misstree energy_vampire, delights in the color of spilled blood, easy prey leaves them hungry but real rending is their feast. roars and grins, rattles cages to arouse the beasts. fangs and claws are favored toys. the primal is their playground. beware if you are not indifferent, strike back if your passion runs red, brutality brings them to sated fruition. 031115
Death of a Rose ah...but have you not tasted my blade?

and been beckoned upon impalement,
to strike and moan,
to sift and groan,
to beckon upon comtainment.

misstree indeed. the feast is not entirely external, it is challenge met, it is answering scarlet spurts. all becomes lush, vital, tinted and tainted. predator is grinning prey even as claws flash. 031115
Death of a Rose as you slash,
i will pass the lime,
dig you deeply,
fathoms i careen,
flicking here,
casual despair,
love my hate,
in you i create,
trembling with want,
my sins exposed,
illicit mind of sobriety and tanks,
you bring my grin.
mRe such supple wine i draw
from such lascivious hate,
each shared grin
so selfish.
if you were not
and if i were not,
it would be cruelty,
but worship shines
in pain-narrowed eyes,
and each wound is a gift
to a tribleing,
bloody blooms to the
soul that can see them.
Doar you toss me feasts of flesh and viciousness, slighted tainted and definable to my palate.

shall i paint you across my rooms?
rest in you, read in you, play in you, live in you?

nurture you of no limits, expanses condensed into this pirouette of grace and blades.

lock your orbs upon mine and forget all else even exists.

gun smoke sweet and cordite tongue,
hounds let loose among the demonstrators,
twelve virgins sacrificed on your cliffs,
black candle light is this path.
dryad or satyr? you almost forget in your gory garden
that i am both predator and pixie,
that i laugh as i play the meatgames
that normally denote such grave vitality.
though you may use me to illuminate in swaths,
before moment's toll fades from the air i am
gone, sweeping into the next movement in
dangerous dance... though i may be drawn so close
and so still for endless moments, though i may
reverently kneel to sip from your stream
in notsogentle gulps, greedy,
the next moment of startle or temptation
will find me flying as the wind whispers.
oldephebe sits down at the banquet table boy you guys have got some real talent..I'm really enjoying this blathe
please post some more..all of you..sometimes when i read some of the gorgeous lines written here and on other pages..(i'm not giving names 'cause the list woud be to long..and those excluded may make an erroneous conclusion that i do not greedily devour their words or that but by subtle implication it's not as good..i say what the blibber do i know? i just know what i like..and that is every thing i've read on this page..very very impressive..i aspire to this kind of immediacy..clarity..one breath and the tale is told..well at least its an oppurtunity for me to learn something..so please blather on..
Death of a Rose then let me blow hot breathes up your skirt, scalding and flowing, melting as it will.

Maelstrom wide it hungers,
rumours aplenty,
divinity shall share with travails boxed.

mental daggers scraped across your flesh,
carving my name upon your brow,
lifted in these decaying teeth,
intended to glow,
sweeping debris from this funeral waltz,
making the battle legendary and forgetful.

ah, my tenderling, feed once more.
Death of a Rose little grave dancer, flowers wilted and dying,

crimson crypts, shorn of deceit, stark in belief, roaring into the night.

placid and meek we are not,
steel rammed deep into your maw.

limbic wastrel, classified by hunters of scent
oldephebe let us all feign fealty to our roles..
these projected parts we play..
our hot oven mouths ejaculating these frenzied gyrating verse(s)
charasmatic characters on a crowded stage..our souls in an open legged splay
proud of our pursuit into the hursuit wilderness of epochal promise, each line, each word is but a rehearsel
passion pent up and hoarded, hot for so long and when it finds its voice, that monument of perfect flesh..it's force will scald our throats
striated screams of ecstacy
dopplering down..rise and fall
my god i cannot endure this fall
each lash of her writhing tongue
precise and masterful,
crescendo, decrescendo
equisite torment..
that makes me burn
an oratoriao of orgasms
and reflexive spasms
sweat and sinew and impaled
again and again
wild flash of want
in her eyes, her apptetite
is limitless,
the force of it will finish me
but until that happy end
lying here
verse after verse
we will shape heaven
between us, within us
upon us
Little Lost Riding Hood I know what you mean - I am loving this...beautiful language that makes you gasp and feel...

Dont stop...
oldephebe mtree is inimitable
doar can sting out of the dark from any direction..don't stand too long on the threshing floor
Lost Little Red Riding Hood paints the air with Michaelangelican erotic splendor I feel kind of foolish stumling, fumbling into the unbearable ache of your words...
Death of a Rose created within me, this burnt offering of pleasure soaked in your immediacy.
ubiquitous honour, felt as soft amber,
humbled and daring to endure concious want of scornful need.
torture pleasure, concise and packaged with care,
emotion overcome, conquered on my blade.
misstree where once i roared just to hear the primal note sounded, others have come to my call, add their own voice to the bloody chorus... even the earth shaman of thick and drifting smoke has opened his insides to show glistening viscera...

today finds my voice stolen... allow me a day's rest, my dears, and i will whisper sweet somethings to draw a flush to your face and to clench your fists in casual defiance. i must scout my direction before i leap.
oldephebe one day mtree i will try to transpose your eviscerating verse into pure music
if i am equal to this task..i am sure that it will rival beethovens purple infinities.. (maybe)..this is not a boast but more of a reflection upon you..the transferance of a muse. I will use no words..but every breath will be distilled into what i know will be the heart throttling trellis of the score..

yes i will need to purge myself of the poisons that tether me to this plane..i must meditate..egolessly without effort..to invoke the right state..i am far from there at this juncture..but if i continue to read these verses i will be impelled to the act itself like deathmoths to flickering twilight..like the hand to the hilt..like the lightening out of gods own eyes stabbing into the unscarred ground..this is a surety..
Death of a Rose composer of driftwood, washed recklessly upon the dashing madness of your shores,

transfiguration yearly will i descend,
crafted to juxtapose this vein, bind and blister quick
Death of a Rose court manners, deeply bowing, extend my rapier towards your throat, bleed with me my love and mingle in my chest,
for only those who would sit,
are never closer than this blood trickling from your cuts.

offal stench, i summon thee,
surround those who cannet see.
oldephebe how about "yes i know that i will need to purge myself of the poisons that pin me to this plane.." and cloistered chants behind ancient walls wearing times depredations, cracked and pock market with neglect..rising rising tendrils of spume and chant. I'm talking about music not as performance but as "text". "Here.." I will say before the keys, inert, untouched waiting to become..to take what is in my mind and fill up the staffs with torrential enscriptions. As if Listz, Pagganinni, Bartok, Prokofiev and the Maestro himslef Beethoven had stirred from the dust of thier entombment and colluded to bring me back to life, and this muse of fire scorched a path..to perhaps ressurect what was so regrettably, and painfully relinquished many years ago. What i in a moment of spurned affections abdicated in my abject absolution to Love's indescriminate tyrannies. To stand in the fire lanes and feel as though you are being born and being torn in that eternal instant of inspiration and creation..baton in hand..fingers summoning up the score and summoning something beyond these musicians rigorously acquired technique..to stand in fire lanes and become wed to more than these notes on the page..O! it is a perfect consumation. Corpus collosum play your cards if you've got them. This is what elevated music to that ambrosia ideal. Lines upon the staff and these once inert notations of wave amplitude and oscillation, numeric value become this wanton army that storms the ramparts of my soul and it is a devout consumation Not to be spurned.. It's mark like so many red cinders and orchid ash will live in me again. It will lay upon me and prey upon me and out of those crucibles the tale..this fearsome protean tale will be told. One olympian breath to wreath the world. Intemperant
idol out of my lifes blackest pages will stand like a sodomite and in midnight congugals through hells bleakest corridors, and we wreathed in the wontoness of this, to be birthed, impaled upon the archangels flaming sword..oh holy of holies, I call down HAVOC upon this. No dry didactic digital artifact to be contemplated..to touch these notes you must be torn. This is what i mean to evoke when i speak of ones firequil dipped into that wich is beyond my mouth to speak... it resides just beyond our perceptual ken. It cannot be invoked, entreated by stone and steam and spumes of spleen out of the ( ) he who aspires to that wich he is not endowed enough to know. Oh but the heart tainted and spurned onward by the fever of ego and the daring to concieve of the shapes of the Fates and unseen things! he will recieve the rite of damnation and write out of Its bruising baptisism. Flame scarred, fire born HERE is its imprimature.
Death of a Rose so return to me through hells passages,
shining lustfully in your blackened tongue,
shaman dancing, another saint's day to corral your banquet,
bequest your chalice here in this volcano,
tumescent as wine pressed lips,
furtively beckoning me with curled fingers entwined.
oldephebe "..and the Delphic Oracle swathed in his mantle of steam and polished rock sat paley amidst the din..unable to contain the pandemonium that spewed like arcs of fire belched out and fed by Night, It swelled and fed greedily from the trough and the air was hot with death ..from that Eye into the rock that looked unto the ages that time would bequeath. Hurled out of hell's hot mouth, he lay there..gouging ragged shallow breaths..scarlet with shame.. unequal to the rigors he'd thought hed'd been shaped for. he'd only glimpsed it like Moses trembling as God in His muted Glory passed behind the bush and rock..Muse of Fire and maelstrom ancient fury.. how could he ever hope to hold his shape..his for..his mind amidst all of this.." 031122
oldphebe not sure why i bracketed that last post in quotes.. overly dramatic much?.. i thought it would imbue it with the veneer of realsim? authenticity?..

Someone:Bring us more bombastic

oldephebe:Okay but ah so's long as I don't have to adhere to any so called stringent linguisitic criterion or anything.

Another Person:Bite Me!


Elsa OnesOme:Your words are strange and generally off putting. and I resent being a figurnant in your pointless blather.

oldephebe:Can we agree that each person enters into the fray with his/her own idea of what is acceptable or reasonable? Not everyone sees blather as an oppurtunity for erudite banter, where conversation is a cooperative venture.


Narrator:Right then..

oldephebe:Narrator? Where'd you come from?

Narrator continuing: everyone begins to snore exxageratedly. Like a chorus of chainsaws teeing off, ramping up..rudely stirring the day.


Everyone else:"(...............)"
oE should have said "in an absolute abdication to Loves indescriminate tyrannies.." 031122
Death of a Rose drink deep my love,
answer quickness, urgent need.
salvation in your eyes, sleep upon my grave.

Travel slowly and step cautiously my messiah.

burn eyelids,
names unbirthed.

must i be a paranoid with every step?

curl upon me this sleepless death.

Can i slit your strivent caresses?
a march of sanity,
a joingin of drunken splendour, your name i cry,
so without meaning is my pride.

are you here with me?
silken wet and retina made.
what is this play?
dragging my source.
despondence met,
heart racing upon your ink stained curves

so you would banish me into your small world?
closet me with wealth,
drape it's unholy desire at this moment of regret.

sweetmeat closed,
surrendered upon your need.

can i see your hands?
distribute them with my understanding, and misquotes.
taste your reflexion,
powerless and defied.
you know this itching.
i scartch at it with forgiveness,
i will bring you unwanted roses,
complimenting this stubborn fire,

persuade me, i beg.

let my lips envelope you.
Death of a Rose vows taken of examples reverent,
slash my lips love,
scarlet brightness enfolding

misplaced loyalties given without thought,

quests you have had me slay,
sensations overwhelming in the extreme,

black and bottled for your secret stash.

blind i am when your breasts hover quivering over my tongue,

fulfill my visions of your overt reactions,

justify kisses of brutality,

leave me sated and bled dry.
smurfus rex
Take this, and eat, for it is my body, in the name of the Lord

Take this, and drink, for it is my blood, in the name of the Lord

Take them, and cleanse, for they are infidels, in the name of the Lord

And the fervent among you will be rewarded in Heaven, in the name of the Lord
misstree temptations have brought us to
indeterminate den, strangers sniffing
for secrets, for meaty center--
but you also sniff for self defense.

a mouth's corner lifts, and we crash into the last remaining distance, tangle lips and let our skin press the map of outlines.

and the game shifts a litte. a glint and a bitten lip, a playful shove. you resist, meeting fleeing challenge. another tangle, and weight leaned in expels your breath against brick wall. you lean again into the contest, time enough for wrists to twist behind before slamming into the wall again.

i slither against you, hot breath traveling across the hollow of neck, the stretch of shoulder. tongue flickers to trace tendon, lips suckle briefly at square of jaw. i pull you forward again, teeth toying with little scraps of flesh, arms wrapped around you, crushing myself against you.

a gleam in the eye, and the game shifts again as something tightens around your wrists, cutting in. a zip tie. your heart beats nervously as animal instincts kick in too late. i don a toothy grin, and another slam bounces your head against brick's gritty corner. stars clear for a momentary gleam of silver on flesh, and the world explodes in a red crunch. you fall to your knees dazed as the first gush warms your lips and chin.

your vision clears to me flexing the fingers of one hand, reaching towards your face with the other. you flinch. "tsk tsk... let me get a good look at you." i lean in and sieze your chin, tilting your head as i look you over with a pleased smile. my hand releases, and two fingers trail up your chin and lips, coming away glossy red. i examine it a moment, then smell them as a lover would a woman's scent. tongue flicks out, merest taste spreading my smile as eyes close serently. a moment's contemplation, and my eyes snap open, focused on yours eagerly. i grab your shirt and drag you to your feet again. you open your mouth to yell, but i am there, drawing the scream out of you, sucking lips and tongue into snaring teeth, our mouths slick as your nose throbs scarlet. once your lips are on fire with a hundred bruises and abrasions, i step back. you start hurling curses at me, your mind watching in panic's detachment as i unbutton your shirt, yank it from your pants, and draw it down to your wrists. an affectionate smile and a pat on the cheek, and i turn my back to you, retrieving my bag. your curses trail off, as a new chill sets in.

a moment of rummaging is followed by a long black baton. i stroke it fondly for a moment before turning back to you. my grin goes past my ears, every tooth pointed. my eyes sparkle like spotlit diamonds. i purr, "this, my darling, is a police issue riot club, complete with electricity. now we can *really* play, huh?"
Death of a Rose she glares her hot contempt for my bleeding and frightened, frantic searching for escape.

electricity charged when rammed into my solar plexis, jangling a death sentence across her carnal issue.

spasming with each blow upon my battered body. drawing strength while hers is fading from exertion. biding my time, bare of cloth,

ready my ceramic daggers for the opening i know will come.

snarling my animal lust and defilement.

expletives to keep you distanced,
wormlike is my gaze, as eyes turn red, talons extended, let my skull show through.

"Yes, now we can play shifty strikes at each other."
egger i say gawd damn. 040113
Death of a Rose nothing like a little violence early in the afternoon. 040328
misstree mmmm, bloody breakfasts... 040328
Death of a Rose and tanked up tea time
not to mention slaughter supper
misstree who's dying for dinner? 040328
Death of a Rose how about somebody random?

tradgedy tea time
oE well..i could go for a little halibet and maybe some stringbeans..and maybe lightly fermented cider..or half a glass of apple wine..from the vinyards of central pennsylvania...and then maybe the paper and a pipe full of french vanilla tobacco..and some cofee..
misstree argh.

let's say that it was about 17 or 18 years old that i started becoming a sane human being. before that, my temper was horrendous. it was about 19 or 20 that i became a strict pacifist to deal with my explosive rage. wouldn't even argue loudly with someone. i got the explosions under control. then i went to new_orleans, and realized i didn't have to be a pacifist anymore, that i had accomplished what i hoped. i still have the explosions under control, but rage has haunted me forever. absolute fucking rage. once it finds a trigger, say a dumb little twat you can't get away from, and any time you have contact or thought of that twat, absolute fucking explosive rage fills you.


i need to find a way to deal with this. it's been killing me for ten years. there's got to be something i can do.
werewolf you must come and train with me. i have forged to a sword coursing rivers of hot metal many times before.

and you would make an exquisite edge,
the hilt in you,
so sincere,

put together by hands
not always loving,
but versed in craft,
honest in that their dishonesty shows -
from your shoulders pressed against hands, and a bed,
to the flex of your toes,
when walking, taut,
(down the street like
a screaming hive of bees, honey,
the glamour of their inscrutable climbings and smotherings, are they fighting or...and servitude)
pulled like photon concrete
into your lungs, tidepool eyes
the warm sekigahara between your legs
(a beautiful field marred or cherished depending on your upbringing
by the bodies of the fallen and risen,
blood and intentions and forget already seeping in.)

i must train you. it will be my act of beauty before i...

there it is, the honesty,
i want to end my life that way,
on my knees,
dying by you,
your life's journey
through my chest,
ribs cracking like
egg shells -
or to twist under my intestines
my storied liver
the straightness,
the sharpness
i have ascribed to your life.
there would be no greater honor,
than to make you my method
of honorable death.
what's it to you?
who go