Sunday, 13 February 2011
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.
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.
Like overgrown children
They evoke the jungle,
Their wild hair, their
Lithe legs, their
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.
As the mind-forged-manacles are lifted,
Sheer air affects our sense
A cacophany of the everyday erupts
The ordinary - extraordinary.
Everything is emprisoned in my eye prism.
A woman's rump and thigh,
Her tattered fringe, and ravaged
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
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
Blacker than Black
Inside the Laby-rinth ...
None so black as her.
None so silent either.
More feline than
Astride lubricated web,
She awaits her prey.
He makes his first
She toys with this
Venom seeping from
That is no smile,
It is the baring of
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
His mind makes
Forms like a
She shatters the
She is true to
Nothing but her own
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
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
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
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.
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.