82 lines
5.0 KiB
Plaintext
82 lines
5.0 KiB
Plaintext
___ ___ ___
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/\ \ /\ \ /\__\ the glorious hogs of entropy
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\:\ \ /::\ \ /:/ _/_ present unto you
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\:\ \ /:/\:\ \ /:/ /\__\ issue #175
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___ /::\ \ /:/ \:\ \ /:/ /:/ _/_
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/\ /:/\:\__\ /:/__/ \:\__\ /:/_/:/ /\__\ >> "A Horrible Imitation of
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\:\/:/ \/__/ \:\ \ /:/ / \:\/:/ /:/ / Henry Miller" <<
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\::/__/ \:\ /:/ / \::/_/:/ / n
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\:\ \ o \:\/:/ / \:\/:/ / t by -> Skinhorse
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\:\__\ g \::/ / f \::/ / r
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\/__/ s \/__/ \/__/ o p y oink you, foo'.
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I get all tangled up in her twat. Its lips throb harder, turning all
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gradients of warm infrared and purple as I stare into it with all the
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impulse of will I have learned since I was in the 1st grade. We have a
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reciprocal relationship. We get wrapped up in each other, and blood flows to
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us as we sit here, in a mutual trance, not really doing anything. At least
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I'm not conscious of moving. I could be jacking off, for all I know, but I
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don't feel that much right now so I couldn't say for a fact that I am. I do
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know for a fact that she is simultaneously gushing and not moving.
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The stasis, the standoff, the state of mind that comes from my
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completely reverse-engineered idea of sexual arousal. Just like Xerox to
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MacOS to Microsoft, the people who use my brand of sex are only vaguely
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aware that it has been stolen outright with a few slight and probably
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misconceived modifications. They don't care. It's what they use, if only by
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convenience; it does them well.
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Sexual trance is a beautiful thing, it's present in everyone to some
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degree. When you move into the mental state of erotic excitement, you are
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in a trance. Your workaday interests don't matter much at that point.
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People with creative powers lesser than me refer to it as "primal instinct;"
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people with real creativity wouldn't refer to it at all and would let the
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situation speak for itself in the mind of the reader. It's not something
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that we all have in common, but it's something that a lot of people can
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grasp and hold onto, and it's totally obvious to the point where I shouldn't
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even be devoting a single word to it. Our world is fragmented. Sex and
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sports are the only things that you can consistently talk about with another
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human being in the Western world. I don't know a fucking thing about sports.
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When I put a woman into a trance, it's simultaneously more and less
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subtle than the standard techniques of removing the responsibility to one's
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implanted moral code. We lie together on the bed. She listens, I croon, and
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soon she's relaxed, and she thinks that I have some degree of control over
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her, which she finds arousing. The thing is, I don't have a bit of control.
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If she didn't want to be fucking me, she wouldn't be lying on my bed
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allowing herself to be put into this position in the first place.
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Nonetheless, she has allowed herself to be hypnotized. She has
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hypnotized herself through me; she lets herself think that this is me
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talking and not her own body and mind. She thinks I can do things to her
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that no man has ever done, and I do. I turn her into a virgin, I make her
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a six-year-old girl with a 30-year-old libido. I wave the magic wand and
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turn her into nothing but a clitoris with limbs. I flick her earlobe gently
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with my index finger; she comes. And she comes again and again, as she lets
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herself be taken deeper in. A mere brush against her nipples turns her cunt
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into a trash compactor. I place my tongue on her, and the contractions cut
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up my bottom lip. She has set herself free. She thinks that I've done the
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job for her. All I really have done is planted a suggestion, a seed that
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will make her come back for more. She probably would have anyhow, because
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she's under the false impression that I have a secret known to no other
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readily available man.
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And she wakes up, groggily and unwillingly, and we have nothing in
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common again, but people don't really need to have anything in common on a
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conscious level to fuck. As educated as we consider ourselves these days,
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this is a fact that we completely overlook. This is how shit always used to
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get done. If you have a connection on another level, it's completely and
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immediately obvious. Whole relationships, whether brutally volatile or
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mind-numbingly conventional ending-in-marriage-happily-ever-after fare, have
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been forged time and time again around nothing but the fact that two
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people's genitals fit really well around each other, right to the level of
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penetrating the psyche and fertilizing senseless love out of nowhere.
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Everything else, really, is meaningless bullshit.
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Friendship is BASIC, fucking is assembler.
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* (c) HoE publications. HoE #175 -- written by Skinhorse -- 12/30/97 *
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