Tumblr's Finest Dominant

[YourCaptor]

maybe then I will!

idk maybe I'll try to find a fun angle on it tomorrow. in the meantime GIVE ME MORE THINGS TO WRITE ABOUT OR I WILL SHIT IN YOUR HEARTS lovingly

Dancing robots, condoms, and the serengeti

 

[Aurantica]

Giraffes in love. Dancing giraffes.

 

[FloggingMolly]

Mom, can I sleep over at Tumblr tonight?

Did you do your homework and finish your chores?

 

[FloggingMolly]

How about writing about clearing out an attic? Thought I'd leave it kinda vague.

 

[Lord_Steve]

How about writing about clearing out an attic? Thought I'd leave it kinda vague.

ok cool! lots of good ideas. I'll tackle them tomorrow, when I am less beerflushed and drowsydrunk.

 

[where]

maybe then I will!

idk maybe I'll try to find a fun angle on it tomorrow. in the meantime GIVE ME MORE THINGS TO WRITE ABOUT OR I WILL SHIT IN YOUR HEARTS lovingly

OK, write about the heart-wrenching desire to be with the one who is essentially your rock, like the boulder in the torrential rapids of life who is steadfast as you flow over and around like water, desperate for the stillness of a limpid pool but never able to attain such peace with your beloved.

Come live with me and be my bro,
And pixels we shall make our ho.

I know that from somewhere...

 

[Lord_Steve]

OK, write about the heart-wrenching desire to be with the one who is essentially your rock, like the boulder in the torrential rapids of life who is steadfast as you flow over and around like water, desperate for the stillness of a limpid pool but never able to attain such peace with your beloved.

actually here is a poem i wrote about a similar subject a while ago to tide yall over.




Stars like feral childs moanin across the sky too shy

to flirt, looking up there's a a a distance between them

savage stars and it reminds you of too much for now, and

the cadillac engine-roar of your drunk muse is receding

into the sounds of night; distant thunder, heard through

glass.

You’d fight this evening if it had fists to make it a fair fight

so disarm yourself young man cut them right off you don’t

always know where those fingers have been. You are Feinian

and Sybian at once and Trojan and Phoenician, hell you’re

Nausiciaa tonight and something special is facedown in

the sand before you and coughing seawater down your

silk slip as you drag him home.

I guess what I’m trying to say is poetry is not about love

except in the way painting is about empty space which is

to say, only sometimes. But distance though the span between

loving and understanding and the untold paces between

you and the next nearest person, the dearest and most

rare understanding looks so small from here and you, I,

are tacked to the night sky like butterflies in rare and

valiant colors.

What if I was clever enough to write this poem so that

the negative space between the words was a picture

of exactly what I’m trying to say and then what if I

erased the words or took them for myself and never

showed anybody, only the space where they lay. I

don’t know why I said I was writing about you, I’m

sorry.

When the poem police come tell em its me they want

and draw them a map so intricate that in the time it

takes to draw it I’ll slip out the back window and into

the night sky. Keep looking up.

I’m sorry I said this poem was about you. I’ll go now.

 

[Lord_Steve]

How about writing about clearing out an attic? Thought I'd leave it kinda vague.

I am in your attic. I am hiding under lithographs and under gramophones. Flitting through antiquity and posing like a mannikin in your old clothes and those of your father and his father whenever you turn away.

I'm trying to understand you. Not a thief, a detective, not a stranger but a lover. Biting down on old pipes and nudging them alight with luciferous matches discontinued years ago for reasons of safety.

Your mothballs and bridal gowns are my bed and your old suits my blankets. They smell like whiskey and tobacco and paper. It's so dark I'm growing wings. Seeing with my ears. Eating stale cakes and bits of cardboard.

Black and white photographs of your grandparents getting married. She looks sad, he serious. I lick her face with my little tongue, and carry the picture to my nest.

 

[eastern sun]

I'd love to see you wrestle with a metaphor.

 

[Aurantica]

I'd love to see you wrestle with a metaphor.

Or an alligator.
Naked
In mud.

 

[FloggingMolly]

OOOOOOH yes, like it alot!

 

[DeepGreenEyes]

Did you do your homework and finish your chores?

I still need to take out the worn-out phrases and the similes decaying like rancid venison, but I'm satired from all the other chores.

I know that from somewhere...

I know you knew. And I know you knew that I knew. Did you know that?

 

[where]

actually here is a poem i wrote about a similar subject a while ago to tide yall over.




Stars like feral childs moanin across the sky too shy

to flirt, looking up there's a a a distance between them

savage stars and it reminds you of too much for now, and

the cadillac engine-roar of your drunk muse is receding

into the sounds of night; distant thunder, heard through

glass.

You’d fight this evening if it had fists to make it a fair fight

so disarm yourself young man cut them right off you don’t

always know where those fingers have been. You are Feinian

and Sybian at once and Trojan and Phoenician, hell you’re

Nausiciaa tonight and something special is facedown in

the sand before you and coughing seawater down your

silk slip as you drag him home.

I guess what I’m trying to say is poetry is not about love

except in the way painting is about empty space which is

to say, only sometimes. But distance though the span between

loving and understanding and the untold paces between

you and the next nearest person, the dearest and most

rare understanding looks so small from here and you, I,

are tacked to the night sky like butterflies in rare and

valiant colors.

What if I was clever enough to write this poem so that

the negative space between the words was a picture

of exactly what I’m trying to say and then what if I

erased the words or took them for myself and never

showed anybody, only the space where they lay. I

don’t know why I said I was writing about you, I’m

sorry.

When the poem police come tell em its me they want

and draw them a map so intricate that in the time it

takes to draw it I’ll slip out the back window and into

the night sky. Keep looking up.

I’m sorry I said this poem was about you. I’ll go now.

poetry, to me is similar to sculpture. But that was rather good. there were parts that reminded me of Neruda.

I know you knew. And I know you knew that I knew. Did you know that?

mebbie.

 

[Lord_Steve]

Dancing robots, condoms, and the serengeti

BEAT THE HEAT this serengeti summer with our Orgasmatron 9000 fuckdancers! Especially programmed to wriggle in maximally provocative ways, their advanced libidocores perform intense, sexy calculations based on your age, eye color, sexual history, penis/ovary density, and stomach bacteria to determine your Erotic Index Score (EIS), as represented by the single number you find the most arousing.

Please note the robots will do nothing with this information, nor will they reveal it to anyone, including you. But isn't it comforting to be understood?

Our 40-ft tall model, the Fucko Grande Supreme, is designed with a very special customer in mind: the kind that want to fuck a robot with their whole body, and are really into that for some reason. Not here to judge! Not us. the Fucko Grande Supreme comes with three six-foot-long lubricated condoms with a resevoir tip to preserve your elaborate, outlandish hairstyle! Replacements are available for a modest fee.

Hurry now, while supplies last! And remember: If It Ain't A Rock Our FuckBots Can Fuck It. It's the Fuckotron way!

 

[FloggingMolly]

Do me, do me! (Again).

Becoming an accidental hero during an embarassing moment.

 

[gypsy*seer]

My turn!

A wanton woman, wandering listlessly along the cliffs of a rocky lighthouse island. All alone ~ her man is far and long away, a master of the sea.
Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide....physically or mentally...


Hm?

 

[Lord_Steve]

maybe i'll write more of this one later

A wanton woman, wandering listlessly along the cliffs of a rocky lighthouse island. All alone ~ her man is far and long away, a master of the sea.
Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide....physically or mentally...


Hm?

ok but its gonna be silly!


Freestyling salty shanties about the uncaring etcetera ocean, first mate Joesph jelly-walked astern and emptied his heaving stomach into the equally heaving waves. His ship had not left the dock.

It was his first sea voyage, or will be soon, and he was made first mate because the captain decided, in a syphilitic haze reminiscent of the precognitive stupor of the Delphic truthteller, that no ship of his would lay anchor without a first mate with a properly biblical name. "It's my fucking ship," he said, "but any mate of God is a mate of mine. Harumph."

Bosun Ezekiel, understandably miffed, retreated into the underdecks and was not seen again.

Watching from the pier was Margret, swaying in sympathy with the sea. She watched her husband puke and thought about joining him. Like a communion in reverse, bonding them to the water and to each other, as if the seawater could be the medium of their interconnection, so they could swim together and vibrate at the same frequency, taste the same salt. By puking. Probably not, she thought.

 

[Lord_Steve]

being a girl is fun but maybe i'll go back to being a dude.

 

[rekane]

being a girl is fun but maybe i'll go back to being a dude.

Oh LordSteve...
I love your bulge and swagger whatever you want to be.

 

[gypsy*seer]

ok but its gonna be silly!

YAY!


There is far too little silly in the world!

I'll stay tuned......

 

[Lord_Steve]

its not that I forgot about you guys
it's just
i've been a leetle busy

 

[Aurantica]

its not that I forgot about you guys
it's just
i've been a leetle busy

Yaaay! Lord Steve's back!
* does a happydance around her glorious form*

 

[Etoile]

You know, it's really HIS glorious forum. The glorious Lord Steve!!

 

[Lord_Steve]

You know, it's really HIS glorious forum. The glorious Lord Steve!!

boymode... ACTIVATED

A blurry challenger appears.......

http://i.imgur.com/kPSv9.jpg

LETS GET DRUNK FUCK CHICKS AND BREAK STUFF

 

[Lord_Steve]

wow that's a real old picture of boy-me