Sarah picked me up and placed me down between her legs, which she spread open just a bit. Then I was facing a forest of hair. I hardened my back and neck muscles, sensing what was to come. I was jammed into darkness and stench. I heard Sarah moan. Then Sarah began to move... »

She promptly dragged him to the far blue wall, and chained him, facing the chamber, to the St. Andrew’s cross. Then she called in her fellow dommes, who traipsed in a great herd of clattering and stomping, some in corsets, some in lounge-wear, and attacked: Jeers and taunts and jabs, snickers and lowblows... »

     I wasn’t too sure I saw any point in carrying on. “What’s going to happen?” I asked Dean. “Well,” he said, “ There will be good times and bad. Periods of peace, followed by periods of war, hot and cold, darkness and light.” »

This here excursion of three stray dogs lookin' to hide out of the holy night is something else: Silent, clandestine, completely indulgent, yet valid, unlike flogging your hype. . .Last night, blessed be His name, I thought I might find a miracle out there among the trees and one hundred percent Vermont maple syrup... »

Thanks for the wild turkey and passenger pigeons destined to be shit out through wholesome American guts... Thanks for vast herds of bisons... Thanks for bounties on wolves and coyotes...Thanks for a nation of finks... »

I don't want to be so junglish that I can't climb a stairway. I got to climb mountains all day long? We're going to the moon, right? Well, I'm with the guys that wrote music that got us to the moon. Not the guys who dreamed about it. Bach built the buildings, we didn't... »

Sad to Say, if you ask any graduating class today who James Earl Ray was, less than 10% of those over-priced diplomas would know the confessed, then-unconfessed, alleged-assassin of Dr. Martin Luther King was indisputably one of the three biggest hand-picked-stooges in history, along with Curly Larry Sirhan and Mo Harvey Oswald »

  the illusion is that you are simply reading this poem. the reality is that this is more tha… Read the rest »

That night he was woken by her long nails scratching lines of blood down his stomach and across his groin, a violent gesture which she repeated even as she pulled him inside her, locking her legs around his waist as if she wanted to break him in two. For the rest of the night, she... »

The Tar Baby is an inanimate character from the 1946 Disney film, Song of the South, the animated segments of which are based on the Uncle Remus stories compiled by Joel Chandler Harris. Jim Dickinson, the godfather of postpunk mutant funk, was a long time Uncle Remus protege, and one of the last great... »

"In the cellar there was a restaurant with dancing and a Brazilian samba band, on the ground floor a French restaurant, on the next floor a soul food restaurant and blues bar, with Hazel Scott on the piano, and on the top floor there was a Russian nightclub called Chez Vodka, with a balalaika... »

On one of my birthdays, Girodias offered me an impromptu party at the Russian restaurant, ordering up chocolate soufflés and champagne, and telling the Russian orchestra to play any song I requested. Because he had no actual gift to hand me, Girodias picked up a wine glass and ate it, gazing into my... »

The Prince of Kishanghar looked like Saddam Hussein’s lost twin brother. And he was voluble, declaiming on the history of the palace and town, the many species of visiting birds on its lake, and his own importance in the region. “Everyone here knows who I am,” he boasted. »

I am the man you think you are. . . . If you want to know what I’ll do, figure out what you’ll do. I’ll do the same thing, only more of it. You get your freedom by letting your enemy know that you’ll do anything to get your freedom: then you’ll get it. It’s the only... »

Even if eating it is not exactly their thing they always have the option to use it as a dildo made exclusively for them personally by white trash fashionistas from the south of France collection, Dominique, would you like a tattoo of your face on your ass, dear, while you’re waiting for the designer to take measurements we can use... »

In a stroke of journalistic brilliance -- madness? -- Esquire magazine, sensing that the Democratic convention in Chicago might well be a historic event, invited three world-famous writers, all published by or associated with Grove, to cover the convention: the satirist Terry Southern, author of The Magic Christian. . .William Burroughs, author of Naked Lunch. . . and Jean... »

Like Afghanistan I’m full of corruption. My friend McGuane once said, ”I’d gladly commit a hundred acts of literary capitulation to keep my dog in Alpo. “ The little ones needed dental braces and flutes, cars and houses. Off and on I’ve had this dangerous golden touch like a key to a slot machine streaming 20-dollar gold pieces. It was so... »

At about six in the morning I really started cooking on the alleged “Manchester passages”. . . “. . . wan, and wholly bereft, she steals away from the others, moving trancelike towards the darkened rear-compartment where the casket rests. . . She gasps, and is literally slammed... »

John Calley, who was a very hip Producer at MGM - was sure it was time to do Blue Movie." He was convinced that the first studio to come out with a quality full length film showing erection and penetration, using stars, would go over the top. "It'll be like Gone With The Wind,"... »

Ed Sanders is some sort of parody of all the MC’s of history. He looks like James Jones, or a foul Bob Hope. Neither he nor his “slum goddess of the lower east side” is aphrodisiac, but they are wildly funny because he and his songs have trapped the infantilism of smutty little boys.... »

At the end of the day, hombres, it ees all about ideas anyway, isn't it? I mean, it ees the transmission of ideas. Even the bad ones, the lies, the propaganda in the name of one bogus god or another. . .in order to sell the program and advance the cause, whatever it... »

I see my thirty-five-year-old boss Betty Allen standing at the door of the club. She scratches at an itch that’s under her tight black skirt and her hand yanks up her fish net stocking at the knee. . A tattoo of a zombie geisha fills up her entire upper arm. The tattoo goes against... »

Every Night the Trees Disappear is an intimate chronicle of the visionary filmmaker Werner Herzog directing a masterwork in which his actors were hypnotized throughout. This chronicle is interwoven with Herzog’s original screenplay to create a unique vision of its own, the married texts playing off each other hypnotically. »

Yow. I was trembling and disoriented when we spotted them coming – three dark figures racing toward us in the dense fog, their heavy footsteps pounding to the rhythm of our heartbeats. “Phool Mahal Palace?” I cried. “Mr. Mungo!” the front man boomed, pumping my hand. . . »