Filed under: Dreams | Tags: cops, despair, gender, pain, sex, sex toys, sexuality, sperm whale, stream of consciousness, violence
the friction between my yin and yang do not give off sparks the grindings are utterly corrupt the putrid wastes of veal remains for I am a young soul full of worms that give the robins red beasts in the spring like nipple clamps squeezing them out 7 hearts 2 brians hermaphridite lemmings lust for death in the hands of the boy wonder’s leotards the birds grab his feet and pull his legs off one pant at a time we are born through the composts of time out of the spandex and in to the fire in times like these you have bend over and pick your self up by the boot straps index fingers hooked in leather stumbling forward prime shank to be fucked or kicked the jocker’s dildo is shaped like a boot, and tastes like your initative. Continue reading
Dreamblog MVP Gina writes:
Driving in the country, there was a man I admired very much, but I was also afraid of him. I was in pain somewhere. We arrived at a house. We were in the kitchen – something I remember about something he said – about helping me. About cleansing.
In the kitchen I was hurting and he took a pair of scissors and sliced the inside of both my upper thighs. Continue reading
George writes:
My finger and toenails are pried off and the soft flesh that is used to the protection of the nail shells is exposed and open to the air. They are pried off with a sharpened pencil that digs into that soft flesh. Each is done one at a time. Slowly. The nails bend and shatter and that soft, soft finger and toe flesh is out in the open where it isn’t used to being and then something is there and it has a voice and I’m not sure if it is really happening or if it is a dream and I can’t move. I can’t move and my nails both toes and fingers are missing and that soft flesh is seeing the world and feeling the air for the first time. My insides are out in a simple simple way. And I want to scream but if I scream the something will know I’m there and I can’t move and my nails or my lack of nails are hurting and then my head is gone. I am not with my head. I am out in the field and I am still reeling from the lose of my toe and finger nails and the dirt is hurting the soft flesh that is exposed. And the dirt is salty. And it burns. It burns without any heat. It is a heatless burning. And the blankets are over my head and I can’t breathe. And this is turning me into a small and smaller thing that the big thing has cornered. And I can’t move. Continue reading
I dream of dada 