The Isolated Blurt Thread IV: A New Hope

[Sinny]

The panty sniffer seller thread, or something else?

 

[Fata Morgana]

And flying buttresses!

I can't imagine that mine are nicer than yours, though. I envision your renal vein studded with pearls and diamonds.

You fucking minx. I've had to put my biscuits down, I'm a little overcome now. I envision if I pushed all the air out of your lungs the room would be filled with the scent of lily of the valley, plucked at dusk from the mountainside.

 

[MNGuy]

The panty sniffer seller thread, or something else?

I have no idea, I clicked it, went to another window, came back and hit General board, and it was gone. There was a link to an image, but I don't click links from newbies.

 

[tactful]

My work is done here, thank goodness,

 

[Byron In Exile]

So, Phelia, we've been managing this thing for how long, now?

We're running out of fuel, running out of food... this cannot go on.

So here is my proposal: we strike at Putin and his formidable penis which he waves over Ukraine like some sort of warlord. We become victorious, then all is right, yes?

But then, even if we die, hymns will be written in our memory.

So it will work out.

 

[Byron In Exile]

nice butt
resses

Chartres.

Holy fuck from hell, right?

 

[Phelia]

Avatar change.

Thank you, co-captain.

That view is Escher-esque, to me. I want my feet to follow the curve while my hair dangles towards the pavement. I love it.

You fucking minx. I've had to put my biscuits down, I'm a little overcome now. I envision if I pushed all the air out of your lungs the room would be filled with the scent of lily of the valley, plucked at dusk from the mountainside.

I was shovelling ankle-deep snow (grumblegrumblefuckingrumble) and when I thought of your innards I noticed melt-puddles forming around my feet as the atoms in my body began to hum. I see the glorious face of the La Virgen de Guadalupe hidden deep within your liver; I can feel the sins wash out of me as new ones rise to replace them.

So, Phelia, we've been managing this thing for how long, now?

We're running out of fuel, running out of food... this cannot go on.

So here is my proposal: we strike at Putin and his formidable penis which he waves over Ukraine like some sort of warlord. We become victorious, then all is right, yes?

But then, even if we die, hymns will be written in our memory.

So it will work out.

Okay, you're right. That's why I picked you, you know. Because you always tell me the truth, even when it's lumpy and unpleasant.

We strike. At dawn, which is whenever we damn well feel like it because dawn doesn't exist at these depths and IT'S RIGHT NOW.

I am scared. Not of Putin - not even of his penis. I don't think I remember how to live on the surface. I don't think I ever really knew.

 

[Brollyanna]

Put it in a jar or bag of rice, it will dry faster.

Or kitty litter. That shit is super absorbent.

 

[trysail]

Here we go (again).


http://graphical.weather.gov/images/conus/SnowAmt5_conus.png



​

 

[girlsmiley]

That is just...I dunno, chick.

Seems a bit fucking mental.

Lurking for months and months and talking about people here with other posters who don't even post here anymore?

*shrug*

LOL

 

[IrezumiKiss]

That is just...I dunno, chick.

Seems a bit fucking mental.

Lurking for months and months and talking about people here with other posters who don't even post here anymore?

*shrug*

LOL

I appreciated you speaking truth to that one mental, though. You know what I mean, chili bean.

Much obliged!

http://25.media.tumblr.com/849ca0864579cb11ad90e9a62b5a6361/tumblr_mhs4x3FKaV1s30osgo1_500.gif

 

[Fuckette]

That is just...I dunno, chick.

Seems a bit fucking mental.

Lurking for months and months and talking about people here with other posters who don't even post here anymore?

*shrug*

LOL

the telephone calls.

 

[Fata Morgana]

I wanted to write a simple poem
about the wetness between a woman’s legs

and what kind of holy moment it is
when the man’s hand quietly moves south

over the smooth curve of the belly
into the shade of that other hemisphere

and his fingertips find hidden in dark fur
the seam already expectant in its moistness.

I wanted to write about that moment
as if it was full of incense,

and monks holding up their Latin like a torch
deep inside a cavern of Gregorian chant,

but if I write that, someone will inevitably say What
has that romantic foofaw got to do

with the beleaguered realities of love?
or with the biological exigencies of lubrication?

or with the vast, retarded hierarchies
of human suffering? …

But to the man, the wetness is a blessing,
for which there is no history;

a coin than cannot be counterfeit.

And when the man’s fingers reach it
the wetness ripples upward like a volt,

a cool wind, an annunciation;

and he tastes it,
as if his hand was a tongue
he had sent ahead of him.

I wanted to write a poem about the wetness
between a woman’s legs

but it got complicated in language—

It is a wetness a man would make for himself
if he could,

if he could only reach
that dry part of him,

or if he could show
just part of the relief he feels
when he finds out

he is not a thousand miles from home.
That he will not have to go
into the country of desire alone.

Tony Hoagland

 

[butters]

beautiful. again. ty

 

[Fata Morgana]

beautiful. again. ty

Just stumbled on this, love it.

If I could, I would take your grief, dig it up
out of the horseradish field and grate it into something red and hot
to sauce the shellfish. I would take the lock of hair you put in the locket
and carry it in my hand, I would make the light strike everything
the way it hit the Bay Bridge, turning the ironwork at sunset into waffles.

Barbara Ras

 

[girlsmiley]

I appreciated you speaking truth to that one mental, though. You know what I mean, chili bean.

Much obliged!

http://25.media.tumblr.com/849ca0864579cb11ad90e9a62b5a6361/tumblr_mhs4x3FKaV1s30osgo1_500.gif

You're welcome, Zumi.

That gif!

I saw The Wolf of Wall Street last night. It was hilarious. Not what I was expecting at all.

One word. Quaaludes.

http://i934.photobucket.com/albums/ad189/grls2014/45077229-d75e-4098-9db0-8724a6826401_zpsb397e06a.jpg~original

 

[girlsmiley]

the telephone calls.

Have they stopped?

 

[JohnnySavage]

Up to 12" of snow tomorrow, with an ice kicker. If the power goes out, my beef jerky making day may be ruined.

 

[girlsmiley]

If my chiro is out there lurking, I'm doing my cat camels.

I swear, I'm doing them right now!

 

[cleaver]

it was always the wrong place
you know...
as most of what's lodged on the shores
is washed and lost in foam...

perhaps the right place then.

for it is nothing and...
we?

 

[JohnnySavage]

How 'bout those CAPS?!

 

[neci]

So, Phelia, we've been managing this thing for how long, now?

We're running out of fuel, running out of food... this cannot go on.

So here is my proposal: we strike at Putin and his formidable penis which he waves over Ukraine like some sort of warlord. We become victorious, then all is right, yes?

But then, even if we die, hymns will be written in our memory.

So it will work out.

aim for the five.

 

[Fata Morgana]

Up to 12" of snow tomorrow, with an ice kicker. If the power goes out, my beef jerky making day may be ruined.

I'm sooooo jealous.

 

[JohnnySavage]

I'm sooooo jealous.

of the snow, the ice, the power or my meat?

 

[Fata Morgana]

of the snow, the ice, the power or my meat?

The snow, the ice and the power of your meat.