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Sunday, 13 February 2011

Femme Fatale


I was so deeply in love that it felt like grief.

I had been seduced by the very thing that had died within me.

She appropriated warmth by her very coldness.

Rank Friendship

Price to Pay for Power.
Those who hanker after rank must forfeit friends.
For only cronies go with ambition.
Should true friends arise, then the legion of
Fiends in disguise will poison them with their lies.

The non-ambitious are friendless likewise.
But they are also of cronies bereft.
And without sycophants, they are truly blest.
Only the middling sort experience real friendship.
Their price? - a lack of self-ownership.

Women Untamed

Like overgrown children

They evoke the jungle,

The forest,

The cave.

Their wild hair, their

Lithe legs, their

Impossible breasts.

Their sweet scent.

Piquant perspiration trapped by

Hair and more hair.

All beauty and terror begins with


Youth and Age

Youth is spent - a natural allowance is given.

Old age is earnt, endowed and conserved,

And against Nature is made provision.

The freedom of youth is wasted on the young,

While old age - a prison - is enforced

And imposed against the will of those

Who would rather run in the open

Fields of belated youth.

The Senses

As the mind-forged-manacles are lifted,

Sheer air affects our sense

A cacophany of the everyday erupts

The ordinary - extraordinary.

The Eye

Everything is emprisoned in my eye prism.

A woman's rump and thigh,

Her tattered fringe, and ravaged

Raven's eye.

I will not touch these things in case they

Evaporate like a mirage into the

Finality of a forgotten dream.

The Five Eves

Only in en-wom-bed woman are the

Lineaments of the races to be discerned.

A Roman nose, a Kelltic lip,

A Nordic chin, an Asiatic eye, and the

Majesty of hair.

In man, the racial instinct is a

Sublimation of the intense desire for

Woman as such.

Five Eves gave us the European subraces,

And what? - one Aryan Adam seeded them all.

From there sprang Helen and Cleopatra,

The great seductive seduceresses.

When man conquers he makes a dam;

But the dame is the river of the race.

Man makes dam-age and dam-nation.

But woman makes the racial nation.

It is no fix that Italy be shaped like

A female leather boot. The most lovely

Race on earth - the Italic - willfully

Brandishes the sadistic female foot.

But the Keltic-Frankish mix - O the mystery

And cruelty of these Gallic minxes:

Are they not the sophisiticat-dominatrix?

They can split the skull and travel beyond

Borders to stir revolution and convulsion.

Mediterranean women - diagonal swirl

Of chevroned cheekbones - pallid skin, hair so dark.

Bedllemite madness of this blackeyed girl

Incites me to anger and joyful violence,

War so civil, profound and trivial.

O Latino sprite, when you melded with

Keltic killers you spearheaded a type that would

Rule the whole of mankind and men-kind in tow.

Keltic rush and rhythm of femmes, from the

Seine to the Thames - gruesome apocalptic

Damsels and Boudicca she-braves, priestesses

And servants of the Druid snakes, I implore you

To join me on the Nordic waves, so we may

Explore the Afric shores and pulse in

Ways untold, unseen and unknown before.

O Slavic wench you have every quality

But it is imperfect in you alone.

You lack mystery, purity and strength.

But you are the backbone of the East, lest

Alien Hordes do increase and o'whelm our

European homeland and bastardise

What the Five Eves have wrought.

And so I call on the Nordic girl so pure

And on the Alpine so rugged and sure:

Preserve ye the lines so that Eros may conquer

Anew and renew the angelic throngs

That have uplifted Europa from of old.

Ye Five Eves - or should I say, ye Five Elms;

You are the world, in all its gold and dross.

You are the elements of a united

Europa - carrying Zeus on your backs and a cross.

Damn Her Eyes

Damn her eyes and her childlike grace

Her wraithlike presence and stone cool face.

Insinuating langour, her

Demobilising aroma

Curse her soft power which me doth

Devour, hour after hour after hour.

This Love is a scar that no skin graft can conceal.

It coils around my soul, a writhing snake and a

Sore scum scuffed weal,

It ulcerates and weeps a sugary-salt puss that

Both attracts and repels.

It throbs and pulsates,

It itches and it aches.

A reminder that never quells

A pain that is, was, and will

Eternally, remain.

Blacker than Black

Inside the Laby-rinth ...

None so black as her.

None so silent either.

More feline than


Astride lubricated web,

Juices sour,

She awaits her prey.

Invited in,

He makes his first

False step.

She toys with this


Venom seeping from





That is no smile,


It is the baring of

Sharp fangs.

Mesmerisers of slaves,

And the breath of



Devious to the first and last,

She shows not an inch of



- Imagination's filip -

A head so beautiful


- He thinks -

Be set upon a

Voluptuous corse.

His mind makes

Forms like a


She shatters the



She is true to

Nothing but her own

Iced avarice.

There is no way

Back out of this maze for



Her raiment a flowing train of verdant

Scent wafting scarves, a veritable

Vortex of sweet stench and laughs.

I cannot think straight in her divine

Deranging presence.

I can only play the clown and fool.

This is Nature's tool to render man

Incompetent and dependent upon

The hidden and implied essence of woman.

O the genius of this empress to

Conceal her body in layer upon layer

Of silks!

To penetrate this mystery

So many men have fought and died,

Peeling away surface after surface,

Russian dolls, longing to arrive at the

Truthful nakidity which eludes them,

The amorous grasp which annuls their quest.

Gallic woman, lay your body open to


In this love philosophy I need the

Nudity of Eternity to

Reveal your Muse.

I will have thee forever

Beyond Death.

Your face, your voice, O ye gods,

Alone will be enough!

You assaiult the

Senses and enrapt the expectant Mind.

Like all stars, your Black Hole is the Quint-

-Essence of your breath - Frankish wench, you're

The most beautiful woman the World has ever seen.

I cannot be blamed for this torch which thou

Hast lit, unbeknownst to you. And for my

Esteem - forgive me - I cannot give a sh-t.

Woman I will not pardon you, nor will

I crawl - for fate alone will punish us



I have braved the fiercest lashings of your harlot tongue.

Been dragged kicking and screaming through the hoops

And fences erected by you and your cronies.

Kicked when I was down and at the mercy of phonies.

But my bruised and wounded pride is nothing

Compared to my disappointment in you.

Is that all you got, prude?

Honesty is king in my world,

Not the superficial and duplicitous feud

That you call life.

The Anti-Seducer

She played twixt the interstices of voyeuristic vision,

And the levin glance of seductional sedition.

The seducer assimilates herself to the right victim, mirroring him; as she does so she insinuates implicit criticism.

Plays on his insecurities, probing into the void that lies at his very heart.

Her unspoken message?

: She alone can fill that void.

And she is everything that the owner of this void has longed for:

She is beautiful, exotic, wicked, perverse, intelligent, desirable and ... unattainable.

He can do nothing but fall in love as love is this very lack.

She encourages him for a while, then suddenly turns cold; then just as unexpectedly turns warm again. ad infinitum.

Despite the obviousness of this ploy the victim can now do nothing - he is hopelessly caught in the web. Longing for the next time she will be nice to him, he eats his own heart out in the meantime.

But will she get him to be her slave [the goal of every seduction]?

No - this victim will resist this final step - she will become frustrated and scream: "it's all about you!"

He thinks - and your point is?

He has been hurt by this more than he has by anything before in his life, but he cannot be a slave - he is "stubborn" as she complains.

He will always love her, but ultimately he is saved by his own self-love - a pyrrhic victory, nonetheless.

He masochistically relishes the memories he has of the glimpses he had of her indefinable beauty; the facial expressions - so practised -, the cat-like teeth bared, the puckered lip, the frowning eyes, the melodious voice, the delicious tittle-tattle of inappropriate secrets...

He walks away [if it were only so easy] from this wreackage a scarred survivor.

Alas, all other women will pall in comparison to her.

This poison was most welcome as I wanted nothing else: I obviously welcomed my own death at the hands of pleasure.

The true anti-seducer is also immune to seduction.

Few of us are that.

Seducers even seduce each other.

Tough as a cowboy, as cowed as a toughguy, he was oblivious to the black feminine arts of seduction.

Signs of the Great Seducer

Having few friends and fewer enemies - for enemies are the result of failed seductions.

She boasted that she couldn't be tamed: now she yearns for the quiet life.

Her enemies double as her sycophants.

All her friends secretly despise her.

She flits from clique to clique like a bee from flower to flower, but never stays too long.

She never admits to being wrong, only to being wronged.

The worse she feels the more beautiful she looks.

She finds betrayal delicious.

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