bichoose (bichoose) wrote,

Sunday 21st February 2010.

How many times am i going to wish..please no more snow this winter,or in fact stop looking on the web at ten day forecasts only to see snow showers bellowing out from the printed worded forecasts. Where is the warm sunshine to awaken my toes, feel heat on the face,unblock the flow of words hiding behind closed doors, in my mind to form down onto the white blank screen of death,has paradise faded into apocalypse, i am even too cold framed minded to think even of the wonderful word masturbation,that drooling word fit for gnostic dwarfs riding on spiffy swans backs, up into moon lite skies surely there is some warmth within such a fantasy. In stead i pull up the covers around my ears sink into the heat of hot water bottles,can you have sex with hot water bottes perhaps so.
Even as i tramp the wilderness out beyond these four walls, push through the voyeurism casting a clout in vain, hunting for the gremlins clamping winter across the land.I can only find.That old school boy horror, when central heating did not exist in merry old England his name Jack frost whom scrapped down each window payne during the month of February..brrrr i think to myself old Jack Frost has indeed enjoyed this month in this year...he has become feasted fat as old Billy Bunter on snow balls,snow cakes, and anything else which springs to mind perhaps snow cocks well,even i would probably think yummy myself to snow cocks, if i could drag myself away from the smell of rubber hot water bottles on there is a smell warm rubber especially if real breasts were enclosed...oohhh...yummy.
Even watching snowdrops push through the leaf mould has not given that raise in heart, they look so forlorn, so tired, as if this winters effort,in pushing up to grace our eyes with thoughts captured in summer is on the way, has been to much for them, their white virgin heads that bulb,blowing in the wind, so crisp so bright against the gloom of dark dank tree bark,this white bulb in perfect shape reminding me of the pink bulb hidden in the flower of real women,that bulb which can drive one into demented stances,make one walk miles, drag flights on big steel birds, sail oceans, thrash on sea shores.
The snowdrop has for me this winter failed to draw breath in wow for the white heads they look as tired as i feel. Their colour blending in amongst the tree life and who should be sat in the cleft of trees but old Jack Frost smiling laughing curling his big icy fingers around big icy cocks, will he melt away..??
Please Roll on summer....yippie.....


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