Registered: Jul 2000
Location: Oregon. America.
Posts: 2076

Appetite...

Humor me. This is shit, but I need to say something sequential.

The body. This machine.

…

From the beginning…

I turn the doorknob and cruise through the vacant foyer. I round a corner and am confronted by my feline. Her name is Smelly Gas Bag.

We all call her “Smelly” for short.

Smelly is hungry, so I escort her to the garage where her water and food dish are located. She hops up onto the dryer and stares at her empty food dish, than turns her expectant face towards me, a pleading stare beckoning me to satiate her appetite.

“What a cute and dependent little creature,” I think to myself.

A cute and dependent little creature that, had she not been inbred into such a domestic and useless body, would have eaten me. That is, she would have willingly cannibalized my body in order to perpetuate her machine.

Simple, functional, nutritional…

Sharing.

Or something.

Nothing personal as the action is entirely without any sort of malice or emotional anything. Smelly is a cat. She is an unemotional animal, and all of my personification of her will not change her mechanistic behavior.

My girlfriend left me two days ago. She said that, although she enjoys my company, she would rather not be tied up in the binding confines of a relationship right now.

Or something.

Verbally manifesting her reasons is superfluous, because she didn’t break it off for personal reasons, only practical ones.

Or something.

What counts is that she felt nothing by telling me this. She could have been talking to anybody anywhere. There was nothing special or interesting or compelling about breaking up with me, just that there was no longer any need for me in her life or her time.

Another bowl of food, poured out by a sensitive hand, to be devoured without ever even having tasted the meal.

Just sustenance.

Nutrients.

Vitamins and minerals…

Or something.

I could have been anybody and she was never really there.

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Registered: Sep 2000
Location: Elysian Fields, TX, USA
Posts: 2618

Sorry Feral.

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Registered: Jul 2000
Location: NH
Posts: 6081

quote:

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Originally posted by Feral Automaton:

I could have been anybody and she was never really there.

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Registered: Aug 2000
Location: b0ulder
Posts: 5126

first the word, "hi," is spoken
soon after a drink has been supplied
after more or less, it's time for beding
commercial sheets spread her, absorbing all she and i produce
she is as much my creature as i her animal
she's the one to be seduced
my hands she allows feel her
her taste she allows test her
my cock she allows penetrate her
my cum she begs for more
i am no less an animal machine

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Registered: Jul 2000
Location: Oregon. America.
Posts: 2076

Thanks to those that posted and read...

I am returning this to the top because I want someone to say something interesting and inspirational to me.

I want to cannibalize a willing participant.

This is selfish.

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Registered: Jul 2000
Location: Delaware
Posts: 5704

Be as selfish as you'd like!

Women can be such bitches. Take me for example

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Registered: Jul 2000
Location:
Posts: 5526

Life is cold, hot with tears.

I have nothing of inspiration or interest for you.

Feral, you take the twisting of your heart, that black ache that feels worse than death, and you transform it into terrible beauty.

Your gifts, your offerings, are priceless.

I know that doesn't help.

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Registered: Jul 2000
Location: Bangor, ME
Posts: 10153

im sorry feral,

*does the mochican dance of woe*

*takes pulls off his spirit bottle*

*kills an oxen then eats it raw*

*cries to the heavens for an answer*

*collapses in drunken heap*

Registered: Jul 2000
Location: Location Location
Posts: 26383

Wow. That may be the most poignant thing I have ever seen AlcoholFiend post, and I couldn't explain why.

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Registered: Jul 2000
Location: Oregon. America.
Posts: 2076

This is the hardest part of all. This transition between my former mind, desires, feelings, thoughts, convictions, both conscious and unconscious, into the unknown, insecure, and the new…

The becoming…

My becoming.

If I am overwhelmed by the encroaching emotional torrent, than I will kill myself rather than suffer another uninspired artistic defeat. I will not frame every rendered action with the hollow plastic desires and repetitions that frequent my redundant demeanor and repetitive reaction.

I will not stand still.

Regardless of the world’s efforts to thwart my freedom, I will always be my own composition and statement.

And I cannot be stopped.

And I can never be finished.

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