Daily Journal

Got an interview call from Kuala Lumpur. If it pulls through I will be glad. I will have a decent salary and also satisfy my epicurean likings. Again I started dabbling in the occult and I lost sleep. I have to put my trust in the God led Israel by parting the red sea. Morning lit up like a string of pearls. While traveling around, one can see broken walls, damaged houses, and all a prey to nature’s fury as flood. The flood is Kerala’s worst disaster since 1924. A stray dog was howling and I smelt death on its nostrils. Being has the ID to gratify, the Ego to deify and the Super Ego to defy. The self is an entity in transgressive violations. The smell of scotch that I had at the airport still lingers as a pleasant aroma. Scotch you are an Epicurean delight. God Christ, forgive me for dabbling in the occult. Let me sleep like a baby. Lottery yielded a dull luck. Time waddles like a duck. She is back from the Middle East and I asked her to bed with me. Of course I have to pay her. Good pussy has a price doesn’t it? Heard the songs of mourning through the road as the corpse was being taken. My soul is a stoic corpse. I need the money to bring her from Ghana. She is poetically voluptuous. She has shown me her ample bosom. Every day I pray that I will win a lottery. Need to send her money to book tickets. Literature is a stoic ornament, and Epicurean festoon. Feeling is thought put on paper. Ink is the dusk of the phallus. Thoughts ballet in streams of consciousness. Time is a festive dream. Nirvana you live through the say as a hyperbolic gut. She is buxom and her body curves like a poem. I enjoy making love to her. I have licked her a lot and she simply loves it. My words are a fattened calf. I have many lovers and I simply love them all. What am I? A simple nothing. I am the many women that I have loved, the places that I have visited, and the cuisine that I have tasted. Was Epicurus wiser than God? Epicurus is a God to the Ego. My self lies in the pussy of so many women that I have loved. What is my diet? All pussy eating! Love’s is sensuous lust for me. Love me all the time.

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Dystopia

Wind now
Whispering a
Melancholic elegy…
The floods have risen
And swollen carcasses
Float with serene grime…
Dreams resurrect hopes….
Memories float
On surreal canopies…
Time sinks beneath
A dead opera….
Bees are eyes
Devouring flowers ….
Being, are you
Afraid to die?
Life, offer me
A festive Epicurus….
The abyss of depth,
Is still shallow in
Thought…
Float a dream,
Let it grace
Fortune’s pastures ….

Love Poems

Honey
Poems are
Your sweet lips….
Let me melt
A lake of kisses
On you,
Your breasts
Are tender,
Sensuous and
Flowing like
A river,
Let me make
Sweet poetry
On the,
Your honey
Orifice so sweet,
Long to feast
On its sweet
Nectar,
Long to mount
You and penetrate
You with
Wholesome
Love.

Let me
Embrace you
With tender
Passion,
Let me melt
Kisses of love
On your sweet
Lips
Let me adorn
My lips
And suckle your
Nipples
And squeeze
Your breasts
With fondness,
Let me
Mount you
And penetrate
You with love
And sprinkle
My passion in
You.

Darling,
you blossomed
Rose of the morn….
Let me shower
You with kisses….
Let me melt
Your heart with love…
Let me echo passions
On your breasts…
Let me suck
Your sweet nectar
Like poetry….
Let me ecstasy
You to
A symphony.