A start of somethign perhaps…
In response to M’s writing prompts which you can find at the link below. These are often just quick pieces, ideas or glimpses of what might be…Fun to do though. I used to try do them in 101 owrds but meh, it’s close enough…See the prompts here
The lights of the night beyond splashed across the hotel bedroom walls and painted his body in neon pinks and blues as he walked towards the window. Breathing deep he slid open the heavy glass panes and the noise of the city spilled in with the cold winter air. Shivering he lit a cigarette and watched below, the smell of her cheap perfume still on his skin and that god awful noise she made ringing in his ears.
Snow began to fall slowly as she emerged below and stepped out onto the street, already he could sense the life beating inside her, feeding hungrily. He hated himself almost as much as he hated them, but their soft pink bodies made great hosts…
Something inspired by something else
How beautiful you are
Beneath the stars alive, so brightly burning
And all about, the darkness yearning
For a word, a touch, a glance
That sweet romance, the slightest chance
To feel that light and love and grace
And like the sun warm on my face
We are, always, here in this place
And lights we pray won’t dim
Like far too many, gone before
those promises they sweetly swore
But time moves on, they are no more
But that is not our fate…
A thing about why I am currently beardless…
Note to self…next time you decide on a quick beard trim before bed remember to check the settings because if you don’t youre likely to shave too much off and end up with a goatee, and let’s be honest – unless you’re the devil, a jazz saxophonist or a dirty bastard of dubious morals who hangs around pet shops with ill intent then you should not be rocking a goatee.
In hope rather than expectation I asked Mrs Afterwards whether I might perhaps not have a goatee and suggested it might be okay though I knew full well that I did and it wouldn’t and she quite honestly pointed out that it looked ridiculous and I needed to go finish the job and could I stop disturbing her whist she watched the end of her whodunnit.
Actually, that isn’t the first beard related shenanningan in the last week thinking about it. I run a quiz at work each month and this month I did a “Who’s mouth and beard is this?” thingy. Turns out my team has a lot of beardo’s and before I knew it my phone was overflowing with man bush. I made sure I told the mrs as it struck me that should I get run over by a bus (something I was assured happened often when I was younger and I ought to therefore always have clean pants on), my phone might suggest that I had been dipping into the ‘bear’ pool on Grinder.
I did have a chuckle when I considered turning each of the mouth and beard photos 90 degrees but again, Mrs Afterwards reminded me that it was a work thing I was doing and that I was a horrible man and ought to be ashamed of myself. Just think about it…
Shes always right you know 😉
Well it has been a while I guess, I’m a tad rusty
A faecal historian from Goole
Fascinated by fine bygone stool
How he took such delight
In a large corpalite
And if corn filled it made him quite drool
These words, these thoughts, these in between
The lines, the sheets, the days and dreams
This place he finds her,madness screams
As nothing ever lasts.
Each syllable twists in the wind
Words whisked away, she cant rescind
Or even hide where they have sinned
And clings to hopes now dashed.
Forlorn until time heals and mends
To keep from harm the heart pretends
Until new starts warm cold dark ends
Their pain slips to the past.
A thing about someone and a thing. Mostly.
A bored fellow from near the equator
Rubbed his cock with a rusty cheese grater
Not sure what he expected
But it blead, now infected
likely to drop off sooner or later
Just photos. From September
A lewd husband, bum obsessed, inventive
Begged his wife for love, back door, incentive
Of her beauty he’d gush
For a crack at her tush
She’d not budge, no way, anal retentive
Just photos. From August.
A flight steward, Oliver Brown
A mile higher of sensual renown
He would find himself spent
At a bumpy ascent
But preferred it much more, going down.
A day out in Yorkshire. And without one’s hat…
Okay so not strictly speaking a van trip but a great day out clambering about the Cow and Calf up on Ilkley which is just a hop, skip and a jump from where I live.
Pictures say it all really. It was windy and somewhat grey but a lovely way to spend a good few hours indeed.
Lonely fellow from North of the border
Bought his ladies online, made to order
Silicone lips and tits
Plastic nipples and clits
arse cheeks plump, narrow waist, shoulders broader
Once a devoted girfriend named Julie
Vowed to love her beau, madly and truly
But when out on the town
Knickers soon were pulled down
On the vodka quite wild and unruly.
Not to everyone’s liking I am sure.
There once was a fellow called Jesus
Connoisseur of the finest of cheeses
“Bring some Brie” he’d insist
“I’ll make wine, we’ll get pissed”
Red, white, rose – whatever he pleases.
Well it is Wednesday after all.
A betrayed french wife, Mademoiselle Eiffel
Went to jail, for she used Monsieur’s Rifle
Caught his with her next door
Eating puddings galore
Found him balls deep in her Sunday trifle
Another one of these. Art all by my fair hands!
Crisp autumnal days
Filled with rage out on the streets
Dog shit ‘neath the leaves
Wholly inappropriate for a Tuesday. Actually scratch that. perfectly suited for a Tuesday.
Christian couple in love, most appealing
Was desire but they fought it, prayed kneeling
Waited patient ’till wed
In Christ’s love took to bed
Balls so blue when he came, hit the ceiling.
Shall we? Been sooo long since we did.
Autumn Leaves appear
At last Moobs will stop sweating
Fattie hates summer
One of these on a Monday.
If lost, the things I hold most dear,
these minutes, hours, months and years
that helter skelter through my mind
swim intertwined with all I am,
and without which I could not be.
Still I would cling to hope and faith
that were we ripped from life and love
that in that place of darkest loss
not knowing where or when or why
I would reach out and find you there
and once again sweet love would taste
and life renewed, new memories make
this destiny once more to live.
Let’s have a few of these this week shall we…
Once a fine undertaker named Pete
Had a secret, though kept it discrete
Until caught late one night
Cleaner shaken, the sight
Of him rubbing himself on dead feet.
After a few days inland we headed to the coast because the boys fancied some body boarding. There weren’t great waves but we had a blast anyway. The cold never deterred them one bit and we found some lovely and fairly quiet beaches. (The chilly weather may account for that)
This is A gorgeous neck of the woods and we will be returning next year for sure.
But for now this is it, time to head to Cottingham in the morning to see my mum then its home in the afternoon.
This camp site gets its own entry because I’ve never see anything like it. As if the gypsy caravans and peacocks weren’t enough it has a freaking replica of Hagrids house, a hobbit hole and a wonderful Tolkien/Rowling – esque tea room.
We’ve been to a few beaches so we could go body boarding but its been such a great site we’ve been keen to get back.
Pics say it all I think…
We headed out to Settle for an overnight camping birthday party desire the weather forecast of fuck loads of rain. Turns out they were wrong. Instead there were fucking shit loads of bastard rain. At one point I’m sure the farmer was bringing in animals two by two.
Eventually a third of the site flooded and we couldn’t get out until the water subsided overnight. We are though English so we don’t allow such thing to put us off.
We had a bbq, I drank too much wine and the kids had a blast.
I should also point out I was in the van whilst everyone was in tents. Dry and toasty.
From there it was 90 miles across yorkshire to Pickering for a quick layover and a family party. The site has great wifi and they delivered breakfast sandwiches so the boys said its the best site ever!
Next stop …well come back in a few days to see…need to get packed up and hit the road.
Just messing around with words and patterns and themes…
This dance, this tender back and forth
blown on the wind, true north, stars bright
seem gone at dawn, but night burn white and linger still.
When passions red paint rooms and beds and will, aflame
here in this embrace call your name and then
complete submit and without blame or guilt lose track
of time and lack no thing for all I have and need is you.
and cake. I like cake too. And biltong and great tv and my van and my family and the rain and comics and Judge Dredd and tattoos and boobs. Oh and my drill. It’s a cordless bosch and I enjoy it a lot. Great battery life.
Oh how we fell from where we soared, burned by the heights for which we reached
And helter skelter in this place , this now, this dark, this night we crashed
and broken, bloodied, bruised and fighting still the urges to be right always
and onwards we will drop beyond green pastures where we played.
Until, at last, in cold and dark
we recollect but now too late
this compromise, sweet give and take, was always that which gave us flight…