I can no longer afford the dental floss entwining him and me.
Freedom means releasing our noose.
I run from his arms to the thighs of a stranger.
Embracing the novelty and the anonymity and the enormity.
Don't seek to know me. Don't ask the simple questions.
Seek to swim my inner rivers without map or moral rose compass.
Drown.
If you seek liberation from your binds as well,
Come to me but do not look to me as sweet syrup haven or couple therapy.
I am the mossless boulder, you always imagined you pushed.
Sweat and struggle.
Friday, July 15, 2016
Wednesday, July 6, 2016
The Struggle (15/45)
Another City Council meeting; another ball of bile and regret.
I woke up tired from the struggle of the evening before and the evening before.
Then, I met him.
I took my two hands for granted,
their grasp, their hold, their future,
until he told me to touch the tip of his left nub.
I wrapped my fingers around where his wrist ended.
And, he smiled and sighed.
I kissed where his left hand used to start.
My lips curled around injustice's bitter taste.
The sour scent of someone done wrong filled my head.
I wanted to make my two fists for him,
but he opened my clenched claws,
one at a time,
and kissed my open, soft palms,
showing me the way out of anger.
And, as he entered me,
I forgot my painful path and just stood with
my head against the wall reveling in the moment.
I woke up tired from the struggle of the evening before and the evening before.
Then, I met him.
I took my two hands for granted,
their grasp, their hold, their future,
until he told me to touch the tip of his left nub.
I wrapped my fingers around where his wrist ended.
And, he smiled and sighed.
I kissed where his left hand used to start.
My lips curled around injustice's bitter taste.
The sour scent of someone done wrong filled my head.
I wanted to make my two fists for him,
but he opened my clenched claws,
one at a time,
and kissed my open, soft palms,
showing me the way out of anger.
And, as he entered me,
I forgot my painful path and just stood with
my head against the wall reveling in the moment.
Tuesday, July 5, 2016
For J (14/45)
"I
feel the surprising warmth of the ocean, when I read you.
I
feel the friction of sand, when I hear your words.
What
do I have to do to feel more of you?"
I've often been a man's vacation spot. A property visited, celebrated, polluted, then left.
"No,
I am an island man far from home. I recognize not exotify you."
Then,
come and let my sun welcome and bake you.
Dinner's
on soon.
Fireworks (13/45)
She wanted something different to do on a soggy Independence Day. She browsed through her emails and caught him. “He wanted to fuck her loudly on a hard bed with rain beating on the windows.” ― Don DeLillo, Mao II Looking at his picture and rereading his quote, she wanted to show him the arch of her back and the ride of her breasts. They found each other in the rain and were so involved in the echos of their desire, they did not hear any fireworks but their own.
Sunday, July 3, 2016
JAM (12/45)
Jelly
of the Journal Keeper by Jim Bodeen
Already
our tongues are drunk
on
those two J's howling after vowels.
Messy.
Before you lick
your
fingers clean, dip them
into
the jelly and smear the page,
disrupting
the seraphs and elegant
descenders
alike. Stain the image.
This
is sexy stuff, painting
your
journal with jelly. The early
Church
stripped its young confirmands
and
anointed them in oil---naked &
shiny---initiation
before Communion.
For
him who gave me a jarful, when everyone else got a spoonful.
Just A Head's Up
I know some of you are curious about how I sound. I've started a new twitter account with a link to my reading of my 45/45 pieces. I hope you check it out at https://twitter.com/kondescendkunt. Thank you again for your continued readership and support. Cheers! :) VH
Saturday, July 2, 2016
From Hate, I Remember Love (11/45)
Received my first death threat email last night along with two of my pieces flagged for deletion.
For those who need an end to my project, you only have 34 more days! You don't need to off me!
To help me regain perspective, I would like to share some of the kind, friendly notes some of you have sent me. I may not get to answer all of them, because of the daily nature of the project, I contact first the Charlottesville people who express specific plans or fantasies, show themselves to be interesting as well as interested, and send me face pictures instead of typical headless in the first ad response. But, I do appreciate that all of you took time to respond.
“Intriguing story, definitely drew my attention.” NS
“Hi! I though your cl post was very intriguing. You had me at Arnold Palmer's” VL
“Hi I am really intrigued by these meetings.” EW
“Hello there! First, I'd just like to say that your ad is a breath of fresh air on Craigslist. 98% of the casual encounters W4M ads on here are laughably fake, you at least seem real.” BH
“All of your posts have been making me extremely horny. “ TR
“Hey There, You certainly have a unique CL posting. I would love to know more about your writing project and how you handle, what I imaging are, horrible responses.” PO
“That was totally hot!!! Love it:)” Anonymous
“It seems as if I elected to move from Charlottesville many years too soon. Who knew that such a naughty, intelligent being would be there later? One that could satisfy me both mentally and physically. “ AB
“In the early morning light,
I dreamed of you...
Kissing your lips,
My fingers running thru your hair...
In the pale moonlight,
You were standing
By the great Oak tree,
Calling my name...
Come to thee
Whispers on the winds of time,
Turning, rolling in my mind
Fire burning
Brightly in my heart
Reaching across time
Feeling your body
Next to mine...
Kissing and caressing,
Rolling thru time
Dreaming in the...
Pale Morning Light”
Anonymous
“ I have thoroughly enjoyed reading your posts. I bet you are a lot of fun!” DF
“I liked your craigs postings, especially the library one. Pretty hot, and daring. I am not a big Chaucer guy, or at least not yet :) Maybe you can turn me on to him? I'm more of a Cheever type. But I also have a strong background in Chinese poetry and early to mid 20th century American poetry. Regardless, here's mine. Would love to meet a woman intriguing enough to write such unique posts to craigs.
Forgiveness
The summer before fifth grade
we went to my uncle’s rectory
down the Cape for a week.
Monsignor Flaherty staked
tomatoes out by the garage
in a white t-shirt, cigarette
dangling from his pockmarked face.
My uncle said the bishop sent
him, thought the salt air
might keep him sober.
Besides, they needed someone
to say the early Mass in Latin
and absolve sins in Portuguese,
even if all in a brogue.
Flaherty owned two shaggy mutts,
Michael and Margaret, one brown,
the other black, one named after
a superior, the other the woman
who drove him into the priesthood.
The two people I like least in this world
he told us after supper one night.
I began to ask why he would name them
that way, but my mother cut me off
All right, off to bed now. Later I heard
her tell my father behind their closed door,
I don’t want him around that drunk.
He was sitting at the kitchen table reading
the Herald’s obituaries when I came down
early the next morning. The dogs licked
sand out of their paws from their walk.
I asked him about the names in a low voice.
He smiled, kept his eyes on the paper.
Because it seems to free my soul
of the animosity it holds against
those poor people when I say
Heel, Maggie! Sit, Michael!”
S
“Hello. Today's post was the second one of your writings that I was fortunate enough to come across. Your style of writing is both intriguing and arousing. I extend a thank you for you choosing to share this project with us.” MR
“Wanted to let you know that I have been reading more of your ads/mini blogs on craigslist and I find them fascinating. I love the choice of language and tone.” WM
“Untitled
Somewhere between nothing done and my own damn fault
you find the words, buried in time, the time wasted long before
looking for a space to bury the words you've lost.
somewhere between the entrenched decision
and the long discarded task, where words alone,
buried in time, attest to times buried
in the space acquired, through constant
consistent begging, through profit, loss of an instant
carried through time, time and the words whose content timed
the con substantial being of such words: "What am I saying":
"What have I done": You know the answer at least
to one of those two questions, the irredeemable loss
of time's last word. You know for a moment
the spade digging through dirt, where memories dug
from somewhere dig back, and force dirt from the mind,
if buried too long in frozen moment, another question can surface
"How long has this task been about": Or rather "When did it start
and, "Where will it end?"
WD
“Hi, I've greatly enjoyed reading your adventures. Thank you for sharing. - A Fan “ AG
“I saw your ad and few days ago but did not respond. Because of the post being up again, I do not doubt your "realness".I find your project interesting. And ad that length I normally would not read because I'd become bored lol. However I did read yours and did not lose my intrigue.” B
“That is so weird. (Hot, but weird). You honestly sound so sexy. Wow “ MS
“This ad interests me, seems like fun but don't know what to expect.” DM
For those who need an end to my project, you only have 34 more days! You don't need to off me!
To help me regain perspective, I would like to share some of the kind, friendly notes some of you have sent me. I may not get to answer all of them, because of the daily nature of the project, I contact first the Charlottesville people who express specific plans or fantasies, show themselves to be interesting as well as interested, and send me face pictures instead of typical headless in the first ad response. But, I do appreciate that all of you took time to respond.
“Intriguing story, definitely drew my attention.” NS
“Hi! I though your cl post was very intriguing. You had me at Arnold Palmer's” VL
“Hi I am really intrigued by these meetings.” EW
“Hello there! First, I'd just like to say that your ad is a breath of fresh air on Craigslist. 98% of the casual encounters W4M ads on here are laughably fake, you at least seem real.” BH
“All of your posts have been making me extremely horny. “ TR
“Hey There, You certainly have a unique CL posting. I would love to know more about your writing project and how you handle, what I imaging are, horrible responses.” PO
“That was totally hot!!! Love it:)” Anonymous
“It seems as if I elected to move from Charlottesville many years too soon. Who knew that such a naughty, intelligent being would be there later? One that could satisfy me both mentally and physically. “ AB
“In the early morning light,
I dreamed of you...
Kissing your lips,
My fingers running thru your hair...
In the pale moonlight,
You were standing
By the great Oak tree,
Calling my name...
Come to thee
Whispers on the winds of time,
Turning, rolling in my mind
Fire burning
Brightly in my heart
Reaching across time
Feeling your body
Next to mine...
Kissing and caressing,
Rolling thru time
Dreaming in the...
Pale Morning Light”
Anonymous
“ I have thoroughly enjoyed reading your posts. I bet you are a lot of fun!” DF
“I liked your craigs postings, especially the library one. Pretty hot, and daring. I am not a big Chaucer guy, or at least not yet :) Maybe you can turn me on to him? I'm more of a Cheever type. But I also have a strong background in Chinese poetry and early to mid 20th century American poetry. Regardless, here's mine. Would love to meet a woman intriguing enough to write such unique posts to craigs.
Forgiveness
The summer before fifth grade
we went to my uncle’s rectory
down the Cape for a week.
Monsignor Flaherty staked
tomatoes out by the garage
in a white t-shirt, cigarette
dangling from his pockmarked face.
My uncle said the bishop sent
him, thought the salt air
might keep him sober.
Besides, they needed someone
to say the early Mass in Latin
and absolve sins in Portuguese,
even if all in a brogue.
Flaherty owned two shaggy mutts,
Michael and Margaret, one brown,
the other black, one named after
a superior, the other the woman
who drove him into the priesthood.
The two people I like least in this world
he told us after supper one night.
I began to ask why he would name them
that way, but my mother cut me off
All right, off to bed now. Later I heard
her tell my father behind their closed door,
I don’t want him around that drunk.
He was sitting at the kitchen table reading
the Herald’s obituaries when I came down
early the next morning. The dogs licked
sand out of their paws from their walk.
I asked him about the names in a low voice.
He smiled, kept his eyes on the paper.
Because it seems to free my soul
of the animosity it holds against
those poor people when I say
Heel, Maggie! Sit, Michael!”
S
“Hello. Today's post was the second one of your writings that I was fortunate enough to come across. Your style of writing is both intriguing and arousing. I extend a thank you for you choosing to share this project with us.” MR
“Wanted to let you know that I have been reading more of your ads/mini blogs on craigslist and I find them fascinating. I love the choice of language and tone.” WM
“Untitled
Somewhere between nothing done and my own damn fault
you find the words, buried in time, the time wasted long before
looking for a space to bury the words you've lost.
somewhere between the entrenched decision
and the long discarded task, where words alone,
buried in time, attest to times buried
in the space acquired, through constant
consistent begging, through profit, loss of an instant
carried through time, time and the words whose content timed
the con substantial being of such words: "What am I saying":
"What have I done": You know the answer at least
to one of those two questions, the irredeemable loss
of time's last word. You know for a moment
the spade digging through dirt, where memories dug
from somewhere dig back, and force dirt from the mind,
if buried too long in frozen moment, another question can surface
"How long has this task been about": Or rather "When did it start
and, "Where will it end?"
WD
“Hi, I've greatly enjoyed reading your adventures. Thank you for sharing. - A Fan “ AG
“I saw your ad and few days ago but did not respond. Because of the post being up again, I do not doubt your "realness".I find your project interesting. And ad that length I normally would not read because I'd become bored lol. However I did read yours and did not lose my intrigue.” B
“That is so weird. (Hot, but weird). You honestly sound so sexy. Wow “ MS
“This ad interests me, seems like fun but don't know what to expect.” DM
Friday, July 1, 2016
Fire (10/45)
So, I am having my favorite lunch of lobster ravioli in pink lady sauce at Sal's, when I hear a deep voice behind me.
“Will you be my quirky queen today?”
I turn around, and a thick man with a nicely trimmed, salt and pepper, mustache and beard is beaming down at me.
“It depends on who wants to be king for a day. How 'bout you sit down and chat with me?”
His smile gets bigger as he sits across from me.
“I've been reading your stuff for a week now. I didn't answer, because I'm not really poetic or absurd or any thing like that. But, I got to admit, you turn me on...Very hot. And, when I saw you with the pink hair, I just knew you were the lady making me throb. Is it okay that I talk like this?”
“So far...”
“I am in real estate. Luxury. I think you are going to need my card soon. I just think you are going to be a best seller or some sort of Sex And The City 2016 or something. So, I was wondering if I could show you some properties, and you could maybe show me some things?”
We take a ride out to the county. It was a really beautiful ride, perfect weather, large fields punctuated by grand houses. We turned off the highway and visited this beautiful house on a hill.
He pushed me against the door and pushed his tongue into my mouth.
He, then, asked me to undress and pose for him in the fireplace. I am not that much of a model, so I only did a few poses, before I asked him to join me.
The fireplace floor was uneven and roughed my hands and knees.
He filled the quiet property with a lot of dirty talk and growling. He filled me.
C, I will definitely keep your card.
“Will you be my quirky queen today?”
I turn around, and a thick man with a nicely trimmed, salt and pepper, mustache and beard is beaming down at me.
“It depends on who wants to be king for a day. How 'bout you sit down and chat with me?”
His smile gets bigger as he sits across from me.
“I've been reading your stuff for a week now. I didn't answer, because I'm not really poetic or absurd or any thing like that. But, I got to admit, you turn me on...Very hot. And, when I saw you with the pink hair, I just knew you were the lady making me throb. Is it okay that I talk like this?”
“So far...”
“I am in real estate. Luxury. I think you are going to need my card soon. I just think you are going to be a best seller or some sort of Sex And The City 2016 or something. So, I was wondering if I could show you some properties, and you could maybe show me some things?”
We take a ride out to the county. It was a really beautiful ride, perfect weather, large fields punctuated by grand houses. We turned off the highway and visited this beautiful house on a hill.
He pushed me against the door and pushed his tongue into my mouth.
He, then, asked me to undress and pose for him in the fireplace. I am not that much of a model, so I only did a few poses, before I asked him to join me.
The fireplace floor was uneven and roughed my hands and knees.
He filled the quiet property with a lot of dirty talk and growling. He filled me.
C, I will definitely keep your card.
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