Piss and Shit and Blood and cum

PISS and shit and blood and cum

piss and SHIT and blood and cum

piss and shit and BLOOD and cum

piss and shit and blood and CUM

PISS and shit and blood and cum

piss and SHIT and blood and cum

piss and shit and BLOOD and cum

piss and shit and blood and CUM

PISS and shit and blood and cum

piss and SHIT and blood and cum

piss and shit and BLOOD and cum

piss and shit and blood and CUM

PISS and shit and blood and cum

piss and SHIT and blood and cum

piss and shit and BLOOD and cum

piss and shit and blood and CUM

Piss in my mouth

Shit on my face

Bleed into my eyes

Cum on my skin

PISS and shit and blood and cum

piss and SHIT and blood and cum

piss and shit and BLOOD and cum

piss and shit and blood and CUM

PISS and shit and blood and cum

piss and SHIT and blood and cum

piss and shit and BLOOD and cum

piss and shit and blood and CUM

PISS and shit and blood and cum

piss and SHIT and blood and cum

piss and shit and BLOOD and cum

piss and shit and blood and CUM

PISS and shit and blood and cum

piss and SHIT and blood and cum

piss and shit and BLOOD and cum

piss and shit and blood and CUM

I'll drink your piss

Let me taste your shit

Douche me with your blood

Cum inside my arse

PISS and shit and blood and cum

piss and SHIT and blood and cum

piss and shit and BLOOD and cum

piss and shit and blood and CUM

PISS and shit and blood and cum

piss and SHIT and blood and cum

piss and shit and BLOOD and cum

piss and shit and blood and CUM

PISS and shit and blood and cum

piss and SHIT and blood and cum

piss and shit and BLOOD and cum

piss and shit and blood and CUM

PISS and shit and blood and cum

piss and SHIT and blood and cum

piss and shit and BLOOD and cum

piss and shit and blood and CUM

Shit on me

Piss on me

Bleed on me

Cum on me

PISS and shit and blood and cum

piss and SHIT and blood and cum

piss and shit and BLOOD and cum

piss and shit and blood and CUM

PISS and shit and blood and cum

piss and SHIT and blood and cum

piss and shit and BLOOD and cum

piss and shit and blood and CUM

PISS and shit and blood and cum

piss and SHIT and blood and cum

piss and shit and BLOOD and cum

piss and shit and blood and CUM

PISS and shit and blood and cum

piss and SHIT and blood and cum

piss and shit and BLOOD and cum

piss and shit and blood and CUM

eat my shit

drink my piss

lick my blood

swallow my cum

Big Brother Daniel

Hot Shot footy player, and coach

His little brother’s hero, and favourite bloke

A ladies’ man of some renown

Handsome as they come in any town

The gals are left devastated in his wake,

some guys left obliterate by his face.

For different reasons to be sure,

although not as straight forward as before.

Did you see the thighs on him, exclaimed Johnny D,

not exactly understanding his own plea?

Did you see the smile on him, said Sasha C,

fully knowing what it was she could see.

Emma Maddison was overcome

at the sight of Daniels shorts around his bum.

Noah Barnes had to hide his hot flush away,

he was just understanding how it felt to be gay

Daniel took Emma in his arms,

his whispered sweet things to make her calm.

She relaxed and gazed into his eyes,

he made her feel that she was the prize

Daniel took Noah in his arms,

he hugged him tight and spun him around.

Don’t worry tiger you secret is safe with me,

he let Noah feel big strong arms, deliberately.

Emma got the vapours and had to sit down,

Johnny B started to horse around,

Daniel stood at the front his shorts tight, 

Sasha C was overcome with, er, delight

Beautiful World

We live in a beautiful world,

it is a great shame that we will soon be gone.

Air conditioning in summer

and four wheel drives for the school run,

seem like a poor trade

for happily ever after, son.

And to think we could have been at all,

the lucky ones, what is it called?

28 million to one, to exist at all.

A cosmic aberration when it all begun, way back when.

The smartest guy in the room,

or the apex predator at the top of the food chain?

Self-will in spades, smarts like nothing else, 

imagination that seems limitless, and humour to boot.

And an intelligent mind, now that’s hard to find,

or so we tell ourselves, is that where the delusion began?

What we’d call lesser species, don’t shit in their own nests,

something we lost sight of, in our quest to be the best.

We never could overcome our petty jealousies, and hate.

We never could get over converting our neighbour’s mate.

We never could learn to share everything we have.

We never really understood the concept of unconditional love.

So here we are, we have made it this far, our glorious home in danger

of falling completely apart. And what are we doing, now, I ask?

Well? It is business as usual, can I get my new car in the bigger size?

More coal, more gas, all of this drama over carbon, has to be for someone else.

Tommy Boller

Little Tommy B

had a cock to his knee,

when he took it out tonight

he gave everyone a fright,

then he dropped it and took a pee,

and two small dogs almost drowned.

The smile fell off the face of the clown.

The woman in full conversation, 

stopped and reached for her glasses,

the waiter walking by with a tray, stopped

and contemplated Tommy’s arse as,

the old man with a limp fell to his knees.

The monkeys ran up the trees.

The cars out on the road had a smash,

and pothead Billy lost focus and dropped his stash.

A group of refuges saw it and wanted to set sail,

Alan Davies once again bought up the blue whale,

reports from Hubble were they could see it from space,

and Jackie Kennedy left JFK just in case.

Once Tommy was done, he whirled it around and around, until

the frightened group, the two revived dogs, the clown without a smile, the chatty woman and her friend, the waiter with a tray, the old man on his knees, the monkeys in the trees, the arguing drivers in the street, Billy with a spliff in his mouth, the refuges, the astronauts, and Jackie Kennedy in her Chanel suit,

were all wiping pee from their face.

1DA McG1da

Ida McGida, my lovely old aunt

she liked the girls, she liked their curves

she liked what they had under their skirts

she only ever had lady friends, after her husband died.

I'm sure she loved him, I'm sure she cried,

but after he'd gone only the girls she spied.

That wasn’t talked about of course, it was a different world way back then, but even my mother thought it was true, and that isn’t something she would normally do.

My lovely great aunt, who adored my mum, and who adore me as well. She was married for 25 years, to a man with whom she very much loved. 

She had a gay best friend, and she had a lot of other buddies who were, let’s say, arty types, and I have photos of all of them, looking very much like more than friends.

My mother told me many years later, that maybe my gayness came from her, down the maternal line, and if it did I’d be very please, I couldn’t think of anything I rather it be.

Ida loved Billy, yes she did, all the years that 

they were wed, 25 during which he was devoted,

spoken about by everyone as a really good bloke,

In the end, when the doctor messed up his pills,

and Billy fell fatally ill, reading quietly in the lounge,

Ida called the doctor and, inconsolably, tore him down.

Taking a Really Big Dump

Don't you wish, sometimes

when you are sitting on the dish, sometimes

that all that backed up crap

would flow right out of you, just like that,

pull the stopper, let go.

Leaving you feeling free, ho, ho, ho.

OH YES! Big sigh. There it goes.

Thank the universe. Mum and Dad. 

And Aunt Lucy for the rabbits. 

Thank the lordy do dah dah,

if I didn’t know any better, that feeling,

in my, well, you know where, felt so good,

it could almost make me gay.

Bring up the orchestra,

bring down the curtain,

the final act has played, and is now over,

and we’re all going home,

changed for the experience we had,

with a whistle on our lips,

and a warm feeling in our hearts.

My Computer

My computer is a distraction from the real world. It’s true. What did I do before you? I hardly remember that world. Was it pen and paper at the ready? Strong and steady? Where did I go with that?

Stare at the screen. Ever thing else is a dream. Me and this screen, is the only thing that is real, the only thing I need. I’d say no, but that’s not really true, but it is almost true. This is my world, and I love it so. It’s what loves me too. Loves me back, with all that time we spend together. 

My best friend,

in the world.

Dependable.

My rock.

(It just needs a voice, with which to answer back,

and I’m sure that isn’t far away)

To be the perfect distraction,

there you go.

It’s a ho,

with eyes only for me.

It is love as I caress, 

it with my fingertips,

as it’s buttons I press,

continuously,

there is that soft click click click

into the night we go.

I finger it all day,

and it never says stop,

that’s enough,

do it to me for as long as you like.

I call him Mike.

Day and night I now spend in front of its screen. It is nothing for me to spend Saturday night in, just me and him, until the wee small hours. And when I look back at the end of the night, I don’t even know what I have been doing, but I have done it all of the night.

The hours have flown by, as I said, I’m not even sure I know where they went.

I wonder if this is ever going to be a problem, all of us stuck to our screens?

What do you reckon?

On-line life beckons.

We answer in seconds.

Nary we give it a second thought.

Such is our quest fought,

Totally captured by thee.

And then it's me and my machine for the rest of the morning,

for the rest of the afternoon and the rest of my life.

The Real World

How many people don't live the lives they live in public, as they do in private? You know, those people say one thing, but act in another way in private. How common do you think this is? A conservative American politician is an anti abortion, but when his wife's life was threatened during pregnancy she, effectively, has an abortion to save her life. Homophobes? Racists. People who espouse monogamy, but have affairs on the side. People who espouse family values, but in private it’s a lie.

How many people pretend that the lives they live in public, match what they do in private. If we were all honest and admitted to our sexual proclivities, the world would be a less uptight place to live. There would be fewer scared people in the world.

If we were all honest, the world would be a happier place to live. There would be fewer scared people living in fear of being found out. So many more of us would be happy, not having to pour all of their energies into maintaining the charade.

It's funny what people think. It's weird what people think is important.

I like threesomes with my husband, with another man. He does too.

I like playing the field, the more girls the better.

I like seeing my husband with another man. Two guys are hot.

I like men when they crawl on top of me and dominate me.

I like piss. Drinking it down.

I like cum… all over me.

I like being tied up.

I like being smacked… my safe word is magnolia.

I like smelly foreskins.

I like stinky cunts.

I like taking it up the arse.

I can’t orgasm unless I am punched in the face.

I want my genitals to be stapled up my arse, after which I’m douched with my own blood.

I hate cum on my skin.

I like dressing up in school uniforms.

I like running the city, and dressing up in a French maid’s outfit in the brothel being told I am a bad girl.

I like fucking the dead, it is the only way I can do what I want to do.

I like men to take a crap in their jocks.

I like a woman to piss her knickers.

I like construction workers.

I like nurses.

I like school teachers.

I like them young.

I can only fuck when I am off my face on drugs.

I like doing it in public.

I like being caught by a stranger.

I like old woman.

I like them to pretend that I am forcing them.

I like being raped, it is the only way I get turned on.

I want the whole football team to fuck me on the back line.

I want to fuck my son’s girlfriend.

I want to be fucked by my daughter’s guy.

I like big girls, with veins in their legs.

I like men with cocks as big as my arm.

I’m a chubby chaser, they have to be big boned.

I like dress ups.

I like being chock a block as the sun comes up.

I don’t like any more than three, otherwise it is too much of a head fuck.

I like being messed up.

Caught up, tied up, fucked up.

I like that moment after everyone is done, and my body hums.

I like something on which to chew.

I get turned on by anything that is taboo.

It has to be risky, otherwise what is there to do?

@24

We are much adored,

pretty much like nothing that has come before.

It is our time to explore,

and find what our beliefs and needs

are at the core.

We are never more beautiful than @24

that much is known,

and our minds can be easily blown,

with what other people 

want us for.

You want me to do what?

Put what in where?

Because you care?

You say it’s not queer,

Everybody give a cheer.

It is a first for me,

Now let me see,

As I have never thought about that before.

So many discoveries,

So much to explore.

As long as it’s not going to hurt?

Not physically you say,

My heart will be okay.

Just a bit of soul searching

Once we are done.

It's Not Just Your Teeth That Change Colour

Bad behaviour, drinking again,

They say it surprised, like it had never happened before.

Oh, Red wine mouth, you looked like a ghoul the last time you looked.

Red wine pooh, it makes the pooh paper look like gravely liquorice.

Who looks? I know I always do. Do you?

It makes your vomit turn pink,

your mood turn grim,

your breath stink,

get in water and you sink,

you can’t swim, you shouldn’t even try,

because as they say, it’s a good way to die.

Black Jack

Black Jack is the new pac

Stealth like up the back

Didn't see that coming

with a whack,

@22

What a pretty crack,

as black as the hairs

sprouting on your sack.

Slap, slap, slap.

Oh, I see,

you like that, Mack.

track

your brownback

for a bareback

rump-smack

with hot Jack’s Bullwhack,

looking for the pushback

and a loud vocal comeback

yak yak

playback

give it another crack!

Mack cries out,

@21

he's Black Jack,

after which he’s silenced by

thwack!

thwack!

thwack!

Ding Ding!

Ding! Ding!

Let's all sing,

raise our voices

on the wind.

@18

full of wind

and bravado

and lots of things.

Always said of Tim and Jim

the identical boy twins

who can really sing,

with such confidence

they always win,

those twins.

It’s a twin thing, 

said Tim and Jim.

Yodelayheehoo, wailed Jim.

A bit gay, bro, said Tim.

Yet, you got the high notes, said Jim.

Hey he ho, I squeezed my balls, said Tim.

It’s makes a change from squeezing mine, said Jim.

Then don’t ask me, said Tim.

I never ask you, said Jim.

Wink, wink, went Tim.

Wink, wink, went Jim.

Walking Home

When I walk home in the winter evening at dusk, after, some may say too many, drinks at work, looking down watching one foot step and then the other, one step after the other, step, step, step, I never feel quite so alone.

“Hey mate, what are you doing?”

“I’m watching my feet.”

“Why are you watching your feet, mate?”

“So, I don’t feel quite so alone.”

“Shouldn’t you be watching the way you are walking home?”

“Oh, I’m part bat,” I say. “So that is okay.”

“Part bat, you say?”

“Yes, that is why I can watch my feet this way?”

“That is why you can watch your feet this way?”

“Yes, I can see my feet and then I’m not walking alone.”

“You can see your feet so you aren’t walking alone?”

“And my bat senses guide me home.”

“Your bat senses guide you home?

“And all the way, I never feel alone.”

“Because you look down and watch your feet?”

“Yes, if I didn’t look down, I might just feel the defeat.”

“Watching your feet, you never feel alone?”

“That’s right, as I make the long walk home.”

“As you make your way home?”

“Yes. Can you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“That echo.”

“That echo?”

“Yes. There is an echo.”

“An echo, you say?”

“Yes, a district echo?”

“No. I can’t hear it.”

“Oh look, it has stopped.”

“It has stopped?”

“There it is again.”

“Again, you say?”

“Yes, again.”

We both stop talking and listen? He has no idea. I laugh to myself inside.

“You say you are part bat?”

“Yes, I can see in the dark.”

“It must be great to see in the dark.”

“It is when you are drunk and you have to get home, it is essential.”

“I have never seen a bat putting one foot in front of the other.”

“You expect them to fly?”

“Yes, I expect them to fly.”

“That is a different kind of bat altogether, my friend.”

“I didn’t know there was another type?”

“Oh yes, it takes all sorts to make up the world.”

“All sorts?”

“All sorts.”

“I think I hear that echo.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

I laugh. “I have to go.”

“I have to go.”

I turn and walk away.

“Nice talking,” he says.

“Nice talking,” I say.

“Talking, talking, talking.”

 I don’t say anything else. Those last few beers I had are really starting to swirl in my brain.

I look back and smile.

He smiles at me. He puts his pointer finger to his forehead and then lifts his hand into the air.

I touch my forehead with my finger. I turn and walk away.

I look down at my feet. One foot. Another foot.

Rich

The richer you are, the more likely that you are to lie and cheat to maintain your wealth. That's what capitalism encourages.

Whatever it takes to stay at the top.

Do what you have to do to remain king of the crop.

It doesn’t matter who you have to step on, or knock off the rock.

Kings of industry, conservative commentator’s gods.

And conservative politician’s reason to breath.

Right wing punter’s ability to dream,

even if they will never personaly realise the cream.

That doesn’t seem to matter, as long as they have something to which to aspire, they can go on living in their own personal denial.

The rich paradox, some may say is pretty vile. (Including I)

The rich get to keep their wealth, with integrity, or stealth, and those who will never have it, mysteriously, clap to their good health.

We’re never sure why?

Some say it is aspiration which they will never achieve,

It makes no never mind as they continue to believe,

lying in the gutter with their eyes trained on the stars.

Some say it is a total swallowing of the myth,

that the rich are good for us, that they provide employment and stuff.

Others see it as star stuck with money, dollar signs in their eyes,

a kind of trickle down admiration for those who seem greater than they.

Whatever it is, the rich are certainly not giving it away.

They may fuck your pretty daughters, or even your sons who are gay,

take them to the races, or driving in million dollar cars,

pull down their knickers, or pull off their bras,

with promises to look after them, once they’ve pulled their dicks out,

but no matter what they say, or promises they have made,

none of that ever seems to ever work out.

They say the rich are always with us, but not normally with us in that way,

well, not ‘with us’ as such, at weddings and funerals and family snaps ways,

but there in the distance, hovering over us, while we’re kept at bay,

in newspaper headlines, and lists detailing the money they have made,

opening nights, financial crisis frights, inheritance rights, West Australian court room fights,

they are there, somehow narrating our life time struggle and plight. 

Beauty

Is it a curse to be too beautiful?

Do you think you'd ever know if people liked you for who you were and not how you look in a towel?

Do you think you could live with such hardship like that?

Can you imagine the different life that the beautiful live?

People looking at you, all eyes in the room.

People hitting on you, all wanting to sleep with you.

The dates you’d have, just like that.

Can you imagine having anyone you wanted?

Never going home alone.

Sunday mornings with a different face,

someone new inhabiting your space.

Learning their names, saying the right one out loud,

never being alone in a crowd.

Never confusing a boy for a girl, 

because they’d both want to get with you,

that is for sure.

Girlfriends and boyfriends galore,

never having to pay, or even the score.

It doesn’t cost the beautiful anything to stay.

The cost of inclusion is the smile on your face.

Tumdy Dah

Tumdy dah, what a lovely car, under the tree, covered in bees, flapping wings, knocking knees.

Stingers ready, curled tenderly.

Watch them swarm into the sky, like a flying mat, or a hair net flung.

Flick of the wrist and they are all gone.

A black mist in the air, not a care,

as they fly away to over there.

Build a new hive for the queen,

forgetting all about where they have been.

Sunday

I have a beer, in the garden,

with my mate, Joe. 

No shoes, toes dug into the dirt,

and then a joint as we chat away,

expertly rolled. 

The sun goes, fades. 

The day gets cold, brrr. 

We head inside,

and close the door.

Turn the central heating to full. 

I slide my toes into the rug, 

as I slide back onto the couch, 

and the cat crawls into my lap,

I can feel his purring vibrating my leg. 

We drink tea, and talk shit,

that marijuana has hit.

Joe leaves,

he has things to do,

which he wants me to do too.

Shrug? I don’t know?

I didn’t want to go.

The light fades. 

I’m home alone. 

I eat dinner on my lap,

just for one.

I forget to put the lights on,

as I often do, when it’s just me.

Why? What for? No one has to see,

there is no one to do that.

The television makes the room blue,

black enamel in the shadows. 

The detectives’ eyes, look out from the screen

"Somebody else is murdered

in the street. Beaten to death,

so it would seem. Blunt force.

What to do? I’m on the edge of my seat.

They gather evidence, and close the case.

Death is close, in the city tonight.

The fire burns in the hearth,

I lit it earlier, when the heat 

went out of the day,

when I felt the first shiver of night.

It burns with red flames, orange and white. 

Just another Sunday night,

The weekend is over now.

Carnage, is not far away,

Monday morning

just hours to go.

Still, it was nice

to see Joe.

Winter Mornings

Between bleary eyes and sun rise.

I’m out on the footpath in my shorts. My legs are cold as I acclimatise, as I get ready to run. It is a tense moment, in anticipation of the pain to come, and the joy that brings.

My shorts feel snug around my arse and my thighs. I’m going for the sockless look, with short, short socks. Just runners, that’s how it looks.

I stretch a bit, then I start to run.

I feel slow and awkward to start off, but that soon drops away.

I soon get into rhythm, trying not to be too heavy footed.

Hasn't it been cold? My balls shrink away to nowhere when I go jogging in the mornings. The hairs on my legs bristle, as my bare skin gets use to the breeze, as the cold slaps my arse, and burns my throat. The cold air touches, reaches right down into and scratches, my lungs. My foggy head spins with the cold wind on my face. I'm all ankles and feet, until the steady rhythm comes, slowly, got to warm up, physically and mentally, and then the magic starts. 

The fragile beauty of the sunrise makes my heart beat faster. The curtain is lifted. Dark becomes light, so quickly. And I feel everything lift right up and I am running, thrup, thrup, thrup, not a fucken care in the world.

Sublime.

then it is light and still, just the clup, clup, clup of my feet on the footpath and the heave, heave, heave, of my breath in my lungs, out of me.

My feet are light, my legs are like clockwork, or pistons, or something. The footpath is clear. I am floating above it. I am a glider sailing down the street.  I am Aladdin flying his magic carpet. My legs are like giant springs, perfectly sprung. The deeper I breath, the healthier I feel.

My steps echo under the shop awnings. They sound thap, thap, thap, on the cross street, out in the open. I sail around corner. I float over driveways. I slalom bins on the footpath, it must have been rubbish day.

The park opens up and swallows me at the bottom of the hill. The air transforms, the smell of mulch, and leaves, and dirt, and grass pervades my nostrils. I am running under the trees. I am starting to warm up. My steps are even, my breathing calm, I am moving with ease, I feel good. I am glazed with sweat.

I pull off my shirt, the breeze is perfect. Just me against the entire world and I am winning. The park casually waves me through.

Back out onto the road. Running up the shopping strip. Two girls heading to work look back as I run past. They say something, not sure what, but I recognise the tone, it was hungry, what we like to hear. 

“You want a piece of this,” I say out loud. That makes me smile. That pushes me on. That’s why I’m doing it, don’t be fooled. This is not a health kick, it is to look good.

The shops are empty, the footpath cleared out just for me. That’s what I tell myself, anyway.

There is a delivery guy delivering bread. The cleaners are just finishing up.

Then I am at my street and I turn for home. My throats burns, my legs shake, as I stretch at my gate. I open it. The front door clicks behind me. I am giddy as I make it to the kitchen and water. I gulp it down. Some of it spills down over my chin and drip, drip, drips on the floor and I don't care.

Matty Matt

Matt left this note pinned to my front door when I got home.

Dream a little Dream of me...

say night night and

kiss me.

But in your dreams – whatever they be...

dream a

little dream

of

me.

He drew stars and a sun and her lips red and full. I wanted to kiss them, as I slid the key in the lock, I suddenly felt frivolous and giddy. I suddenly felt light on my feet, as though the pure fresh air had lifted me up, joyously. I suddenly felt warm and tingly.

Into the shadows of the house, no lights on, no one to say welcome home babe, no one to smile and take me in their arms.

I felt that chill of strength, when you are on your own, but you feel perfectly at ease.

I felt strong, wings of steel. Nothing could hurt me. Nothing could trouble me now.

I felt adored.

Can You Hear It

Can you hear it?

Yes.

Are you sure?

No.

Listen closer?

I’m listening closer.

What can you hear if you really concentrate? 

What?

That sound.

What sound?

The sound just then?

I heard nothing.

That's because you are busy talking.

Well, how rude.

To hear, you've got to listen.

Are you saying I don't know when to shut up. Is that what you are saying? That I talk a lot? Is that what you are saying to me...

Yes.

Really?

But don't worry, you are not the only one.

One of many, is that what you are saying?

The whole world, really, the whole world...

Really?

So many of us are only really interested in what we have to say.

Are you saying that is me?

Well?

I’ll take that as a yes.

You wouldn’t be wrong.

I see.

Now listen.

For how long?

For as long as it takes.

How long is that?

Until you hear it.

Hear what?

That is what you are listening for.

I see.

Do you?

I’m listening for something that I will only hear if I am quiet.

Now you are getting it.

Am I?

Well…

Can you hear it?

What?

The sound of the planet when we shut up.