The power of guns fascinates me. The fact that human beings created something with gives them the power of a god-to choose life and death over another human being, without ever having to look them in the eye- is amazing. It is proof of humans need to be the strongest, and ability to be just that. It shows our tenatcity and ingenuity that we can come up with a system so complex and requiring so many different elements and components. It is in the same league as planes and helicopters and telephones and vaccines in terms of human development and genius.

It is strange that humans have this drive. The lack of contentment that pushes us to find better ways of doing things.

I like the power of a gun, the control it gives you. That excites me like you wouldn’t believe. It makes me feel like a god, and yet like nothing at the same time. I know that with it I am all powerful, but against it, I am but a moth in the face cyclone. I have no say in the matter, no way to put think it or wriggle my way out of it.

As much as I love guns (which may be a byproduct of not being allowed them at all) I prefer knives. There is something alluring and personal about looking someone in the eyes, watching their life force leave their body, feeling the warmth of their blood on your skin, and watching feeling them release their final breath.

The beauty of a blade is mesmerising. Its polarity is incredible. It can be so destructive and life ending and yet constructive and life saving. It can reduce a life to meat, and yet it can help feed and clothe you. With a blade you can destroy a forest, and yet create beautiful art and homes.

I like that a blade can be worn down, and yet with a bit of love, effort and care, it can be made sharp and true again. I admire its’ strength and resilience.

We are sitting in the car in an empty car lot. We've been chatting for a while, and I lean in to kiss you. We start hooking up and my hand slides up to your cheek. As we make out, you stroke my forearm as it rests in my lap. Your fingers pass over my raging hard cock, then move back to it. You start playing with it through my pants, feeling it's warmth and size. Still kissing you move your hand up to my belt and undo it. You reach in an grab ahold of it. As you pull it out of my pants you start to slowly stroke it. You break off the kiss, give me a naughty look, then lean over and wrap your lips around my shaft. You take it out, lick the head and then start sucking it. Your other hand plays with my balls. As you're doing this, I reach over and slide my hand down your pants, rubbing your clit and making you wetter and wetter. You stop to take a breath, and I slide my chair back. I tell you to climb over. With your back facing me you straddle me. You grab my dick and line it up, then you slide down my length. You start rocking backwards and forwards. I grab a handful of your hair and pull on it while you bounce up and down. You reach forward and start rubbing your clit. You can't take much more and before long, you sit there shuddering on my cock as you cum

You are laying on your stomach, on a blanket at the beach. I’m laying next to you stroking the skin on your back with my fingertips. I move down to your legs, stroking them down to your calves, then back up, slowing down as a I get to your thighs. I slowly slide my hand further and further up in circles. Each time I get closer, your legs open more and more. Now I can softly slide my finger up and down the crease between your leg and your pussy. I play with both sides, sliding down underneath you, my finger just touching you. You start pushing back trying to make me play with you properly. I pull away and grab the waistband of your undies. As I pull them down you lift up, putting your bare, shaved pussy in my face. As I keep pulling your undies down I lean forward and lick up your pussy, shoving my tongue in as far as it will go. After I take them off, I roll over and slide underneath you like a mechanic. You put your pussy on my face as I lick up and down your slit. One of my hands comes up, grabbing your arse cheek, pulling it across. The other comes up and starts teasing your hole. Slowly my finger slides inside you, moving around, making you moan and push down on my face. As I keep licking your clit and fingering you, you grind on my face. After a while you start to beg me to fuck you. I get out from under you and push you down onto your stomach again. I spit on my fingers, rubbing it over the head of my dick and your pussy. I line myself up and slowly stick the head it. I pull it out making you cry out. I stick the head back in, and as you push into it, I drive it in as far as it will go. You cry out in pleasure. I slowly start sliding it in and out, picking up speed. I lean forward and grab a handful of hair. Pulling back on it I start slamming into you. You lift your head up as I pull, so I reach forward and wrap my hand around your throat and squeeze. Now I’m fucking you as I pull on your hair and choke you.

In a time before time, in a place without space that is so big that it is as incomprehensible as the ocean is to a hydrogen atom, there was a father. He wasn’t a father yet, but he knew what he was.

In a moment that was just like every other moment before it, deep in the sack of this father, was a spark that would change everything. It was creation in its purest form, and it started with a Big Bang.

In what seems like forever, but for the father was but an instant, his child awoke. It gained a consciousness. It was alive, but it was young. It did not take long for the child to realise that it knew nothing. It had the potential to know everything that ever was and would ever be, but that is a lot to learn on your own. So the child, being the creation of the father, became a father itself. It created a place for its children to learn. And as the child’s children learnt, so did the child. These children were created in its image. Young, lost and yearning for new knowledge. From its children, the child learn to love. With love it learnt to hate. Without love there can be no hate. The child learnt about polarity. The child learnt that you cannot have good without bad. It could be truly happy without knowing what it is to be sad. This thirst for knowledge means that the child’s brain is always growing. Creating more space for the information it gathers. Somewhere deep inside that great darkness, lays a pocket of energy that creates everything needed for the child’s children.

In that darkness, are the children alive? Are they thoughts given consciousness or is the consciousness merely an illusion created by the child. If these children are here to learn and teach the child, what happens to the children when the child has grown up and knows everything there is to know?

In a time before time, in a place without space that is so big that it is as incomprehensible as the ocean is to a hydrogen atom, there was a father. He wasn’t a father yet, but he knew what he was.

In a moment that was just like every other moment before it, deep in the sack of this father, was a spark that would change everything. It was creation in its purest form, and it started with a Big Bang.

In what seems like forever, but for the father was but an instant, his child awoke. It gained a consciousness. It was alive, but it was young. It did not take long for the child to realise that it knew nothing. It had the potential to know everything that ever was and would ever be, but that is a lot to learn on your own. So the child, being the creation of the father, became a father itself. It created a place for its children to learn. And as the child’s children learnt, so did the child. These children were created in its image. Young, lost and yearning for new knowledge. From its children, the child learn to love. With love it learnt to hate. Without love there can be no hate. The child learnt about polarity. The child learnt that you cannot have good without bad. It could be truly happy without knowing what it is to be sad. This thirst for knowledge means that the child’s brain is always growing. Creating more space for the information it gathers. Somewhere deep inside that great darkness, lays a pocket of energy that creates everything needed for the child’s children.

In that darkness, are the children alive? Are they thoughts given consciousness or is the consciousness merely an illusion created by the child. If these children are here to learn and teach the child, what happens to the children when the child has grown up and knows everything there is to know?

This used to be our house.

This used to be our home.

Now I feel like a mouse

Trying to atone.

I scurry left

I scurry right

Searching for the light

You give me hope

But oh god nope

Is it false?

Why is my brain

Stuck on this train

Of thought that brings me down

I can’t block out the noise

So I lay awake

I do not bake

In the hope

That I am worthy

Of your love

That you say does not exist

Will it ever return

Or am I just destined to burn