abstrect-christ Posted January 25, 2012 Share Posted January 25, 2012 The seven inch chefs granton edge that stalked our bed, the full crow moons zeno captured in its myrrhor symphony dancing at the edge of the davies gray backboard; my white knuckles holding its black handle, eyes absorption of all light void in its reflection back -- my teeth! Their abradant motions like a Reichsparteitag march, the shadow of an arm erect, white knuckled and at a fifty degree angle, arduous steps toward the left covered by darkslategrey, creases in the shape of Rachael’s twenty two inch waist; her inhales and exhales slow, apertures shrouded by concealed facsimiles. “Mm- mm... Jos- Joseph...?” Her apertures disseminate a zeno’s distillation and knuckles turned dark red as she turns to her back and looks up, grooves near the chefs edge making the larynx mute and internal jugular vein moil -- an eddy spreading in ease as the dimples fill with pulmonary tears and my bicep brachii taut elevates, a handle clammy with lust rituals vestiges affirms the ingress of knuckles’ dark red on white canvas; piercing her left ventricle pores blotting the inferior vana cava digitus primus’ nail, fingers creases pervaded by livers inner ducts and wall. I. “Hello Mr. Silian would you like an Evian?” Holding up my half empty bottle; “No -- but thanks for the offer Joseph; though I have to say you’re looking like Eric Draven at the moment.” “Thanks a lot asshole,” raising the Evian up to my lips as I smirk; “okay, ready?” “Shoot.” David pushes my saddle brown front desk chair out, sitting on its black cushion and leaning to the left where his black satchel rest. “The current production Elizabeth Marie is playing -- The House of Atreus -- How is it different from past productions of this Greek classic?” His black ballpoint Bic taps a notebook with a paraphrase of his presented question; “well, if we’re talking classically -- there’s more than the main antagonists up on stage -- and no one is wearing a mask --” “Always semantics with you,” he says with a laugh, top of his pen motioning for me to continue; “I’ve been working with Baz Lautner, make up effects veteran from films such as Hellraiser, Martyrs and The Dark Hours; I’ve also made alterations to its presentation -- making it more psychological -- the prologue of The Underworld isn’t a simple pool and fruit tree; he’s a Gollum among a river of the damned called “Abyssos.” “An intriguing endeavor, is it as dark as it sounds like it’ll be?” “Darker-” David leans, hand in satchel, “Okay -- continue --” eyes focused on a two and a half inch secondus manus, thin slits like the thin aquiform from my pores. “Joseph...?” the needle point incision below the nail plate spreading its fungus besmearing the ash lines of Davids note pad, “moving on -- express to me what Rachael’s eyes told you as her heart stopped beating?” “How- How could you-” “How did you dispose of the body?” “I, I don’t- How the fuck do you- Did you?!” “Joseph... All I asked was who the cast is and how well have they performed so far for you,” his look counterintuitive; “Oh-” “Did you play with her blood and what color was it in the moon light?” A look of esurience inside his breast. “Mr. Cilian leave -- now!” II. One am, diazepam suffusing all nuances of the weeks ignis fatuus; charcoal grey heritage field jacket beset upon the backrest of a black bar stool, keys clanging as they hit the obsidian marble top of the rectangular kitchen island; Rachael’s eyes shut in fathomless incubus; my black pinstripe wool pants on the flint sisal carpet, white casual dress shirt next to it -- this yen! Like a seizer from tetragrammaton itself: An aura of kindling enfolds me, left then right leg leaving the black boxers among the days attire, right hand stroking my half erect cock, making it harder in my grasp, oh the ecstasy! Growing in me -- penetrating my heart -- filling my arteries and veins. “Joseph... Babe, that you?” “Yes, Isolde.” “How was work?” She asks haggardly while turning to her back and opening her eyes to reveal grey pupils, “busy, sorry for not coming home the past few days,” “s’ kay’, I know you- What are you doing?” With agile precision I dash forward my feet at her knees over top our darkslategrey blanket, my left arm acting a linchpin for my self immolation, hand holding her wrists tightly against the davies grey backboard; “what’s wrong with you?” My smile pious as my right arm rends the blanket towards our feet revealing a coarse mons pubis, “Let me go!” Feeling the wiggling joints in my hand; emphatically kissing her, tongue entering, motions to the left a schism to my own; “I’m not up for this tonight Jos-” My right hand striking with asperity as the circumcised tip of my dick teases her labia minora moving up and down it her legs closing in but converging with my own. “Joseph... what is wrong with you?! Get off a’ me; get the fuck off a’ me!” Rachael’s legs curled in missionary position, letting go of her wrists striking again severing skin around her lips right edge, epistazo coating the upper edge, manumit hooks grazing my cheek. Clenching it at the elbow her second lilt left, then right, a fantoccini led by her forearms; her legs kicking out in lex talionis being positioned back into their initial parabol, both arms ceded in the latisimus dorsi’s. “Joseph -- you’re not yourself!” his labium embrace algid on my lips my teeth inflaming his bottoms embrace gashing it’s flaky surface, his tightening grip arching my back the elbows binding, extending my deltoid’s, supraspinatus’, and subscapularis’. “Jos- You’re going to-” His penis’ ingress like Wilhelmina Murray’s pallid charlatan inflicting my vagina’s rugae as its gamuts extent singes its ridges toward decalescence. “N- No. Stop!” My legs tussling to obstruct the vacuity in which Demeter wept, Hades’ ilium tracing my inner thighs his every thrust exanimate, “Joseph!” Feeling the calidity rise, my dicks propensity of twelve and a half inches expeditious within the cavity’s perforation, my oscilating reaches its crest, cum courses her cervix and uterus summarily allaying my hands grip laying my masseter upon her left breast nipple hard and skin frore; I’m whist, room is frigid; refuse from his eidolon brume corpulent and miring the sheets condensing on the contusions and swelling, Joseph is up and raising his boxers the warped myrrhors inside his oculars perched as they discern the final button of his casual shirt and exit with my reflections: “It’s not him, It’s not him, It’s not him,” Curled toward the beds centre, arms crossed. III. “Joseph hasn’t lef’ in weeks! Jus’ sits -- or stands -- in is’ office an’ tells er’yone ta’ “fuck off” or “leave yur’ business un’er the door,” then tells me ta’ “see what the problem is” whe’ he hears one, knowumsayin’?!” “Ok- Okay, I- I understand,” Curtis’s arm gestures sporadic in his vexation; “I’ll try to-” The sound of his fists rigor incurring the halls breadth accompanied by his galumph shoving Ben as he mops Ben’s head nodding in disapproval continuing his consecution. “Look... I forgive you, we need to talk about what happened,” silence my only rebuttal, “I know you feel bad about it, I understand, just not why; help me understand...” “Leave!” “Unlock this door and we can talk about it.” “Just -- go!” the private handle jiggles fluttering the saddle brown tip of the chairs arch; “give me a reason to. Let me in -- tell me why I should go --” Rachael’s vain persistence resounding. “Just- It’s better this way, trust in me sweetheart.” Exigency my appeal, “I know you still care Joseph... that’s why I want to be let in, but- But-” "'E’s still not out?! Joseph! Come out an’ do yur' job! Talk ta’ Rachael f’ you have to, jus’- Jus’ come back!” Curtis’s elevated pensiveness clarion; “Joseph... please...” Curtis’s incessant rapping bouncing off the ninety by one hundred and ten square foot walls, Rachael’s lachrymal melancholy a penumbra on the vale between my chimera and me. “Joseph...” by Jeremy Swyck (8/28/11) Quote Pinhead "Unbearable, isn't it? The suffering of strangers, the agony of friends. There is a secret song at the center of the world, Joey, and its sound is like razors through flesh." Joey "I don't believe you." Pinhead "Oh come, you can hear its faint echo right now. I'm here to turn up the volume. To press the stinking face of humanity into the dark blood of its own secret heart." "There's a starving beast inside my chestplaying with me until he's boredThen, slowly burying his tusks in my fleshcrawling his way out he rips open old woundsWhen I reach for the knife placed on the bedside tableits blade reflects my determined faceto plant it in my chestand carve a hole so deep it snaps my veinsHollow me out, I want to feel empty"-- "Being Able To Feel Nothing" by Oathbreakerhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aBPy3xNwwL8 "Sky turns to a deeper grey the sun fades by the moon hell's come from the distant hills tortures dreams of the doomed and they pray, yet they prey and they pray, still they prey"-- "Still They Prey" by Coughhttps://soundcloud.com/relapserecords/sets/cough-still-they-pray Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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