, abdominals. The gauzy mesh disappeared beneath a pair of rugged black jeans. On what seemed to be size 9 feet, a pair of Japanese sandals hung on.

Jin continued to sit on a particularly preserved bench, swinging his keychain around his index finger in silent circles. The light reflecting off the keys flashed repeatedly into his black eyes. The stranger sat down next to him, and pulled out a well chewed pencil. He placed the pencil in his mouth and continue what was likely an unfinished task.

Jin said nothing, nor even turned towards the stranger. Rather, he began sobbing silently.

"Breakups are hard," a light but definitely male voice said. Juin lifted a half quizzical, half depressed look to his left. The stranger gazed up, pencil still in his mouth. The moon reflected off the pale face.

"Well, 12th in a year should have sort of inoculated me," the depressed boy replied, in a half sorrowful, half matter-of-factly voice.

The stranger turned to face Juin.

"I suppose you're wondering why."

Juin sighed, and began a description of every girl that had ever been with him.

"Sounds perfect."

"Each time. Sigh..."

"Then maybe it's a sign..."

"Of what? My inability to hold on to a girl?"

"Perfection," said the sharp featured man, "is not attainable."

"They were perfect. Each time."

"Precisely."

Juin got up, frustrated.

"Then what would you have me do? Every girl that has ever been with me was perfect!"

"Perhaps girls aren't meant for you. They feel a lot more than they know, and they probably realise that you're just not meant for them either. They probably realise that they can't pleasure you as well as you can be. Maybe you need something else..."

"What's your point?"

With that, the stranger stood up, held Juin's face firmly, and laid his lips on Juin's. Much to his own surprise, Juin found himself returning in kind.

The stranger's toungue was sure. As they probed past Juin's shocked and parted lips. Juin found himself biting lightly onto the intruding, but not unwelcome, visitor. He found his hands exploring the stranger. The soft skin under the already yielding mesh was warm to the touch, and was become sweaty, despite the frosty night air.

And most unexpectedly, Juin found himself getting aroused. At least, the physical accompaniments were there. The stranger's heaving chest showed that he was of like mind. They fell down, liplocked, into a pile of raked autumn leaves.

His hard tool unexplicably attentive, Juin found himself dry humping the stranger. They parted lips, and the stranger smiled at him. His deft hands quickly undid Juin's belt buckle, and pulled his leather pants down to his knees.

"I can see someone's excited..."

Juin's throbbing cock was leaking precum, his bikini briefs unbelievably tight on his 8 inch tool. He literally tore it off, the hard shaft bobbing free into the frigid night air, only to meet the elvish man's waiting mouth.

Not once in his 27 relationships had anyone been so good. Light licks, soulful sucking, and deep throat humming drove Juin mad on the edge. The sensation was mindblowing. And a good blowing the stranger was giving him too.

He let out a low moan, and let out a spurt all over the stranger's face. Seven strong shots he let loose, getting it all over himself and the barely dressed stranger. Absolutely spent from the most powerful orgasm in his life, Juin laid back in the leaves, his chest heaving.

The stranger got up, ran his fingers through his messed hair, and turned to walk away. He turned his head.

"I suppose you get the point."

Meh.

lost without a care...

2005-10-18T15:28:00.000+08:00

He was lost without a care. How could he not be? Was his own fault. He did it. On the stupidest of impulses. And it screwed the screw even deeper then it was meant to go. And the boards supporting the board began to creak. It wouldn't be long till they broke away. That's the last time he plays with the power screwdriver.

He was given the tools to build a house. He was told to build it with love, with the greatest care, careful not to leave behind anything from the plans, to stick with what he knew how to do, not put in unecessary flourishes, and most importantly, trust himself. That he did, at least, he thought so. But he didn't. He didn't truly love his job, not as much as was required for the sucessful construction. He didn't take the greatest care. He didn't follow the plans. He did things he didn't know how. He put in stupid flourishes that cost more than they were worth. And, he didn't trust himself.

As predicted, the house started to fall apart. It wasn't so evident, because he at least did the framework properly. But sure enough, it wouldn't last. How could it? He did not love it enough to notice that he had used the wrong floorings. He didn't stick to the plans close enough not to have made that seven inch gap inbetween the front wall panels. He didn't know enough to make the stairs sturdy enough to take the weight of a person. He put in stupid looking wooden gargoyles on the outside. And he didn't trust himself enough to build it properly, so he didn't.

As he fell through the board that he screwed in too tight, his mind flashed. On how he didn't do it properly at all. On how he should never have agreed to the job. On how everything was just not right...

And that thought ended when he broke his head on the floor that he had not made properly, a floor not soft enough to break his fall, a floor that should have been that way, seeing how it was supposed to be thick carpeted. And that small detail did not escape him as he died.

Meh.

just a little thought...

2005-10-12T20:52:00.000+08:00

Sometimes, this strikes so hard...

Have

Have you seen me angry?
Have you seen me sad?
Have you seen me inbetween?
Have you seen me glad?

Have you asked me why?
Have you asked me what?
Have you asked me at all?
Have you asked me not?

Have I told you anything?
Have I told you why?
Have I told you about myself?
Have I told you how I cry?

Have they ever bothered?
Have they ever cared?
Have they ever given a damn?
Have they ever shared?

Have I been gifted?
Have I been showed?
Have I always been despised?
Have I ever been loved?

Meh.

Plague of Light...

2005-09-30T12:59:00.000+08:00

It was hard to say when it first began. Probably on the last dawn of the Black Moon. It was pretty strange to say the least. One does not find oneself so transformed to such an extent in such a short time.

The Black Moon was a long period of strife amongst the D'jideen. These desert folk were of short stature, their features were partial to the troll side of their blood, but somewhere the Black Elvish heritage also showed. The troll blood constituted their tough countenance, with the D'jideen being known as the toughest of the Kilrathi civilized humanoids, at least where mass was concerned. The Black Elvish part of them offered them the speed and intelligence that made them popular spies and assassins, and combined with their trollness, they made a complete package.

To be sure, the first coupling of the Black Elves and the deep trolls was not much of a matter of choice, but that of desperation. Deep trolls were hermaphrodites, so that was not the issue. The issue, more precisely, was that of the Dark Elf female population being wiped out with the Plague of Light.

The High Priest of Jander, God of Light, had been kidnapped by the Dark Elf Patriarch, Haddon del 'Ni, in his youth. There, Phruop was made a sex slave. The young boy was brutally raped by each and every member of the del 'Ni household. How he escaped was more a matter of planning then it was luck. Phruop had been promised to the service of Jander no more than a month before he was kidnapped. As was requisite for all clerics of Jander, he was handsome youth, his face more commonly seen on male courtesans than priests. Indeed, many clerics of Jander were also courtesans, out to find female followers for Jander, such was the paradox of being a cleric of the God of Light.

It was probably due to his looks that Phruop was kidnapped. It was widely known that the Dark Elves were practising bisexuals, which was probably best considering their were among the lustier humanoid races. Phruop was about 16 when he was first interned into del 'Ni's service, not that he had a choice. The well built youth was exercising in the temple courtyards, naked, as the clerics required, when he was shot in the neck by a dart. Had he been less exhausted from his exertions, he might have made into the warded portion of the courtyard. But he soon blacked out from the poison.

When he had woken, he found himself tied down to a large steel frame. There, a vuloptious Dark Elf was busy fiddling with his genitals. It was not pleasurable. It was painful to say the least. The ring of adamantine that wrapped itself round his cock was ornately designed, and with runes that told the educated youth that it was magical. From the ring proceded two rounded spikes, which made their way under his scrotum, and pulled them tight to his body. Had he not been captive, he would have found it all very sensous, arousing even. Of course, that was part of their design. Another part was to interact with an implant that the Elvish female jammed up his anus, that implanted itself deep near his prostate. Four bands of the same metal and similar markings were clamped around his wrists and ankles. They would repel his limbs away from the ring, so that he could not touch himself. The Dark Elves were not fond of oral stimulation, and at that left his mouth untouched.

The rings and the implant served a single function: to make him as untiring a sex slave as possible, regardless of his actual physical exhaustion. On command, the ring would cause him to have an erection, as well as to magically change the size of his engorged penis to serve the whims of his female captors. Should a male Elf require his services, the implant would make him as tight as possible, that the Elf may derive as much pleasure as he chooses. These devices functioned with a Runeword, basically a ring that all members of the del 'Ni household wore. Should he displease his masters, any member of the del 'Ni family could initate the devices to stimulate the enslaved Phruop to near orgasm, but not allow him to have it. Soon, the slave would be begging for release, considering that the bands around his arms would not permit him to masturbate.

Phruop had about a year of training in the Temple before he was captured. During the seven years he was held captive, he had nightly prayers to Jander, at least, those nights when one of the del 'Ni were not busy with him. At the end of that seven years, Jander had made a personal response to Phruop through a dream, a dream that came after a sleep which was born from the exhaustion of having had to service all of the del 'Ni household, and their acquaintances, as they were having one of their annual orgies, in which all the noble households of the closest seven caverns would be invited. At that particular orgy, none had declined the invitation.

In the dream, Jander revealed the spell for a plague, the Plague of Light. As their names note, the Dark Elves were fond of the dark. They lived under the ground, after their banishment from the High Havens. As part of their banishment, they were cursed to be sensitive to light, and could only spend a few hours in the light each month. The spell that Jander provided would cause a small light to come into being from the inside of those stricken. This light would be dim, but grow, until the host would be completely enveloped in light. This would be an annoyance at most, but for the Dark Elves, fatal. Since Jander's followers were all female, and his priesthood all male, the spell would only affect the Dark Elf females.

The following few weeks Phruop prepared himself to cast the spell. Jander's blessing had protected him from the del 'Ni's wanting any sexual pleasures, so he had all the time he needed to memorize the incantations and the recital of prayers.

At the next Festival of Pale Dawn, Phruop was brought to the center of the southern Dark Elf city, G'zal. The patriarchs of the city each took turns to provide slaves for the festivities, where the most virile of male Dark Elves and the most voluptious of females were to show their skills with the slave, which was almost always male, who would likely die of exhaustion at the end of the festival. The point of the Festival was to display the best of the city's youth in hopes of getting them married, although officially it was to celebrate the Ascension of the Goddess Myrial.

Phruop was paraded around the center square. Just as he was about to be bound in the fashion of a slave to be displayed, Phroup completed the incantations, and finished the final prayer. All the females were suddenly struck with a sharp pain in their abdomens. They all collapesed, and with the Priestesses in pain, the whole place was in pandemonium. Phruop made this his chance to escape, the route already burned into his mind by Jander's gifting.

When the clergy of Jander heard of Phruop's spell, he was made the High Priest, being as how the Dark Elves being the mortal enemies of the God of Light. From there, Phruop expanded the spell to affect all the Dark Elf communities this side of Kilrathi.

"Serves those gay fuckers right. Now they can fuck all the gay ass they want."

Phruop was particularly bitter towards the male Dark Elves. At least, being raped by a female Dark Elf brought some semblance of pleasure, but anal rape by the males brought nothing but pain, especially since the implant fed off his lifesource to pleasure his masters. He thought particularly ironic justice to have all the female Dark Elves die, leaving the males only to themselves. What he didn't count on was that they would copulate with the deep trolls.

To be truthful, the deep trolls were particularly beautiful for trolls. In the sun, which they loved most dearly, but could not withstand for too long, they resembled muscular, if slightly handsome humans. It was hard to tell if they were male or female, at least from the human perspective, since they were actually both. Some exhibited more female features, others more male. Nonetheless, they were savagely strong, and would be a master race, had they more semblance of intelligence and society. But they were loners, with a sexual appetite almost as voracious as the Dark Elves', necessary for survival in such a harsh place as the upper caverns.

To be continued...

Out.

time to go...

2005-09-22T22:24:00.000+08:00

Teminated

I think it may be time
I leave
I cannot stay
It's the way it's supposed to be
I do not belong
Did I ever?
I just realised
Maybe perhaps never
This place has nothing left to offer
Or do I have nothing for it?
I should leave
Or be left behind
To cut off the life behind me
Or is I that is terminated?

Out.

the lover, the handmaiden, and the loaded cock...

2005-09-16T00:30:00.000+08:00

Kyram looked into the mirror. She rubbed her sleek belly. Ah. All was good. After a good 3 months of practically starving herself, she'd finally gotten back that shape that Gryph was so enamoured with. Not that it would matter. He was unattentive, like always. In fact, a career had always been first place in his pretty head. No matter. Men were of as much consequence as a piece of chocolate: so tantalizing, giving orgasmic delights, but something she could pretty well live without. Especially when there were more in the box. Kyram lay down on the lush bed that lay a good half a room away from the mirror.

Gryph had been away for about 7 months now. The Jhamadhar army was where he had been. Being a battle mage kept him away, but definitely gave her the advantage of a well learned man, and a handsomely built one at that. He had the wit of a snow fox, and all the wonderful sleek musculature of an arch pegasi. A quick humour, and well toned buttocks. He was hung like a horse, as well, and something she would not quickly forget. The very thought of it made her the slightest bit aroused. She felt moisture build in her nether regions. She moaned slightly as she let her finger glide over her hardening bud, covered only by the thinnest of sheer silk.

Silfa pushed aside the lacy curtains that crossed the door. Ah. Just in time. Since Gryph would not be around, she would definitely need someone to satiate her lust, and Silfa, Gryph's adopted sister, would do nicely.

Silfa was a young girl, barely 16. Her appearances, exquisite as they were, told of even greater beauty to come. She stood at 6 feet and 5 inches of the ground, just 3 short of Kyram. Her breasts were well rounded, much like the bounteous kifa melons that grew in the yard. Her skin was a lovely bronzed colour, with a slight olive glow about them, as is particular of the people of the Jhamadhar outskirts. Her legs were shapely, and her buttocks well formed; not too large to be ungainly like a siege elephant, and not too small like a newt hatchling. All said, she was of perfect feature, the exact requirements needed for those who were to spend their lives as the handmaidens of rich and powerful Jhamadhar noblewomen.

Gryph was not stupid. He knew how much a handmaiden would earn in a year. Or at least, how much they would cost. He, himself was not from the region, rather, he was from the Kayyuthi mountains. Still, he knew the ways of the Jhamadhar, and possesing potent magics, he proved himself valuable to the Jhamadhar at the young age of 18 and quickly learned their ways. In 6 years, he had adopted Silfa as his sister, and sent her to the cares of the great mistress of Jhamadhar's handmaidens, Horabhi. In this manner, he had hoped to save on whatever women he would wish to keep, and perhaps even earn some money off Silfa.

Silfa had learned her trade quickly with Horabhi. She was a demanding mistress, and anything short of perfection was punishable in the most cruel of manners. It was not uncommon for handmaidens in training to walk around with whip marks all over their body, especially over the breasts and buttocks. Indeed, all novice handmaidens were made to go around naked, such was their trade to service noblewomen and, if need be, male visitors.

It had been 4 years already since she first started training, and Silfa had acquired much of the skills she would need as a handmaiden. For her test, she was sent home, under the watch of Kyram, who was ad hoc mistress of Gryph's residence. Since the latest campaign against the southern Fish-Men, the soldiers of Jhamadhar were hardly ever back, and as such, Kyram had put Silfa to as much use as she could find time to.

Silfa began by undressing herself of what little she already wore. Of what was on, of which there was only a transparent wrap around her shoulders and a silken loincloth held by a bronze clasp, she undid. The fell onto the floor in a whispering fall. Light glistened off her oiled skin. Her nipples were already hard from the anticipation. Kyram disapproved of uneager handmaidens. From a pouch she kept tied to her ankle, she pulled out a few dried leaves and put them into her mouth. They were herbs that numbed the sensation of pain, useful in the service of so harsh a mistress as Kyram.

Without a word, Silfa kneeled at Kyram's reclining form. Kyram spread her legs, the aroma of the very aroused lady filled the air. Silfa diligently applied the tip of her tongue to the inside or Kyram's tighs. The first time she did this, Kyram whipped her in annoyance, at that time being quite unexperienced as a mistress herself. So outraged was she that she had magically sealed Silfa's vagina for a month. But at this time, she had learnt to appreciate the subtle pleasures that Silfa had so painstakingly learnt with Horabhi.

With her tongue tracing out intricate patterns on the inside of Kyram's tigh, Silfa's hands got busy. They began to massage her mistress' belly, tracing a delicate line down the groove that ran down Kyram's midsection. Kyram grunted in approval. But it was clear she was getting impatient, as well as extremely excited. Her hips began to sway with the rythm of Silfa's attentions and soon her clitoris began to cry out for notice.

Silfa had learnt not to hurry. Prolong the 'ordeal', multiply the pleasure. Horabhi had always said that. Still, Silfa had an obliging nature. She put her left hand into the pouch and took out a pinch of blood red powder. Dragon's blood. She gently rubbed it into Kyram's now throbbing pearl. This was new to Kyram, and her face showed her bemusement, even through the mounting pleasure she was experiencing.

The sensations were subtle, but grew. First, there was a warm glow, almost as if someone were sucking on her. Then there was a chill, with the soothing feeling of crushed mint leaves. Then, it felt as if her whole crotch was on fire. She sat up and glared at Silfa. Silfa was ignorant of Kyram's change in posture, and continued doing what she had been doing. Kyram lifted her hand, about to cast a spell of infliction on Silfa, when she was hit by the most mindblowing orgasm. It was better than anything Gryph had given her, even with his experience.

She was knocked back on the bed, her arms rendered immobile, but crotch still on fire. Silfa, moving quick, placed her lips onto Kyram's lower lips. That was where the herbs came into effect, for the burning sensation coursed into Silfa, and she would have been floored by the pain had she not taken the herbs in advance. Her lips moved quickly, sucking on Kyram's tortured bud.

Within seconds, Kyram had been hit by another orgasm. Silfa, knowing her mistress could not well take one more and retain conciousness, got up, and laid beside her. With Silfa's melon breasts rubbing against Kyram's own ample chest, the lure for another dose began to find it's way back into Kyram's head.

Selfish as she was, Kyram was not entirely inconsiderate. She spread her legs, and pressed her own crotch against Silfa's. Silfa was surprised. They had not taught about such generous patrons in the school. Kyram's hips began rocking out a most comfortable motion, and soon Silfa began to follow suit. Their faces were not to be left unoccupied, though. Kyram's lips pressed against Silfa's, and the remaining effect of the dragon blood flowed in the most pleasant of manners through their veins. Had they not already been grinding into each other they would have orgasmed anyway, such was the potency of the dragon blood. The exhausted Kyram laid back, pushing Silfa, who had yet to reach her own climax, away.

Kyram's idea of a successful sexual venture always included some phallic fun. Since Gryph was not around to provide his phallus, and servants were not allowed to provide such, unless their express duties included it, Kyram would have to make do with magic. With a wave of her hand, she summoned what appeared to be two enourmous penises stacked one on top of the other. The bi-phallus made it's way to her waiting cavern, and began their repetitive motion into both her rear holes.

Kyram turned to look at Silfa, who had the slightest tinge of disappointment colouring her face. Why not, she thought, and quickly summoned an equal pair for Silfa.

Silfa was clearly enjoying this. She didn't often get the pleasure, only once, in fact, when Gryph had to test her to send in a report to Horabhi. The playful, and cruel, streak in Kyram demanded she take advantage of the situation. With the slightest change of the spell, she made the twin phalluses ramming Silfa twice their width, twice their length, and twice their ferocity.

Silfa was screaming in pain and ecstasy. This was far beyond anything she'd ever imagined. It was past noticing individual orgasms, and past distinguishing them from pain. She was hit by seven waves, one after the other. After the final, a wave of numbness set over her, as the phalluses dispelled, having accomplished their task, and absorbing Silfa's energy as payment.

Unaware to the both of them, Gryph had returned early. He had been standing there from the point when Silfa had used the dragon blood, which was much to his surprised, for he had only known them to be used by men for enlarging the length and width of the penis. It seems that dragon blood WAS a potent aphrodisiac.

Gryph had just been promoted to mage-captain of his platoon. The general had been much impressed with his performance, which seemed all the more better at the praises of his daughter, whom Gryph had been secretly making love to. After all, it could hardly be expected that a military man only keep company with his hands.

Now both had passed out from their exertions, Kyram having already come 6 times. Gryph had been standing there, dumbfounded, dripping pre-ejaculate through his mage's robes. He had always known of the Jhamadhar practice of pleasuring themselves with handmaidens, but never having witnessed it. Had he known that it would be such a libido enhancer, he would have invited Silfa to more of his lovemaking sessions with Kyram.

He could take it no more. He flickered his robes out of existence, and plunged his foot long phallus into Silfa's drooling hole. Silfa awoke with a start. Her first sight was that of her adoptive brother ramming his hard rod into her, and she didn't know whether to be afraid, or to be elated. At any rate, she decided to enjoy it for now, having not had her fill.

Kyram also awoke, and upon seeing her lover fucking her handmaiden, she kissed him full on the lips, pushing her tongue far past the treshold.

Gryph had not planned on the pleasures of two women at once. He gratefully accepted the attentions of both. His climax was building. A spell of delay kept him going. He needed the extra time. His left hand was exploring Kyram's left breast, and his right, the other. Silfa was nibbling his right nipple, her hands carassing his well defined abdominals. Kyram was rubbing her hands all over his back, rubbing the light brown hairs the wrong way, sending a tingly sensation down his spine.

Kyram suddenly bit hard on his shoulder, her own hard bud having had received attention, again, from Silfa's hands. She came again, her juices dripping onto the black granite floor. At the thought of that, Silfa came as well, her vaginal muscles clamping down hard onto Gryph's enourmous cock. A few pumps later, Gryph's spell broke down, having held back far more lust than it was meant to, and he orgasmed, pulling out at the same time, covering all three of them in a thick cream.

All three fell into an extremely exhausted heap.

Far away, High Priestess Andrienn of the Goddess Eroi, Goddess of Sexual Intercourse, grunted as she brought herself to orgasm. Watching the threesome through the glass pool was one of the priveleged of being the high priestess. The other being in ready supply of virile young males. But sometimes, one's own company was best.

Out.

seductive muse...

2005-09-15T12:46:00.000+08:00

Might as well do a little suggestive poetry.

Writer's foreplay, lolz.

Ambrosia

The slender figure unravels
Beneath the sheet I see her form
Her lightly smiling face
Dark raven hair flowing
She rises
The sheet falls off her breasts
Like running water
Revealing her silken skin
And flawless form
She beckons
I follow
Starting with a kiss
The deepest flow of honey
As we make passionate love
As fiery and soothing
As the finest ambrosia

Out.

dredged up....

2005-09-15T12:41:00.000+08:00

Some works from last month. I was planning on expanding this story. It's heterosexual in nature, so it shouldn't offend TOO many of you. The original story was written for the MPH Young Writer's Search competition. My other story got shortlisted. As for this one, the original was a little less explicit, as you can probably tell. Notable about this post is that it was when I first figured out how to hide words in plain sight. Like, literally. Whatever.

Anyways, here's the post in whole full length glory.

Decided to write a little interesting something. You will notice a few long blank places. These are where explicit content is written, hidden so as not to offend conservative/underaged readers (do I have any of those?). If you want to read it, you know what to do. Anyways, here goes:

Leaving Behind

The year is 2030. Unlike the reality predicted by the ‘experts’, the world is not going to last for another 2000 years. Multiple misunderstandings and swift responses from the various warring clans that sprung up soon after the fall of the United Nations in 2015 had caused obliteration of whole populations. Large impact craters are all that were left of the nations that had refused to ally themselves to any of the clans. In fact, it was the apathy of these very nations that had caused the downfall of the old world order. In its place, a conglomerate of the world’s richest and most powerful people, who had for some reason or another refused to join with the clans, formed the Global Evacuation Initiative, or the GEI. With the resources at hand, they created a massive orbital relay station, with the intention to transport a select group of individuals through the warp technology developed to traverse wide distances instantaneously to a distant galaxy.

How do I fit into this picture? I am one of the select group of people to join the GEI’s plan on planetary relocation. It is not surprising that the majority of people chosen for this grand scheme were young people, mostly those aged below 18. No surprise at all, seeing how they were the least tainted by the clans’ propaganda. Also, it helped that I was one of the many young people who had been the brains behind developing the warp technology that would be our way to a better future for humankind. Educational quality had gone up considerably since the early 2000s. At levels once considered attainable only by elderly academicians, teenagers as young as 15 were making stunning discoveries in various scientific fields. Through their schemes, jealous older scholars had instigated the global leadership stance leading to the current situation.

I pack my personal effects into my extremely compact spatial-dynamics pack, a particularly useful invention of mine. My mind wanders to the realities of this now hostile world. Tears began to well up behind my dark eyes, with anger at the adults who were supposed to guide us but were too busy killing each other, sadness at having to leave my homeworld, and relief that I would soon be on another planet, where it had to be better than whatever was going on here. The pack floats gently over my bed, filled to the brim with all my essentials. I clip the palm sized device onto my left pocket, and sighing, took a good final look around the room in the GEI’s institute where I had spent the last 15 years of my 16 year life.

As my six foot frame stepped out onto the tree-sheltered boulevards that ran through the institute, I gazed beyond the laser fencing into the ruined townscape. What once used to be a gleaming city full of spectacular structures and literal floating gardens was now reminiscent of a 1990s doomsday movie. Maybe this was the very thing envisioned by the writers. Indeed, the only reason the institute was intact at all was because of the barrier shields placed around the perimeter, behind which we watched as the enemy clan warships dropped hydrogen bombs on the city. I brushed the images out of my head and continued towards the shimmering warp portal that would take me to the gathering point for the warp launch.

As I step onto the deck of the waiting area, a familiar hand clasps mine. Carmen, my sweetheart, grins wildly at me. Her beautiful face glimmers with the hope of a new future far away from marauding clan troops and the deafening hydrogen bombs. She had been the head scholar for work on the teleportation calculations, such a head for numbers as she had, and a beautiful head it was. It was there that I met her, and it was love at first sight. How the top scholar had fallen for a lowly mechanist was beyond me, but through her guidance and status, I accelerated through the ranks and became lead researcher for the warp engine design. With her as my muse, the design proceeded rapidly and the engine was ready in about a third of the expected two years. Of course, besides the intellectual tutelage, she was most invaluable in my studies of the more romantic nature, with many practical demonstrations, reinforced by playful touches in suggestive locations whenever we were together.

I pull her into a convenient corner room of the transport platform. Her soft hands trace a pattern on my back. She looks delightful in the leather outfit, even more so in this dimmed light. Our lips press close to each other. A slight intrusion from her part adds to the sensations of the moment. An increasing heat adds to the furiousity of the exchange. Her flesh is every bit as sweet as I remembered it last. Even with the bleak reality in the back of the people's minds, passion is every bit the part the concern of hormonal teenagers. We are no exceptions. My fingers sneak their way past the restrictive material of her clothes. She likewise has her delicate hands assist me out of my now suddenly uncomfortable pants. The falling of the fabric is in time with the unclasping of her gauzy undergarments, previously held up by luciously fruitful but not overabundant spherical forms. The passionate kissing does not slow down one bit throughout this. As our naked flesh presses together, the playful groping intensifies. I poise myself to take a downward strike.

I am knocked out of my reverie by a sharp explosion that rocks the entire platform. Figments of the imagination run wild in times like this. As it is the situation runs back to the current pressing issues. It seems that the clan warlords have issues about us leaving the planet with the only technology that could save anyone from the oncoming global apocalypse. Through the blackened windshield, we can see multiple scores of clan gunships flying towards us. A frantic alarm is sounded, and GEI fighters, what few we had, respond. The brave pilots who had not succumbed to clan propaganda had pledged their lives to seeing the GEI plan come to fruition. Many had children who were within the GEI’s select group. Carmen’s father is one of them.

As the GEI fighters cover us, the transport platform lifts off. Through the explosions, we can see our defenders fall like the noble warriors they were. I hold Carmen tight as she weeps silent tears as her father’s fighter goes down. In his sacrifice, an entire clan cruiser was downed, buying the transport enough time to leave the atmosphere. We approach the awaiting orbital relay, and even through the vacuum of space we can feel the shuddering of the titanic mechanisms latching onto the transport.

The shield barriers around the orbital relay go up. The reality beyond the shield begins to twist as the warp engine builds up the force needed to teleport us to that distant galaxy. The clan gunships blur out of vision as an ethereal silence descends on the relay. I kiss her softly, whispering the tales of a future yet to come. Her silent reply reflects that of all the others that have made it with us today: that what we have left behind is a reality now past, and the reality yet to come will be what we make of it, a future that we hope will not mirror our past. And there will be time enough to fulfill our fantasies with each other.

Done. There. I hope those of you interested enough would have read the censored bits, though I do not advocate doing so to those under aged. Of course, I always like all my work to be crituqued, and all feedback is most welcome. Evon, if you read the blacked out bits, don't take it too literally, lolz. It's writing. Not reality. And my reality is usually a lot kinkier and sexier than that, lolz. I love you, darling.

Out.

lemon meringue...

2005-09-14T23:50:00.000+08:00

This is taken from quicksilverlining. You probably know that.

Warning: this is quite explicit, and should not be read by anyone who would rather not have anything to do with homosexual activity of any sort, including sordid descrptions of purely fictional characters in a poorly fashioned environment doing kinky things that they technically wouldn't be doing if they weren't gay. In other words, don't read unless you really want to. The words are now hidden, and a blatantly obvious method should be used to view it. Do not ask why. Suffice to say, it is out of sheer boredom.

Note: this in no way indicates the author's sexual inclinations, only the author's proclivity to writing as a skill rather than a reflection of any personal opinion of the author. And also to show off. Meh.

As he cracked the eggs on the side of the large porcelain bowl, Kimi turned his head to look at his lover.

Youri was sitting on the couch, staring blankly at the large screen in front of him. Desperate Housewives was his favourite show, but lately, it was getting bland. He yawned, flicked the TV off, and scratched his bare stomach, a well defined row of washboard abdominals.

Kimi continued his work, grinning like how a newly married wife would at the thought of her husband. He picked up the flourbag and started pouring the contents into the bowl.

Youri had been sneaking up on Kimi, and just as Kimi began pouring the flour in, Youri pounced. His strong fingers found their way to Kimi's naked ribs, sending a shock to the baker. Kimi dropped the bag, and instantly they were both white from head to toe. The eggs and lemon juice that was painstakingly squeezed spilt onto the floor.

Kimi turned round, with an annoyed look on his smooth, flawless face.

"Oh, great, Youri. Now you made a big mess. Everything's all messed. And if I clean up this mess now, the lemons will go brown and my meringue will be all spoilt."

Youri just loved that annoyed look. He pressed his hands on Kimi's chest. It was smooth from the flour. His hand glided across Kimi's boyish chest in the most suggestive manner.

Kimi swatted his hand away.

"Not now, Youri. I've still got this mess to clear up. And thank you for not offering to help. Much."

Despite his obvious annoyance at Youri's interference, it was also clear that Kimi was quite receptive to Youri's subtle hint. Except to Youri, whose thick skull and imperceptive manner had caused more than one failed relationship. Kimi was the only one who could tolerate him long enough to agree to be his lover.

Youri walked back to the couch dejectedly. He decided he was sleepy, and peeled off his long pullstring pants. He always slept in the nude.

Kimi took off the apron. He was now totally naked. With his hands on his slender hips, he lightly tilted his brunette head to the left to survey the damage Youri had caused. It was then he decided that it was too much to bother with, and besides, he should make Youri help clean the mess up.

He walked over to Youri's sleeping form, and pushed the couch over. Youri fell out, but remained asleep, absolutely in character of his thick skulled nature. Kimi dragged him by the feet to big mess of egg, flour and lemon juice and began rolling him around in it. Still, the muscular body of Youri did not stir one bit.

Kimi stood back to survey his artwork. Youri was a huge mess. An absolutely delicious one. But something else was missing.

"Sugar. And some cinammon."

Kimi dusted a thin layer of cinammon powder on Youri's face, stomach, and crotch. Then he poured a whole cupful of sugar on his feet and hands and a light dusting on his head. As a finishing touch, he placed a single large glaced cherry on Youri's delectable lips.

"Absolutely good enough to eat."

He began with the face. The cherry was first to go. And soon the tongue went pass the lips to see if anything was missed. Youri willingly, though unconciously, parted his lips ever so slightly. Kimi wondered if he was actually awake. No. From the sight of his dribbling organ at the other end, Youri was having a wet dream.

"I wonder if it's about me," Kimi thought, as he began to work his way down to Youri's muscular chest. He'd be almost jealous of Youri's muscular bod, if he not had been his lover. Kimi's whole family had always been slight of build, and his own body reflected that inheritance.

His tongue licked the slippery sweet-sour coating of sugar, flour, egg and lemon juice off Youri's now erect nipples. Wow, must be some dream.

Youri grunted. His hands shifted to his cock, and with a slight rubbing, similar in manner to a guy adjusting his gear after taking a leak, he placed them rather awkwardly onto Kimi's back.

Kimi almost collapsed under the weight of his heavy arms. Youri's whole body was extremely well built, his upper body especially. Youri had been a gymnast with the state, and as such was well accustomed to strenous upper body workouts. With enormous, but well defined, biceps and triceps, and bulging forearms, Youri could heft his massively built body around the equipment with ease.

Youri's hands began to crawl down Kimi's back, as Kimi continued to clean Youri's chest, inch by inch. Suddenly, Kimi felt his ass being spread by Youri's strong hands. Oh, just wonderful, he thought. Another one of Youri's extremely physical (and realistic) dreams. His fingers continued their way around the crack of Kimi's ass, occasionally slipping inbetween them, giving Kimi sudden (but very pleasurable) shocks.

Still asleep, Youri grabbed Kimi's head and forced them down to Youri's now fully erect and throbbing cock. With that, the large piece of meat plunged into Kimi's gaping mouth, almost gagging him.

"Hmm, it DOES taste like lemon meringue!"

Even in his sleep, Youri was an extremely physical person, and although not given to sleepwalking, was definitely given to sleep fucking.

On the verge of orgasm, Youri suddenly stopped. His eyes opened suddenly, and a confused look crossed them. Kimi, still recovering from the oral rape he had just undergone, could pretty much say nothing. The look of confusion passed, and Youri fell asleep again.

Kimi sat back, his mouth dribbling a slick and slimey mixture of pre-cum, egg, flour, lemon juice, sugar and cinnamon powder. It all tasted very weird together. He sat awhile to catch his breath, then got up to get a mop.

Without warning, Youri's large hands caught him again, and forced him into a doggy position. His butt cheeks spread again, Kimi winced as he prepared himself for some rough (Youri was never too refined, even when awake) penetration.

Youri slammed all nine inches of his horse cock into Kimi's tight hole. At the end, his large scrotum slapped noisily against Kimi's ass. This hammering continued in a most frenzied manner. Crude as he was, Youri was not entirely inconsiderate. His right hand was running the length of Kimi's pencil dick, moving in the same rhythemic motion of his pounding.

Kimi didn't know whether to enjoy this or be annoyed. He still had a mess to clean up, and dinner to cook. That would have to wait, as he felt his, and Youri's, climax build. They both exploded at the same time, with Kimi's warm ejaculate spilling all over the already messy floor, and Youri's cream filling Kimi's anal cavity and spilling out.

His eyes still closed, Youri let go of Kimi and fell onto his back with a contented sigh. He mumbled, "oh, that was so good, Ayumi..."

"Ayumi?!?"

Kimi got up, gave a sharp kick to Youri's nuts, and strode out of the house, totally naked, leaving behind a yelling Youri, a large mess on the floor, and the lemon meringue he had made the day before in the fridge.

That was weird.

Out.

a silver coin...

2005-08-14T17:50:00.000+08:00

Silver is an interesting thing. It's supposed to destroy lycanthropes, that is, were-creatures. Probably cuz it's also supposed to be a holy metal, either that or since silver leaf is used to make mirrors, and that eville creatures that look into mirrors perish, it's powerful. Meh. At any rate, a silver coin is a valuable thing. And I have one in my room.

A Silver Coin

Spinning slowly slowly
Round and round
A small bright mirror
From it a reflection's found

Picked up and dropped
Into a felt pocket of coins
It's hard to tell the value
But we know it brightly shines

From out of the corner a gleam
The guard's eye it catches
Cross my palm with silver
To go through the King's passes

An old crone comes up
Peddling magical charms and more
A silver coin will pay for them
For something, or a whore

The man in the dark sees
How you killed the bumbling fool
He wants a pretty coin no less
To be silent, to avoid a duel

A bribe, a payment, a silencer
Strange how so simple it is
When a small flat round of metal
Can bring such useful practical bliss

Shit. I think I've been reading too much Forgotten Realms. Oh well.

Jin out.

chemistry...

2005-08-03T10:18:00.000+08:00

Something interesting I learned in chemistry: entropy (the measure of chaos in a system) has a natural tendency to increase, that is become more chaotic. The general idea is that it is more logical for stuff to become messed up than to be neatly packed. The only way to reverse this is to apply a force/energy/effort to the system in the effort to make it more orderly. That means, the universe is constantly becoming more and more chaotic. The entropy of the universe is constantly increasing. Which kind of explains my life. Meh.

chaotic muse

what do you know
nothing
what do you feel
nothing
what do you understand
nothing

she whispers
it all becomes clear
that nothing makes sense
nothing is orderly
nothing is complete
nothing is there
all is a big mess
a crater of dust
specks swirling in the wind
scrabling themselves ever forward
and we cannot stop it
ever

what do you know
nothing
what do you feel
nothing
what do you understand
nothing

Jin out.

depressive front...

2005-07-29T22:50:00.000+08:00

It's been awhile since this particular page has seen any action. And in my case, awhile for posting means anything longer than 2 days. Mwahaha. Writing addict. Apparently it's something I'm good at. But sometimes, I not too sure. Aih.

I should be real cheerful right now. Like, Evon's back for the weekend. Will be seeing her tomorrow. Aih. I really should be having dinner with her family. She was very very patient with mine, lolz. But I don't know. My life is not going according to perceived arrangements. It's fallen apart from the predicted path. Notice I shy away from applying the word plan. No plan ever works out the way you expect. With prediction, you allow for an infinite amount of error without taking on the blame. Bloody irresponsible.

Anyways, a depressive front has built up. Might last for the rest of my life.

rotting to bits

we never miss it
although it's always there
or maybe because it's there
that we don't see how
or why

but now it's gone
maybe for now
maybe for ever
maybe it never was there in the first place

or perhaps even
it's all playing in my head
or it is not
and it's the truth
maybe a slump
maybe a permanent pit
leading on into infinity
i cannot tell
all i know
is that
it's decaying

my talents
my skills
my knowledge
my life
rotting to bits

Jin out.

blatant coincidence...

2005-07-25T10:11:00.000+08:00

I've begun to notice. Almost all the new people I've met since this year are inexplicably linked to each other one way or another. One of Eva's friends was at a party I attended on Saturday. True enough,I didn't know Simone at all, but was dragged there by her ex, Darien. Wonderful. It seems that Eva's friend knew her cousin at whose house it was being held. Nice place. You can read about it here. At any rate, the number of weblike connections are inexplicable, unless of course, I've fallen into an already existing social network. Coolness.

coincidence?

i thought i was alone
that only i knew
or at least
no one i knew
knew

strange how one
simple link
can make a long chain
or even a large net
or a tapestry

it's 6 degrees of seperation
or mayhaps even just 2
or maybe all you need is yourself
or perhaps it's just
a simple
coincidence?

Jin out.

missing my baby dearly...

2005-07-22T10:11:00.000+08:00

Yeah. Said it a million times before, and I'll say it again. I miss you, Evon.

so much, so far...

it's so much to say
it's so far to be
it's so hard to think
it's so complicated to feel

maybe it's just complicated
maybe it's just hard
maybe it's just far
maybe it's just much

or maybe it's just you

Jin out.

doomed to failure...

2005-07-19T22:11:00.000+08:00

I have a deepest foreboding feeling. It's something I generally disdain, not least because of the empty stomach feeling. I feel like I'm going to fail something, and it's going to be proven either way soon. Ah.

doomed

i'm gonna die
that much is certain
i'm gonna fail
that much is given

it's too much to ask
that i stop thinking this way
it's too much to do
to think of anything else to say

so i guess it's so simple
that i just keep on this path resumed
so i guess it's uncomplicated
to understand the reasons i'm doomed

Jin out.

for Evon...

2005-07-18T00:41:00.000+08:00

It's been almost 24 hours since I last saw her. Right now, she's resting her beautiful head on a pillow in some hotel in Kangar, tired out from her long journey, getting ready to start a new phase in her life in about 8 hours time. And for me, I can't sleep. Thinking about her. No, I'm not sad she left. I'm happy she's pursuing her goal, though my constant repetition of that line makes me wonder what I really feel. There isn't that rough edged longing in my heart. In fact, over dinner I talked with enthusiasm about her new life there. Almost as if, I was there with her. Maybe I am.

Missing You...

Missing you dearly
though it's barely been a day
and the hours seem like years
though it's something not quite right to say

Missing you so much
I never knew I could
but I know I'm very happy for you
that's the least I know I should

Missing you, my darling
I'm sure you know that by now
I pray that you're there safely
and enjoy yourself somehow

Missing you, my love
and hopefully without pain
that soon, and quickly as swift can be
we'll see each other again

I love you, Evon.

Jin out.

total mental miscommunication...

2005-07-15T15:33:00.000+08:00

I've been thinking much in the past 5 minutes. I have come to realise that it's pointless. I should just write with my brain seperate from my fingers. That way, it would make more sense. Or at least, it should. Whatever.

Miscommunicate

What
is
wrong
with
writing
one
word
a
line?
Is
it
so
hard
to
understand
this
or
is
this
just
absolutely and totally a random miscommunication?

Jin out.

P.S. That didn't turn out so well.

tell me...

2005-07-14T10:09:00.000+08:00

I think this still applies, even though the time of writing was a serious period of questioning, period meaning between 5 minutes and 5 hours. Yes, this is still an exploration of classics. But honestly, I haven't been writing long enough to call anything I write a classic, not even in relevance to me. Whatever. Mehness.

Tell Me

Tell me
What you really think of me
Behind sweet smiles
You hide your deep hate

Tell me
What you really see in me
Behind approving glances
You hide evil glares

Tell me
What you really want of me
Behind generous gestures
You hide covetous hearts

Tell me
What you want me to be
Behind kind acceptance
You hide your ostracision

Back From Beyond the Grave

The dead man rose
And looked around
And saw that no one cared
What was then his life
And now they'll care
When he comes back from death
And they will know
And they will bow
And all will cower
When he unleashes breath
A long wind stagnant
And they will feel his presence
Where they ignored it in life
What they will fear in death

Shut up

Shut up, boy
That's what I used to hear
And one day
I decided it was worth to bear
And shut up I did
And said nary a word
Even if it was something I wanted
Or to insult a foolish turd
I wouldn't speak
I wouldn't talk
I wouldn't yell
Or scream or balk
Then one day
It came to light
I had to speak
To break a fight
But no not I
I wouldn't budge
I just shut up
Fearing I would be called sludge
I had to speak
Telling truth or having lied
It didn't matter I didn't talk
So I just shut up and died

Jin out.

revisiting classics...

2005-07-13T10:03:00.000+08:00

Yeah, some of my best poetry were from the early days of quicksilverlining. I suppose it makes sense revisiting them, especially my personal favourites. I suppose a few people do appreciate reading these, though they are bloody amateurish. Not to say that Shakespeare was all that good at the beginning either, especially given his time of literary giants. I still think that amateur works tend to be more interesting because they are more personal and less structured. But that's just me.

Teardrops

Teardrops
Falling down
In dripping thoughts
Silent cries spot your eyes
Sobbing quietly
Pain withheld within
Away from prying
With no one hearing
Alone
Breaking of heart
Within the face of stone

Teardrops
Running down
In falling spirits
Painful thoughts haunt your mind
Yearning wistfully
Pain withheld within
Clutching tightly
With no one knowing
Alone
Breaking of heart
Within the face of stone

Teardrops
Flowing down
In sundered emotions
Joyless laughter fill your lips
Whispering soundlessly
Pain withheld within
Caged from touch
With no one feeling
Alone
Breaking of heart
Within the face of stone

Peace

Peace
Silence of the dark
With nothing stirring black
Silk smooth as thick as night

Tranquility
Stillness of stone
Lying without motion
Betraying no life

Deepness
Fathomless pools
Unending depths of glass
Held in eternal cold

Peace
Silence of the dark
With nothing stirring black
Silk smooth as thick as night

Calm
Unshaking solitude
Gentle breeze of quiet
Unwinding mosaic piece

Agelessness
Everlasting presence
Always beholding
Timeless passage

Peace
Silence of the dark
With nothing stirring black
Silk smooth as thick as night

Cut

The first is deepest
The second hurts as bad
The third teaches lessons learnt
And the fourth only shows you're sad
The fifth is a reminder
The six shows what you're worth
The seventh represents your abilities
And the eight is a symbol of your birth
The ninth and tenth only serve to show
That life is full of painful cuts,
The last is the final blow.

That should suffice for today, no? More coming soon. That is, if I do remember which ARE classics and which are junk.

Jin out.

it ain't that simple...

2005-07-12T11:34:00.000+08:00

Some people say I'm lucky that I'm smart. I wonder what gave them that idea. Good grades do not reflect intelligence, nor the capacity to process that intelligence. The smartest people I know didn't do too well in their formal education, but I'd say that they are better off than me. At least they can survive in this fucked up world. Me? Haha. What a joke.

it ain't that simple

you think it's all roses
don't you?
i'll say one thing
that you don't know what it's been
how it's like to not know this
or that
but maybe you do
and i'm the one deluded

perhaps they're right
but more likely they're not
but who am i to say
i'm supposed to be the smart one
but you can't tell either
can you?
you want to know me better?
well, so do i
not that anyone understands
not even i

to say it's good to be me
it ain't that simple

Jin out.

still fucked up...

2005-07-11T23:30:00.000+08:00

I still feel terribly fucked up over upsetting Evon. Like, horribly horribly so, especially evident if you read today's Xanga entry. How not to? It was blatantly obvious that it was my mistake, and I didn't have the guts to apologise, even after she told me how she likes her apologies. Haha. Last night's lame attempt at apologising is hilarious, ironically. I find it so funny that a wordsmith like me could lose his tongue when confronted by anyone. But then again, this isn't just anyone. She's my girl, and I'd bloody fucking hate to hurt her. Which I did, and sadly probably will again. Ah!

I should just die...

I should just die
No question about it
Or better still
Never have been
It would have made more sense that way
If I never held sway
Over the things I do now
Or rather what I didn't
But the bottom line is
For what I did
Or will do to her
I should just die...

Jin out.

i'm sorry...

2005-07-11T13:47:00.000+08:00

Hey, darling. Since I now know that you know of this, I think I should be a bit more careful what I write, eh? Mwahahaha. Okay lar, I don't always write what I think lor. Sometimes I like to exaggerate for what few readers I have. So, if what I write about you seems terrible, you have every right to slap me straight across the face, or even worse, write about me. Okay? Here's my apology, in writing, cuz I feel like I did significantly piss you badly, more than once, and more than you mentioned. I'm sorry.

I'm sorry

I'm sorry if I made you cry
I'm sorry if I just didn't see
I'm sorry if I ever hurt you
I'm sorry if I didn't know it was me

I don't know how else to say
And you know my words are weak when you are there
I think it's best I just shut up
That's the best I can say

So I'll just write what I think I should
Or stuff that could maybe make a difference
Perhaps an apology might work
Or it could just make things worse

But it's my honesty that I try to bear
I can't say it any how else
Or anywhere
I'm sorry in the truest sense

I'm sorry if I didn't know
I'm sorry if I didn't show
I'm sorry if I didn't call
I'm sorry that I did anything to hurt you at all

Jin out.

toilet rolls...

2005-07-09T21:46:00.000+08:00

Okay, I just thought up this silly poem, but it's kind of insightful in a sense. Tell me what you think.

Pipe Dreams

Pipe dreams of toilet rolls,
isn't it absurd to what we know,
nothing is a lot,
and a lot much less,
that much confess,
nothing makes sense,
and doing what's best,
it's all hopes and what-ifs galore,
all quite a stupid bore,
could die from the daftness,
if it all weren't all so deep,
but in the end,
all they be are stupid pipe dreams.

Jin out.

double duhness...

2005-07-09T17:30:00.000+08:00

Maybe I should put up a counter here. Like, who's here? I don't know. Mwahaha. If you guys like my writing, I'd be much obliged if you would leave your comments about each piece. Thanks a bunch!

Lost in Translation

I told you
There never was a reason
To worry
About my current desperation
But somehow
The message never got through
Or was it
Just lost in translation

Nobody Cares

I could have told you
That I'm alone
In this fucked up world

I could have shown you
That no one's there
No one gives a damn

It's just plain to see
That there's only me
Why should I care
If anybody's there
There's no point waiting
My patience dissapating
Pointless hope
I should just stay in my room to mope

I should have said this
That it's pointlessness
For me to be

I should have done this
Left myself alone
Sleeping in my room

It's loneliness
And joylessness
If there's nothing left to see
Now then, what of me
In the end nobody's there
Because nobody cares

Jin out.

broken...

2005-07-09T00:01:00.000+08:00

I think she has just rebuked me, in the most indirect way possible. And I feel the sting. Normally, I'd just be annoyed. Pissed maybe, cuz I never ever am wrong. Never. Except when she says I am. Then my whole world crumbles. No, with other people, it's pai sehness. With her, I'm shattered. I just noticed this five minutes ago. I think she wants to yell at me. I'm extremely sad that she didn't. It would have been better if she did, but she didn't.

Broken

Falling into a million pieces
only you can do
So much for being strong
I'm nothing without you

Sometimes you don't say it
even though I know you should
But I realise one thing
I'm dead if you would

It's silence that now greets me
in my silent room now dark
The air is cold, the window's closed
my mind reeling from the fuck

I can't help but be this way
worthless as I am
I don't really wonder why
you would ever give a damn

In the end I guess you'll never hear
these silent words I've spoken
Everyday I sit and stare
complete as I am broken

Jin out.

normalcy...

2005-07-08T10:02:00.000+08:00

What is normal is usually not, at least in a way most people can't see. What's so normal about being normal? It has become some sort of twisted reality, where it is the very 'in' thing to be different. Since everyone's doing it, wouldn't it be the anamoly to be the one who stays the same?

Warped Reality

What is the truth?
What is not?
Can we find what is not there?
Can we understand that we do not care?
Is there a hope for those lost in a storm?
Is there a reason for those who mourn?
Perhaps we all need a chance?
Perhaps there is something left behind?
Where do the answers lie?
Where is this warped reality?

Jin out.

refreshed purpose...

2005-07-07T18:43:00.000+08:00

Aih. The whole idea of writing from a fantasy point of view has been in vain. It was a stupid idea in the first place, anyhow. Shame to let a blog go to waste, so I'll use this as my poetry archive, not that anyone noticed. Oh well. It's all for the better.

Falling out of Bed

I fall out of bed
In the morning
And I want to crawl back in
But I can't

I hobble into the bathroom
Picking up the toothbrush
And look into the mirror
I see death

I pull on my clothes
Onto a fading wreck
And I feel the dying heartbeat
I choke

I walk down to breakfast
Alone into the room
And pick up my coffee
The cup spills

I walk out the door
To face the careless world
And I halt
As I drop lifeless to the floor

Jin out.