Monthly Archives: February 2017

Vanity on the fox’s trail, “The Darkness will understand”


Vanity on the fox’s trail
Behold, a miracle!
Supposedly one-sided at instants
Suitable for a scrambled moment
The martyr and her daughter who wash their feet
Tasseled with nails instead of sandals
Conversing silently.
Anything but sough
Shores and scrapings fantasizing
Daughter do you wish the powder to slip you
To disturb the onus, non-being and tendrils
Wistful across the stones you overcome
Blacker than night
You fear there will no longer be vertebrates
It is the third hour in the night After

from “The Darkness will understand”

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Poem Hunter, Leila Samarrai


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Poem Hunter Leila Samarrai

JEZEBEL or The etymology of cunt, an extract from Samarrai’s Diary, inspired by Hodor


The etymology of cunt is a matter of debate, but most sources consider that Jezebel, the best bar fly con blotto in the world, never caught cheating on control school exams, with a master’s degree in Old Norse languages, with a doctor’s degree in long distance running – one day, entered a cheap protogermanic bar with confidence, trampling its bandstand with her lucky adidas sneakers.
After she completed her missionary work for the day, she daddles the waitress, ordering two kissing fish.  “Oooon… ttthe.. hhh… house!”, mutters she, fingering the holes in the Old Norse canteen’s table.
Everyone should know there will be something aggro in the air after the famous tit queen enters the bar.
She drinks dusties too, always looking forward to drink oddball liqueurs that no customers ever order.
Two whiskeys later she is starting to sing, “Cheers darls… my kunto'”, going apeshit: con skot kott cot cona kun cuneus cunnus.
Then she goes really ballistic smashing the table with her mighty fist, cursing the schlongs of the best Old Norse knights of the golden grummet, who are hiding the salami, returning from their recovering war – party, honorably descharged.
“I will make scissors of you!”, threatens she. The floor trembles… 

Three tequilas later or five schnapps before, she is smashing everything around letting her knowledge to lead her through centuries, to modern English, sighing ah kotze, kut and kont kutte and the tone of her voice have arisen, yammering cona coño coynte, cunte and queynte canteen kunton, kunton, kunta kunta kunta conte cunt cunt cunt cunt cunt cunt cunt cunt cunt cunt cunt cunt, cant…

– Stop it!
(entranced)

– I can’t I barely started I can’t I cant.. mmmm..nnnnn.. I can not!.. I… cant it’s too late I can’t, can’t cant cant cant cunt cunt cunt cunt cunt cunt cunt cunt cunt
cunt cunt cunt
cunt      cunt    cunt cunt cunt cunt cunt KOTZE! cunt
cunt cunt cunt cunt cunt cunt cunt cunt cunt cunt cunt cunt cunt
cunt cunt……………………….
200 pages later: END OF THE CHAPTER.cunt

IZ DNEVNIKA POLUDELOG PISCA NAKON IZGUBLJENE PARNICE


Uskoro će sve biti gotovo. Prokletnici, obrtna optika ludila u mojoj glavi ubrzava. Više nisam žena, nego sam makroskopska čestica. Čigra. Zovite me Čigra. učiniću to tako naglo, tako grozničavo, a opet mirno, ruka mi se neće zatresti. Blago ću se saviti napred, noge u širini ramena, da.. Smiri telo. Naciljaj pažljivo. Povuci obarač. Udahni duboko. Naciljaj, povuci, smiri… Smiri…

Breaking news


I wrote a terrible poem. Always is like that when I want to write something optimistic .. I’d better get my attention on my bloody diaries about midgets

PUBLIC REACTION:
“yeah.. we ALL read it. I read it last night.. nah… very bad. ugly!”, Eva Green
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“hahahaha, bitch.”, Angelique Bouchard
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“Sans commentaires”, Isabelle Adjani
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“I can do that”, Angelina Jolie
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