Dominance Games: An ode to the unknown communicator

The romantic twaddle of burnt rats and the longings and feelers and resources of the dupes of the sweet songs of love thrown to us from the pulpits of the sly.

Listen sweetly to the self loving poems and paeans of breeding, baring, privilege and wonder as he/ she puzzles over reason well for  endearing ends.  Never know things that go bump in the night.  Always fear them.  Never look, always see the little monsters outside of our rancid dreams.

Strife, petition, leering gratification.  Gentrification.  Our putrid little mirrors can reflect too much light, light that burns and singes, burns and singes in the dark corners of the constant night of holy ignorance.  Heady rewards come to those who dance with the nimble and pristine.  The precise.  Lure and aphrodisiac.  Heady rewards come to those who dance with the ones who shimmy well and perform well.

Characters and preeners.  Dancers and singers.  All manner of ribald show and tell come to us as we trundle on our merry little ways.  Dismissive arrogance, weapons of masquerading follies attract us as  cheap perfume.   Cheap perfume attracts those for whom the mawkish and the patty functions best.

Pretty pictures and fancy illusory pieces.  The flaccid aerial circuses we gawk at make us proud.  Over sized performers in the trees waiting to fall off or to be picked by the tree pickers, we feel their pain.  These trees bear strange tasty fruits,  strange tangy nectars, the taste exotic, the after taste lingering majestically.   The sirens sweep softly.

Junk yard cats and howling dogs go bay at the night, the moon.  Fairy tales and sun rays define the joys and pleasures gained and sent by the grand operas of fondled passion and inebriated score.  Contraltos serene always allay fears in holidays of dead beyond the pale of contrition.

We love the ones we love.  lust, hell, dominance and greed are trips to be taken.

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The dumb …… the honored creed. The rancid bastards …… the true…..the thrill..


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