bichoose (bichoose) wrote,

Saturday 1st January 2011. are still there,or should that be here,my albatross,my blank screen of death,my pent up demand to scribble across the blankness,will i be a lazy slop with large holes in which the wind pours forth, will gates rattle closed cobwebs grow torn by dainty feet,or will i simply as always sit by and gaze at something else as the new year becomes the stale toast,the rat trap the caught in the gutter mouth open but wordless i seem always to wallow in.
The day is young,not quite light,not quite anything as the house slumbers in stored static conversations,sober bubbles pass me by i grasp in surprise perhaps it is old age or have some thoughts for the coming year kept me from diving head long into liquid gold.I have orders for the day,nothing new then,as long as they are not from those whom spawned me some 55 years ago,how times fly or is that a tired old cliche when lazy becomes the rule.
Maybe that is why domination fills my warts,coughs my blood down purple veins spills across keyboards or hungry eyes feed on collars black,the smell of leather, barks up trees withering the family tree into something purple other peoples wants for 55 years turns me blue selfish perhaps but yes selfish, Family collars are cut into arm lengths, their reaches, as they whip hide words in the mind for ever cobwebbed where as the slit the cut on skin jerks instantly then fades in colours joy,the stroke of domination is fibre glass goaded by thoughts gathered over the years, contacted by the minds eye, helped along the way by other peoples porn or should i say art,how old was i when porn first entered my blood stream and my own porn was it ten when the first witches invaded my secret garden who they chased and how chased i felt then, as i plod now a panto dame extracted,in stocking tops.
But i am not unhappy nor to melancholy take away the new year strip it down, beat it with flaccid cocks and water shoot the bubbles in the air perhaps this year i might grasp a few in amongst the crimson tide,between clouds and i do not drink coffee how strange such a song rings in the new year for me as the squiffy boatman hums luv will tear us apart, i do see the bridge up a head time to pause and throw some poo sticks and hope my favourite reading blogs survive the rampaging mind at least they will not be lazy sods such as i.
Vanity tells me this early dawn to say best wishes for the new year to whom the bell tolls if they should pause and read this.


  • Thursday 12th May 2022.

    I think i need to poke my head out of the front door smell the coffee, hold my hand out to feel as if it is raining them pull on my busted stockings…

  • Monday 9th May 2022.

    Today i have started my second week without a reminder to pull on my blue uniform...i do not miss it..or am i lying to myself, perhaps... i do not…

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    I no longer drive one of these.... My blue uniform is now gathered up, old bits, new bits, consisting of shirts, high viz vests, which i always…

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