She was Red Ice the hard drinking thing

you never fooled me for a minute, the dire soft chase

murmuring sweet negatives and hidden speech whispers

filling the gaps with the psycho narratives

‘I don’t care about your life. I don’t understand it’

Her main theme [as she was bubbling on the ballgag ]seemed to be that the mass of humanity is enslaved by an Occult elite, who she refers to as monarchy, banking, religion, corporate, miscellaneous institution families, some of which may be Reptiles. Amazing shit. She was sending me thought forms as she bucked and twisted as I was strangle fucking her again. In the background thrash metal. She hated thrash metal, She LOVED Dave Mathews and Tragically Hip and edgy was Mogwai who her University boyfriend loved. He had seen them at a live gig and somebody spiked his drink with Ectasy and he was in hospital and an old man rubbed shit over the sheets and the food was bad but…

‘You have a Cocaine addiction drive for secrets they never spoke of.’

The men in the High places who drive the whole sordid train of humanity flicking through tunnels analogy fucking, squeezing those fucking variables. She was being well fucked. I’m brilliant at that shit.

‘Because Jeff is like taking acid. Yellow letters on a blue background and Jeffs awful portrait avatar beaming from the corner like a permed sex freak feeding you his daily dose of Nazi Flying Antarcticas and Pyramid societies and the Jews. Never forget the fucking Jews.’

Especially the Flying Saucer Nazi Jews and their incessant Radio broadcasts from SNOWZION. It was true. Buck and writhe sweetness. Her hair was wet with saliva. Bent over her sofa. Her back breaking surely. She never cared.

One way women enter the realm of heart orgasm is through the confirmation of their greatest, sometimes irrational, fears. These fears become a skin they dress themselves with. Layer after layer building up a series of characters they would play until when they really wanted someone to open their heart to their real personality was covered under a stratified series of people they had designed and built as a protective personality suit. The real them is lost underneath. Here the abyss watches them. Lost thing. Bodies under my hands as they sweat at last and throw off the built and the manufactured. But I was holding my head now as I fucked.

The evidence is out there. You just have to look for it. Wake yourself the fuck up. Get yourself a Space Witch girlfriend. Watch her reveal the truth. I think she has passed out.

They don’t want you to know this. To reach your peak sexuality and to grow and utilise your sexual energy is a weapon against them. She has a sheen of sweat on her skin but I am cool and dry. No power on earth can stop illicit fucking.

The Roman Polanski Orange Sunshine Motherfuckers. The Cali-Nazi Bread and Butter Cowboy bands.

‘My Boyfriend never fucks me like that’ she says. She doesn’t say his name which I know. Frank. He’s a mature student who studies Law or something. Why doesn’t she say his name. He’s a nice guy Frank. I feel a bit pissed off for him. Once he was knocking the door to her flat shouting her name. He was drunk and I’m sure crying. She of course couldn’t answer. She had something in her mouth. But we didn’t think Crystal Methamphetamine was a real bad thing. My mate had said eat about twenty Ginseng pills then do the meth. That way your cock will stay hard and I was seeing Red Dragons over her back as she sucked my cock and it was cool. And in the background Frank behind the door moaning like Morrisey.

‘Karen don’t you see, taking the piss out of me, in your stockings and suspenders under the hands of a-nuvver man. A violent man’

Was there a lack of sacredness and context darling? I asked her be-dragonned back. But she was hunger then and so was I. But bound she was nothing more than an organ. She repressed and bound herself in many ways. Her Tantra was artificiality and preening. Her own strategy was self hate and she couldn’t come to terms with who she was under my disinterested watch. For what was she but the magic? Her forms were treasure to me and everything was marked and scored with the subtle notes of the metaphysical and they wove a path through everything. Didn’t they?Do they?

Has the damage been too much. She loved the speed and the greed, the needs. Her Father was Russian and she was studying Russian.

I am the JAWWAH. But don’t expect me to deliver on any of my promises. I’m as honest as a Hippy, honestly. But fucking her I can see her abyss and mine consuming each other in the great cosmic drug addled fuck fest we do and have done and will do again. No hard wired connections, no solid concepts. No listening to her layered crap apart from when she’s coming down and you know the third line will send her right over the edge and she tries to push my hand completely into her mouth whe is wide eyes and trying to fit. It. All.In.

Weren’t you listening to each other at all? Couldn’t you see it coming?

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