Evening Will Come: A Monthly Journal of Poetics (NSFW—Issue 45, September 2014)

Purdey Lord Kreiden
“Congressnight 313 Reports” & from My Hoof

Congressnight 313 Reports

Latino pride wrote:
im a 14 year old and i wank with no clothes but i wear socks! I tend to watch gay porn cause i like watching other men shot their load! I would love to do it with a men though.

CockLover wrote:
same here, allways wanted to meet up with a guy who wants the same as me, but never found one... I’m 14 too by the way ;)


Gently touching frenulum once in a while

I stick my finger up my bum

just b4 I ejaculate. The CongressNights 313 sends me an incoded glyph.

Smells like basil, sticky on the top where the picture of the crescent-shaped palm gleams. There’s a tiny gem on the left corner of the palm, a chip of cloned sapphire or some other shitty rock they’ve been able to reproduce at the lab these days. Comes from the sea, or whatever’s left of it. In the sea in the old days there were also giant reptiles, some shaped like fish. They had heads formed in a pointed beak to aid them in catching the fish. The end of their backbone formed a part of their shark-like tail and they had a fin on their back as fishes used to have to. Fishes were creature that could breath underwater, and some people in the old time would eat them pretty often. I’ve seen videos of them, and replicas of their gills and their glimmering flesh at the Hologram Museum of Moss Landing, CA. The glyph message comes in a tube, and starts decomposing as soon as I open it. I read it, then I read the whole scroll once again, make sure everything is set. With the kid, as well. I glance at him. Massive ankles. The kid’s got the biggest ankles I’ve ever seen on such a small fellow. Above the ankles the rest of the body’s all chubby. Chubby calves, chubby thighs and chubby belly. He’s not tall, either. Half-made. His hair so white I can hardly see them. His nipples tasted like vinegar, and ersatz estrogen. Legendds. He drank three fingers in his brother strokes, several interrelated birds flying by. He laid on the blanket with his legs spread wide open. Off-season I seem to be the only left living dismemberment. There was another kind of sea creature that lived mostly on the shores, but it liked to get some dips into the ocean once in a while, or so they said. It had a shell like the space’s engineers cuirasses and could retract its head and limbs inside there whenever it felt like it. It also laid eggs in which his babies would grow, like birds did. Can’t remember now what they called it. The kid’s laying on his back, his legs spread open. The vein throbbing in my palm around his dick like turgescent blue-greens. His face said the disapperance of the great Orion from the earthly sky and why and sparkled with a great quantity of new numbers, all born from the cross-pathing of Andromeda and good old Miky Way. Also, the face talked with teenage memories, the arch of Jupiter, the always rowing underlying raw onions and wine. I forced his asshole opened wide until he could feel sea-light spirals pulse hard inside it. One of the distant ancestors of the sea-gulls were probably some reptile form. Scientists have not quite agreed upon the exact form. I rub my cock with a slightly loose grip so that my foreskin goes up and down the ultramarine foam of the copper engine. Own the best seats, they say. Secretions frightens me. I stroke the whole lenght of his cock while looking at my other hand stroking bits of piss off the tip of mine. Rubbing the head into my hand, the kid’s tip oozing frantically like wild flowers. White flour is wrong refusing, again thanks. Starting to go down on me again receiving my handy strong sleek in the hollow of his cheeks, seen from the sort of Iran between the spaceship and the far-away supermarkets. Our crotchs pulsed with the text of the titanium plants encoding the movements of the white planet, Dallas-shaped figurines of sperm torturing my balls in the lizardous light, usually a little pain helps. Even the slurry number or something I fax is festooned with the nightshift semen. Isnt most orgasm or something like that susposed to be meilky white because when i masturbate and achieve orgasm its like a sticky clear liquid in stead of milky white. My boner positionned itself quite naturally between his buttcheeks and the MP3 crystallized herbs, and it made deep contact. I realized he loved it as he had his alerts by sitting on my lap. Soon there was a continent. I took a lush closing and slowly washed his ballsacks, teaching him alarming water, i.e. , jerking off with it . Then I took hold of his hand that held the warm cloth on his dick and got some Angus soap on his hand and strongly squeezing his hand in mine I circled his wrist and hardenned the motion of his caresses as he went... Think things, I said, the warning letter pervading my member and the flesh at the bottom of it. Colors shit his brain...The warm water and the slippery soap feels just like a wet ass. Get them off every time. With his penis pointing towards Taurus, one of my hand slipped under his warm ass, I help his buttcheeks rise up and down. While Wyoming down on Earth blew pale curved leaves at the sky, and this videotape for spacemotions to continue the Nation was being carefully recorded, I put a little forward motion with my hips to give the kid’s prick a nice rub. The fifth and sixth sequences flashed from him in bright chloramine and oranges so I used just my fingertips on his knob and up and down across the base, which made months loading and the kid age more slowly, building up his climax into the dusts scattered around the whole home of the 88 IAU before Explorer before he squirted and I shooted my load all over him. I sighed and looked at the numbers flashing accross the kid’s buttcheeks... The little bastard hairless as the membrane protecting the surface of the Moon. Many careless errors during this meeting had occured, and I tried to relax and Earth looked like the Phantom of the next actions and levels. I turned the kid’s body so his face would face me and in the kid’s left eye the scroll flickered

CongressNights 313 to some FarAway

while you refuse to know if the unit S if you really will. It is there some is in… Miller Michelman to the initiative. One lightheadedness you I is sure could think of is if everything to do so but not in the system are where well he will be in Minneapolis. Law is the attitude you get when you just lost his yes to all the states with it is remind all of you die you will also have the honour the plaintiff is a priceless letter the your unnecessary and will he limitation one of the longest many centimeters including only no air-conditioning or the Visteon possibly indicate clinically meaningful necklines of business and is you

I pay little attention to the .text datas which cryptic complexity I can only start to bother deciphering after my third of fourth beer. I roll the kid over on his back and he blinks into the second scroll, stamped with an unusual glyph of a pale-blue egg shaped like a knife’s blade, and which contents reveals after a brief analysis to be more than worth this day of intense work.

The decrypted glyph’s a map.

A map that could, if I don’t fuck it up, get me back on the firm ground real soon.

I just love masturbating.

{My Hoof/ excerpt}

My Hoof,

Part of the universe is empty. If you cover the earth with your thumb and bent over the glassy green ark of the clouds you will believe that ill stars are being glutonously laid by the thick and ringed hand of a plump high priestess and flushed back into the interchangeable skies in phosphorescing squads, but there truly is nothing there but the left-overs of a semen trail a melancholic angel has spat out. There was once a helicopter or an aster crossing the sky that blinked, but many dogs barked echoes from farm to farm from far away and that was it : this layer of the known universe had been locked inside its glassy shell by the word the kid uses in this book to freeze the world around him : a world addicted to a word which could freeze it on command.

The world forced dreams to caress it and give it a script ; it banged it red hot tentacles like the spinning dick of a giant against all the beautiful things its eye could see, and there were dog combats and drunken commandments given through the earth to the maker of caves, who was making them out of objects and colors he’d gathered from pure dreams : dreams devoided of the contonsions of a brain in which to grow its ivy arms up to the crown of the gods of the sky, of a language pond above which to bend and pour down their reflections so they would become textures and sounds. The dream dimension enamourdly preserved in the caves was the only Nature that existed ; drunken on the frozen world the frozen word of the child has made, the earth forgot itself and dreams were all that remained, ancient and plutonic, poisonously soft as only prophecies or lies can be.

A mother was eating bits of her son’s flesh for a light carton sachel. There are dog combats. The mother is looking in the distance. There are dog combats. The mother is looking to the sky ; there are dog combats. The dogs sperms completed the other dogs sperms completely ; they fought in a state of almost reverie, revealling sometimes in the dark of a dog elbow the double cyclop eye of a fox terrier with black balls. There were dog combats from where the son came back, a water-melon scented brume

The world felt like a cheek rubbed too often