Glistening like oil, my seed levitates before my eyes. I can’t see it, because my eyes are closed, but I know it’s there the same as I know Meeko’s sex is white-hot to touch. It’s a perverse type of intuition she’s encouraged in me without being aware; one that weird kids like me seek out… Read more

Not fairy tales, but desire lines born from the grease around her eyes. Iron spiders. Collapsing flowers. April passing to May as the leaves in her childhood garden kick up around her naked, dancing feet. Size four; one day to be swollen. Vortex this. Vortex that. Analytical minds blinded by the many guises of love—but… Read more

Hot spunk squirts into the neon sky. I don’t see it, but I feel it, and it feels as though my body has subsequently passed into the spirit realm. It feels as though I consist of pipping hot air, fluid electricity and the squishiest of squishy cream; cream squeezed straight from the tit of some… Read more

“Take me, someplace,” I croak. “Someplace, or somewhere?” “I don’t care,” I splutter, “anywhere but here.” As the electricity from the pylons jumps across the moonlit courtyard to our tree, it zaps and fries the hairs on the back of my neck. At the same moment, my clothes fall off. Not so much fall off,… Read more

“Any second now,” she says. With my eyes closed, I bite the air the same as her. It tastes of cherry pie and the flesh of her pelvis. As the sensations become almost too much for me to bear, I feel the bubbles of time and space popping inside of my mind. The moments contained… Read more

The light of the dead white orbs pierces my mind. The sound is just as intense; it blocks out everything—even the explosions in my chest. It’s like I’m having a heart attack; or a Grand Mal. It feels as if my bones are trying to escape from my cage of skin. If it weren’t for… Read more

She tickles herself with Cleopatra’s Needle. It’s long, hard, and riddled with ancient wonder. It stinks of dog piss, too, and the murky waters of the Thames, which is full of bloated bodies and mystical penny-farthings and the last remaining vestiges of old tales belonging to Londoners dead yet alive. They’re stuck in the forties,… Read more

Gripping me tightly, she squints and spits as I stutter her name. I can feel the seed bubbling in my balls; tingling the same as the fillings in my teeth whenever I come into contact with electricity. Like if I’m caught outside in a thunderstorm, or standing beneath a pylon trying to figure out a… Read more

Bruised skin crisscrossing her wrists. A cigarette or two sat squeezing out a turd deep in a pocket of sleepy morning. In some faraway land, a guy ate a bat, and that was that. The streets stretching from her belly to her knee are neon black. They’re smooth and taste like milky vanilla. The kind… Read more