Ode to Anne Rice, you should have met my wife; thank you Madness.

Though foggy and slightly distorted is his perception, he sees perfection and heaven; he sees himself in her arms.  He sees their bodies clash together w/ force that would do damage to other individuals, but between the two of them it only furthers their arousal.  Their lips touch as sparks explode between them, their tongues touch tentatively at first; and then began to wrestle in a battle to the death.  Her moans entice him to reach up and grab a hold of the flowing tresses of her hair and draw her head back so that the tender under side of her neck is exposed.  His mind is set, and the path set before him as he bears a set of enlarged incisors and buries his face in the base of her neck.  Her panting and exhaltations speak volumes as she squirms beneath him, but makes no attempt to get away; but succumbing to his advances and thrusting at every significant time and opportunity that she’s granted.  His penetration is both blissful oblivion and end upon end agony as she looses control and her body is no-longer under her own bidding; for a time their bodies move as one mirrored images of each other.  Somewhere around her fifth she loses consciousness; he withdraws and vanishes. 

Twelve hours pass before her mind slowly claws itself back from slumber, and it dwells on the miraculous feelings that she had experienced……exactly when slips her mind as it slowly shakes off the rest of sleep.  The throbbing that she is experiencing pulling her fully alert now, is not in her female parts, in fact she feels no lasting effects of copulation at all; the throbbing is coming from her neck and she has not had sex.  She moves her hand to the spot and nearly losses control of her morning bladder release, as she feels two puncture wounds; she jerks her hand away from the pain she experienced at it’s contact.  She sit’s jerks her head off the pillow meaning to run to a mirror, and nearly crashes to into her foot board as a wave of vertigo, and nausea overtake her; she blacks out.  It is another six hours before her mind is able to return to consciousness this time, and she is now terrified, trembling and shakily she makes it to her feet and to is able to maintain her feet without the mind whirl that she had experienced last time; but the wave of nausea smacks her fully as she breaks for the bathroom in her apartment and prays to her porcelain deity for a full five minutes. 

The contents, and the sight of what she brings forth is unexplainable as the sight of it causes her to bring up even more; the contents of the toilet bowl are close to spilling over its rim.  Desperately she reaches up and grabs the handle to flush away the contents of the bowl, and is gripped by spasming stomach cramps. As the high power gush washes away her recently voided stomach contents she jumps to the her queenly seat upon the throne as it seems that every meal she’s ever partaken of in her life voids itself from her existence and the sight of it is unbearable as she again retches onto her feet and the ceramic tiles beneath them.

Mess cleaned up, and showered she realizes that she is famished, but anything that she thinks of to order-in just brings on more stomach spasms and waves of nausea.  She thinks to herself that she’s had enough of this day, the sun has set already and she can just eat tomorrow once this touch of triple bird bubonic. dysentery. emesising, flu, plague has had a chance to deal with the powerful white cells of her always strong immune system; she checks the bolts on her door  and windows before she lays back down. 

She’s not aware of how long she’s asleep before she is awakened by the feeling that she’s not alone (again), she bolts upright in her bed and this time she’s not hampered by the overwhelming feelings of sickness, but she feels that she has the prowess of a she jungle cat; startled and ready to take a meal. 

Although the lights are off, and the room is dark, her vision is as clear as if a 100watt bulb was burning in all four corners and at first she sees nothing, then her eyes fall upon a spot in the room that seems to have more density than the rest and as she concentrates on that spot it starts to take form.  Forming and reshaping, the shadow in the darkness starts to take on all the features of the man that stood before her…she can’t recount how long ago, but as she gazes upon his body, and her gaze pauses then makes it’s way to his eyes from his naked frame, she is enamoured. Although her vision is still slightly foggy and distorted, she looks into his eyes and sees compliance and heaven and she sees herself in his arms, and then with her arms around him. 

Their bodies clash together with force that would do damage to other individuals, their lips touch as sparks explode between them. The two of their tongues begin to wrestle like Greek hero’s of ole, hismoans entice her to reach up and grab hold of his short coarse and curly hair. Straddling him, she pulls his head forward and she leans toward him bringing her lips up to his right ear, she whispers into it; “I am your queen, you will know perfection, compliance, and heaven in my arms”.

She grips his coarse hair and bends his head back with less force than was necessary, and buries her face in the cleft of his neck upon his jawline.  As her gastric hunger is temporarily sated, an equally primordial hunger steps in.  Pulling his limp head up to her lips, she again bends to his right ear, and forcibly integrates into his mind, “I am your queen, you will know perfection, compliance, and heaven in my arms”.

She shows him the result of losing consciousness somewhere around his fourth or fifth. Hours pass, and the sunlight has been shut-out from the apartment for hours before it pulled the horizon over it’s head and said goodnight.  He stretches, and flexes his aged form mere shadows of the years put upon it by times ravages.  He attempts to rise from an unfamiliar resting place when arms are placed upon his shoulders forcing his rising back down upon the pillowy softness beneath him.

She whispers in his right ear “You will know perfection,  compliance, and heaven in my arms; embrace me and we shall feast”, and this he does readily.

Advertisements

A “Bird”, nor a plane

Timidly emerging from the shadows, the lone figure warily casts his gaze about; as if searching for some unseen threat.  Observing no danger, but not knowing what to expect of this plain (of literary acceptance), the being burst free of it’s cover and runs out in the open.  He darts right and left, making a zigzagging and looping pattern with his progress across the clearing, thus making it difficult to get a full description of the speeding figures physical makeup (mental/emotional we’ll see).  His velocity and ability to pivot into a new direction in a full sprint propel him past would be pursuers, and around potential hazards.  Suddenly the figure turns a hard left and drives hard towards a small but steep mountain. With quadriceps pumping tremendously, and calves bunching like small coconuts; the bronze figure reaches the mountains apex, tears free his cloak and binding straps and leaps off the hills tip towards the precipice leagues below.  Gravity snatches greedily at the figure as if it were a weening pup that hasn’t suckled in hours…….Gravity is irked and denied, and Newton turns somersaults in his grave, the visage of man dives thru the air his gaze is set miles away and eons ago.  He simultaneously unfolds a pair of gleaming black feathered wings from his back and stretches them to their full width.  Pumping furiously now w/ he pronounced back muscles, the figure is a blur as it streaks from the sky; his plummet has carried him miles already.  His descent speed approaching Mach I, the figure reangles his body and wings, first five degrees, then ten, finally a full forty-five, the G-forces are tremendous and undeniable; for as the figure pulls out of his nosedive he losses three of his gleaming black feathers.  Unperturbed by the loss and still moving at an impressive speed, the figure is like a stealth fighter as it streaks in and out of clouds; oblivious to all the attention drawn from all his aviary competitors of which he is both untested, and unmatched.  He sees his destination, and begins to pump his wings even harder; they’ve become a blur from his efforts.  The field of white below him is immense, and seems all encompassing; he corrects his flight path and dives in for a landing upon it’s surface.  The impact of his landing makes a ripple across the the stillness of the surface as it gives slightly under his weight.  He surveys the blankness surrounding him, and smiles appreciatively inwardly as he folds his wings behind him and sits down upon the white terrain; he begins to write in bold letters that are almost audible in their passion, “I am MaxX, this is my page; and I have arrived!” ………….MaxX

but it never began afterall..

I thought this might be fun..but it doesnt seem to be of interest .. I hope you’ll still come over and comment now and again.

~Madness

 

Why Madness *thwapped* MaxX

Madness never told MaxX to “write, just go ahead and tell somebody that sh-t, just stop telling it all to me!” What Madness has always said was puffpuffpass “You GOTTA write that sh-t down MaxX!” and “that sh-t is TOO funny to be kept from the masses!” an’shit.  Madness has spent a considerable amount of time over the last 16 years making these    …   (<— click that)

And so it begins

Thank you in advance for taking the time to come and view my thoughts, revelations, and I guess just anything that rolls onto the page.  My wife (The Madness) tells me that I need to “write, just go ahead and tell somebody that sh-t, just stop telling it all to me!”, so I will also take this time to apologize; and tell all of you to blame her for what I spill; I’ll try to keep it off the carpets…………….MaxX……..