salacious sunday - Romans 8

Romans 8: 5-6

5.For those who live according to the flesh set their minds on the things of the flesh, but those who live according to the Spirit set their minds on the things of the Spirit. 6.For to set the mind on the flesh is death, but to set the mind on the Spirit is life and peace.

12:24

I cannot shut down my mind. Like an old black & white reel, jagged fragments of my day spool in an endless loop. Images crackle and jump accompanied by snippets of conversations and random thoughts.

It is as quiet as death and dark as a womb. The silence so complete that the only sound is the soft rush of air from the furnace through the floor vent. The drapes billow outward, the fabric quivering ghost-like along the warm draft. It reminds me of the days as a little boy, playing hide and seek. Secured by the innocence of a child, I believed that I had blended into the curtains, despite the fact that my feet were still visible. I would stand as still as I could, trying to control my panting, with the damp heat of my breath washing back onto my face. My chest would hurt. The hurried anticipation would slither down to my crotch and I would almost cry with the insane urge to pee. Sometimes the soft touch of the curtains across my face would give me an erection, my small cock pushing urgently against my shorts. Embarrassment, stirred with passion would flush over me as I hear my sisters footsteps approach.

Then the fridge starts up again, it grumbles and rattles to life in a violent penetration of the senses. The sound annoys me. It has interrupted a rather interesting segment of the movie in my head. I am straddled across the chest of The First. Her breasts cushion my buttocks like a velvet cushion on a throne. Her eyes are closed, her mouth thrown open. Stroking my cock against her shimmering tongue and lips. The drone of the vibrator undulates from loud to soft adding a harsh soundtrack to the degrading performance being acted out in the dimmed light of this bedroom. I start to get an erection again, this time my cock is bigger and harder than that of the little boy in the curtains so many years ago.

I reach between my shorts to stroke myself and turn over. The bed is cold. As frigid and lifeless as a morgue. The sheets are stiff and unwieldy as if they were brought inside from the crisp winter night outside. My erection softens almost immediately, hastened by the emptiness and indifference of the empty bed. Loneliness is enveloping. Solitude a quiet companion until she returns. It never used to be this way. Once upon a time, solitude would comfort me like the arms of a friend. But her constant presence has been a familiar practice. Like wriggling your toes. Her laugh, her voice, her scent. She is a habit I am unwilling to break. A customary routine that is part and parcel of my day.

1:17

porn for friday

grey gazing

Sitting in traffic, my thoughts drift along with the clouds of vapor belching from the slowly moving cars ahead. Like a funeral procession for snails we creep along the frozen tarmac coloured a dirty white from the salt and drifting snow.

What's the difference between partly cloudy with sunny periods and partly sunny with cloudy periods? The world around me is reduced to monotones of greys and whites. Even the evergreens, cloaked in snow have taken on a grey-green tint for which Debbie Travis must have a creative name for.

I would like to be a meteorologist. I'd like to throw weather darts against a weather dart board and fuck up the day of the general paying public. That's how it's done isn't it?

Deep within the bowels of some indistinct building, Larry passes through two separate security doors. The steel doors hiss open and close with a small puff of wind with each swipe of his electronic pass. He is carrying a precious load balanced precariously on a precisely engineered tray. There is still a long sterile corridor through which he must walk down. His footsteps echo and crack against the glossy walls. His destination is one last door ahead of him looming larger with each hurried step. Fluorescent tubes crackle and hum above. His mission is almost over. Just one more swipe of his card. The Card.

Larry bares his Card with pride and determination. It took him years of peddling and pandering to fat men in starched Moore's suits and thin-lipped women dressed in black slacks and suit jackets

(Fairweather's, 40% off)

to get this point. He carries this Card around his neck like a rosary. Stroking it several times a day in a mantra of self-admiration and gratification.

The last door swished open with the same hiss of pneumatic jacks and well oiled gears as the previous entryways. He blinks to adjust his eyes to the muted glow of the large almost barren room.

Heads turn toward Larry and voices erupt in a symphony of praise and joy

"Hey, coffee's here"

"Man, that took you long enough"

"Did they have chocolate glaze?"

"Damn! I love the smell of Timmies in the morning"

Larry beamed. A smile as wide as his chubby cheeks would allow made his face glow with happiness. One of them approached him to take the precious cargo off his hands. Fred was like that. An endearing man with an unassuming face, his hair had long abandoned him for the deep recesses of the bathtub drain. But he wore the remaining strands like streamers at a birthday party. With a little effort, the dark strips contrasted well against his shiny pate like an abstract painting. He held before him a pointed object, sharply tipped on one end and feathered on the other. It was a dart. Not just any dart. The Dart.

"Here you go Larry. You know what to do".

Yes of course Larry knew what to do. Today, Wednesday, just like every other Wednesday for the past seven years, it was his turn to throw The Dart against the Weather Board. It was his turn to make sure that this small light weight object, flew from his fingers with precision that belied the weight of the world in it's missile-like shape. It was time to predict the weather.

Larry took a deep breath as a chorus of angels erupted inside his head. Mozart's Ave verum corpus in Technicolor-colour. Larry approached The Board...

salacious sunday - the psalms

The fool has said in his heart, “There is no God.”

They are corrupt.

They have done abominable works.

There is none who does good.

The Psalms, 14:1

moss

Her pulse danced steadily against the edges of my tongue. A melody of molten heat and liquid pleasure. She stretched herself out before me, like an unfolding canvas for my artistry. Creativity spilled forth from my lips, dribbled and slurped with each frenzied flick. Her skin as delicate as moss. Soft, luxurious, damp.

ram-bo me

but honey, it's on sale!

salacious sunday - the psalms

But I trust in your loving kindness.
My heart rejoices in your salvation.
~Psalms 13:5

salacious sunday [compulsive revisitation]

20 And he arose and came to his father. But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and felt compassion, and ran and embraced him and kissed him.
21 And the son said to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son.’
22 But the father said to his servants, ‘Bring quickly the best robe, and put it on him, and put a ring on his hand, and shoes on his feet.
23 And bring the fattened calf and kill it, and let us eat and celebrate.
24 For this my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found.’ And they began to celebrate.

~Luke 15: 20-25

super freak (or where should I hide this microphone)

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daunting discipline