Vagrancy

May 8, 2013

I walk through the white corridors of the shopping mall, feeling all alone as I push my way through the hordes of mindless consumer zombies. Fourteen year old girls dressed like adult porn-stars, I sigh, but my eyes linger. Gross.
I continue walking, their faces fade and I glide past the stains of human-kind. I catch a glimpse of someone. That guy again. I see his fat face and neck beard and he stares, smiling creepily at me as he walks past, every time I see this guy he says hi. I have no idea who the fuck he is. Maybe I went to College with him?
Memories flood back of college, every morning I would awake to the fart alarm, right on time, 7:30 every morning my roommate would fart. She was so thin, so small, I could never believe how she could produce such noises.
I awaken from my flash back and find myself still moving. The neck beard out of sight. I continue my way through the labyrinth of shops. Am I searching for something? Or am I just hoping something will find me.
I see an adult man drift by. Perhaps he is me in the future. Perhaps I never leave this place, perhaps time is distorted and everyone is just an alternate version of me?
I buy a coffee and take a seat.
I take a sip. And then another. God I’m good.
I’m the King. I’m the best.
I finish my coffee. What had I been thinking? My own thought process forgotten to me. I frown, and glance over at the nearby table. A young fat girl stares at me while she eats her chips. I have to move. Her piercing gaze upon me feels like an actual force, pressing against me. I stand up and turn to go the opposite way. I see a beautiful girl standing before me, she smiles. I turn and hurry in a completely different direction.
I have.. uh… well, a problem. I make my own life miserable.
I always fall in love with girls who don’t even know I’m alive. Girls I have no hope with. And it makes my life hell.
I pine over them. Think about them night and day. My mouth feels dry and my stomach queezy when near them. But they’ll never know. I’ll never tell them.
I soon wander into a DVD store. I look at mindless cliche and mind-numbingly dumb entertainment marketed to the grazing masses, the sheep in human clothes.
I find myself staring at a movie. Volcano with Tommy Lee Jones. I’ve never seen it, but I stare at the DVD. I love the word Volcano. It is easily the best word in the entire English language.
Because the first thing that happens when you hear it is you picture a Volcano. A big black mountain lava pouring out the top, black smoke rising from it. Instant visualization. It’s a word that actually is an object. See-able, hear-able, touch-able, smell-able. Secondly it’s not pretentious. It’s not some big long fancy word pretending to be sophisticated. It is what it is. Finally the structure of the word. Volcano, I mean, there’s nothing else that sounds or looks like it.
You’re not going to get it confused and say another word that sounds similar, you’re not going to forget what it’s called, and you’re not going to use any other name to say what it is. It is simply ‘Volcano’ and I think it’s brilliant.
I wander around the store and some girls my age walk by.
I smile to myself. Could destiny be calling? I glance over and see them looking at awful films and even worse shows. I hear them talk about them as if they’re masterpieces. I shed a tear and leave the store continuing my vagrancy around the mall.
Not knowing how long it will take, I hum a tune to myself and slip into the realm of my imagination.

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Erotic Vampire Fan-Fiction

September 26, 2012

There was a shuffling sound, her eyes opened and she looked around the dark room. She couldn’t see him, but there was a coolness in the air, she could sense him staring at her. She reached over and tapped her lamp flooding the room with light and sure enough, there he was, in the corner, head bent, eyes staring intensely at her. If she hadn’t known he was a Vampire it would have been a shocking sight to see a young man standing in the corner of your room in the middle of the night, hunched over, fangs exposed, almost looking like someone with down syndrome.
“You came.” She said, feigning surprise.
“Not yet.” He replied, smirking.
The light of the lamp sparkled in his eyes and made his skin sparkle, as if it was covered in glitter. If she hadn’t known what he was she would have thought he was a gay stripper with down syndrome.
Silently he walked towards her, mysteriously, as if gliding. He brushed her long brown hair out of her eyes.
“You are so sexy.” He said with a lisp.
She tried hard not to laugh, Vampires were known for their fury.
“So are you.”
It wasn’t a lie. Not truly. Probably because he was a Vampire his magical blood oozed with sex appeal, he probably released pheromones, like a bug… that thought repulsed her… and although he was decently ugly, and, well, kind of downy, she couldn’t help but crave to ride him, wildly, like a mechanical bull in a pub, screaming and waving her arms around.
He bent over and sniffed at her neck. It kind of tickled, but he smelt strange, like frozen semen or maybe horse radish.
“You’re making me so wet.” She said.
His fangs extended lightly pressing against her neck, the pressure hurt, but it was a good pain. The sharp tips lightly broke the skin and the Vampire ravishingly licked at the blood. It wasn’t sexy. It was like a Dog licking sloppishly.
She pushed him off and down onto the bed. She’s had enough of that. The Vampire was like any teen boy. Horny. But he had been saving himself for 400 years. She couldn’t imagine the sexual frustration, but he imagined her to be a virgin, that was what she had told him. But the truth was, she was a huge slut. She had once had the entire football team in a 24 hour period, while on her period.
She began unzipping his pants, he was now panting, like a dog.
She began kissing at the bottom of his belly, just above his crotch. Then the noises started. Whining noises, like a dog that begs you to keep scratching.
Finally she went lower, and stuck his frosty penis into her mouth.
It wasn’t like any penis she had tasted before. It wasn’t salty and warm it was cold and bland, like a home brand ice block.
She licked the tip as the Vampire roared like a Lion. Eventually fitting the entire thing into her mouth she lowered, until it went down her throat, lifting her head again, up and down she went, slowly, and building faster.
The Vampire’s body shook, like he was a giant vibrator.
Faster, faster she went. The room was filled with slopping and gagging noises.
Slowly a long thunderous sound built within the Vampire, releasing a cracking sound like lightning, and the cum erupted from the Vampire’s penis exploding out the back of the girls head.
Pieces of her brain and skull stuck to the roof, soaked with cum. The Vampire sat, wide eyed in shock as he looked at the tip of his penis still oozing cum over the back of the girls head, mixing with the blood. It only made him more hard.
Suddenly the young girls Ghost appeared looking down over her body and exploded head. A piece of brain and cum dripping from the ceiling falling right through her.
“WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME!” She screamed.
“Surprise?” He said and began to eat her brain out the back of her head as if it were watermelon.

I think everybody knows what it’s like to be sexually repressed. I mean, I’m not ugly, but I can’t seem to catch a break. Maybe it’s my cynical view of reality, maybe it’s my lack of job or car, maybe I’m just a bad fisherman, and even though the ocean is swimming with fish I can’t catch one.
And I’m not Japanese, so there is no way I intend to catch myself a whale…
And so, I am left with the internet. With goddess’ like Sasha Grey, Destiny Porter, Danielle FTV, Eva Berger, Nina Hartley, and an assortment of others to fantasise over.
4 times a day fulfilling the lust that burns inside me. But rather than whacking off over them, I longed to whack off onto them… into them…
But no. Instead a sock caught the glory I spilled. My cum sock, my soup catcher, after the five knuckle shuffle.
Of course, I’m not here to bitch and moan, I’m here to tell a story.
So my story starts 2 years ago. My girlfriend left me, for a guy, not better looking, not more intelligent, but richer, with a job, with a car, and with muscles that make him look like he’s covered in tumours. And that’s when my luck went downhill, when I couldn’t catch a break, when my cum sock started.
But alas, after 2 years that sock had become festy, rank, a crusty sock, stained yellow and smelt of rotting fish…
I probably should have washed it…. quite a few times, or just got rid of it for another sock. But my esteem was dead, and so were my cares…
Until one day, I managed to get a date. With a stunning gorgeous, angel of a girl. I rushed around, preparing for our date, I showered, I shaved, I plucked my eyebrow, I shampooed my hair, I masturbated fresh into the sock, to relieve anxiety on the date… I got dressed into good clothes… Now I needed socks..
All my socks were at the wash… NO.
I had no socks to wear… I suppose I could have just worn shoes, but the pants I wore showed off my shoes, I didn’t want her to think I was weird…
But I did have one pair of socks left…
No..
I couldn’t wear them…
Crusty yellow socks, smelling of rotting flesh…
I pulled them out of the draw…
OH GOD the smell! It reeked like death… DEODORANT.
That’s what I needed. So I sprayed… for 20 minutes I sprayed, until the can was near empty.
But the fresh splooge… I pulled them apart to the sound of ripping and tearing, like Velcro. They were stiff and as I tried to put my feet slowly in under the fear they would just snap… I could feel the sticky cum on my feet and tried my hardest not to vomit. Finally I had them on.. You could see yellow splotches and stains.
Oh god this is awful, I thought, it’s the worst luck in the world.. I should’ve just went bare footed. I could still smell them.
DING DONG!
The door bell. Fuck, she was here!
The entire date she had a bad look on her face, the kind of look you have when you smell shit.
I tried my hardest to be charming, but I felt like my feet were crawling. Like the billions upon billions of potential children were crawling along my feet.
When I had got home, and our date had finished, needless to say I wanted to cry. While pulling the socks of (which seemed to have attached to my flesh) they snapped into pieces.
I did not receive a call back from her… and am once again left to the glory of the screen goddesses.
But I’ve learned my lesson. I no longer jizz into a sock. Tissues will work fine…
And I am still hopeful.
One day, this fisherman will catch a fish.
One that doesn’t smell like the dead rotting corpse of a fish.
I’ll catch the beauty of the sea. A Mermaid. My own.
Until then, just know, ladies. I am DTF.

The Woods

February 18, 2011

I am standing in the woods.

It is dark. But I can see clearly as the moon breaks through the tree tops.

I… don’t know where I am. It is possible I am dreaming.

I hear the sound of running water and look to my right to see a running stream. The water is crystal clear.
Almost begging you to drink it.

There is no noise. No wind. No chirping of birds or croaking of frogs. No rustling of leaves.
Silence.

I look around. I am not alone. I see the silhouette of rabbits and owls sleeping in the branches.
The rabbits see me watching and hop away… they make no noise… there is only the running water.

I open my mouth to speak… but I don’t. This isn’t a place of human words.

The light of the moon cloaks me, and I move towards the stream.
My feet make no sound until I hit the water.
It is as cold as ice.

I am in the middle of the light. Seeing where it encircles.
I see figures, watching me from the thick of the wood. Figures that move as swiftly as shadows.

The circle of light surrounding me grows smaller… collapsing in on me as the creatures move out of the trees and closer, hidden still, within the dark.
It grows smaller, and smaller until there is almost no light left, just the moons spotlight on me. And the dust floating through the light.

I cannot hear the creatures. But I can feel them, I can feel their presence, their breaths.
Soon the light will be gone. I fall back and sink into the depths of the cold stream. They will not follow me.

I stay down, in the darkness. In the freezing cold. I feel the flow of the water as the stream carries me.
I hold my breath for what feels like eternity.
And lift myself from the water. I do not breath. It is much too cold to breath. The water has slowed here. And I lay in a shallow puddle.
I look around. I am in a clearing of grass. Black grass that waves gently as if there was a breeze.
I feel no breeze here.
I get up and walk around. There are no animals here. A few tree stumps. And now I cannot even hear the river.
I see a dark path forming between the trees. A path.
I follow it.
I walk on. Hours pass. Years maybe. Time is irrelevant here.
I see a red light up ahead. A reddish glow, unworldly.
As I get closer I see what it is.
A rose. A beautiful red rose. Black outlines around the edges of the petals.
The sight of this rose makes my eyes water. Such an indescribable beauty.
A beauty neither human words nor melodies could describe.
It was something truly mystical that had the presence of a force not bound to be kind to man.
I began to hear. Sound, like pebbles dropping.
I looked and saw my tears freeze as they fell hitting the ground as stone.

I feel my stomach churn. Claustrophobia sets in. I feel the woods crushing in on me.
I run.
Wildly through the forest.
The trees sink towards me. The forest will consume me.
I break through a thicket, smashing myself through a barrier of thorns.
I am on an open plane. The moon is hidden behind the clouds, but stars light the sky. The field stretches out for miles. In the distance I see the shadows of horses running free.
Small droplets of rain fall onto my face.
Around me they fall as tears.
I wipe the water from my face.
It smells of milk and honey.
The majesty of this world…

“My soul is a dark forest. My known self will never be more than a little clearing in the forest. Gods, strange gods, come forth from the forest into the clearing of my known self, and then go back. I must have the courage to let them come and go….”

I hear the sound of a piano. Beautiful sad tunes… The world around me reacts. I feel it cry with me at the sad tunes. And I see it… the sun rising in the distance… the dew on the grass and a soft breeze blows my neck.

And I know. And I understand.

Bliss

June 8, 2010

It is night outside, the light shines in from the street lamp across the road. The moon is full, and if all were quiet you could swear it was humming… But all is not quiet. They’re at my window, eating the bars. Ugly little bastards aren’t they? That awful gut-wrenching stench of dried blood and that haunting cry, like cats getting raped. I think I might have a milkshake.

Two minutes later, sipping at my chocolate milkshake I ponder on how I got myself into this ridiculously absurd situation. Soon the conclusion dawns on me, that this all occurred, because I was in dire need of a blow-job.

8:32am that morning I wake with an erection. After having a glorious tug I get out of bed and proceed to make a coffee. Caramel latte. Three sugars. Sipping my coffee I stare around at the cesspool that is my house. I should really clean it…. I frown and shake that depressing thought from my head, I guzzle the last of my coffee, pack my suitcase and leave for work.

9:23am- I sit impatiently in my car. I drum on the steering wheel to a Guns ‘N Roses tune. I twitch now and again with annoyance. I’m going to be late for work… I’m going to be late… late…. fuck. I beep at the traffic ahead and throw myself around the car like a sped with bees up his ass. I’m going to be late for work. FUCK.

10:30am- My face is red with rage. My heart is pounding, my teeth gritting. I’ve been coping it from my boss for the last twenty minutes. I can’t concentrate on anything but my anger and stress. I daydream of vicious Velociraptors tearing my co-workers to shreds, blood splattering the office floor as they scream, being torn limp from limp apart while alive, meanwhile I am in a toilet cubicle getting laid by the sexy receptionist.

11:59am- Bored with graphs and statistics I change screens on my computer and log onto MSN. No one is online. Suddenly ‘SxcRecipe’ signs in. It’s the receptionist from my fantasy, we’ve been flirting for days. Suddenly I feel myself go hard. Dreams and fantasies fill my mind again. So I open a convo, and begin to chat.

1:02pm- I’m sculling my sixth coffee. For the last hour I’ve been dreaming of raptors. Killing everyone. The screams of my co-workers makes me smile. I picture the big claw on their foot cutting through that sexy, slutty face of the receptionist. That god damn dumb bitch. I finish my coffee and throw the cup across the room at the wall. My colleagues stare at me and I flip them off. I go into the toilet cubicle and pray for raptors. I beg God, Satan, Steven Spielberg, anyone I can pray to. That receptionist I talked about? She’s black mailing me. FUCK. I should have never asked for a blow-job!

8:43- This is about where you came in. A still silent night besides the constant cries of these hideous beasts, screeching, hissing, snorting. They really are foul. I begin drinking my milkshake panicky. My hands get sweaty and I feel dizzy. How did it get to this? Truthfully I don’t know. I was at the supermarket, and then I watched, starring in disbelief as the check-out chicks turned into blood thirsty Velociraptors, ripping customers into bloody shreds before my eyes. Hell. I still don’t believe it. And now, they’re outside my house and soon they’ll be inside my house. Ripping me to shreds. Soon I’ll be dead.

I finish my milkshake. With a sigh, I sit down on the couch, and I wait.

Pandora’s Box

May 24, 2010

I am incapable of showing human emotion. I cannot find words to express sadness or loss. If a friend were to break down, crying about being molested by their father throughout their childhood the first words breaching my lips would be: “That sucks.”

I am not a poet or a writer. I cannot find words to suit an occasion, to calm or help a person. I am completely uncharismatic. My tongue jumbles words, I find it difficult to put together a coherent sentence.
But this is not my only problem. A normal friend would be shocked and appalled. I would just wish to be elsewhere, not hearing about it.
It’s not that I don’t have a conscience, I know it’s wrong and sick. It’s fucked up.

But I’m not God. I have no fucking idea what you should do.
And I can’t help you.
It’s like I’m not human. Like I’m a robot, comprehending but impartial…. or something.
Maybe I’ve lived to long, seen, heard or learnt enough to give up and not care.

Pandora’s Box was opened and all hope was lost.
That’s just how it is. I’m sorry and I wish things were different.
But the truth is, we’re fucked.

Nostalgia

May 23, 2010

Burning nostalgia.
So strong, intense, images searing through the pages of time.
A memory so strong you can still smell it, still taste it.
Flashes, thoughts, building, becoming clearer, the fog fades, the crystal becomes glass.
Could a memory be so powerful you could go back?
Could you travel through the very fragments of your soul to a memory so intense that you can exist in it? Make changes?
Could you perhaps flip through your life like the pages of a diary?
Can you remember who you are?
Can you remember who you were?
Can you remember who you will become?
Can you stop me?

I’d like to see you try.

We measure time by the annoying tick of the clock. We measure by our tedious sense of boredom. We measure life from start to finish.
From fade in to fade out. Why not fade away?
Does a memory vanish with your mind?
Or can you relieve the great and wonderful. Find the mysterious.
Feel the love.
Feel the heat. Feel it burn. Feel your body burn.
Ravenous flames burning your diary, your book of life.
Ink melts and seeps through the pages. Your life becomes a muddled mess.
Memories meld together and you forget what was when.
Wake up in a memory. Forget the writings. Your diary is blank.
Rewrite history.