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offline Tony Danza from Morlocktopia on 2018-08-21 16:30 [#02559022]
Points: 874 Status: Regular



The Captive

In Junin or Tapalquén, they tell the story. A young boy
disappeared in an Indian raid; people said the Indians had
kidnapped him. His parents searched for him without success.
Many years went by, and a soldier coming into town from the
interior told them about an Indian with sky blue eyes who
might well be their son. They finally managed to find this
Indian (the story has lost many of its details, and I don't
want to invent what I don't know) and thought they
recognized him. Shaped by the wilderness and his barbaric
life, the man could no longer understand the words of his
mother tongue, but he allowed himself to be
led—indifferently, docilely—back to the house. There, he
stopped (perhaps because the others stopped). He looked at
the door, almost uncomprehendingly. Then suddenly he bowed
his head, gave an odd cry, rushed down the entryway and
through the two long patios, and ran into the kitchen. He
thrust his arm unhesitatingly up into the blackened chimney
of the stove and took out the little horn-handled knife he
had hidden there when he was a boy. His eyes gleamed with
happiness and his parents wept, because they had found their
son.

That memory may have been followed by others, but the Indian
could not live a life that was hemmed about by walls, and
one day he went off in search of his wilderness. I would
like to know what he felt in that moment of vertigo when
past and present intermingled; I would like to know whether
the lost son was reborn and died in that ecstatic moment,
and whether he ever managed to recognize, even as little as
a baby or a dog might, his parents and the house.

Jorge Luis Borges, Collected Fictions.


 

offline mohamed on 2018-08-21 18:17 [#02559026]
Points: 26717 Status: Addict | Show recordbag



nice story


 

offline mohamed on 2018-08-21 18:22 [#02559028]
Points: 26717 Status: Addict | Show recordbag



i would like to know if that could happen the other way, a
man grown between four walls becomes captive for a while and
lives ecstatic moments, but returns to a dignified comfort
despite the terrible path that waits for him. i guess the
indian arrived to a point where he had no other choice, you
can tell mr. borges.


 

offline mohamed on 2018-08-21 18:30 [#02559029]
Points: 26717 Status: Addict | Show recordbag



captive

wild


 

offline Hyperflake from Wirral (United Kingdom) on 2018-08-21 18:32 [#02559030]
Points: 21596 Status: Regular



Brilliant,


 

offline wavephace from Aspiring Moderator on 2018-08-22 00:32 [#02559121]
Points: 2616 Status: Lurker | Followup to Tony Danza: #02559022



i just found labyrinths in a thirft store havent got 2 it
yet tho. ive only read 7 nights (essays) and the gold of the
tigers (poetry) this prose poem from the gold of the tigers
is 1 of my favs

The Palace

The Palace is not infinite.

The walls, the ramparts, the gardens, the labyrinths, the
staircases, the terraces, the parapets, the doors, the
galleries, the circular or rectangular patios, the
cloisters, the intersections, the cisterns, the anterooms,
the chambers, the alcoves, the libraries, the attics, the
dungeons, the sealed cells and the vaults, are not less in
quantity than the grains of sand in the Ganges, but their
number has a limit. From the roofs, toward sunset, many
people can make out the forges, the workshops, the stables,
the boatyards and the huts of the slaves.

It is granted to no one to traverse more than an
infinitesimal part of the place. Some now only the cellars.
We can take in some faces, some voices, some words, but what
we perceive is of the feeblest. Feeble and precious at the
same time. The date which the chisel engraves in the tablet,
and which is recorded in the parochial registers, is later
than our own death; we are already dead when nothing touches
us, neither a word nor a yearning for a memory. I know that
I am not dead.


 

offline Tony Danza from Morlocktopia on 2018-09-25 14:49 [#02561975]
Points: 874 Status: Regular



While replacing carpet, Howard finds a trap door. Carved
into it are the words, “DO NOT OPEN.” So he doesn’t.
The new carpet is great, but he knows the door is there. He
can't stop thinking about it. He moves; that makes it worse.
Now the door is inside him. It’ll never be shut.

(source)


 

offline SignedUpToLOL from Zuckuss fanfiction (United Kingdom) on 2018-09-25 15:12 [#02561976]
Points: 2853 Status: Regular



The scene was like something from a Cecil B. DeMille film
produced by Roger Corman. Hundreds of men were gathered. Men
with big beards and wearing robes that may have been
designed millennia ago, or equally could have come from
space in the 1970s. These impassioned, zealous men (for it
was men, as women were entirely absent) milled around,
raising their hands toward the air and heatedly arguing over
theological issues. There was pushing, shoving, shouting and
grabbing. And much cursing. Curses that, in the main,
followed a bestial theme.

Malnourished, stricken animals limped and shat amongst the
throng. Black mud, rubbish and effluent ebbed and swelled
between the bare and sandaled feet. The air was damp and
chilly, rain began to fall, the evening sky quickly
darkening.

But these weren't biblical times. This was 2016, and if
anything, it was Koranic.

Koranical times.

Away from this gathering of hotheads a small group of
younger men were hunched down, sat around a tiny, pitiful
fire, beneath a mired plastic sheet.

"In The Jungle camp", Takir gurgled excitedly to the
assembled youths, "there's more bush than meat!" And with
that he reeled away, almost immediately disappearing in the
dusk amongst the tents and tarpaulin. Fleetingly one could
see that his filthy jeans, generally worn slung far too low,
were now round his ankles.

As the others carried on talking, Ali thought he'd try his
luck. He looked around. There were three tents within a
Turk's cock's reach - would one hold a prize, peeled open
like a pearl in a kumquat? Maybe all of them would?

Settling upon a small, green umbrella tent, he approached
stealthily and put his ear to the nylon. Not a sound. No
light shone inside. He crept to the front of the tent and
saw that the entrance wasn't secured. The zip rose quietly
and easily. Peering inside he saw a young woman, her eyes
wide with fear, clasping to her bosom what could have been a
blanket or a swaddled infant. Not a sound. She didn't
breathe.


 

offline SignedUpToLOL from Zuckuss fanfiction (United Kingdom) on 2018-09-25 15:13 [#02561977]
Points: 2853 Status: Regular



Ali's own breath was arrested in his chest, his temples
throbbed, his vision lost focus and became tinged with red.


"What are you doing out on your own, sister?" Ali asked, his
voice thick with loathing, lust and idiocy, the words
dropping like the sloppy stools he suffered, when he was
younger, after one of the routine bummings by his "uncles".


"Out!" the woman managed to gasp, terrified and
incredulous.

"You left your flaps unlocked, you're practically inviting
men in" accused Ali. "And now I... accept your invitation."

"Out!" demanded the woman, anger getting the better part of
her fear.

"Out? Is that all you can say? Well here's something that's
coming out!" hissed Ali, as he fished inside his black
tracksuit bottoms and withdrew his semi-erect, Ottoman knob.


The woman shrieked, and as she did so, reached behind her
and grabbed the pepper spray she'd been given by one of the
camp's volunteers. Ali, in the gloom, couldn't make out what
it was that she had in her hand.

"Fuck.... Out!" she cried, and gave Ali a liberal spray in
the face and balls. One of Ali's hands shot to his scalded
eyes, the other to his blisteringly hot bell-end. The woman
kicked savagely, sending him out of the tent and sprawling
into the muck and mud outside, howling about his balls. At
that point the woman's husband returned from the food tent.
Instinctively assessing the situation, he powerfully kicked
Ali up the arse, and sent him on his way.

Ali blindly floundered in the mire, stuffing his penis, now
the size of a small portion of humus but the colour of a
scotch bonnet, back into his torn pants. Painfully he
managed to get himself to his feet, and through streaming,
red-raw eyes he discerned a dim light. The roar he heard,
which he'd previously attributed to his mind in turmoil, now
appeared to be from an external source. A tumult was
approaching him, but his agonised eyes, ears, arse and balls
were disorientating him, as he lurched this way and that
without getting anywhere.



 

offline SignedUpToLOL from Zuckuss fanfiction (United Kingdom) on 2018-09-25 15:15 [#02561978]
Points: 2853 Status: Regular



Suddenly the sounds were all around him; voices, shouts,
yells and growls. Bodies rushed passed him, pushing and
pulling him. He groaned deeply as he recognised what this
was; a religiously agitated stampede.

Caught up now in the flow of bodies, Ali felt his fear rise,
after he'd thought it'd already gone as far as it could into
the red. Yet he also felt excited. Men pressed against him;
the smell, the beards. But so did women; the smell, the
breasts. Men were grunting. Women were groaning, moaning and
making "uh" noises. Other people's sweat mixed with his own.
His eyes, though still on fire, had eased up just enough so
he could make out a mosaic of clothing, hair and flesh. The
men's robes were torn and bloody. Women's hijibs were coming
apart, being pulled off, and their skimpy black negligee,
which all of them wore, without fail, was revealed. Ali saw
a nipple, housed in a lacy bra, inches from his face.
Pressed by those around him he was unable to move or raise
his hands to touch, as instinct told him to do. So he pushed
his tongue out as far as he could, until his jaw felt like
it was going to snap, and managed to lick the lady's boob on
the side.

*Stampede party gets broken up by police. Beatings
ensue*

Much later, Ali has decided to try another tent, and has
found another woman.

Fully expecting to receive a curse spat out in Arabic, Ali
prepared for another pepper spray attack or worse. Instead
he heard a contented mewing emanating from the woman as she
got up on on all fours, shuffled round to face away from
him, then pulled at her hijib to reveal her exposed hind
parts. As she wriggled backwards toward him, Ali parted her
cheeks and contemplated the black rose that eyed him
inscrutably, making him think of an eclipse bathing the
desert.


 

offline SignedUpToLOL from Zuckuss fanfiction (United Kingdom) on 2018-09-25 15:16 [#02561979]
Points: 2853 Status: Regular



He was now rigid as a souvenir-sized obelisk, ready to do
the deed; to poison the well, to feed the goat, to issue his
fatwa. As he began to position himself he detected movement
from further back in the tent. He marvelled as, either side
of the kneeling woman, shuffled two more similar visions;
one arse darker and a bit bigger, the other lighter and
slightly narrower. Ali near swooned as they grouped together
and, as one, spread their buttocks. 3 pitiless eyes now
stared at him. And as one slowly winked, Ali felt his balls
contract and hot fluid jolted out of his penis.


 

offline Tony Danza from Morlocktopia on 2018-09-25 15:46 [#02561981]
Points: 874 Status: Regular



imagine being this happy


 

offline Indeksical from Phobiazero Damage Control (United Kingdom) on 2018-09-25 17:45 [#02561983]
Points: 9492 Status: Addict | Followup to SignedUpToLOL: #02561979 | Show recordbag



You can't stop there! I want to read about the clean up.


 

online belb from mmmmmmhhhhzzzz!!! on 2018-09-25 18:27 [#02561984]
Points: 3398 Status: Regular



reads a bit like garth marenghi


 

offline mohamed on 2018-09-25 20:41 [#02561989]
Points: 26717 Status: Addict | Show recordbag



K2 of text


 

offline mermaidman from the indian ocean on 2018-09-26 16:05 [#02562025]
Points: 4257 Status: Addict



u know when george michael sings the lyrics are as if he’s
singing about his lust for a woman? this is what it’s like
except hateful and against will


 

offline mermaidman from the indian ocean on 2018-09-26 16:07 [#02562027]
Points: 4257 Status: Addict



sorry i didn’t read it though just skimmed maybe i’m
wrong


 

offline mohamed on 2018-09-26 20:14 [#02562047]
Points: 26717 Status: Addict | Show recordbag



ill get back to you this weekend Dan


 

offline RussellDust on 2018-09-26 20:30 [#02562052]
Points: 12881 Status: Addict



Very nice, my troglodyte friends!


 

offline RussellDust on 2018-09-26 22:30 [#02562070]
Points: 12881 Status: Addict | Followup to RussellDust: #02562052



I didn’t mean Troglodytes in today’s sense, and more in
the brilliant way Montesquieu spoke of them.


 

offline mohamed on 2018-09-28 19:54 [#02562199]
Points: 26717 Status: Addict | Show recordbag



my mum used to call me and my sister troglodytes


 

offline RussellDust on 2018-09-28 20:23 [#02562203]
Points: 12881 Status: Addict



He he!


 

offline DADONCK from here on 2018-09-29 00:53 [#02562211]
Points: 1496 Status: Lurker



gus


 

offline Tony Danza from Morlocktopia on 2018-10-26 12:37 [#02563577]
Points: 874 Status: Regular



There is no longer a God even for drunkards. Kersilie, of
Saint-Germain, who had mistaken the window for the door, is
dead.


 

offline mohamed on 2018-10-26 16:39 [#02563585]
Points: 26717 Status: Addict | Show recordbag



rip


 


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