BEAUTY MONSTER

Obvious mathematics obviously a mouthful and there is no mustard in remembering. Oh daddy oh dada oh darling the beauty monster comes to stay and nothing else is pizza. The proper function is tremble is crumble is squirm is melt is convulse is whimper is more more y mucho mas. This creates thrum. Thrumming to jesus thrumming to muerte thrumming to electric light orchestra. Medusa juice is chupacabra disco. Carve it in stone with candy apple red screwdriver because no one not even the rain does it better.

raping a bitch is several

 this is a plan for our Paris vacation with catacombs & graveyards & brutal boning ...

 

 

orgasms sponsored by jesus

reunited in heathrow after a thousand or so years apart no baby we aren't confessional poets we're journalists adding our matter of fact fire and sweat and blood and cum to the cosmic fuck ass archives jesus is dead but still gets all the goddamn press we are alive and howling laughing thrusting cumming in delicious oblivion no expectations no invitations to star spangled weddings marked by the tundra and the veldt if it isn't deeply felt why bother asks winnie the pooh hello kitty does not reply just decorates the lull with pop art girl power we share showers and candy and walk into the april blaze aries king of wands with his aquarius queen of swords healthy as hell spewing the lukewarm from our frothing mouths jesus is gone fishing so we have no choice but to celebrate the worms and writhe in the mud as empires crumble around us and ocelots dream of that ever elusive perfect day crystallized memorialized in pisces hell
 

STUNT COCK: cumming soon to an Amazon app near you!

 

Here's the cover to STUNT COCK, the forthcumming collection by Kitten & me. It's coming after we get back from Paris & all the catacomb sex, & that bitch will be hot & wet.  The cover shows various pieces of Misti's property. "maS mas MAS" says Kitten.

I asked Misti for a comment but all she said was "rape me harder, Dada".

PLUTO MOON, bitch. IYKYK. 

Misti's blog is here. 

 

asmodeus on the radio

jesus is scared of us jesus and all the angels are weeping as you suck on my nipples grab my hair thrust your cock into my spastic pussy and nonverbal poems are born in my demonic exaltation no vowels only consonants crowding out all doubt we were made for this dance banishing simpering ghosts sacrificing the cargo that crowds us to the bellowing sea true pirates greedy for gold our desire is the currency we have never been richer watch this trick daddy your girl can swallow fire and spit out a dozen or more pearls more lustrous than anything in paris
 

nothing touches like my bitch does

Too much caffeine &/or too little weed.  Kitten loves these today & gave Dada the pretty pictures with these last two. 

 

 

things the dead said

In response to Misti's bizarre fit of jealousy today about Anne Sexton. Yesterday it was "you marry that fucking pizza then". I love me a jealous bitch, we can both agree that we're not jealous but perfectly normal.

 

 

 

 

hard versus soft

nouns adjectives adverbs ganging up on me in a broken glass paris alley coming at me with rusty screwdrivers and mexican switchblades number two pencil shanks reminding me of my station anne sexton was a poet sylvia plath was a poet edna st. vincent millay was a poet and i am a failed porn star from texas with a too small rosebud mouth medium tits big puffy nipples frizzy hair shitty tattoos and a hankering for something wild with someone more brilliant than i could ever hope to be fuck you fucker kicking me in the cunt as you kiss me telling me things teaching me things bigger and older than the continent i came from america is for amateurs all american writers are trash except for holy anne sexton with her splintered oars a bitch gets weary rowing toward an approximation of god but this is something this is not nothing this fisher price intimacy three black pigs holding court on the windowsill the sun screaming into the sky before six you bringing me a bowl of granola with flaxseed almond milk raspberries telling me bitch i love you here's your tea here's ian drury for the playlist bitch i am going to pile drive you into the middle of next week write a book of poems about that

group text to my family

the blonde guy across the aisle swigging a budweiser is probably acceptable by most standards with his normal american job thousands in checking hundreds in savings average credit score brick house on a street with a poetic name such as sleepy daisy his wife a pinterest dream with her easter bunny cupcakes and live laugh love in a frame on a beige wall in the media room where all dallas cowboys fans are always welcome and jesus remains head motherfucker in charge while it's true we are both flying into heathrow we inhabit different galaxies i never voted for trump and i never was a genius at playing the status quo game showing up to baseball games so congenial and jcpenney's i could be a catalogue page 

by now i am quite sure the gossip is thicker than memorial day brisket and the condemnation aimed in my direction is more righteous than IT IS FINISHED on the cross that gets all the press how could you leave your son a month before high school graduation how could you leave the air-conditioned house in the gated subdivision stuffed with dishes towels furniture meat in the freezer guitar in the garage for a british guy you met on myspace in 2008 oh bless her heart there goes misti again running away from home with a million stars spinning in her eyes somehow protected by sexy crazy cool angels whose names no texan will ever be able to properly pronounce

i will send postcards from paris buzzing on stella or something similar the bees in my head dying one bitch slap at a time my heart a carousel seen in several movies because the predictable is so romantic and here more or less is my sentiment in smeared black ink: having a lovely wish you were yes of course it's love that dragged me out of bed across the atlantic to a small town in the uk no influencer would ever vlog i spend my days in bed stoned laughing thrumming with my co-conspirator in bliss we're like johnny and june without the clout and rhinestones and right now feels really fucking good but someday this will end when one of us dies because that is how it works no crocodile tears welcome you never really knew me
 

here we sing oblivion

 For Kitten. The book STUNT COCK is now officially full length.

 

slobbering that knob for peanut m&ms

 

 

leaving the pink guitar and orange amp and records behind in texas coming to him on a wing and a thousand prayers because it is my destiny to slobber that knob for peanut m&ms as foxes gobble flowers in mister macgregor's garden and clouds shaped like blood engorged penises wander horny over yeovil my titties pop out of my cheap pink slip and he threatens to pile drive me into oblivion trust me bitch life don't get no better than this

 

it's 11:11 somewhere

 

our mutual wish is that this will never end this touching this loving this kissing this sweet
language we share so babied so lullabied so deeply magical I wake up to find you gone
send you a text with a broken heart and one word (abandoned) you reply with a photograph
of tofu and vegetables curried in a wok and one word (cooking) and this is enough to carry us
through the catacombs of paris the postcard kiosks of london the littered beaches of mexico
because I was five and my grandmother was tickling my back reading fairy tales to me
and a seed was planted for one true king and no pretender and now in the year of the galloping
fire horse I have found him and so much more in you my goddamn beautiful aries stallion
so yes we will ride this bitch on out all the way to no grave our corpses burned to ash
scattered wherever doesn't matter because beyond the oven it's us liberated immeasurably
above it all ecstatic