A Journal for Deviants



The morning begins with a cup of tea to take away the taste in my mouth. Beer and cigarettes mostly, but there’s other stuff as well like traces of lipstick and hints of despair mixed with cold sunshine from a balcony that belongs to my student days that has never left me. With dreams of distant planets still floating on the surface of my eyes, the universe rumbles in my belly. This body of mine- it’s ageing even though I don’t want it to, and with each and every hangover I feel it in my bones more and more. So I light a smoke and sit there observing my face in the mirror. There are lines around my eyes and stains on my teeth that never used to be there. The hairs on my head- where once there was a sea of red there are now strands of grey. It’s not fair, and yet what is there to do but write and continue to live as if tomorrow will never come. One thing that’s for certain is that my thirst for the nipple will always remain, and as I shower while knocking one out thinking about the breasts of an ex-lover, life seems both magical and desperate in the same breath. A few gasps later, and out comes the white stuff and there go my knees, and as I grab hold of the shower curtains to stop myself from falling, I think about the crows in that field of corn Van Gogh painted. To think that such a scene once existed. To think that he was stood there eating his paints while the atoms in his body trembled with terror so many years ago. Y’know he used to suffocate moths in jam jars and then paint their dead little moth bodies? A cruel man indeed, but they only live for a day, don’t they? Or am I getting them confused with butterflies? Whatever. After eating, I remember more of my dream. There was a ship. It was docked in a harbour, and the ocean was an ocean of black balloons and upon the ship I was suckling the breast of Rosita from The Walking Dead. She was lactating, and as I swallowed her milk, the stars in the sea above spelt out our initials and for a brief moment everything was sheer poetry.

A Journal for Damned Lovers on Amazon.co.uk

A Journal for Damned Lovers on Amazon.com

25 replies »

  1. ok, you know I’m gonna be the one to say it right? breast milk ikk and still somehow you have made it a wild turn on to read!! for a minute there I felt like I want to be the one swallowing it! good god! ok actually I still do feel it! sheesh! the power you possess is out of this world!

  2. Interesting sexual merger dream. Reminds me of the Goo Goo Dolls’ Black Balloon song. First, Van Gogh liked to drink absinthe and he was in an absinthe stupor when he decided to cut of his ear and send it to his favorite prostitute. He didn’t actually eat his toxic paints, he ate food around his toxic paints, which could of further complicated his mental illness. The average butterfly lives up to 2 weeks, but some species have been known to live up to 90 days with proper care. Usually death occurs after finding a mate and copulating, followed with the laying of their eggs. Moths live anywhere between 2 and 11 months depending on the species. Neither of them live for just one day unless they hit windshield. I don’t really know why I’m posting this, except that it feels good to clear up any confusion one may have.

  3. Love how raw and unique and random your thoughts are.. how you shift from one scene to another so abruptly and yet make them all blend so well.. damn it’s out of the world!
    You’re a legend animal daddy! 😙👌

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