Book Meme

As seen on Purdy Pitchers

1. Grab the nearest book.

2. Open the book to page 123.

3. Find the fifth sentence.

4. Post the text of the sentence in your journal along with these instructions.

5. Don’t search around and look for the “coolest” book you can find. Do what’s actually next to you.

There are no books next to me except for one in my office drawer collecting dust, which is "Baudolino". I got the following from the algorithm provided

"...Every two minutes the whole thing collapsed"

Stone Temple Violet

The headless spectre parades the glory streets of Saqqara. Her bony framework propped upon the only medium of mobility on gravel carpet. She travels and yet does not move. Her hand desperately clutches the tablet upon which is etched the thousand virtuous deeds of her lover. This is 'her' story.

They pranced about in desert fields all day. He lay her down in one of the many beds on the plain. Hands traced her soft and luscious contours.
"Would you like to watch the ceremony tonight?"
"You said you'd leave the sect just so that we would wed in handfasting"
"Tonight is the last night. I will conclude my reverence after one final ministerial"
"No one leaves the sect until death."
"I will and I will leave it alive, to be with you."

They depart but only after he whispers his loyalty in her ear and plants its proof on her nape. They both leave after a solemn promise to meet each other that nocturne, to leave the village and move away from the undeterred condemners, of the sect.

She goes home and prepares for her last night here. She remained austere too long for her parents, her family, her religion, herself.

The community sleeps as if in quietus.

The covenant entrusted to the supreme pontiff states the regulations and the forbidden.
What he had done, was forbidden...
That is all they want to know. They see treachery in his words, his deeds and his thinking. He should be castigated in front of the sect and its congregation.

She races toward the apsis in the sanctuary. His decapitated head lay grotesquely lorn. Not a drop of blood was evident within proximity of him and his body. Beside him lay the covenant of the sect - now closed shut.

She turns to look in the direction of the beheaded's gaze and now she knows what is to be done. If they were to remain each other's, this would be the only riposte. His words seem infallible now. Afterlife is forever...would make love eternal.

She picks up the ivory tablet, walks to the instrument of execution and lays herself down as he would have. All around her expanses the lush sandscape and stars of black night.

She now traverses the glory streets of Saqqara. She embraces the covenant. She sobs for an answer...for she is one short of a key to her amnesty. Can anyone hear her tears and take heed? She wants to leave Sheol...she wants to open the covenant...

Fatal Fascination...

I love sex.
I love everything about sex.
I love reading about the raunchy sideline accounts in Penthouse Letters.
I love the sex-starved nymphomaniacs that lay 'splashed' all over the covers of magazines, poster titles, dossiers in porno treasure troves and the walls of snatch-land.
I go insane over women when they involve themselves in lewd but tasteful acts of flesh violation.
I go gaga over women's googoos.
In short - I'm 'horny'

But ever since puberty took its toll on my good-boy image and my libido began to stir violently, I made an undaunting effort to understand more about the carnality of coition.

And it was then I came across something that appeared uncannily disorienting.
I began to learn that there survived rutty men and women who indulged in severe 'necrophilic' - if ever there exists a word like that - activities.
And I chewed over this concept for days and I finally thought of penning what I thought was just plain weird.

Take this particular situation where the subject comes home after a long exhaustive day of work and he cleanses his soul temple. He sits down to his movie and somewhere in between he begins to feel his testosterone filled heat-seeker doing jumpin jay-joops. He's flung wildly into the throes of a morbid sexual desire for the rotting. So he gathers his carriage and you'd think he was heading for the nearest porno cruiser store for his anonymous oral tryst. Instead he makes a detour and heads off past a clearing into a cold and nocturnal necropolis. He drives around his smorgasbord of dead meat and stops at a particularly fleshy patch of earth and begins to exhume his golliwog.

And now it lies there, awaiting coitus for after'life'.

He's there...it's there, and now what? Does he stick his ramrod into its waiting slit, right away or does he grease it first, say a few prayers for the dead - may their bowl rest in puss, does he exorcise the demon within the vicinity before he takes the 'plunge'? And if during this assignation he wants to get a little cocky with the deceased he may just try and give it a hickey and want some domination in return. But he's not going to get any of it considering he's doing it with Zombie-woman. If the night isn't too cold he'd be lucky enough to make it out of there with his pecker safe from cryogenifying into a micro stalactite.

Its even more an effort for her. While he just has to stick it in she would have to look for one who passed away with a stiffy and wait till rigor mortis sets in. Of course, that would be a complete refinement to the lexical meaning of 'boner'. And if she considers performing a round of fellatio and ends up treating the dipstick to a stronger than usual suction she could end up with a mouthful. Absolute caution is to be adhered to if she needs to avoid breaking any muscle - else she's never going to be needing a diaphragm...ever.

(Please excuse me, while I barf my guts out, Blech!)

Introspection in Villainy

There is a man who lives in a room. This room is situated in a manor wherein only he, along with the services of his domestic help resides. He leaves not his room during the day and more so at night.

He does so for a simple reason. That reason by far, is me.

He hates me. His abhorrence towards me shakes the very fortress of my identity.

I do not take kindly to him either. It is only during my madcap and adventurous trysts with the 'unbleached' kind that I find solace in my existence. I revel in the sight of the damned. I wallow in my unclean acts. I am by far a pestilence upon the race of man.

Man? What man is he if he cannot accept his alter? Does he acquire the unwavering satisfaction that every living creature upon this macrocosm strains to attain, by curtaining himself from his ownself? If so, then I am happy that I am accused of ruthless and un-gentlemanly behaviour. I feel glad that I am not part of a sinister world that calls itself civilised when it is rightfully wrong.

But the further I try to make amends with my paradox, the more severe the pain that is inflicted on me. And I go out and fulfill all that my savage self desires. The debauchery of a dreadfully vile beast flashes through my pulsating veins and I ravage and devastate all that is considered chaste and virtuous.

I stand here now 'in this room' where he once stood...this man I speak so disdainfully of.

I look at the reflection of a quiet yet disturbed, a tired yet resilient soul and I weep for his loss. I dread the moment this toxin seeps through my marrow... the moment the zephyr of my life starts to suffocate and choke.

I weep silently and alone 'in this room' now, knowing modestly that there is no life in the creature without the creator.

For I was once him...and now he is me.

Cleanse the Devil Incarnate in the Myrrh of Sentience - Jinwin 3:10

For Better..or for Verse?

The moon...

The moon, is like fatty Monterey Cheese

Why cheese, you ask

Because aspirin makes me fart something fierce, I say

The stars...

Bagels taste better when wrought alike

Pieces of christmas candy strewn over mom's moquette

Oh...the in(candy)sence of them all

The sun...

Crepe turns the week long wet wash-cloth

Disc of the omnipresent having masonic reference

Advertisements for orange juice in summer

Me very first poem. I think I outdid myself.

Sun Kissed Biscotti Inn

Aye' purdy missus, I see you wuz starin at me across the hall. You wanna tell me why?

Well you knaow kind sir I wiz just traayin to grab hold onto yaw attention. You look so strawng and maynly. Nothing like the ol' coots out here.

Well I'll be damned. You one faa'in looking damsel y'self. What's your na'im?

It's Amy..Amy Wallace. And what name do you go bah sir?

They call me Xane Cooper. I'm due for draw in another few minutes. I don't gawt much time on mah hands.

OH! Are you the Marshall the papers talk about everyday?

*Tipping his hat* At your service ma'am.

And you're draw'n against Slick Sam?

Th's right. *tapping his gun and I don't mean his member* I shaane'd the ol' spitter out here reel good.

The whole town's waiting to play cards on his corpse.

Well he's destined to come in the way of my silver...and he gonna wish he'd remained in dat forsaken ol' barn of his before he breathes his layst.

Mmmmm...you go there and teach him a good enough lesson. Yessr, you do dat.

I most certainly will young lady. *Taking one good long stare at the map overhead - reality struck him like his dead missus' sorry flower patch* Y'know, I ma'it not come out all frisky out of this predicament luv so just to keep the ghost of ol' Billy in me would you be so kaaind as to explain as to why you got the map o' Terrence O'Donald out here???? Thats the route to mah gold mine you snotty little maggot!!!! Who sent you..you stupid ol' crab????

*Standing up with all the forcefulness of all outlaw-ish gait, she extracts a 'Pepperbox' out of her stocking* Awrighty then, bubba!! I'm gonna waste you like some reeal durrty vermin. You been winnin' way too long for your own good. I'm gonna make you wish you ne'er entered this town.

*Vigilant* Why you...

Shuddup. You ain't fah'ting mah man, y'hear?? And as for the map well lets just say...I've got a boot for you.

And it was then that then that Xane could kiss his treacherous mates for taking off with the loot a week ago. He'd rather have been victim to betrayal from thieving bandits than lose his ingots to a scheming vixen (heehee, I crack myself up so.)

My Tryst with '15 minutes in Vermeer'.

The image didn't strike a literary chord anywhere in my osteoporosis ridden body. Though I took an eon and a half to post this piece, I took 35 minutes for writing and editing. Don't hate me, I didn't know Vermeer!!!

Porcelain Talisman

Mäh-JoNg sitting alongside his angel Wei-Ping. Dew freeze dancing on tip-toe around frosted bench.
Collar crisp paradisiac of ether.
Touch once and you've raped perpetually.

"Will Ming Po drop her pin of conscience on the silver stream?"
"No.................shen-lung will guard her daughter............"

Crystal falling on white foam. Shoe crushing...slushing from behind.

"Father will be pleased with me tonight"
When blood spills, crimson turns everything into sweet warmth.

I touched my heart and heaven breathed into my ears.

The singing wind zinged with the force of gleaming blade. Silence screamed throughout Pangu and Mäh-JoNg sighed as his angel left his side and walked in silence to greet him again below the Sleeping Valley where he was to frolic with the emperors and gods of yore...