Russian Red, a nasty,—
she taunts me
she makes me do things
the other evening, after my
shower, she made me give
myself to her
before my black silk dress
before my little panties and
before my black lace stockings
even before my favorite
black heels, the ones
with a colorful history
a nasty, nasty
Russian Red history—x-changes/so-realism
Friday, September 30, 2016
Posted by Bulletholes at 3:31 PM
Tuesday, September 20, 2016
"...one should strive to remain skeptical of what are presented as real-life accounts that state in narrative form things people are predisposed to believe, especially those tales wherein wrongdoers get their comeuppance through being told off by others."
Posted by Bulletholes at 5:19 PM
Friday, September 16, 2016
by Charles Bukowski
the mockingbird had been following the cat
mocking mocking mocking
teasing and cocksure;
the cat crawled under rockers on porches
and said something angry to the mockingbird
which I didn’t understand.
yesterday the cat walked calmly up the driveway
with the mockingbird alive in its mouth,
wings fanned, beautiful wings fanned and flopping,
feathers parted like a woman’s legs,
and the bird was no longer mocking,
it was asking, it was praying
but the cat
striding down through centuries
would not listen.
I saw it crawl under a yellow car
with the bird
to bargain it to another place.
summer was over.
Posted by bulletholes at 2:27 PM
Wednesday, September 14, 2016
Once again its a battle between the Anti-PC squad and the folks that just want us to have better manners. I like the apology the Colleyville kids came up with, that they are not "ignorant of the dialogue" taking place" in the country.
Could we stop this now? Maybe this is why we still have the problems that we do.
I'm just thinking that after 220 years of Anti-PC attitudes and policy that gave us slavery, lynchings, Barry Goldwater, Teapot Dome, eradication of the Buffalo, Bloody Sunday, smallpox epidemics for Native Americans, Kent State, repeal of Glass-Steagal, Lynchburg Va., marijuana laws, Joseph McCarthy, Socs and Greasers, Clive Bundy, and Vietnam, we might want to try something different and make a sober effort towards being more respectful of other folks situations and station in life. Can we just try it for a decade or two?
'What the hell do we have to lose?"
After all, they had a German Club, a Spanish Club and a French Club, they may even have had an African American Club, who knows? Anyway you can follow his logic there.
He decided to form up this club, and began hanging “Join The White persons Club “ posters all aroud the school.
Unauthorized and without permissions of course.
Anyway, I got to go down to the school and sit there with him in the principals office, and the principal and I did our best for an hour to explain what was wrong with a White persons Club.
We never quite did to his satisfaction.
It’s a difficult thing to explain.
But two years ago, after Ferguson, I was riding in the car with him. We got to talking and I asked him:
“So 8 years later, you are all grown, and you’ve had time to see what goes on in the country. Do you understand now what is wrong with a “White Persons Club”?
He smiled a sad little smile, and said “Yes Pop, I do”.
By the way, Trinity licked Colleyville's ass on the playing field.
Posted by bulletholes at 6:48 AM
Saturday, September 10, 2016
― Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar
Artist~ Jay Wilkinson, Fort Worth Texas
The size of this piece is about 6X8 feet.
More of Jays Work (Click Here)
Posted by Bulletholes at 9:46 PM
Friday, September 09, 2016
It could be a full time job.
Don't get me wrong, I like meeting new people. Thats why I got on here. But at the same time, I'm kind of a one girl at a time kind of guy so this is a little, uh, overwhelming.
You know, that really didn't sound right. Let me try this again.
In 30 days I've met 6 girls in person, Minnie. One, all the way down in Granbury. I haven’t met any of them a second time. I've traded I don't know how many messages with I don't know how many girls. I would need an Excel spreadsheet to keep up with it all.
One of them lives all the way out in Garland! Based on messages, she's my favorite, but that's 40 miles away, through some of the worst traffic on planet Earth.
And that’s just not my style. In 18 years of being divorced I don't think I've dated but 3 girls.And one of those wasn’t even "dating". We were just friends WITHOUT benefits.
But I loved her. I sure did love her.
Besides, I'll come right out and admit it. I'm High Maintenance. I need something a little more handy than 40 miles away. Do you know what I'm talking about?
So I see you live in Lewisville, and its not the end of earth, but its further away than I have in mind.
I'm trying to figure out which one of the 6 girls I've met should I maybe meet a second time. And I just don't know. I surely do don't know.
Maybe that is the answer? There must be some reason I haven't asked a second time. Just scrap them and move on to Number Seven?
Do you really want to be Number Seven, Minnie?
I hope I'm not being rude, I'm just kind of thinking out loud here.
How long have you been on POF? What has it been like for you?
Thanks for listening!
It didnt take long to get her replay.
"That's the most honest message I've ever received. Yes, I'd love to be your Number Seven".
She's making it real hard.
Posted by Bulletholes at 8:20 PM
Monday, September 05, 2016
September rising in you…
what is the word…
That’s what the Germans named it
when caged birds want to fly
You feel it don’t you…for me…
Peregrine @ Your Eyes Blaze Out
Posted by bulletholes at 12:07 PM
Saturday, September 03, 2016
I traded a few messages with her over the period of two weeks. Finally she just came out and said "So do you want to keep fishin', or would you like to meet me somewhere."
She gave me directions to a local Starbucks.
"I've used that one before" she said, and that's when I knew it was going to be hot.
I followed her back to her place, She sat on her couch, her silk blouse slightly open, her skirt rising up her legs. She patted the seat next to her, and I moved slowly towards her, felt emboldened by the way she licked her lips. I could tell she wanted me, needed me, to kiss her, our faces inches apart now and I cupped her breast and she moaned, and just as our lips were about to meet, I veered lower, and softly kissed her neck, right under her ear. She moaned louder, and I repositioned my hand on her breast, realized I barely knew this woman, and whispered in her ear:
"What's your favorite color, baby?"
Breathlessly, she whispered back "Pizza".
So we got up and went in her kitchen to make pizza.
Thats when I woke up.
That was some kind of dream.
Posted by Bulletholes at 2:45 PM