username:    password:    What is this?        
sign up!
Arak_Drakoniz's Buddies Blogs

Vampariah

24 Jun 07 7:48 pm
LAST COFFEE in Cavalry

Aparently doing the wrong thing is the only thing that saves you, so thereby facing death is the only way to live. I can attest to that, but there is a limit to how much stupidity the Grim Reaper allows, if you don't want to be here, it can be arranged, even the angel of death has designs on your soul, and it is in your darkest hours, wallking with your head hung low, you can almost see a halo in your soul in the hole in your shadow, and the wind comes over your right shoulder when you take control of your passions, then when passions overwhelm and you stare at her belt too long the wind comes over our left shoulder. Then you realise the peope you told off were the ones whom had a clue to save you, but you sent them away because only the future knows what to do, but when you get to the future you know what to do, because they are not with you, and the guilt for their silence you feel, and everything is capitalized in your head. MOCHA COFFEE w/ whip cream. *sip*

Vampariah

24 Jun 07 10:43 am
why there are pyramids

The immortal would die on the highest peak of Earth, there is a limit to how many different tricks magick can bring, and there is a limit to how many times you can come back from the dead. Just in the past 6 months I have been in 5 different bodies. Last night I did the wrong thing again, and what should have killed me touched me in places that I know put my mind into my feet. I felt a mosquito on my neck that I knew was not there, I felt it cross my floating collar bone like a cat, making love to itself with it's paws being licked. But every rose has a thorn, they save the best for last, could you figure out the trip? There are god makers I can't tell you how to escape death, I didn't make a cheat sheet, I just wanted to go to hell, the rest of you need people in high places. But when the god makers make you a god, then it is time to make Gods, for what did we flirt with disaster for? Gambling with our lives is the fun there is. I have been told that you can escape death as Ziggy says, just leave the constraints, but that is how bums are made. I talked to a bum on church steps whom gave me a clue he said he was on the street when his mom died, then he got up and I saw the back of his thighs and they were eaten up by something. His mother was gone in him. I knew where to receive the message in all of Manhattan, the bum was there, he taught me what the rest of the world could not, and it was a crucial ingredient to the lack of repitition in deke-ing death, it just can't be done, there are only so many moves, and no one is immortal. The pyramids of the Egyptians were not for the immortality of the Pharaohs, it was for the immortality of his people. They climbed up the pyramids black men and came down white on the other side. Some failed lived and roamed, and learned the laws of death, to cheat death, to not sleep in the same place twice, but then you are a vampire for ever. _________________

Vampariah

22 Jun 07 6:47 am
I have no clue

Just remember how cute you are. They is the Holy Ghost. I am always right, if you differ, then you better listen up and scrap your misconceptions. They don't choose you to rise from hell before you are born if they don't know you are the one. They need a Messiah to bring on the age of Aquarius. A messiah is a great communicator. My visage has been unveiled to see the lies for the truth they are there to protect, the lies run so deep they are emplaced to assure that teh future will come with a perfect baby. No one told me what to do, and in that there is no Holy Ghost, just alot of freightened people, who can't point me the way. My ears are in vibration with the harmonics of what is said, and from that I trust everyone because everyone knows more about what is happening to me than me because I was the last to know that there was a special man a long time ago that was buried, and there is a way to bring them back. In us all is a god, a Kublia Khan that sired 40% of the worlds children. We have seen enough of him, so what you can ride a horse, that is not mandatory. You don't know me anymore, take pleasure in the innocence of who I used to be, and i look forward to seeing you again so I can blow you out of the water with fire, take the earth tilt it up side down and walk on the sky, and then, if someone steals your purse, I can get it back. Even if I screw up tonight, I will resurrect myself because you ain't dead until you are.

Vampariah

20 Jun 07 9:01 am
RADIO DISNEY

"Minor" religions Tokyo was fired bombed complete, the Imperial Palace was left, and the Battleship Missouri Compromise agreement to the end of the Pacific Theatre was only agreed to if and only if American Combat Boots would not march in the Palace grounds. Hirohito had lineage that made it to the present day, and she is stepping down her throne to marry a commoner. The land of the rising sun is an amzing place to orient holy building to face the sun rise over the Pacific. Today, I was reminded of a student named Sandra in Buffalo whom gave to me a giant card when I left student teaching there. SandRa, means sand in the eye because of the sun. There was a woman on a subway car the other night and she told me a story abut her third graders making a big card for her efforts throughout the year. Then today, I did something wrong. Oh I was doing some resurfacing on the roof of my head, and I did a move over 27, when you are supposed to do moves only 18, 24 times but never over that. Sometimes you can do a move 40 times, but that is if you just discovered a move and you know you don't have time to use it again, in that case you do a double 24 or a 48. Anyways so I got up to go because I felt some bad energy. Everytime I faced either away from the sun to the side it felt like there was a grain of sand in my eyes, and if I turned around then the eye sockets got hit from the sun's gravitational forces from behind and it felt good there was no Sandra - Ra being the sun god. I realized then the reason why birds had been following me lately and flying directly over me, and there was some really cute brown birds dancing in some imaginary bird baths in front of me, with their wings out doing a dust dance. Then some of the little brown birds would like fly right at me, and then it would try to take contgrol of its puny brain and it would like hit a glass wall in front of me, and like bounce off of my space bubble. The sea gulls were smarter they just flew directly over me about 50 feet up. "Jesus must have been hit with alot of bird shit." I laughed to my self. The other amazing thing that I realized was when I looked at a girl under 18 insects would descend on me, and for the time period I had sand in my eye, an underage girl walked by and as soon as I felt a twinge of horror in my pants, the insect flew right into me right eye. Birds had to have been following me because I was in control of the bugs. When the green bugs landed on me it was when I did something right. Black bugs were intgerested in my blood boiling or something. They do say that some people do not get bugged by bugs, and everytime I did the right thing the bugs went away. Obviously there is some magnetic field of gravitational etheric attraction that draws insects and birds towards Messiahs, or people in the final stages of rebirth. But what I have come to understand is that god is a pedophile for we are all his children and he loves us with a different kind of love the other animals answer to through us. Those next to god with whom have the power of a pure heart and no fear of children, and instead whom face the rigors of teaching to improve childrens lives are the only ones whom can escape hell. Earlier this evening, I realized that everytime an underage girl walked by I was getting dragged into hell, and down by the docks where I sat at the water and looked at the sun set, I realized even little girls had a power over me, so I ran away from the girls. Then I went out agaion for a walk when it was getting dark and I noticed two underage females, friends of mine I had a rapport with, and any man whom wanted to get to heaven would have turned down the next street, because hell would be sucking in the man exiting hell. INstead I faced my fear, unfounded of course because I am quite natural with kids, but today was trying, and instantaly I went towards them and they took me around, and the eye seemed to heal just from the power of a different kind of llove in the heart which is neccessary to make a man whole. You see, I mean, earlier in the day I put on Radio Disney just because I didn';t want to get mind fucked by the deejays again and again, I needed peace of mind, and kids are the only thing you cvan trust in life, and when I heard the kids talkl on the radio about school and stuff, some power filled my heart that had been missing since they axed me. It had nothing to do with any sexuality before, because I mean I used to listen to Disney just to hear the code word of the day back in 2004 before I left the city to die, and to be reunited with children even for a moment really made my day, it was like I was a teen girl trying to understand the relevance of the code word, or a "minor" religion. I would have to sit through about 40 minutes of programming to get the code word of the day, so I would know what to expect that day. Moms would come on the radio anbd talk about their kids there would be quizzes, and give aways, and I learned alot about vampirism on radio disney, it seemed the two went hand in hand, in a differnt way, because I chersih the future, I cherish children, and in effect, in the end, the truth of the matter is children save us in lore of religion like cherubs, because when we lose our minds they know who we are, and they take us where we need to go, the cancer oncological places. Kids have saved my life many times. To be separated for all these years a teacher in the core, well, even on the brim of hell I would reach out my hand to make a nice quip to make their day, not scared that it would damn me, because well, you get the picture. People that look out only for themselves get no where.

Vampariah

19 Jun 07 6:32 am
BLACK AND WHITE EYES

19 Jun 07 1:26 am The cloak of night, stars are children Actually one of the visions is a dark christmas tree on the eye in the spot where the MS takes root and makes a person blind. I have seen frosty the snow man there too, and I think a Nun kinda. Part of the effort on reversing your alien body and auto immune syndrome is the retaking of Pelham One Two and Three, that great Al Pacino flick, no um well, once the body begins to recognize itself as being totally alien and it stops attacking itself, there are sparks in the eye ball. The Egyptians used to say that the sky of the night stars was a night gown of some kind of the mother God in the sky and the stars were really just like shooting through holes in the fabric of the night sky, since their concept of god was the sun also, I guess he was draped in her fabric or something. I am not a closet case I am totally out there. I don't think anyone would understand this, so don't put it in a book, it is crazy, so keep it to yourself, and just know that the religions the mythologies, the magic comes from something that can hardly be explained but I do my best. Um, so anyways, I believe that the little stars in the sky of that night gown, or the stars or points of light you see coming back from illness of the vampire, they shoot sometimes, and when you do something really good you see objects. I saw a Pegasus shoot down a UFO in my eyes, and the horse was white. I have seen a white Dove flapping its wings quite a few times, but I always do something wrong and I can't figure out what I did wrong to kill the Pegasus or Dove thingy. So Anyways, these little stars in the eye, they shoot kinda, at first when the trip begins, there are very few lights, but then, ther are a whole constellation, and you are happy, because I think when one injects the venom of sexual energy from out of their legs right it sends the stars into your lower cavity, usually it ends up in your colon, but one time I hit it juts right, and the next day they said something on the radio to the effect of, yeah, ya kidneys man, you over did it, but I knew the stars were a good thing, and I never doubted it, because sometimes in the beginning, the stars are few and they are eitgher upwards in the eye, or down in hell. But anyways to connect to the MS angle, in the end, the lots of stars that go away, which appear to have been eggs sent into the thorax for ovaries, since there is no holding place for the ovaries, they are just hanging out inside the abdomen, anyways, the stars go away and then you just get like an orb of light in your eye, which, is the sign that yoou are going to have a powerful child. They fill the black spot of blindness of where the MS was, and it makes me happy that from death comes life. _________________

Vampariah

19 Jun 07 3:47 am
The death of the Sun Con

Quote : "STOP HAving so much fun without me." FRANK BURNS M*A*S*H. Crowley's house was owned by Michael Caine the actor who sold it to Jimmy Page, guitarist for Led Zeppelin. The book Stairway to Heaven which was written by the roadie and Manager for the Yardbirds precursor of Zep, and who was along for the greatest rock and roll ride until the drummer died of Vodka, spoke about the days of Page experimenting with the drugs and Crowley's Opium love affair. The manager said that there was no connection between black magic and Jimmy Page, and or Led Zeppelin. Some one started a rumour and then the girls seemed to eat it up, so a legend was created. Saturnalia is the Pagan precursor to Christmas. Noel stands for No EL, or No God of Saturn, El. But Saturanlia predates Christmas and incorporatesw principles aligning with the Winter Solstice, during the emerging of the sun from the nadir on the horizon, and the return of the sun to the northern climes. Jesus died after 3 days, and then returned. During the days preceding Christmas, the sun does not head south it just stays on the same spot on th ehorizon, as Stonehenge would have identified, or the Tropical Stonehenge in South America, which also was a shrine to mark the deepest part of winter and the return of the sun of God. The sun stays on the horizon for three days, almost dead in space. The death of Jesus at 33, has something to do with the lattiude of the sun the moment before it hits the solstice and dies in space. Constantine chose a Messiah story to convey on a deeper level the truths of life, and Jesus was thrust into the role long after he died. Most of the first writings of Jesus was done 80 years after his death, and it took hundreds of years for scribes to transcribe hsi story, until Constantine, saw a new way to Con the people with religion, and so the root of the word Con. Pagan and Wicca? Um I personally believe with so many people half in hell and half in heaven, like their groins in hell and heads in heaven or vice versa, that is the thng that creates the women from out of the ashes of man, and his ribs. Dhamphir females who have a new weak force of the ancient Greeks put into them, have supernatural powers, and are definately charmed. The human brain is a most mysterious thing, and improper evolution, or not perfect magick, creates magic. Or Witches and warlocks. The K is a feminine letter symbolizing the crown of the females widows peak and the calyxs going straight back from it, it forms the letter K, with the left of the K line as the hair line, so there is a "V" behind the hair line that you don't really see, that relates to original sin. The weak force was lost because with women constanly putting the hair ontop of heads, it is the male brain that survives, and the female brains get lost. In the future there will have to be great women whom have to lose their K hair so that their brains can get passed on. This is why the weak force is weak, is because men are stupid. Too bad female supremacy leads to their own extinction.

Vampariah

19 Jun 07 3:06 am
defending cold and ugly

I can corroborate the things darkness visible has said, this is the standard for what is accepted in neurological studies. I however have deferred the possibility that muder equipment's facts have basis since he said he has read extensively. I do know that science is a formative religion of truth, and it is in a process of nearing completion. I would advize murder equipment to not be so free with numbers when accounting for how much science knows about life, it is far more than 5 %. The problem with science is that it doesn't acknowledge certain realities since life is a very layered game, and science is one of theose tools for use in making people realise things that fall deaf on other people's ears. Certain people have a je nas sais pas with facts to the extent they can read a nutritional manual and get from the statements what they are really trying to say, as life works on a totally different level. Being a Philosophy major I am sure is just the same as every other major, that there is a small core of say 10-15 philosphy classes and then other required classes which what's his face has revealed as the humanities. Even though I have shot holes through science with the preceding paragraphs, for it is a human endeavor and then also it is corrupt, still the Humanities do not centralize their teachings around science. Science is the ultimate tool for pin pointing what is and what is not in life, and I would only hope that someday someone takes pot shots at PLato's forms of shadows on the cave wall, and generate what 3 dimensional object is throwing these shadows so that the determination of reality is not open to interpretation from a field of intellect based on speculation and not ascertation. From all the books he has read and the indefinite status of science today, that new theories are to remain plausible until proven otherwise by the test of time, I have this to say about Murder Equipment's theory. His gloom is but one of the seasons of passion. It is passion which is awakened by love, for we are asleep until we love, as Tolstoy noted, and after wards some may get depressed, yes, but others like me form great works of art from something called the blues. Blues for me is the sahdow of love. I have never been depressed, but after losing my gradeschool sweetheart I was a deep thinker because the woman that I was sharing my existence with, those extra set of 2 eyes and ears was gone, and it was inevitable in the absence of love that I would become a writer as she awoke me at an early age. Fo me the shadow of love is not gloom but blues, as love is what awakens the dormancy of the hidden mind mechanisms. Once all these gears and cogs are oiled by love juices, there is no telling what a man can do once his broken HEART has made it HE ART, an and ARTist in the classical sense of the word, where actual works of art are created. I have been an artist for a short period of my life, since about 1994, when I decided to concentrate my efforts as a writer, and in that time period I have produced 4 mega books that are all lined up and ready to go, plus a collection of poetry that predates this time period and extends into the future when I reap the riches from the colossal work that I have done in the time many of you were drooling. I think you will get a kick out of yourself when you dismissed the things this particular writer gave on the internet for free when other people could easily snatch the material, and hoarde the material for monetary gain, or private prestige, but I am a teacher in the core, and should I deem it advizable I could throw a javalin into Hollywood and let the air out of the lie of the fake vampire myths and bring down vampirism to be a medical condition that is very poorly understood which is part of the Science Academia. I think life is set up in such a way that things are the way they are for a reason, and even though I could prove vampirism for a very big paycheck, I have enough irons in the fire, to not rock the boat and keep you young know it alls in the dark, since telling you things scientifically and flat out doesn't seem to work. As it is, even contributing to the world understanding of vampirism, or certain darknesses and gaps in understanding of life, why should I forfeit all my hard work by revealing on a global level a system that is put in place to keep the world order intact. I have enough money and soon anough fame to satisfy my desires, and to keep everyone else happy. In retrospect of the vampire soul trip their ain't a darn thing wrong with life. It is just life. Writers generally are people who change reality and even though my books will establish an audience where I could change reality I choose to go about it on a quiet way in an underground level where one would think such sharing of knowledge would be appreciated. Now having writ this in one months time, another young booksmart know it all will ask me who the hell I am, but I will not write this again, I will be cryptic as usual to the extent that even though I will make concrete all my metaphors, the intelligencia of this site will pull the wool over young people's eyes and say don't listen to VAMPARIAH he is insane. My friends the world is insane, if I am insane because I understand the world is insane and I am playing by the rules because I have a name to uphold, then so be it. Do not listen to me. You have been made familiar with and are abreast of that western civilization is a big facade.

Vampariah

18 Jun 07 7:24 am
Close high chakra with BUGS Bu

People can change destiny. The move I am required to do buried by time is so difficult for a baby, yet throwing a crunched up piece of paper at a bin and having it rim around, is a motion that is fun fun fun, a little bot messy because you never know what is in garbage. Fear is an imprint. Living with sin and forgiving ourselves is godly. Carrying around ghosts in the closet is visited upon the children, and my heart may not be pure, but life is about losing virginity and accepting animal sides. If you people have figured out the code, or the plot to life, or you are not who you say you are, and i am talking to operatives for the CIA, or I am going to freak out whatever fucken page I visit on the internet will give me a virus of the mind, nah, I have always been free. When I was a child I put cherrios up my nose, and now, I do something a little different because I am not a child. Really man in the future if they want men to evolve and get the bugs out, just fucken put them in an incuvator for ten years, don't put them through hell, and make it seem like they chose to dive. There is no alternative than to dive from heaven and find out what is going on in hell, if my free pass in heaven doesn't work in this world. The heaven free pass doesn't work because it is meant to make you get frustrated and enter hell. That is where the game begins, the gifts that cannot be used. Yeah I was really proud of that one. I met the gay dude by a parking meter, he took me back to his place, the convo started over the fact I like jelly beans, and he gave me some. So anyways, he takes me to his place, and then years later I romance a girl that lives below him, and she waorks at a restaurant. I just always looked at her feet, and she seemed to think it was silly. But I would run out of things to say and then look at her feet. She did have nice shoes. It ended badly and I am happy to have forgot her name. Nadia was it? I ws good with the Italian and romanced her with her language, and then she got cold. I wish I had a girl cat to go to, when humans dry up like that. A go to cat. Oh by the way, I learned how to close the high chakra. The highest chakra. IT is not something that you can close up any times, so I was wrong about vampires living for ever. You have to close the door on the hell life. Well, you could live forever, actually, as an animal, I would age really badly, and then at the moment before I turn to dust, take all I know and reverse it all. One of the final keys is prayer. But it is not what you think, it is a double caliper effect, but you all knew that didn't you? Hmmmmmmmm I think I will just go to sleep and have fun with the brown bee cherrio fella. I am in no rush to redo the interior of hell, but I know how to do it. I on the other hand will dig around and see of the junk in my trunk that I found there in December is gone, that alien bit of whatever that everyone has.

Vampariah

16 Jun 07 9:35 am
For Baby Ghost

PORN 02:25:43 - Dec 15 2006 Times Read: 32 …... Alright. Well, we'll start chronologically. I was sitting in Mrs Errante's Italian class, and this was before my growth spurt since I found my dick late in life, so I must have been at the oldest 15. She was my age, but her name was Alina. She had on these shiny beige pants which make it look like she was nude. I didn’t know I was more into fabrics back then, and my mantra of the Flip Wilson saying what you see is what you get and what you don’t is better yet, I wanted the pussy behind that shiny beige pant, I didn’t want the clothes. The clothes did speak to me though, you see, shiny clothes, with advent of latex, the hologram stuff that sucks the warmth right out of you, the foil, is buts are cool anyways, but with a foil panty pressed into pelvis, it is vampiric and sucks the warmth right out of slippery interface between your thang and her sweaty backside under panty of whatever material, especially latex, that’ll make you sweat, and I don’t think polishing the panty over and over is going to make the latex panty better to breath with, no I am not saying put it over your head, no, that is my point latex doesn’t breathe. Alina’s ass was fine for her mind was phenomenal, and usually the better the ass the more intelligent the woman, because life happens to the hot and the rest get ignored, so her asss was fine in the see through pant shiny, whatever material it was like I was saying, I didn’t know of fabrics like aluria, spandex, lycra, nylon even (what they make bullet proof vests out of), latex was some space age military secret to defeat aliens with, but back to Alina, as the famous proverb goes, all I wanted to do is to get her pussy flesh grooves upon my face because there was something I had never seen before, she was kinda scrunching back in her school chair, and these were sliding chairs, so they weren't hooked to the desk, but she was disinterested, twirling her hair and popping cracking sounds with her pink Bubblicious chewing gum as Latina chicks know how to do annoyingly for attention, to hear the pop of bubble in class to not to even have to look for, the image of the pink crystalline gum covering her cute little button nose until she has to take the fingers from her hair to inextricate the bubblicious from her nose in the air at all of us because she was so hot and she knew it sliding in her chair of silky fabric skin color groove. She didn't return my gaze when I got the courage to check her out the second time. I kept looking back, any time someone moved a foot, I figured it was her foot dragging on the dirty floor making scraping sounds with her feet, and I hoped it was her who moved because maybe I could scope out an even more intimate interior look at twat, of the finest spic girl in the school. She shifted in her seat just as I looked back and looked out the window dreaming of a stud that filled her spot of where something was not now that was stuffed earlier, last night while grandmother went out to visit relatives and she had a bed to herself, to call the stud over to fill her yum yum, they spooned after with his hands over this yum factorish presence that required filling like a servicing at a gas station pump might do from time to time checking lubricant levels with mechanics greasy monkey grease monkey hands with sausage blue collar fingers that wouldn’t know how to write about a woman with dainty writers fingers that know how to touch women but don’t yet touch them brutishly like black stained blue collared thick sausage fingers would, touch them hard and all over until it was all over her like love on her face glowing, that someone accepted her lust and they were black and blue with pink clit all reddish and invigorated, innervated, and inflamed, her camel toe was not inflamed now, she had slept well after the affair. Grease monkey mechanics never write about touching them, because they just do it, you know, because they are blue collar men that act and do not think. Women have to wear slinky sultry smooth fabrics over their pussies because they are at it nonstop never admitting to masturbation like men do, because in actuality women play with themselves a whole lot more, in bondage to their sexuality, using sex as a weapon to lure the man to keep him true by desiring pussy by never getting it from her, so they play with themselves until they are raw and then they need to wear the latex panties to keep it all smooth and viscous, with a butt plug up their butts when their pussy is raw, they go to buy some milk to drink and pretend to be a cat lapping milk while they are on their knees with their boyfriend on the phone pretending to be doing the laundry or something never telling the men what they are doing on the phone because they can masturbate with us in the phone and the guy never knows because playing with cunt don’t make the slapping sounds as when a guy plays with his snake. They had fallen asleep spooning, and before the door was tinkered with grandma key, he would hit the fire escape of the ghetto apartment on her bed covered with a plastic lining because she peed in bed frequently because she played with herself too much, enough hand on slit until she needed the plastic sheets and the slide effect, she got up in her school chair and arched her back with a yawn with arms in the air, and sat the way females can only do because even though girls chests are bigger their chest size is smaller when the back of the man enters the equation, and they don’t have that thing between their legz that men have that would prevent a man from sitting that way. Men true men cannot sit with an arched back, it feels quite queer to sit that way, and there are very many chair designers that design chairs just for the girly arched back effect that guys have to put in garage sales just so that prospective women come by and try out the chair on the lawn and sit like a lady all pent up inside from the feeling of sitting on leather chair that makes you feel all feminine and girlishly wet on the inside. It was very difficult to be that stunning and to have a head on the shoulders that led down to the sexiest body in the school. I guess she knew spanish too well, and I was happy she didn't choose greek, because talking greek can screw up her pretty face. I don’t like girls in veils or latex masks, now or then. It is much more beautiful to form words with your tongue as you imagine latex cameltoe on your lips, or the fine smell of PVC with fabric paint that glimmers that you dollop and pile on so high to remove the bondage marks, from black belts in the sex attack that you even have to put master shine fixer on it so the glimmering silver fabric paint doesn’t peel off from future bondage. Then the shine gets more intense, so you put more master shine on it, and you go to sleep wearing this stuff because it feels cool in the summer, and you have erotic dreams all night until it turns into a nightmare thinking of Alina on her plastic pee sheets squirming and squirting out cums multiple style as only girls can do. But in the morning the pink deflated ring floatation device that you have ontop of the PVC skirt is actually just like a skirt, but there is a chemical reaction between the translucent ringed floatation device and the master shine, and you shimmy all over the bed, trying to find the source of the toxicity, and then there it is the yellow PVC skirt has melded with the pink translucent skirt, and you are stuck. In some kind of bondage with the clothes because of your love with women, all women, any woman wearing latex is hot even if they are ugly. A man is not a man until he understands women, and part of understanding women is donning the prima donnas clothes when she has gone to put out the trash, and you hope she catches you in her stuff stuff because then maybe she can become a lipstick lesbian latex lover of guys doing her in her shiny slinky girl clothes of whatever color you want to imagine him wearing because he loves you so. Peeling away the hot pink translucent skirt from the yellow PVC silver luminescent painted master shined over yellow skirt makes a noise audible for the girl friend of the neighbor above you, so you shut the fan and turn off the morning female jock that gets you hot and bothered so you can hear the crinkling of the skirt attack your neighbor’s girlfriends ears through the floor, you want to hear what she hears, the fumes of the chemical reaction between the two fabrics, if you can call them fabrics is almost like smoking Angel Dust it has the same unnatural element to it, as if you could smell the iridescence with your iris, you wish she could smell this smell of burning shiny clothes not meant to be together and there is a disorienting high of wondering whether you will ever get your male mind back, when all you can think is the reason why you like shiny clothes is because when a women wears then she is saying she wants a special kind of attention, sexual in nature, and when women can’t ask for it, they let the clothes covering up their grooves do the speaking for them, although there are some asexual fetishists, still there are kinds like me that will provide juice to shine girl clothes since the reaching of the desired effect of equating pussy with shiny clothes from that first look at Alina when I was a Sophmore brainwashed me for life being confused whether to want the pussy or the draping around it making the glisten more alluring, needing the wet look to stop the dampness from making camel toe wetter camel toe observed by all. Anyway Italian is a romance language, and greek, well, that almost sounds arabic or russian. So I am glad she was in my Italian class. I always wanted to write poetry in Italian about her grooved beige camel shiny toe, a pattern came out when the sun came from out behind a cloud, I didn’t know whether to look in the hot twatness of the shiny butterfly cocooned deflowered flower blinding me but I had to look because the room filled up like with a fog of diffused light to the extent I could look at her pussy clothed as it was without being caught, I studied the print of the shiny pussy, the precursor of latex, the prototype for making vampires out of angels, to take something that needed no augmentation, to put the spot light of sun on the elasticity of it all, to look until drool came out and you wish you could go pound the erasers on the back board in the back board in the back of the room, to get the drool on her wet twat glistening in the sun, to have the white chalk in the air cloud the air so that all men could see in the room your drool upon her glistening shiny quim freebie brunch muff munch free lunch high noon tang of poon. Then she coughs because of the chalk and her body convulses while she sits with arched back because of unnatural school girl chair curvature, and it is like her feet are tied, and she is stuck in your presence because education isn’t really why any of us are there, we want to see the hot girl run across the campus yard in the rain until her Jordache designer new dark blue jeans get wet until some guy says you better buy see thru plastic pants to cover it up so your legs don’t get all raw and inflamed and irritated by wet crotch effect of dampness caught in the rain with improper clothes. All these thoughts went through my head, while I confined my eyes under my hands and pretended at times to be looking at the calendar on the wall over her shoulder, it was good to be a restless and to be known as a geeky squirmer, to have the idiocy of youth to be fascinated in all things, so I studied her poon tang shine in the sun hoping for a sun shower so she would be wet and the sun with all it’s rainbow of Technicolor magnificence would blind me forever, to become a perpetual masturbator of two fisted fury closing my mindseye on her shiny spit shined up slitness. I was famous for taking pictures with my eyes, which is prerequisite for being a writer, which is quite natural, camels are beige aren't they, but they have a propensity to sporadically spit at men in particular, men treat camels quite brutishly, and rub them the wrong way all the time, because they like to see camels spit. But which is the right way to rub a camel? And just what makes it so easy to rub a latex camel toe? Male or female the pearl jam froth is the same, but we are talking about female camels here, beige ones mistreated by men left out in the rain of the desert because it gets so hot and humid and sticky in the desert the camel don’t know better than their master, so they are left out in the rain, and it is not acid rain that is going to eat away their putrid public fur that everyone can see, this is like the natural pure aquifiered water of the sky in a land where there is no pollution because peeps don’t live in the desert for the wars over the years, all the wells have been poisoned, and fields been salted if there is even good earth anywheres, so the camels kind of get into it, they get on all fours, and hold their head up to suck the pee of god rain down coming on their mouth, as their tail is between their legs, camel do have tails too though right, yeah, in fact if you look right at a camel toe sometimes you can see the chubbyness of ass just above if you are right behind behind upside down stuffing taxidermic style some beastial imaginings where the camel is not a woman, but a woman being stuffed like a lifeless rag doll with pig tails bouncing over their fuzzy ears. Herders shepphards all fuck their sheep, and when women wear those fancy wool sweaters above their leather pants, the wool has had cum all over it, meant for her. You don’t want to impregnate any sheep and have more sheepy slave type mutants walk the earth, it is better to live one day as a lion than a hundred years as a sheep, even if you have to pull out of the sheep to not make some mythological creature, like the way the central American Indians thought the conquistadors were half horse and half man, that is why they lost that war and a few thousand conquistadors took over all of Central and South America, the horse dick power of the illusion of the women must have had being Queen Victoria-ed by a horse with a dick more than a foot long donkey dick fantasy impregnation scenario where even if there was such a thing as time travel these fine shortys wouldn’t ever even think of using glow in the dark magnum condoms on the conquistador donkey dick in shining armor of the middle ages with visor blocking the glint of the sun so they could lean to the side in the saddle and see a great deal of the multi colored glow in the latex condom pistoning in and out of the Latina pussy, in and out, in and out…. She wonders why the shephard has given her the free sweater, but it isn’t her booby nipples with small areola postale poking out through the stitching, or the bra straps of clear plastic that pop through the shoulders, he is staring at her cum covered body from his spermicidal ecstasy imagining fucking her with a plastic bag over her head and kissing her until her face turns blue. To get her to the point of death, with tongues slithering touching between a plastic kiss of death. Then the dizziness disorientates and like strangulation INXS an edging of ecstasy with the power of death life death French kiss guilletine moment where the grim reaper comes with scythe, and then your man at the point of your last multiple orgasm, he has kept count, men are good with numbers, he debags your head and lets you breathe in rapture of the brink of coming in a plastic fantasy where trying to get to the sum that never seems to cum, because you can’t cum anymore, but you have to cum or you will die, so you must cum, but you can’t cum because you have to, so you have to as a girl imagine something that’ll make you come, or force you to cum, like a great writer may want you to cum for him because you are scared of his power and can never be with him because only he has the power to break your heart so, that is why when you are with your sheep man you have to think of someone else you might want to come for, someone who might have total power of controlling you and your orgasm, to bring you to life with a cum, to set you free from your bondage to the clothes you wear to keep him true to you, and if this man is non existent, if there is no man on this earth that you can think of to get you to cum, if there is no man powerful enough to mindfuck cyberspace alien abduction you will die. So you think of him, a man who knows you inside and without, knows what it takes for you to cum so you can live, one who is a beast, an animal, bestial in nature and can touch you from here, with a dick as wide as a iced coke can and as long as asparagus shoots that make you shit blood once he is done fucking your latex covered ass, he takes the plastic bag off your pretty face and you lean over and lick the perspiration on his shoulders like real man would make you feel, licking his latex induced sweat for replenishment, happy with no other thoughts in your head other than joy ecstasy, and rapture when heaven descends to eradicate all your fake made up problems of a life without drama embellished to make other people believe you are damaged goods, when you know damn well you are perfect in your latex taut tight body to body sweaty body on his hairless chest not even heaving because you are out of breath from cumming for him again and again, because he cares enough about you to let you live and let you live in perpetual joy, an immortal perpetual mummy of latex bondage… because he has taken the time to understand you because you wear latex. This is the only reason why he has let you cum because you like latex, I mean you can’t even put a sentence together, all you want to do is cum cum cum and cum all over your mutual bodies, because women need to free their bodies from out of their sexual bondage but they never find a man they can trust to let loose with, so they never let loose until they meet their Soulmaker, the one that makes them able to write form sentences, because even though he is only with you because he saw you in shined up clothes, which told him he could dominate you, now that you have used sex as a weapon on him, he is addicted to controlling your cums, and he comes to care about you, because you are a precious female, worthy of such a man, and with the love of you, he learns to love you even without latex, because latex is just for the eye, yes it is true life isn’t about sex it is about being sexy, that is why there is an X in LATEX, but the Latex was just a lure, now that you got him here in your where ever you are, your four poster bed with hand cuffs attached to your sides, he peels the latex off your body and the skin on skin effect is marvelous, it is better than silk, plastic, anything, a healthy woman without freckles and good skin that eats right has a velvet skin like baby oil all over, up and down round and round, and his hairless body of marble that has a different solidity to it, like a statue made out of melted down conquistador armor. The touch of a lover who cares about you, who knows where he licks to touch you because you have let him know where you like to be touched, and you never repeat here your G spot is again because he knows you inside and out and cares about giving you the best orgasm possible, skin on skin on plastic sheeted bed, with knowing caresses of kisses of lips full with perfect teeth behind nibbling on your nubbin till you say stop and then and only then five minutes more of this camel latex toe fantastic ecstasy, because the most important thing in life is to be touched by a hand that loves you, all of you, especially even the dumb quirks all women seem to have. This is why you cum so hard because you found a man that accept your love of latex, not the shininess of it, but the fact that it has to be shined. All other men suddenly seem to not to exist, and all you can do is think about your master, even when you are with him, but especially when he is not, because life is full and he is dragged away from you from time to time, and then when love is gone, you write to him you write for him, you tell him your fantasy of being plugged by a fine tool but a pool aboard a diving board, as he dives into your muff to get you wet to get you slick so you can get the donkey dick effect on a personal floatation device taut with air you lay on and get stuffed from sausage with skin of velvet health mojo, in the sun for the neighbors to voyeuristically hear your squeal as he puts his stink in you on you and draining your mind of fake loves that only brought you pain, erasing all the stupid idiots in life that didn’t love you like you wanted to be loved and touched and kissed and caressed, and when he has cum into you without the latex condom because you so desperately want a replica of his jeans in your tum growing into a man a master of women and a leader of men, then after he has fucked you on this wetted down plastic hot pink personal floatation device, and he cannot cum for you anymore, then he straps on a strap on and puts a strap on on because all white chicks like dick even of plastic up their bums covered not in LATEX but in lamb skin to deplume deflower your brickhouse velvet underground like a chimney sweep aught, for the female cunt look just like a sheep’s, so he has to turn you over in the sun to do you well with a dick that never tires, a plastic cock covered in lamb skin scum bag to royally do you anal as you wish your deepest fear, the sun is hot it tightens your skin as in the rash a woman gets right before and around the time she comes all over her breasts and chest, with hair follicles, little blonde hair all over your tight taut body the sunburn of Indian summer comes and the skin gets tighter and there is that tingle of a butterfly fly by flower all over your skin, so as he fucks you in your tight caboose you know it won’t loosen, because he is rimming you with a finger while the strap on in is in, so he controls your ass sphincter to the point where he knows and is knowledgeable enough to do you up their with out giving you hemorrhoids, so you don’t walk for the rest of your life funny because some disrespectful guy busted your butt for a 5 minute “O” and he is at the bottom of the muscle ridge of the interior of your fine otherworldly ass making circles with his loving hand’s finger tips touching your pussy through ass wall, the sugar walls jism and contract, whispering n your ear about the first time he set eyes on you, what you wear wearing because first impressions stick don’t they? He is doing you so well as if when you come this time you will spit out all your ovaries and lose your mother hood because you are a dirty little whore, but this time he covers your tingling skin with baby oil, he read your mind, he knows what you need, so it doesn’t feel so tight and tingly, from the sunburn of voyeuristic pool side neighborhood looky look fuck, so it just feels nice and feels right, the blonde bimbos in non shiny bikinis he keeps for his friends are side by side of the diving board in the water splashing water on your fornicating sodomistic bodies gyrating because he planned everything right, he dove into your diary to find the time of the month for best to fuck you with so that you won’t be bleeding anymore for nine months, that last multiple orgasm he gave you on the plastic sheets in the body oils and velvet skin of the power of the fountain of youth, he has given you the child to transform you from a whore to be a responsible mother, it takes a HO to become a mom, all women have to dress in LATEX to attract rich men, men who are their own bosses and make money from using their minds, women have to whore to mother, and the ones without children ask why? That is because they don’t understand men enough to know we like our women to play dress up and act like whore when we know they are not whores, they are good women, so good they are sitting on powder kegs of dynamite sexuality, and the better the person you are the more the TNT builds up under the girl like Fort Knox of liquid gold girl juice jisming for him. She is happy she busted the lock on her diary so you know every detail about her specific feminine mystique until he got her under his thumb, and there is no mist in her mystique. Even if you are a submissive sheep of a female in your little lamb of a side of beefy ass bulbous from too much cumming and too much female girl juice of hormonal man controlled cumming that because he is a man and lets you cum for him, he makes a woman out of you, a mother, a wifey, a trophy of perfection, a slave and a Mistress of dens of pleasure and dens of pain game. Anyways, rule of thumb says if camels spit it at the shephard it means they actually like you, they don't care which way you rub them, they are camels all the way from their sleeping hoods over their little heads down to their toes, of which I am told they have four, but who keeps could of how many fingers, or appendages they have on display on their cameltoes, anyways, it is difficult to count the toes because they are always moving, grooving to some music in their head, they do a little dance, and plus they are in the desert and so their appendages are buried, sunk or sinking in sand constantly, a quick sand of mud that makes suctioning sounds of evil non stop flight to oblivion even though naturalists have rugs to prevent the camel toes sinking feeling, still these are heavy beasts laden down with the finest silk from the far east, so all that shiny fabric from what is it? The juice from the mulbury I mean mulberry plant, that the worms fashion silk out of? Burry or berry I am not sure, I have never studied the berry of that silk production plant, I mean if I did, I would probably try to study that slippery little berry better by breaking off a branch to poke around with later on when I am counting camel toe, you see this well heeled man is quite a multi tasker, in a way, I can do many things at the same time, geez I've got two hands, and many fingers I like to keep buried in on important work, I have to stay busy, constantly for the devil finds things to do with idle hands, and we don't want that, so we have to use what god gave us, and operate and stay busy counting on camel toe, but my mind keeps drifting back to Alina and her beige covered grooved almost corduroy plastic pussy. Well, I think I am gonna smoke another cig because I am lost in horny reverie, looking back always to my first introduction to pussy through camel toe. Camel toe you can't count on though, it is never there when you want it so it quite happens by accident, a sudden movement, an innocent shifting of hips to avoid the seam from riding sometimes has the opposite effect it just makes it ride higher into the hilt, but what can a girl do? She likes tight pants, for the guys to stare repeatedly, intermittently, and often, focusing on.... um, yeah, because she likes the attention, she hass to wear tight pants, and then she has to put up with the camel toe, and sometimes the guy she really likes doesn't notice her so she has to lift the waistband higher until the low rider latex pants cover her belly button and up into the seam the clit keeps getting rubbed from the process and she just gets frustrated because she feels all alone in a crowded room, she doesn't notice that all these other guys are checking her out, because she is focused on his eyes, saying to the girls that he has nice eyes, there is nothing beautiful about his eyes, she just likes his eyes because she likes to look at where the eat up her body with gulpfuls of glances like that first time she noticed him noticing her, because of the crease wedge thingy poon quim squirm thang, and she thought he would like her for her hot twat but, she is frustrated, not knowing whether to pull the pants down to relieve the tension or to pull it back up again? Back and forth back and forth greasing the crease inadvertantly, waiting for his beautiful eyes to notice she has a spot right in her fat heart, her full fat heart for him, a genuine ever growing spot, good thing she isn't wearing panties, maybe she can turn him on to a new fetish? A wet camel toe. But he is wearing sunglasses, so she doesn’t know what he is looking at so she is like a plant that grows strange because lack of light, not knowing how to act because she doesn’t know what behavior she does he likes so she does them all, displays her snatch in a variety of poses. Where was I? Oh I had my hand all ontop of your pants, or inside of it. Spelling letters, numbers you like, or the word lust or love with your finger, sex or dick, like I wish a dick was here and then point at your wetness or writing my name on your slick sleek camel toe, but, whaat? You don’t know my name? You mean you let a stranger play with your latexed up camel toe? Bad girl you are going to need a spanking for stranger to have had his hand all over this soppy mess slippery under the latex for a quickie at work, but I never spanked a girl wearing latex, so you are going to have to guide me through it, just tell me how you like to be spanked, do you want my hand on your peachy ass or do you want the safety of the hermetic seal of latex to keep my masculine dog germs out of your many many canals? We can only hope Alina finds some guy to lap up the mess, things can get quite sticky down there, and to get all that ooze on the fingers it is quite unbecoming the lady, and then to wipe off this cream, this jazzy jism rhythm, it just doesn't come off you know you have to have a guys lap it up and eat it down, up and down, side to side, back and forth, fast and faster slow, because you just can't throw out girl cum, or flush it down the toilet, it is unrecyclable, and so it must be assimilated, even though eating pussy loaded with all those female hormones is bad for boys, men aren't meant to drink their piss, or really ever swallow their best friends girlfriends cum, no, then that would not be a very masculine activity if it led to consuming feminine juice .... yeah so girls need girlfriends to lap up all that pearl rubbed so hard it turned into foam, because if you play with it too long those little bubbles pop, and we don't like the sound of pussy popping. Well I better send this, because I may lose my connection, but I hear Alina is planning to wear pink latex pants tomorrow and go riding a bike in the park, you know those camera phones come in handy when you want to see what you saw again, and business cards come in handy when you can't get a guys to clean up wet cameltoe, and only a girl would do it, because it is safe for girls to eat pussy, no guys want to turn into girls after all from eating too much puss. _________________ ……The next time I saw taut stuff was when I went to my homeland. I was not yet 18. I remember totally leaving my family at the docks of Trieste, Yugoslavia. Yugoslavia was communist. They had gas pump guys dressed up like super Mario, in yellow jumpers out of Anime fabric. Life is a game, a video game at that. They should have masturbation channels on the TV like they do for guys, in fact every channel is a masturbation channel of masturbitrices. I ordered some soup and I got one pea in it and some bacon fat. It was the best this old Italian city could offer under Tito's thumb. Well back to the port. I just saw a girl in unpolished latex, she was a whore it was neon blue, original style, the pink pockets were so small they were only there for ornamentation, and the stitching of the pockets was futuristic and so tightly bound man hands couldn’t feel around in, maybe a guy could tuck his penis in those little pink pockets, but there is that chance a guy could become a permanent member of her latex pants by getting his member stuck in her penis pockets, and then dragged around fa eva following this girl’s latexed ass as if attached from the hip to the groin. I knew I would find my family again, so I followed latex ass whore where ever it would lead. It was nice I saw her pick up a guy, and then I did rendezvous with my family no one ever the wiser about my fetish. Another time I saw latex girls on the street, she was with a rich man who knew what he wanted and she was going to give it to him. They were getting a hot dog outside the Museum of natural history on the upper west side, and it was red shined up latex, perhaps from all the sperm collection those pants had done in the past, some sisterhood of the traveling latex pants deal of sperm collection to shine the red of the latex uber good, making them brand new with pearly strings of guy cum, because the color hadn't drained out of it from too much washing away of sperm, she wanted the stink of the various beasts she had let mount her, because she wanted the timid guys to be repelled in fear of the men she had coupled with. These sperm collection device red latex pants only had to have the best guy jism on em, for ass to be territory to marked so guys could tell a mile away what cum looks like, other guys fertile virile cum, some women don’t even know what guy cum looks like so it was a signal from one woman to all men, back away unless you have the best seed on the earth, the rest of the women are oblivious to the butt shine of her assy ass ass. I didn't think about these things. The cool cat was eating a hot dog. They went into the museum and I followed her blindly. They went all around the exhibits I knew so well, so fortunately I didn't have to glance around at the stuffy display booths. They ended up by a red wood tree cut down in california, maybe a giant sequoia, either way it was a huge tree and the soon to be rich girl obviously liked the girth of the trunk. They caught on to me, because, obviously she was an experienced botonist and wanted to inspect his tree in his trunks. I had to get out of there. Another time, I remember these fondly by the way, I was on Madison Avenue, where in the day time the best looking women in the world walk the streets. My mother in her late thirties then was now working for Marimekko on Madison ave, since she no longer could model, she could sell the clothes because she was an expert on fabrics and Finnish tongue. I went out to get something to eat, and across the street was a purplish latexed girl, er woman, and I followed her wiggley butt the way to the Whitney museum before getting right up behind her and getting the eyeful I desired. It was a long walk down the Whitney, and I felt so bad with every step going back to mom that I decided no matter if it was gold latex bondage pants with buckles in silver and black, I would never stalk another woman again. Anyway as you can see I start telling a story about my trip to Italy when I was 16 and I end up following the hooker that makes me reminisce all the times I saw Latex in the wild. One of the biggest mistakes I ever made in life was not going to a ZZTOP concert. My brother and our good friend Motor went there, and Motor wasn't even into Latex, but he told me how just about every girl wanted to get backstage p ass, and had the back stage pass all over their ass wrapped in an assortment of latex color. I would figure all those girls would have broken out into some foot woship of the blues men, doing tongue calesthenics with four on the floor to see who had the longest tongue to swab the rock gods snake skin texicali boots with steel tipped shoes, if I was god and I could construct a heaven I would be the male dancer on the stage with my shirt off and getting the sloppy seconds of the latex clad vixens as the came from a quick cum, just moments after they had the Hollywood fuck of a life time. They would be putty in my hands so mesmerized by greatness they wouldn’t even see me do what ever I did with them, because they wouldn’t know I was there, I could get away with anything, maybe I could outright steal their pussy quim quim natural vibrator and have a collection of vibrating pussies I could use to massage my back with when I have written and perfected porn for too long. Yeah go to the closet and get out my collection of swiped poon tang, and put it all over my back, my face, my pelvis, everywhere covered in the flesh of perfect pussy of only hot femmes inquire within. No no, keep the uncomfortable shoes on, yes that's it and keep jumping. You gotta do what you gotta do if you want to meet the band. Funny the only guy without a beard in ZZTOP has the last name of Beard, I think he is the drummer, but I missed that concert. So after Trieste, which used to be a part of Italy, we went to Austria, where I got my second glimpse at camel toe. At 16 I was the size I am now, but this girl that I saw made me feel so small. She was with a man, and I didn't like him at all, I didn't care if they spoke the same language, I spoke the language of camel toe, not that I knew what it was called. Whatever it was called, it was a good thing to be around. Walking around the store you figured with the denim seam would get her wet. I waited for that moment. She was wearing denim in a type of Germanic lederhosen style, so it had buckles, and straps, and she had pulled her jeans all the way up past her hips to accent the crevicing. To see the hip bones protrude like Summer's body was quite the thrill, stretched taut over the depressions hills and valleys of her frontal pubic bone, and pelvis tilt, so sexy. I pretended to buy some sausages. Anyways later on in the car we had to look for a room to sleep under goose feathers, eiderdown. But everywhere they went were these damn camera shops. They didn't look like camera shops, but then after a while my father said this is the place. It was another camera shop, and I am like how can we get goosed in a camera shop? He was like, no, David, camera means room in Austria, and then it hit me, I wish I had bought a camera in a camera shop to take a picture of the Aryan 6 foot plus Austrian brown haired leaderhosen style jean camel toe girl because well in dwarfing me by her heritage of Frankensteinism of breeding for exagerated hip and pelvis bone, as well as the public bone, it was at about my face level, to see exotic jean camel toe up close, like I had a sherlock holmes magnifying glass and I could see public hair coming out of the zipper, I wondered if she had on underwear. I didn't know what panties were yet, for all I knew women wore boxers and briefs like me. Of course her ass was riding uppa high too, but I had seen plenty of ass in my life, just not monsterous exaggerated whatever it was called. It was simply groovey.

Vampariah

15 Jun 07 9:31 pm
Broccoli assed backwards

There is this episode on Seinfeld, where a bad breaker upper tells Elaine that her head is too big. A bord in Central Park then flies into her head. I bought a David Gilmor album, whom really was Pink Anderson and Floyd Council, the band, for Sid Barrett was nothing. The album art had a cover of birds flying down to him playng guitar sitting on a rock at a beach or on an isle. That as when I realised that for a time there birds liked to fly directly over my head. I am not saying that I have a big head or something, In fact to be honored to get out of hell, one has to have a small head, which I am sure you all believe that I think I am hot shit, but I am really a modest guy, why, whne walking an old woman across the street I rifled her purse. Anyways, so last night at 3 something the birds started singing and woke me up. After 3 days of no sex there was a blue movie on cable called THE GIRLS FROM BIKINI, so I had to look, even though I knew I wasn't supposed to because one of my CALVES was like hurting the day before badly from looking at porn, but they all had on new outfits and alot of pink, so I couldn't look away. So I went to sleep after about an hur of being teased, and then I woke up to the birds singing mysteriously at 3:30 something. Then something told me something was going to happen. I felt a bubbling up of energy into my ass, from out of my legs because legs are sexuality, all sexual energy is stored in the legs, and if you get too sexual it takes over the body. Anyways, they knew I would be unable to deter my eyes from the BIKINI team of the CIA, and what it felt like was this. It felt like a good sized brocoli head was going up my ass, into my colon, and it took over my whole body. After the whole thing subsided, and my body had chills and goose pimples, then I turned on the radio to see what I was supposed to do. The radio quickly told me to get the fuck out of there, and before I did, I laid on my stomach and pointed my heels at the sky, and I felt a good energy doing that. I had gone to sleep facing the other way in my bed which is what you are supposed to do from time to time, but i save up moments of new aspects in relation to the celestial bodies and my bed, and I knew tonight something was going to happen so I tuned into different gravitational fields, and felt the magnetism f the iron in my hemoglobin be polarized from the opposite side of the mafgnetic poles, and then I went to the television for directions. Frazier was on, he was talking to Lillith, and Frazier said, something about making a mess, or if I do that I will make a mess, and then his ex wife, says, yes, it is ok, if you make a mess we will just clean it up. You can go an hour, but it is better to get it done in 45 minutes, as the sexual energy builds too great and spoils the next day, so at about 45 minutes, I did as requested, and then I laid down. Then I woke up with wood really bad, and I was pissed, there goes my dream of being a girl. The damn thing would not go away as usual after about 2 hours I decided to put my feet up and point my fingers up at the sky above my feet to drain the sexual energy out of my feet and also have the healing powers of my index fingers above every other part of my body. Then I flipped around sat on my belly and rotated my ankles in a cirles both ways with the feet supinated and flexed, and there was some good energy there. I ain't hitting my taint again and losing my manhood again, however the fantasy of become a woman was not realized, I realised. nd that was depressing. I think I am supposed to hold my breath until Father's day now. Also I forgot to do pyramidical Caliper moves on my passion extension, so the 45 mnute experience wasn't healing that all, so, this after noon Orson Wells told me to go play the skin flute and so I did, applying reverse strokes and changes angels and everything and counting to 24. The clouds vanished and NYC is hot again.