Archives

18 Year Old x 34,123
19 Year Old x 5,327
3D Monster x 250
3some x 432,539
4some x 23,381
9 Months Pregnant x 297
Aerobics x 576
African x 51,023
Afro x 32,682
Alien x 817
All Holes x 19,200
Amputee x 90
Anal x 1,130,444
Anal Beads x 11,324
Anal Casting x 4,965
Angry x 1,542
Anus x 828,560
Armpit x 1,051
Art x 33,237
Australian x 4,656
Austrian x 1,370

Ball Busting x 4,165
Ball Kicking x 486
Balloon x 7,250
Banana x 19,848
Baseball x 4,360
Basketball x 985
Bathroom x 204,572
Best Friend x 14,114
Bicycle x 735
Big Ass x 281,112
Big Clit x 3,016
Big Cock x 569,513
Big Natural Tits x 88,063
Big Nipples x 22,361
Big Pussy x 17,483
Bit Tits x 1,233,353
Bitch x 116,950
Bizarre x 55,412
Blindfolded x 10,550
Booty Shake x 16,269
Bottle x 11,182
Braces x 1,958
Braids x 3,125
Breath Play x 42,155

Cage x 8,325
Calendar x 1,219
Cameltoe x 6,201
Caning x 8,617
CEI (Cum Eating Instruction) x 1,011
Cigarette x 2,583
Clinic x 6,636
Clothed Pissing x 505
Clown x 361
Cotton Panties x 7,323
Croatian x 1,172
Cucumber x 6,888
Cum Brushing x 415

Delivery Guy x 723
Diaper x 5,528
Disco x 63,603
Drooling x 28,772
Dyed Hair x 322

Egyptian x 2,226
Electrified x 4,554
Elevator x 744
Emo x 26,632
Encouragement x 2,029
Enema x 8,575

Farm x 2,746
Farting x 6,072
Fat x 274,239
Fat Guy x 1,182
Fat Mature x 6,466
Fat Teen (18/19) x 195
FBB (Female Body Builder) x 675
Feet x 210,900
Felching x 4,465
Fighting x 11,184
Flat Chested x 6,875
Flexible x 16,309
Flogger Whip x 9,011
Florida x 1,334
Food x 31,163
Football x 2,686
Forest x 15,294
Four Fingering x 19,456
Freckled x 1,142
Friend’s Mom x 629
Fucking x 2,211,233
Fur x 3,945
Futanari x 837

Gagged (Bit or Ball) x 150,677
Garden x 27,912
Garter Belts x 7,754
Ghetto x 36,442
GILF x 6,040
Girdle x 1,909
Gokkun x 515
Golden Shower x 30,757
Golf x 666
Goth x 26,632
Grandma x 46,826
Grandpa x 7,451
Granny x 56,773

Hairless x 13,354
Hairy x 214,980
Hairy Lesbian x 27,724
Hairy Pussy x 167,298
Hairy Teen (18/19) x 1,568
Halloween x 3,518
Hawaiian x 743
Hawt x 16,858
Hentai Monster x 862
Hermaphrodite x 1,585
Hippy x 367
Hirsute x 192,331
Hogtied x 4,996
Homeless x 1,541
Hot Mom x 489,286

Indian Wife x 1,730
Innocent x 89,738
Interracial x 100,000
Intro x 3,247
Iranian x 570
Irish x 4,660
Israeli x 1,201
Italian x 53,202

Japanese x 345,659
Jerk Off Encouragement x 1,201
Jewish x 437
Jizz x 1,086,554
JOI (Jerk Off Instruction) x 33,218
Juggs x 198,050

Kissing x 93,870
Korean x 22,309

Labia x 6,516
Lactating x 2,940
Lady x 64,870
Ladyboy x 100,090
Loads of Cum x 15,800
Lockerroom x 10,549
Lollipop x 9,625
Long Hair x 100,030
Long Nails x 2,255
Lotion x 1,578
Lucky x 27,111

Machine Fucking x 43,074
Maid x 35,878
Malaysian x 4,614
Master x 33,041
Masturbating x 775,391
Mature Handjob x 46,249
Medical x 30,373
Medieval x 333
Mega Tits x 55,456
Melons x 305,558
Messy x 12,254
Mexican x 28,261
Midget x 3,201
Milk x 17,826
Mirror x 10,013
Mom x 540,663
Mud x 1,915

Natural Boobs x 336,401
Natural Pussy x 17,981
Natural Tits x 300,000
Nerdy x 10,372
Noisy x 1,232
Norwegian x 1,869
Nun x 3,019
Nuru Massage x 9,070

Obese x 3,537
Oiled x 119,191
Old & Young (18-25) x 4,625
Old Farts x 16,406
Old Man x 9,340
Oops x 3,119
Oriental x 300,435
Own Cum x 2,846

Paddled x 1,392
Pain x 85,996
Pale x 9,064
Park Sex x 211
Parody x 2,876
PAWG x 20,310
Peeing x 60,101
Pegging x 34,211
Perfect x 135,201
Phone x 6,543
Piano x 2,193
Piss Drinking x 2,708
Pissed On x 42,483
Pissing x 104,087
Pizza x 5,034
Plumber x 1,042
Poker x 1,264
Ponyplay x 427
Poor Girl x 5,299
Pre-cum x 1,604
Pregnant x 13,494
Pretty x 398,091
Princess x 33,907
Prison x 14,993
Prolapse x 7,922
Prostate x 1,689
Puffy Nipples x 1,645

Queen x 95,766
Quickie x 16,602

Ranch x 660
Raunchy x 8,937
Ravage x 119,850
Real Orgasm x 530
Rectal Exam x 324
Red Bottom x 1,312
Redhead x 344, 117
Repairman x 488
Revenge x 5,566
Rich x 6,206

Saggy Tits x 3,962
Sailor x 1,736
Sandwich x 6,715
School Uniform x 9,283
Scissoring x 8,706
Screaming x 19,261
Security Guard x 1,190
See Through x 1,487
Self Fisting x 845
Self Fuck x 37,739
Self Suck x 981
Shoe x 58,657
Shoejob x 512
Skank x 301,264
Sloppy x 6,824
Slut x 551,059
Small Cock x 22,798
Sniffing Panties x 243
Socks x 20,741
Solarium x 938
Speculum x 8,659
Spreading x 155,809
SSBBW x 3,759
Story x 38,124
Stranger x 13,120
Stupid Girl x 977
Superhero x 393

Table x 47,721
Taxi x 5,854
Tennis x 1,428
Tentacle x 4,301
Tickling x 5,703
Toilet x 13,136
Torture (BDSM) x 49,043
Trailer Girl x 5,446
Trampling x 2,019
Trib x 12,511
Tricked x 6,195

Ugly x 3,641
Uncut Dick x 17,314
Underwater x 1,886
University x 2,862
Urethra x 414

Vaccuum x 1,263
Vampire x 678
Van x 4,815
Vegetable x 10,814
Virgin x 3,625

Wedding x 2,256
Weird x 45,416
Whaletail x 121
Wrestling x 14,953
WTF x 46,060

Xmas x 8,239

Yoga x 2,838

Dark pasts
are only
good at
coming back.

Glue album,
aiming endward
everlong.

I recognize
that great height.

I formed
from that
buffoon.

Ahead, the steps
get big.
Behind,

someone’s
coming.

i.

There is a commercial I viewed for the drug Lyrica.

In the commercial, a woman (protagonist) explains what Lyrica treats (chronic pain) and prompts the audience to consider Lyrica for the treatment of chronic pain.

“With less pain, I feel better.” This is a line in the commercial, spoken by the woman.

I like to imagine the person who wrote that sentence.

I imagine him (protagonist) at a copy desk,
letting the line live on through to the final draft.

Later, in bed, he does not wrap himself in his own arms, because
that would be the opposite of a private joke.

ii.

When I was 23, I went on a date with J., a man I met on the internet.

At a bar in dim light, he brought up the death of his father, which was the result of a semi-famous 1980s plane crash.

I said nothing. I watched a candle on the table. I kept my hands near my mouth.

He said, People usually say something when I tell them that.

Without any confirmation, I took that sentence
to mean I was noble.

By the time my hands were away from my face
I was inventing new ways to be different.

iii.

When I was 26, I watched my friend T. role an empty water glass between his hands. I tried to get him to talk about his father.

When he did, I held onto sentences
I brought to life through his mouth like they were small bits of light
for me to have for future use.

He said, I’m always honest with you
while he covered a small candle with the water glass
until it stopped being lit.

iv.

When I told D. something horrible,
I did it to feel close to him.

We were at the back of a different bar,
near the exit, by the patio.

With my body facing him at an angle, I said something like
I know you are hurting
because he was. His brother was freshly dead. Maybe a year or so.

When I said
I know you are hurting,
I was building a transition to
my own lines.

v.

He (protagonist) is treading water, kicking his feet back and forth in a pool.

He is moving his legs in a circle, as if he is riding a bicycle, partly holding his breath.

When he empties air from himself he is still aching. It is like that is the only act
to keep breath pushing out.

She came out of the forest and onto the road. The cut across the center of her right palm had bled enough to coat her fingers which she now struggled to straighten, the new scab breaking as she opened her hand. She saw the wet asphalt, then her bloodstained fingers, and then the evidence of her wound––gray, brown, red. Before she remembered to call what she was standing on a road it began to rain.
    She kept off the asphalt first, walking through cupping mud in her shredded sneakers. It was confusing, today’s sun, hidden by the flat clouds and the overhanging trees, though even in the rain she felt its warmth. When she couldn’t step without risking a shoe, she walked back onto the highway. She felt her hope for a car in her head and her dread for him in her guts and limbs. As she walked––north, towards the city––she grew bored, but only needed to close her right hand into a fist to come awake. She instinctually slapped a mosquito with her wounded palm and groaned. As soon as she imagined letting all the blood out of her, she whispered: no ideas.
    The road curved, ascended. She took off her sneakers and tested her blistered feet on the asphalt. Though the cool rainwater didn’t abate the pain, she preferred to touch the road like this. Half a mile later, she tossed her shoes into a clump of brush. She saw a highway marker, walked to it, then waited.
    All she allowed herself to think about was her promise to forbid herself of minding all but present facts. And by this thinking, she transgressed.
    She said aloud the harmless facts of her body: pain, hunger, thirst, tired. Scared, she heard, then closed her eyes for a few seconds––standing, on weak legs and throbbing feet—–before looking down the road in both directions. She wandered about how little she could say to whoever picked her up. She cautioned herself about the truck, but only so long as she forgot that she slashed the tires. Amid a dizzy wash of regret over dropping the knife, she remembered to only handle the facts. Her palm stung. A car came.
    She didn’t stick out her thumb, but instead stood there wet, barefoot, and bleeding, thinking that enough. She winced, squinted. She saw the car’s siren and turned, running through the mud and bush—she settled behind the trunk of a sugar maple. It had stopped raining, but now the tree’s leaves studded her with drops that felt too cold, or aimed. The cruiser passed with a hiss as she sighed, realizing that she didn’t have to avoid them, the police, that she should’ve asked for help.
    Do not go back to their systems of prolonged suffering.
    His voice unlocked her exhaustion, even the memory of his voice. She began to puke but clenched her jaws and tilted her head back, matted hair against bark. She looked through the canopy.
    It is out of deep love that you will do this.
    Rose clapped her left hand over her mouth.
    A car door shut.

•

Her clothes were soaked and she hadn’t eaten in days so she shivered against the AC. She didn’t say anything, grateful for another fact.
    Shit, he said. He reached and flipped the dial to red.
    What had he asked her and what had she said? She was in the vehicle, in the front seat, but was already forgetting. Why did he stop the car? The artificial heat over her skin relaxed her to questions, those she went over privately. She rested her head on the window and stared at the sideview mirror. For the first time in many months, she could see a part of herself reflected.
    Ma’am, I have to ask again. He paused. She blinked, wanted him to see that she was awake, wanted to have to say aloud what still felt obliterated.
    What’s your name?

(more…)

“Not too sure I should wake up because my sleeping mask reads ‘goddess’ and it is a charge I find myself both at odds to live up to, and moderately victimized by. My vision gets sacrificed daily to the facts brewing within the mirror. I’ve decided to slow down on bowel movements. The uncomely effort to tease a strain, or to make myself conscious of not straining, and the involuntary paroxysmal result, at which doctors shake the more abridged of their Freud books, surpasses any concern for digestive constitution, and I relent to bleed either way. I void twice weekly. Meanwhile, the ensconced remainder interpolates my perineal sinew, yo-yoing against the prostate so that I suffer involuntary nightlong erections, gradually desensitizing that delicate tissue as well. Increasing fiber intake exacerbates this issue, decreasing it at least keeps the convulsions occasional, if not chronic and debilitating. The recommended posture squat, the hokum meditations, the mere recycling of one’s lungs, the indifferent practitioners and their blanket Metamucil, those who shrug with the concession of IBS, as pointless as their colonoscopies, the physical hobbies prescribed by the merchandise of our psychologists, stall the cure. Seppuku is the only laxative. I spent much of my hefty twenties as the most impatient suicide, about as processed as anything I swallowed, slimming down once the pain reached an apex I could no longer appreciate sexually, but remained annoying enough to keep me generally aware of my surroundings. I used to idiomatically splutter an awkward blessing over anyone too near me daring to be practical. I had an industrious wife I chose to support regardless of her overshadowing bank. I borrowed a little relationship fee from the state, enough to cripple our environment. Now I cut my hair with a gardening tool. With bolt cutters from a morgue. I trim my beard with masking tape. I go outside and scream at a particular bush. There’s always space for DNA. It highlights anyone’s vision of themselves. The platters I collect are a sort of Grecian plastic. I like to get inside someone and take it easy. That modifies my color. For nails, I remain full of hate. I remain full of hatred for most anything growing on me. Because I’m into brevity as a typifying metric aesthetic. Makeup’s a less quantum task. I’ll start a lawsuit if my silhouette feels featured. I’m consistently chapped from eating starch. I’m a natural at being chapped. I either focus on whiskey or haven’t the lubrication to speak. This generates an overall waxiness I combat with the concentrated application of razorblades. Lots of spores you need to disentangle with a base liquid. Remember vinegar stifles fungus. Could someone help me find reasonable work, please? Doesn’t seem to happen without connections and I’m going to continue pontificating like this until I’m helped into a fucking mentionable or existing tax bracket. Not that any position merits pasture. Speaking of connections, mascara falters heavy on a corpse lid. I like to clambake in my shroud to better harness gnats.”

frontal of house. hear voice yelling at girl walking down street.

voice: hey! hey, you! c’mere!

girl: what. where are you.

voice: c’mere. over to the side of the house.

girl: why. what. who are you even.

voice: just c’mere! come on..

girl: (warily walks up driveway to side of house) okay (looking around)

voice: look down! (a hand flaps out of a basement window)

girl: (crouching down) what are you doing down there.

voice: i’m on punishment. and i’m really bored.

girl: on punishment. why, what did you do.

voice: it was my parents who put me in this doomed cell about two days ago.

girl: but why.

voice: (face becomes visible) because I took some cookies from the kitchen before dinnertime.

girl: so they locked you in the basement.

face: yes.

girl: that is terrible.

face: i know. life is awful. i hate being forced to learn a lesson.

girl: it seems pretty harsh for dessert theft, but i guess you won’t do it again.

face: i wouldn’t really say that.. this method of punishment makes me want some type of revenge. and i’ll probably take more cookies.

girl: but won’t you get punished again. are cookies really worth it.

face: my mom makes a mean chocolate chip.

girl: it’s your life. how much more time do you have left down there.

face: probably four days more. and i want out.

girl: my god, they’re keeping you in a dark basement for a week. how do you deal. can’t your parents get in trouble for this.

face: what do you mean.

girl: this is clearly child endangerment. it’s against the law..

face: you mean i could sue my parents.

girl: most definitely. this is cruel and unusual punishment, and for something so minor.

face: so you mean if i tell the courts how mistreated i am i could get a lot of money.

girl: i guess you could, yeah, but your parents should know that this isn’t okay.

face: and i could put my parents in jail and have the whole house to myself and be really rich.

girl: i don’t know if it works that way, but i guess anything is possible. maybe it would make sense to do some type of family counseling first though.

adult’s voice: (off camera) darling! lunch is ready!

face: (looking in direction of adult’s voice) i’ll be right up, ma!

girl: that’s your mom.

face: (turns to face girl) yeah, so will you help me escape.

girl: escape, how. when.

adult’s voice: i made tuna sandwiches! let’s eat lunch and we can go to the playground afterward.

face: (turns back to direction of adult’s voice) one sec, ma!

adult’s voice: come on, you’ve been playing in the basement all day.

girl: playing, but i thought… (stands up and starts walking away)

face: (to girl) no wait, wait, you’ve gotta help me!

adult’s voice: come on and let’s eat, i made lemonade too!

fin.

I wrote this when I was 15 and I feel like I was trying to write a dark fucking rugrats episode or something.

(Entry 1 of 52 excerpted from the first deck of F†8C: A San Francisco Grimoire)

THE DEATH’S HEAD MERMAID
Location: 37° 46’ 1” N / 122° 25’ 47” W

In the men’s room at Lucky 13 bar, presiding over the leftmost urinal, is a stencil of a skeleton with a mermaid who, upon a subtle shift of approaching perspectives, will alternately appear as death-headed herself, or ripe with a suicide girl’s hungry disdain. The stencil, created and painted by Paolo Zingler, has through the years been somewhat defaced, though it still bears Paolo’s signature duality, no small portion of which earned him death by strangulation at the hands of a jealous bartender’s boyfriend after closing, circa 2005. All familiars of the bar, including the bar’s owner, will deny this account, though it is nonetheless true.

The Death’s Head Mermaid is a portal of divination on the subjects of love and money. Three conditions must be established prior to opening the portal.

Condition the First: Danzig’s “Mother” must be playing on the bar’s sound system.

Condition the Second: The presence of a golden retriever. A common flaxen hound is frequently located mid-bar, mid-afternoon with its owner, though it may be argued the dog is the barfly’s owner. (Warning: Do not attempt to substitute breeds, as the golden retriever is the only guileless dog.)

Condition the Third: One pint of Pliny the Elder.

While “Mother” plays, lead the golden retriever into the men’s room. Offer a portion no less than half the pint into the freshly flushed left urinal. Once the dog finishes drinking from the urinal, he will sit, prepared to receive your questions and translate the stencil’s answers, spoken in those high frequencies exceeding the range of human hearing. The skeleton will address questions concerning love; the mermaid will reveal answers concerning money.

Inquiries on all other topics will be ignored. However, if you find yourself in Lucky 13 on any Friday the 13th during which the bar has obtained a rare keg of Pliny the Younger, this beer may be substituted for the Elder, resulting in special enhancements. Following the same protocol, using the Younger, the apparition of Paolo’s face will replace the skull and, in exchange for listening to the story of his terminal affair, he will answer one question extraneous to romance and wealth.

On your way out, you will notice a larger, more detailed mermaid on the eastern wall. She is a witness to all you have learned and all prior querents have learned. Do not speak to this mermaid. Paolo did not create this one. She appeared the morning after his murder and bears the face of the woman he betrayed with the bartender’s girlfriend.

Hold the door for the dog as you leave. If you have any doubt about the veracity of this portal or its protocol, ask anyone in the bar the dog’s name. Anyone who knows will tell you. His name is Larry. You may finish the remaining beer.

Artifact:

The man watches the man who lives in the box through a hole that the man drilled with a steak knife, stabbed into the box and twisted so that the shredded cardboard rained down on the man, in the apartment he had made of his box. The cardboard littered the man’s living room, and could he have had a say in the hole’s placement, he would have chosen above the bed. For though he had just the one room–the box–he considered the place where he’d placed his bed his bedroom, and there he’d left the box’s cardboard flooring bare, so that it was not unlike hardwood flooring in a normal house, and sweeping up the shredded cardboard would have been a simple chore, but not here over the man’s rug where he would’ve prerfered to use a vacuum though a vacuum he had not. The man often watched the man in the box at times of exhausted solitude, say, after a full day’s work. And there the man pondered that he too could be a man in the much bigger box of his apartment. And though the man might not be aware of who might be looking, there were plenty of holes in the box of the man’s apartment. The man in the box meantime had changed into his exercise clothing (after picking up as much of the shredded cardboard as he could) and now he crunched crunches for there was little else to do for a man in a box with no cable television. The man also owned no television and instead watched the man in the box, and as he watched the man in his exercises, the man thought that there must be many boxes, multitudes of them, housed one inside the other, and an infinity of exponentially-growing men, so that even the planet itself fit inside a box, and the enormous man who watched it watched it thicken with life, verdant and sex-smelly, and it crusted and smogged, and all the boxes and all the men suffocated on each other, and they died, and this sole remaining man, this enormous one, took the box that had housed his world and set it afire for all that box had housed had gone putrid with decay.

  I forget the rest.
  Strangers are catching me smile / the pain is sweet and distracting.

  I’ve been watching your reflection in cloudy places.
Shadowy gesture and parted lips.
I apologize in advance.

  His gestures will be fast uneven or nonexistent ghost
  still warm / we love our sadness
there is empty
space everywhere
I set myself on fire/ you didn’t look at me hard enough.

  hold this flame in your mouth / for me to swallow / colors / yellow / orange / royal blue /
your pain ((shadows we confess to be.)

Go into the fire
I’m sorry you don’t belong
to me / stop / Listen.
lie to survive / this is the answer.
        Turn me over for the question
    try walking on the balls
of your feet / walk faster / walk on the left /
      quick, make sharp turns
    now do you understand?

  Can you teach me?
                Do you really know?
  Walk with me silently into the night.

I can see my flesh now.

Every day is a loop that proves nothing but the futility of time. Sweat marks on the white comforter. It’s so impossible just to exist. My night terrors have taken over my waking life and I’m finding it impossible to remember what it’s like to be awake. I can respond exclusively to the vagrants that walk the streets. Their voices sing in the only tone I can isolate against the howling wind. Like which entrance warrants use. Like the dog-shit that covers the sidewalk. The many multitudes of man’s existence. Screaming into the dirt of trees. What the fuck is narrative. I will never go to a baseball game. I’m jealous of anything that spends more time in the air than I do. To navigate the city, it is best to become familiar with both the secret tunnels running beneath the streets & the inhabitants of these tunnels. This is where true knowledge resides. The streets are walked only by the howling wind & men who care about nothing but worship. Firm laundry reeks of a false privilege. Learn how to see in the dark, the dark is where capital’s transparency is revealed. Nothing means anything. Anything can mean nothing. Explosions on every street corner. This revolution is a terrible joke. Communication is ecstasy. Sidelined to god.