persona non grata

You know those assholes you deal with day to day who want to coach you on subjects you may be going through, or are not looking forward to? You know the assholes who tell you that you’ll find the right one someday, or that you’ll understand when she/he comes about. That’s when you’re certain. That’s when you feel it’s ‘right’.

They are wrong.

These are the same assholes that roam around lonely, in need of a cunt, or a cock. A warm body in their bed, comfort in knowing that there is something to get their dicks wet with, and for the cunts, a nice shaft to clog up the gaping wound that they were cursed with. Romance and love: A topic as topical as shit crusted in between toes.

As the years go by in my life, the subject is filled with ambiguity, opinions from people who couldn’t make their own paths; instead, it’s as if they deaf are leading the blind. This is truly a fool’s gambit. Dedicated solely for those who are controlled by organization and lies; a true power-role for most and for others, a submissive role. When it comes down to it, one has control of the other at some point, whether it is how they fuck, or what they will eat, till the bitter end the job is back and forth. The perks can be summed up in a short summary, but those change quickly when the wolf slips out of the sheep costume.

The youth is brought up with pipe-dreams that disgust even the toughest of humans, fixed on popular cultures idea of romance: Love is a movie, romance is that steamy fuck scene, or that romantic kiss in front of some bullshit backdrop; and it’s when the man is prince charming, etcetera, and etcetera. I will save us all the wretchedness that these youth’s naïve minds soak up in day to day angst, sadness will creep in when they realize the one’s that they fuck, are the one’s that will leave them, faster than that of the time and effort it took to capture them, soon gone in a blink of an eye. Youth is a great model for romance coinciding with stupidity, and truly, it is the area we should get into, a valid category to moot over.

As memory serves us all right, I want you, the reader to give yourself a moment to drop back into past memory, your first actual lay. Whether it had been a relationship, or a fuck, try to recall the feeling you had. That pit feeling in your stomach, the nervousness you had when you first spread her legs, or for the females; buttered up before spreading those glorious meat-coats of yours, do you recall the anxiety, the buildup, and the sanctity and pressure you felt from the moment before to the moment of insertion?
Suddenly there is a lull that emanates from your core, you’re doing what nature intended, but you’re now confused as to why, you’re probably not thinking about this part, since you’re huffing and puffing away in pure awkwardness and inexperience, but then when you feel it come on, you’re about to explode all of your juices, that is when that lower gut feeling starts to warm, your body convulses, and you realize that you’re completing your task.

To most youth, this probably lasted a good two to three minutes maximum, soon after a shroud of guilt probably filled your conscious, and he or she probably curled up into a ball and realized it wasn’t as romantic as it was in those shitty ass movies they watch. Sadly, most kids didn’t watch enough porn before fucking, therefore ruining the whole moment for the rest of their lives; instead of porn, they watched some shit film involving two innocent bystanders caught in some dramatic love triangle. Thank you Hollywood for ruining the realities of relationship, with porn they could have at least studied up on techniques that could have easily been emulated.

Love and Suicide: Its basically the same thing when you come to think about it, it’s a selfish act, fixed on suppression of a free man, or woman, it’s something that most people never take into consideration as a task, but more of a “Social norm,” that most males and females strive to participate in for piece of mind, some sort of control, and please, cut the bullshit! We all know deep inside these very same assholes are complete control freaks, and by that, submission of the opposite or same sexes creates somewhat of a meglo-orgasm which puts them on the top of a mountain built up internally for the sake of self-preservation in regard to overpowering the one who you’re fucking. It all comes down to this idea: The one you fuck is the one you’re fixed on; the one you love is the one you’re obsessed with. In lieu of love, there is the other instance suicide; you may have asked yourself how they correlate with one another, and by rights, it doesn’t exactly correlate in pure definition; philosophically speaking on term of both love and suicide, one may find themselves hand in hand with the idea, completely stuck in some sort of conundrum that they have brought on to themselves; pity is wanted, non shall be given to this sorry sod who wallows in his or her pain.

A fuck gone wrong:

Waking up this morning was supposed to be painless; instead it turned into one of the must painful awakenings I have ever experienced in my short existence, I had a picture of myself fall directly onto the bridge of my nose at around 5 a.m. Due to this, I shot out of bed cursing and gnawing at the air, no one to hit, and not a soul to blame. I am in my 10′x10′ bedroom that could pass as a federal penitentiary cell; the water damage along the ceiling is unbearable and I found that the smell of cunt from hours before lingers on the sheets, in the air, and on my upper lip.
Used condoms are sprawled onto the floor, filled with my semen, and stretch elongated next to torn magnum boxes; as I stumbled to my feet with blood dripping across my nose I realized that I just popped and spread cum across the soles of my feet, now being smudged across the solid concrete floor and rug.
Composure is not gained and I feel the blood stiffening my dick; how this is still hard, I do not know. Last night must have been a marathon for her; as for myself, I am numb to extensive hours of pumping and thrusting away at a piece of cunt, I workout harder on my own time so that fucking becomes pure satisfaction and swapping of fluid, nothing more, and nothing less. I am the fucking machine every woman would want for a quick lay; I am alone here and my dick has blood pulsating through it.
It is cold in the room, and my feet are sticky, the blood smeared across the bridge of my nose is dried, and I am now heading toward the toilet; I am reminiscing about how hard I fucked her from behind, her tail bone driving into my pelvis, created bruising but it was pure pleasure.
This is insanity, I want her again, and I need warmth.

“We’re doing this because we need a quick fix.” As I lay on top of her, slipping my dick in; inch by inch. As if my phallus is a tool for fishing dirt out of a pipe.
“You’re right, and that is why I picked you.” She lunges to shove her tongue down my throat.

We both know why we’re doing this, at the same time, we both want what insane people need, an attachment. This is pure disassociation as I begin to smooth out creases she never knew she had. “You’re hurting me, and I like it.” She mutters in between moans.

As this is the tenth round in a twelve round fight for release, I realize two things that I never have realized before:

1. I jerk off better than she fucks.
2. My dick is not apart of me; it is some sort of appendage that was grown onto me, begging for flesh; my mind is gone, it’s the cock that needs it.

It is three o’ clock in the morning, my dick is a raw red and I cannot focus much longer; this is not me, this is purely animal, primordial, and instinctive. To live and fuck is to drink and excrete. As I pull out I tear the soggy condom off, what little semen is left is mingling with the others at the tip, throwing it to the ground, I ask her to leave; that I have work in the morning, and I need my sleep.
She is beside herself, as if her soul is hovering over and playing a harp to the sound of my words. This is magic to her; she adores the treatment and begs me to stay, I tell her she must depart as soon as possible, as I repeat myself earnestly with trepidation in my voice, as if she has frightened my slumber and my orbit. She accepts this and begins to clothe herself. I am naked and jerking the shit off of my slimy dick.

“You know I do not love you, nor do I want a relationship.” I stare with dick in hand.
“I feel the same way…You don’t have to repeat it all the time.” She says in a patronizing tone.
“I just wanted to remind you, just for memory sake.”

As she leaves me I feel a tremendous weight lift off my shoulders, this is not a façade, nor a relationship. This is my personal fuck, my slave, my doll, everything. Taking the sheets down, I go over and grab a bottle of J&B, taking a swig of it, I begin to feel loneliness creep in, my cock is soft, and I have my thoughts.

“This is what I am, this is what I want. I have total control; nothing more, nothing less, I am a free man in this world, and the rest of you idealists can fuck off and die.” Aloud as the world slumbers, I hear her car driving away, and I can smell the warm cunt between the sheets.
Now I am awake again, staring at the mirror in front of the toilet, it is 5a.m. and I have my dick hard. “This is what I am, this is what I do, and this is why I breathe…” As I mumble to myself in a dim haze of light from the single 40watt light-bulb hanging above my head.

As I hear the semi-trucks carrying the next load of cargo to the warehouses surrounding me, I know this is just another day in the life of a dog.

Persona Non Grata #74 ROMANTICISM still hot on 140pages and with exclusive Sinnbus CD-Compilation … available directly from here (and you will enjoy it much better if you understand some German).