Poetic Erotica

I Located Kink.Com's Holy Grail!

noreply@blogger.com (Kake Andrews) — Thu, 16 Feb 2012 07:51:27 PST

Most of us, given a little time to do thorough research, could more than easily locate anything we see used in a kink.com (more info about kink.com here) production at a stellar price, of high quality, thereby making it an excellent value. However, I don't think I know that many people kinky or vanilla, in my real life, in my Second Life, through my work or social pursuits online, etc, that would know where, especially domestically, to get a TAZapper. What's a TAZapper, you ask? Why, it's that ingenious and oh, so deliciously terrifying red and black electrical zapper device so often used in kink.com productions. But, oh! My friends, do I have a secret for you! You see, I know of the only U.S. online retailer of the TAZapper as of two nights ago. I think the estimate for what my order would've been, had I placed it, was around 40-43 usd. Not bad. Not bad at all.

And that's all she wrote, folks. The fat lady is singing. The bells have chimed. Tick-tock, tick-tock... you ain't gotta go home but ya can't stay here.

Oh yeah and, btw, next time, more information about the TAZapper.

An Affinity for All Things Audrey

noreply@blogger.com (Kake Andrews) — Mon, 13 Feb 2012 05:43:08 PST

Yes, I HAVE been writing with some increased frequency. Blame it on my "get organized/motivated/more productive" campaign for myself this year or a renewed sense of inspiration due to some interesting prompts I get daily and/or weekly or just blame it on the stars. I mean, who really knows what causes us to be more creative/inspired/productive? I can't blame it on increased energy or better health - both my energy levels and health are completely fuckered right now; nor can I blame it on increased happiness, though perhaps I am more content with myself (though not this horrid vessel which houses my being and seems intent on constantly attacking me). I honestly couldn't tell ya. Anyway, this poem was written a few weeks ago actually but because of template issues (which I'm obviously still victim to - anyone know of a good custom template site or cheap ass web designer?), health issues, general uber-busyness, and the like, I haven't had a chance to post it until now. It was inspired by a pic of Audrey Hepburn, which will be included in this post, as will the obligatory soundcloud track. Oh! By the way, did you know that if you go to my soundcloud profile, you can download all my poems? Just don't redistribute them without my prior consent or I will take legal action, trust me - both my parents are lawyers, as was my grandfather, and I have a cousin or two who are judges. Don't fuck with me with copyright infringement because I do NOT mess around and will pursue every possible legal action to the fullest extent of the law. Just sayin'. Anywho... now back to our regularly scheduled programming. Okay, so the poem: as it's inspired by a woman I reckon the narrator is speaking to a woman (especially considering the title - "Oh, Audrey" and how the poem begins (the first words are "Sometimes, Audrey[...]"). This is quite literally the first love poem or piece of erotica that I've addressed to a woman. I guess since I'm discovering that I lean more towards bisexuality rather than heteroflexibility as I once thought, it only makes sense. It's just another way of exploring that aspect of my sexuality and identitiy, I suppose. So, there ya have it. You got your first lezzie poem from me, aren't ya excited? It's a very descriptive (perhaps ever overly so at times) prose poem that I actually composed in a tumblr post (you DID know I have a tumblr, right? It's called Pretty Porn and Other Loves) off the top of my head and later copied and pasted to MS Word, where I edited and revised it. I'm pretty pleased with the results, if I do say so myself, but am afraid it does get a bit flowery at times in terms of imagery and description. However, I'll let you be the judge as I don't exactly have the most objective perspective now, do I? One thing I do ask - hell, beg of you - is that you leave comments this time. PLEASE! HALP! I like it but am afraid the extremity of the amount of description and imagery may make it kind of shitty and as I've said, I have absofuckinglutely NO perspective here. Thank you so much for the feedback (in advance). Anyway, with no further ado, here she is, the lovely Ms Hepburn...

And the text...

Oh, Audrey

Sometimes, Audrey, you give me chills like icicle fingertips caressing my spine. You take my breath from me suddenly, completely, to the extent that instantly, I can make no sound, choking on strangled whimpers.

I get lost.

Your eyes never fail to make me instantly freeze, transporting me somewhere that lives only in the map of your face - the curves and contours and hollows created by the sloping bones and tapering flesh that comprise your beautifully haunted yet undeniably unguarded visage.

A slight curl of the thin lines of your lips leaves me dazed, stumbling, speechless - your exquisiteness a drug. I am helpless against the splendor of each tiny movement in an expression.

Your elegant yet winsome wiles have a way of halting me in my tracks that not a single other delight in this plane of existence can manage. Your power is irrefutable.

I lose myself to you each time our eyes find each other - be it during a kiss or five years later across a crowded subway station, long separated and no longer in touch.

It is you who I lose myself to - diving towards the coral reefs of your being, your soul finally and achingly spread out in front of me like a duvet - wrinkled and warm whereas I - I am wanton, lying beneath the weight of your stuffing, your soft, downy touch cocooning me in its embrace, and you - you are the opposite – seemingly unfettered by the complications of love and lust, almost naive, wide-eyed and credulous, quite like an unspoiled and sheltered child.

When we come together a balance is achieved, a harmony - our voices comingle and dance together in a way that transforms and triumphs.

Together, we burn, a flame that can't be extinguished, as you hold me so close with those eyes that speak of sun and balmy breezes and beaches where we run bare bodied into the breakers, letting the sea steal us away from the confines of a construct.

Daily, I get stuck in our gaze, lost for hours at a time, then - the day is gone, and when the sun sets, I am wholly and entirely without regrets.

And, finally, the audio...

I AM the White Rabbit

noreply@blogger.com (Kake Andrews) — Wed, 01 Feb 2012 01:30:55 PST

"I'm late! I'm late! For a very important date! No time to say hello, goodbye! I'm late! I'm late! I'm late!"

- The White Rabbit as voiced by Bill Thompson in Disney's 1951 animated version of Alice in Wonderland (more about Alice in Wonderland).

Yeah, my TMI Tuesday post is late. Again. So be it. You can call me Ms. Rabbit from now on, please and thank you.

TMI Tuesday: January 31, 2012

Super Bowl Sunday Celebration

Even if their team is not going to the Super Bowl, millions of people love an excuse to party. So party we will. Tell us what your ideal Super Bowl Celebration (or any sports party) looks like by answering:

1. What’s your favorite _____ that you’ll serve at the party (name one item for each):

a. choice of beer - Dogfish Head 90 Minute IPA

b. choice of wine - R.H. Phillips Toasted Head Chardonnay (available at this online wine store or this online wine store)

c. choice of distilled spirit - Knob Creek Bourbon (more about bourbon) (purchase at this online liquor store, this online liquor store, this online liquor store, or this online liquor store)

d. choice of mixed drink - Margarita, Bloody Mary (my personal Bloody Mary recipe), or White Russian (my personal White Russian recipe)

e. choice of chip - white corn tortilla chips

f. choice of dip - queso (medium), crab dip, spinach/artichoke/cheese dip

g. choice of take-out food (pizza, burgers, Chinese food, wings, etc) - gourmet pizza

h. choice of homemade food - ribs on the grill

i. choice of salty food - cheddar & sour cream potato chips

j. choice of sweet food - red velvet cupcakes

2. What will you wear at the party?

Jeans and a wife-beater style tank top that says something cute across the chest, barefoot, pigtails, boyshorts and a bra that makes my tits look spectacular, of course. Alas, I haz no pics but I swear sometime soon I will get a good camera and grace you with my pretty image. Or not. We'll see. ;P

In the meantime, here's an example of the kind of tank top I might wear:

3. You will be having your very own half time show at the football party. What is that half-time show? Briefly describe.

Pole-dancing class with demos from the instructor then all the students (female and male) must attempt the moves they've been shown.

4. What team do you wish was playing in the Super Bowl?

I don't have to wish. My team is playing. I'm a Pats fan all the way, baby! Witwoo! \o/

5. The NY Giants and New England Patriots are in Super Bowl 2012, who do you want to win? (ummm…yeah, I had to google that info…LOL)

THE PATS, DUH! I just said that, ffs. C'mon, y'all. Get with the program!

Bonus: Have you ever made a football (or Super Bowl) bet that involved sex? Tell us about your own Super Bowl of Sex.

Unfortunately, no. Now I have some interesting ideas though. *grins*

Bonus Bonus: Will you watch the Super Bowl? Do you even care about the Super Bowl? American football at all? What’s your can’t live without sport?

I might. A little. A little. Skateboarding, snowboarding, big-wave surfing.

I've got the goods! New poem numero uno (with audio)!

noreply@blogger.com (Kake Andrews) — Thu, 19 Jan 2012 07:23:58 PST

Sooo... I bet you've been wondering where the fuck I've been, right? Well . . . here, there, everywhere but have no fear, I'm back now and with all the goodies you've been waiting for. First up is a slightly cheeky poem filled with innuendo that I wrote for kicks one day. It surprised me with its subtle power (yes, that's oxymoronic or some such shit - sue me!) and grace. It's filled with lust without ever spelling out the delivery of the goods. A great tease, if I do say so myself. Check it out and excuse the cold in the audio recording. *facepalms*

No Small Thing

The hotness of your breath

as it creates fresh dew upon my neck

is no small thing.

Your hands --

so strong, so big --

are no small thing

as they grip my shaking thighs.

And then, of course,

it's no small thing

when you pound me

with your eyes.

When your lips finally touch mine

the divine occurs and

no,

it is no small thing.

And you thought I was gonna say "that's all she wrote, folks," right??? HA! Another blog post coming up momentarily :P

- Kake

No Small Thing by KakeDastardly

Better Late than Never... Right??? TMI Tuesday Questions & Answers

noreply@blogger.com (Kake Andrews) — Wed, 07 Dec 2011 17:03:17 PST

TMI Tuesday (Yeah, yeah, yeah - I know it's Wednesday. I'm late, sue me)!

Stop Making Sense! (This week's questions)

1. If you were a car, which one would you be? What are some of your best features?
A 1960s Alfa Romeo Spider - candy apple red. Spider's of that era are one of my favorite cars; their lines and curves are very fluid and feminine; their headlights look like girly eyes; and red is my fave color. Plus, how can you have that car and get it in any other color? C'mon now. Spare me.

2. If I gave you an elephant where would you hide it?
I wouldn't bother. I mean, ffs, the thing is huge and I don't even drive, much less have a vehicle to transport it in. Therefore, I'd just stick it in the backyard where I could enjoy it and play with it and vice verse. So what if my uber-bitchy next-door neighbor whines a bit? We have ways of making people stay quiet, me and my elephant do.

3. Finish this sentence: Tomorrow I absolutely refuse to….
let the bastards get me down.

4. What is the longest period of time that you’ve gone without a shower?
This is so friggin' embarassing. Shit. A fucking week or maybe like eight days. *facepalms*

5. What is the silliest prank you ever played on someone?
FuckifIknow. I'm not much of a prankster.

Bonus: What is the best piece of gossip that you heard recently?
Oh, yanno, just that rumor bought me getting laid. Oh, wait, that was just my toys who did that to me. Sometimes they have a mind of their own so it gets confusing, yanno?

And . . . it's that time folks. Last call. Closing time. The fat lady has sung and now you have to get your fat asses outa here! <3

It's Sunday Stealing time! YAY!

noreply@blogger.com (Kake Andrews) — Sun, 29 Jan 2012 03:48:21 PST

Holy fuck, it's been forever and a coupla days since I posted. I'm so sorry, y'all. Been going through some stuff in my real life but have no fear, I'm around and as always, you can reach me a variety of ways, including via email at katelynndastardly@gmail.com if I haven't told ya that before. Since my life is still sort of in unpheaval, I don't know how much regularity I'll be posting with. I will definitely be posting more often than in the last couple of months but how much more often, I cannnot say. Anyway...

Onto the good stuff. You all know me and my blog memes. And you're familiar with Sunday Stealing, where the authors steal memes from other blogs (doesn't everyone steal from everyone anyway, at some time or another, to some extent)? So, that's what we're about to do. Today's Sunday Stealing is from the blogger and blog, BlueLifeMemories. Today's inquiries are titled under the heading The Blue Memory Meme and there are eight million and twelve questions, so I best get to it, huh? Okay, so only 25 questions but you know me and questions. Le sigh. Alrighty then, let's do this thing.

And with no further ado, I now present you with . . .

The Blue Memory Meme Part One

1) If the whole world were listening to you right now, what would you say?

Live and love raw and fierce, always creating.

2) If you could meet anyone on this earth, who would it be?

ON this earth? Hmm... That's a toughie. OOH! James Franco - brains and beauty, who could ask for anything more? ;)

3) You just got a free plane ticket to anywhere. You have to depart right now. Where are you gonna go?

Australia

4) What do you think about most?

Sex, duh. *rolls my eyes*

5) You have the opportunity to spend a romantic night with the music celebrity of your choice. Who would it be?

Um, I think we already covered this with the James Franco thing, duh. *more eye-rolling*

6) You can erase any horrible experience from your past. What will it be?

Nothing. Every experience gives me an opportunity to learn, so even the bad experiences have the opportunity for some good to come out of them. Not to mention, every experience I've had, negative and positive, has molded me into the woman I am today and gosh darnit if most days I'm not a little in love with her, at least. So, no. Nothing, that's what it will be.

7) What's your strangest talent?

Opening twist-off beers with my toes.

8) What would be a question you'd be afraid to tell the truth on?

Shiiiit. I don't really know. I can't think of anything off the top of my head but I'm also scared shitless of everything in a way so I'm sure one could easily come up with a question that meets that criteria, I just couldn't tell ya what it is, at this moment.

*Sidebar: maybe I shouldn't have smoked a lil somethin'-somethin' before I did this?*

9) Ever had a poem or song written about you?

Yes. And that's all I have to say about that.

10) When is the last time you played the air guitar?

Yesterday? It was to Pete Doherty's live introduction of the Babyshambles song, "Beg, Steal, or Borrow" on this Brit show hosted by Jonathon Ross.

11) Do you have any strange phobias?

Too many to count. I KID! I KID! I do panic over small OCD shit though.

12) What's your religion?

I don't believe in organized religion but I am spiritual. I believe in reverance.

13) What is your current desktop picture?

Mark Ruffalo. Black and white. Shirtless. Le sigh. *swoons*

14) When you are outside, what are you most likely doing?

drinking and dancing ftw! \o/

15) What's the last song you listened to?

"Left of the Dial," The Replacements

16) Simple but extremely complex. Favorite band?

I can't pick one. DAMNIT TO HELL! Why do y'all try me like this???
I KID! I KID!
Top 10: Beatles, Bob Dylan, The Libertines, Los Campesinos!, The Love Language, The
Pixies, The Rolling Stones, The Velvet Underground, David Bowie, Louis Armstrong.

17) What was the last lie you told?

That I didn't spend money I owed my brother. :(

18) Do you believe in karma?

Not technically but at the same time, I'm not unopen to its existence, if yanno what I mean?

19) What is a saying you say a lot?

Whatever's clever.

20) What is your greatest weakness; your greatest strength?

Greatest weakness: being my own worst enemy.
Greatest strength: believing in myself.
I'm a contradiction in terms.

21) Who is your celebrity crush?

How many times are we gonna go over this? JAMES MOTHERFUCKING FRANCO.

22) Give me the first thing that comes to mind when you hear the word: heart.

Hollow. Wow. Where the FUCK did that come from???

23) How do you vent your anger?

Cry, chainsmoke, write, talk to friends, beat up my punching bag, try to remember to breathe.

24) Do you have a collection of anything?

Magazines, school/office/art supplies, books galore, more mp3s than you could possibly imagine (a few gigs, if not a terrabyte, maybe), candles, incense, empty wine and liquor bottles, dried flowers and so on and so forth.

25) What is your favorite word?

Don't have one. Off the top of my head, here are a few: cathartic, evoke, create, harness, elevate, fathom, breathtaking, poignant, bittersweet, melodramatic, semantics, synergy, and so on and so forth.

And that's all she wrote folks! You know what that means! You don't have to go home but ya can't stay here!

<3

Contemplations On The Art Of Living Life

noreply@blogger.com (Kake Andrews) — Thu, 13 Oct 2011 11:36:23 PDT

This is neither a poem, short story, or critical/informative/or analytical essay on either. Nor is it erotic, except that for me, it is what makes erotica that much more of a deeply powerful medium. I guess you could call it an essay or manifesto or personal narrative or give it any of a number of other labels, but I prefer to refrain from limiting it by categorization. It is simply a collection of words, strung together, to express, in some small, inadequate way, my appreciation of life, how I see the act of living, and how I hope to spend each moment in this world. It's also some seriously hippie-ass sounding shit, but so what and so be it. I really haven''t the faintest idea of how to describe this to you, so I will quit attempting to do so, and let it stand on its own.

Contemplations On The Art Of Living Life

I see too much, feel too much, love too much. Because of this, my heart breaks a million times a day, because the beauty in this world has the capacity to not only open my heart but to close it, to not only heal me but to wound me to the core, even as I revel in that beauty. Everyday, I fall in love all over again with the infinity of beauty, love, and kindnesss I find in this thing we call life, in spite of the equally overwhelming amount of ugliness, cruelty, and hate we find in it as well. Every moment holds for me the possibility of that overwhelming emotion we call joy - in its most pure, magical, transforming, and awe-inspiring manner. I feel sorry for those who do not see the world as I do, who do seek out and find infinite opportunites for wonder and amazement in life, who are blind to the flowers that grow from the cracks in the pavement, who cannot open themselves up enough to allow humanity's capacity for generousity and kindness to outweigh our seemingly endless capacity for hurt and hatred. I may be continuously disappointed in my fellow man and the construct we've created called society, but I am continuously in awe of the myriad of facets of love and splendor and beauty and wisdom in them as well. I hurt all the time because my eyes are fully open not only to the ugliness of life, but to its unparalelled charm, allure, exquisiteness, and excellence and the fascination that both hold for me. I will never be able to say I'm an ice queen, even though in my weaker moments I may yearn for that jaded, closed, hard kind of strength, as I'm sure it would make the act of living in this world easier. However, I know easier is not better and that I am lucky to be able to love every aspect of the time I have on this plane of existence, that my capacity to see and feel and love so fully, richly, and entirely is a blessing, no matter what pain and heartbreak it carries with it. Yes, the cruelty and inhumanity and hatred and hurt of the worst of mankind outrages and disgusts me, but knowing that the possibility of the opposite of this is present in each and every one of us keeps me from myself succumbing to lure of the very things by which I am outraged and disgusted. We are, each of us, capable as members of the human race, of everything that the best and the worst of us is capable of. I am no better than the worst of us nor no worse than the best of us. In knowing this, it allows me to forgive and to let go, to let the horror that has been inflicted upon me and those I cherish be an opportunity to grow, learn, evolve, and flourish in the face of adversity. When I am able to recognize and accept and honor and embrace this, the monstrosities I've been privy to as I've travelled through life cease to hold me in their grip, lose their power over me, fade to but a memory which I can choose to either let continue to cause me suffering or transform it into an opportunity for awakening. I choose the latter. I will not let this world grind me down. I will always attempt to see each moment as precious and unique and as an opportunity for total and complete bliss. I refuse to close myself off to the infinity of experiences available to me as a human being. I will always see and feel and love too much - as fully and completely as I'm capable of, for even when the beauty of the world wounds me to the core, it is still beauty, and its power and importance and enormity know no bounds. copyright 2011 Katherine Andrews

Leap of Faith

noreply@blogger.com (Kake Andrews) — Sat, 24 Sep 2011 18:28:33 PDT

This next poem is an old one and one I'm not necessarily as thrilled with as I might once have been but it's been promised to you for some time now as it's the follow-up to "Meant to Be." (Yes, that means there's a voice file at the bottom of the post). So, I thought now that I have a working headset again, it was about damn time I deliver on my word. Again, it's about a step I took on my journey as a submissive and about the same particular ex, whom I adore to this day. With all that said, here she blows:

Leap of Faith

So now

I sit here

Years later

I eagerly anticipate your arrival next week

Reread your email over and over again

Contemplate the risqué pictures I might send to you

I still want you inside me

And I want you

To be the one to take me to the next level

You are the one I have chosen

To submit to

I’m giving myself to you

Once again

As I have over and over

Over the years

Please, baby

Hurt me only when I want you to

Treasure me as you always have

When you hit me, know that it’s not because I’m weak or lost

But because I need to feel and to give up this constant need for control

Take me to the brink and beyond

To the depths and back again

Make me whimper and scream

Beg and plead

Then give me everything I ask you for

Treat me like a slut

And like a queen

Hold me and enfold me

Princess and whore and oh so much more

I am yours for the taking

Just don’t leave me aching and shaking

I’m counting on you

To do as you always have

And love me more than I love you

Leap of Faith 9-14-11 by KakeDastardly

Face Fucking

noreply@blogger.com (Kake Andrews) — Mon, 12 Sep 2011 07:03:34 PDT

So some of you twitter types may be familiar with the hash tag #fucktoyfriday. For the rest of you, basically, it's a tag people post with their tweets on Fridays, the tweets being sexual in nature, generally pics or text of women being "fucktoys" or using "fucktoys." This past Friday, I got inspired and wrote something a bit longer than twitter's 180 words - #fucktoyfriday. Thus, I had to tiny paste it. It's also pretty damn filthy. Thus, I thought I might share it with you here. So, with no further ado, here's #fucktoyfriday, Face Fucking:

He's facefucking me, ramming his cock deeper and deeper down my throat as I gag and tears stream down my cheeks in rivulets, leaving behind a trail of smeared mascara. From time to time, he removes his cock from my throat and slaps my face with it. Then he rubs it all over every inch of the smooth skin of my face, before teasingly rubbing it across my lips without actually inserting into the gaping hole in the middle of my face. He'll pull his cock totally away from my open mouth, holding it just inches from my face while I whimper with need. After a few minutes of this cycle repeating, while all the while I whimper and moan, beg and plead, uttering desperately, "Daddy, please can I have your cock? Please fuck my face. Please, I'll do anything, just let me taste your cum." Finally, he plunges his cock back into my mouth, rapidly forcing it all the down my throat. Once again, I begin to choke and cry. My cunt drips and my nipples are hard and pert. Just the site and smell of his cock make me desperate with desire. Having him in my mouth is an honor and a priveledge.

copyright 2011 Katherine Andrews

I Love Music: TMI Tuesday Questions and Answers

noreply@blogger.com (Kake Andrews) — Tue, 30 Aug 2011 10:32:40 PDT

TMI Tuesday: I Love Music Edition

Tuesday, August 30, 2011

1. What's the most annoying song in the world?

pretty much anything by Sting. crap-rap with nonsensical overly repetitive hooks. bubblegum pop that makes women out to be morons. etc.

2. What's the saddest song in the world?

I really don't know how I'm supposed to pick just one answer to any of these. Top 5 saddest songs: "Tomorrow Wendy," Concrete Blonde; "First of the Gang to Die," Morrissey; "These Days," Nico; "Hallelujah," Jeff Buckley; "Not Forgotten," Henrock.

3. What's the sexiest song in the world?

Again, how to choose? Top 5 sexiest songs: "Something," The Beatles; "All This And More," The Dead Boys; "Lay Lady Lay," Bob Dylan; "Let's Get It On," Marvin Gaye; "Romeo And Juliet," Dire Straits

4. Name a new, to you, band or music artist that you can't get enough of? Post a link to one of their songs.

Kevin Coyne - "Marlene"

5. Have you met any famous musicians?

yup. more than my fair share, I'd guess, but I live in an area rich with musical talent and am just a lucky cunt, I reckon.

6. What song best describes your life?

Oh, lord. I don't even fucking know but here's one that isn't entirely off-the-mark: "28 Butts," Little Jackie

7. How important is your partner’s taste in music to you?

Very. Like absurdly important.

8. Do you sing in the shower?

Doesn't everyone?

9. What was the last live music show you attended? Did you buy a t-shirt?

I think it was The Love Language, Veelee, and some other people at King's in Raleigh last Dec. but I can't say for sure - I may have been to something more recent and am just blanking on it.

10. What's the sweetest song in the world?

"What A Wonderful World" - Louis Armstrong

11. Can you play a musical instrument? Which one?

Nope. Not a damn thing.

12. Are you in a band or are you a performing solo music artist? If yes, what kind of music do you play?

Hell, no. My brother got all the musical talent in the family.

13. Have you ever dated a musician?

More than I can count.

14. Are you a groupie?

Nope.

- If yes, for what artist/band?

- If no, do you wish you were and for what music performing artist or band?

Hell, no.

Bonus: Describe your worst, best, strangest, funniest or saddest concert moment.

All of the above. The second time I saw Dylan (yes, that Dylan), about a year ago. Oh. Em. Gee. It was so pathetic. I understand the man loves to perform, but the only place he should be performing these days is in HIS shower. His voice is shot and rearranging all his classics with blues arrangements only heightens the sense of "wtf" rather than diminishing it. Seriously, and I love Dylan with a passion, he's taken his incomprehensibility (is that even a word? if not, fuck it) to new heights. He made my ears hurt. At one point, my mother, father, brother and I all looked at each and just burst out laughing our asses off at the sheer absurdity and patheticness of the whole spectacle. I said, "I don't know whether I should be laughing or crying." My mom: "I KNOW!" That. Fucking. Bad. Best part of the whole show was, on my way back to the baseball stadium's bleachers from the lawn area created in the diamond, right after smoking a lil something-something with my brother and friends, watching a couple swing dance. It kind of summed up the ridiculousness of the night.

Bonus, Bonus: If you listen to the radio, what station and type of music are you tuned to the most?

The local college radio station pretty much exclusively (or on rare occasions, NPR): WKNC 88.1 in Raleigh, from NCSU. Sometimes, if I'm feeling nostalgic, I'll listen to WQFS from Guilford College in Greensboring, NC online.

Fashionably Late: TMI... Is It Still Tuesday? TMI Tuesday Questions and Answers: August 3, 2011

noreply@blogger.com (Kake Andrews) — Wed, 03 Aug 2011 01:49:22 PDT

Once again, folks, I get to answer some really fun (or not so much, depending on if it's you or me whose point of view we're seeing this from) questions about... well, anything and everything, depending on the week. Yup, that's right, it's that time again, yall (or maybe a little past "that" time but oh, well). It's. . . Drumroll, please . . . TMI Tuesday! \o/ (click the link - yanno, the TITLE, for more). . .
Read more »

Sunday Stealing! The Fifteen Movie Questions Meme (aka More Than You Ever Wanted To Know About Me And Movies)

noreply@blogger.com (Kake Andrews) — Sun, 31 Jul 2011 20:17:14 PDT

Today, I bring to you a new weekly blog meme thingy, kinda along the lines of TMI Tuesday. However, Sunday Stealing, the new blog I discovered, is a little different. Instead of coming up with original questions and sticking to a specific format each week, like the TMI Tuesday Blog does, Sunday Stealing does just that - steals. Each week, the author, Bud Weiser, takes a meme he discovered on a different blog or website and posts it for participants to respond to, making sure to give credit to the original author/blog/site/what have you. So far, it looks like loads of fun, and the more of these I have to do on a regular basis, the more I actually WILL do them, and the more I'll post poetry and other posts as well. Anyway, this week's post, The Fifteen Movie Questions Meme, with my answers, coming right up . . .

1. Movie you love with a passion.
Casablanca.

2. Movie you vow to never watch.
Big Momma's House (saw a preview for one of the sequels last night - UGH).

3. Movie that literally left you speechless.
Riding Giants.

4. Movie you always recommend.
Breakfast at Tiffany's.

5. Actor/actress you always watch, no matter how crappy the movie.
Johnny Depp. Audrey Hepburn.

6. Actor/actress you don’t get the appeal for.
John Wayne. Angelina Jolie.

7. Actor/actress, living or dead, you’d love to meet.
James Franco. Katharine Hepburn.

8. Sexiest actor/actress you’ve seen. (Picture required!)

Brigitte Bardot

Mark Ruffalo

9. Dream cast.
Humphrey Bogart, Marlon Brando, Johnny Depp, Leonardo DiCaprio, Lauren Bacall, Audrey Hepburn, Reese Witherspoon, Kate Winslet.

10. Favorite actor pairing.
Bogie & Bacall.

11. Favorite movie setting.
Favorite setting? REALLY? The setting depends on plot and characters and is influenced by time period, mood, and many other factors. I can't have a favorite setting without favorite characters, plot, mood, era, etc. That has got to be one of the silliest questions ever. Oh yeah, and don't forget genre. I mean, you're unlikely to have a coming-of-age movie on Mars and unlikely to have an action thriller in a one-horse town. I'm not saying either is impossible, just not probable. Trying to pin down a favorite setting is like trying to pin down a favorite letter, or something, because the use of one is dependent on so many other factors. Puhleeeze. Spare me. *rolls eyes dramatically and sighs*

12. Favorite decade for movies.
1940s, perhaps. Or 1950s. Or 1960s. They all had REALLY good ones. Then again, so did the '70s. And '80s. And... well, you get the idea. Fuck if I know.

13. Chick flick or action movie?
Depends on the particular choices, the folks in the films, and my mood at the particular time. Generally, as long as they're well-done and have good casts, etc, I dig both equally.

14. Hero, villain, or anti-hero?
Hmm... probably anti-hero, though there are some villains that do it for me too - mainly those that would fall into the anti-hero category though, according to Wikipedia's definition, including Byronic heroes and "the antagonist who (in contrast to the archetypal villain) elicits considerable sympathy or admiration." Le sigh. Uber-hot.

15. Black and white or color?
Depends on the movie and my mood. While Casablanca is a masterpiece and, in my humble opinion, colorizing it would be tantamount to an act of blasphemy, and many other b&w films are equally brilliant and only really work in the original format, there are plenty of totally craptastic movies shot in b&w as well. Whether or not these movies are b&w or color wouldn't change the quality of the movie. Likewise, there are brilliant color movies and totally horrid color movies. And again, whether these movies are color or b&w doesn't change the basic quality of the film. Also, like with some b&w movies, there are some color movies that only really work in color. For instance, how would The Matrix work in b&w? Or American Beauty? Don't get me wrong, black and white has an elegant, classic appeal, and is all that much more dramatic in old noir and the like, but it does have its limitations and its time and place, just like anything else. So, the short answer is, no preference - I just like GOOD movies, regardless of whether they're b&w or color. :D

Oh, yeah. I'm back with a vengeance, baby!

noreply@blogger.com (Kake Andrews) — Mon, 18 Jul 2011 11:10:22 PDT

Okay, so I don't actually know if that's true yet. The post title, that is. I have a poem, one I adore, ready to copy and paste into the template for the post. And yet, I know I have to record this, so I know it isn't done yet. Le sigh. Let's see if I can rock 'em, sock 'em with my recital skills today, y'all! And with no further ado (the audio follows the text):

Meant To Be

You were so wrong
So bad
So not what I was supposed to want
Yet again and again
I found myself cradled by your arms
Shivering in delight at your lightest touch
I wanted you oh so much
Even though I knew you were everything
I was supposed to keep at bay
The way our eyes caught each other
Oh boy, it was inevitable
Yes, there were boyfriends and girlfriends to consider
Best friends and roommates
But I don’t think they ever crossed our minds
As our lips touched
In an explosion of orange starlight
And our bodies came together
Bare skin against bare skin
As fires rose from between our thighs
Oh, what a magical delight, what a grand surprise
So what if we had to tell a few little white lies?

I remember matt’s face when I told him we’d slept together
It was maybe the only time I’d seen him hurt by my words
I took a sick pleasure in it
And the angry phone call when jean found out
The threats of an ass-kicking
I stood waiting in my apartment
Jewelry off, sneakers on, hair up,
Primed for a fight
No one ever came
Still, a decayed friendship drew its last breaths that day
How many people did we hurt?
I don’t really care
Not ourselves
And we’re still here
After all these years
And the tears
And the fears
We outlasted all the other pairings

So, it turned out it was worth it in the end
That the love we made was greater than
The love we lost
The gain was more than the cost
The beauty more than anything we tossed
We must have been meant to be
To have overcome all these bullshit odds
We me're meant to be to each other
Exactly who we’ve come to be
It must’ve been fate, love.
the gods designed this -
it’s our destiny

copyright 2009 Katherine Andrews

p.s. I might read you the other poem I wrote to this guy next time, if you're lucky. ;)

Meant to Be by KakeDastardly

The End of My Writer's Block: Love Like

noreply@blogger.com (Kake Andrews) — Fri, 01 Jul 2011 08:47:45 PDT

Love Like

love like blood spilled

like wine staining a white carpet

like red paint on your hardwood floor

like skin ripped and painting your jeans with your lifeforce

love like the sun gone down

love like a roller coaster who's tracks don't quite seem up to code

love like a thing of beauty withering, wilting, wasting away

love like a beautiful disaster

love like a precious gem that you keep stealing back from a persistant thief

love like a diamond that has a fatal flaw

love like the eye of a fish dangling from a hook

love like drowning on dry land

love like a joke you don't quite get because it's a joke on you

love like a god you cling to even though you no longer quite believe

Love Like c 7-1-11 Katherine Andrews by KakeDastardly

Is It So Wrong?

noreply@blogger.com (Kake Andrews) — Sun, 26 Jun 2011 13:47:58 PDT

Le sigh. What to say about this poem? Well, first of all, it will be painfully obvious upon reading it that I was going through a (somewhat pretentious?) stream of consciousness phase. The poems produced during this phase of my evolution as a writer are among the most loved and hated that i've written. I happen to love this one but, then again, I'm biased. If you don't follow every bit of it, don't worry - there are many allusions in it, among other poetic devices. And, as usual, it's about a past (and tortured) relationship, one I've even posted poems about before, though I won't say which ones. Check out the soundcloud audio track of the poem below.

Is It So Wrong?

So what if I want to throw it all up?

What’s wrong with the wanting –

wanting to get rid of all this perversity and of course, you.

And yes, there are times when I relish the moments that you cling to me –

hands running through hair, stroking arms, exploring every inch of skin without ever

nearing the erogenous zones.

And so what if sometimes I’m in love with the moment?

But what’s so wrong with wanting to get rid of that and you,

when I can’t trust a single moment spent with you and you spill forth from your mouth so

much BS

and I can’t begin to know up from down, right from left, the real from the “plastic

inevitability,”

the “state of affairs where the fake is more real than the real.”

I run from that. You, you embody that, you Warhol,

you man so searching and lost and grabbing the bits and pieces.

Do you just collect us in your memory palace, so many relics

that can so easily be eradicated or replaced and I see you

draw back the animal’s-hair bow, let the arrow fly, but not to pierce

heart or mind or even soul but simply so we cease to exist.

Am I wrong when, at times, I long to run from this but I am the deer caught in headlights, frozen up, eyes wide, fixated, formulated.

(And you, so not an answer).

Wait for me, so you can draw back the bow, release the arrow –

poking, prodding, piercing, but never pouring across the line to where

there are no lines and so much spills forth

as we emerge from empty cocoons

and shoot each other.

Is It So Wrong? by KakeDastardly

TMI Tuesday Questions & Answers - June 21, 2011

noreply@blogger.com (Kake Andrews) — Tue, 21 Jun 2011 09:20:49 PDT

TMI Tuesday Questions (from the TMI Tuesday blog) for Tuesday June 21, 2011

1. How many states have you had sex in? How many countries? Yes, Oral counts! All sex acts– penetrative or not– are sex.

I'm wracking my brain - I guess I'm a bore in this area. Shocking, I know. Just the one state, North Carolina.

2. What do you think is the sexiest piece of clothing a man/women wears on a daily basis? e.g., bra, jeans, sundress, dress shirt, etc.

On either one the right expression (a come-hither look, a smile, a smirk, and so on and so forth) and/or their natural scent (depending on the person, of course). Okay, fine, I'll choose actual clothing, damnit. Men - boxer briefs or wife-beater tanks (what a horrid name for a shirt). Women - garters and stockings, hands down.

3. Would you date yourself? Why or why not?

Shiiiiiiit. Fuck if I know! I guess it really depends on the day. Yes, today I would definitely date myself. I'm sexy as hell, not bad-looking, impressively intelligent, curious, sometimes even funny, talented as all hell, loving and giving almost to a fault, erratic, eccentric, silly, a little nutso but in the best possible way, a bit of an idiot savant at times, a great flirt, I love people and have genuine gusto for life, and a million other reasons that are so numerous I can't list them all at the moment. Most importantly, though, I reckon, is that I attempt and quite often (increasingly often, in fact) overcome adversity to achieve things I never thought were possible for me, and believe you me, I wasn't the only one who felt that way. I have courage, strength, honesty, kindness, generosity, and love in abundance. And I don't bs or pussyfoot. Yeah, that's it. I'm a soft cookie and one tough broad. \o/

4. Which muscle do you work the hardest: brain, heart, mouth?

HAHAHAHAHAHA! I think most people would say my mouth (no pun intended!!!) but that's only because I'm constantly thinking, usually about things I have genuine love for... so, once again, fuck if I know? It depends on the moment?

5. Fill-in the blank: I am totally prissy (overly finicky) when it comes to _____ .

Where I sit in the movie theatre, people touching my belongings or trying to clean for me (NO, damnit, I know you mean well, but I will damn well do it my fucking self, goddamn it!), and whether or not my food touches on the plate.

Bonus: Describe your darkest fantasy.

Um, this is really hard for me. I've been meaning to work a journal post I did on this subject into a short story of sorts, so I'm just going to take an excerpt from it and copy and paste. These really are my deep, dark, dirty thoughts and I know that there are people who would judge me for that so I do this apprehensively, yet it's also important for me to give expression to these thoughts on the other hand. So, haters, go suck it, and those of you who are open-minded and non-judgemental, well... you may need a cold shower after this. ;)

We're at a bar. You summon me to you.. Of course, I instantly put one foot in front of the other, adding a patented lady swagger, and make my way directly to the entrance of the bar, where you seem to have taken up residence. You grab me by the elbow and subtly but with unmistakable strength and force, guide me out to the parking lot, until you see a well-lit empty space. Once there, you make sure what I know what it is I should do.

"Okay, Kate, my dearest slut; my precious little fucktoy; my filthy cute cum receptacle."

I blush and tears well up in my eyes and I want to giggle too and I cannot help but let just the slightest hint of a smile escape as one side of my lip curls up.

"You will first, pull that top down and take your bra off so you're tittles are on display. Next, the panties have to go. You then need to pull your skirt up enough so it's absolutely clear to anyone who sees you that your ass and cunt are visible - purposely unclothed, there for them to see, on display and to be used as I see fit, in any way I see fit.

Shaking still, my nervous hands fumble at my buttons and zippers in what seems like a never-ending process to remove and rearrange my clothing in the manner in which you desire. Finally, I'm ready.

"Nice, slutkake, very nice. Now lean over the hood of this car, your ass open to me, doggystyle, since I'm about to fuck your asshole until I make you sob and beg for me to stop."

I move into position. There are no words to describe what happened next. With more force and speed than my ass has ever experienced before, you shove the thickest cock I've ever had into my ass with every bit of might you had. Then, slowly, you began to gently rock your hips back and forth against the curve of my ass, so that your cock very kindly thrusts in and out. I sigh in pleasure as you shove the head of a baby fairy wand massager against my clit, quite brutally smothering it. Then, you grab my head my the hair and pull it back, turning me by the neck to face you.

"Whore, move your fucking body or I will make it hurt and not in the way that gives you orgasms. You lightly spit on my cheek then reach back with one hand, holding it suspended in midair for just an instant, before bringing it down upon my cheek with a ferocity that rivals that of the wildest beast in the most vicious kingdom.

This only makes me wetter.

I hear someone whistle and try to maneuver my head so that I can see what's up. Two men stand before us, their hardons and contempt for me equally visible. You look at them and all three of you laugh.

"Nice toy you have there," one says.

"I'd put my meat in her holes," is the other's witty retort.

You, of course, motion them over to us, nodding.

"She's got two holes that can take a cock. Feel free to use them. She needs a good lesson in what constitutes a real fuck. This shit she's feeding me is weak."

This made the other two men grin. After all, you basically just told them to teach me a lesson and do pretty much anything to me.

There's more, however, you're going to have to wait until I write the short story to see how it ends. *Wicked evil grin.*

For A Lover

noreply@blogger.com (Kake Andrews) — Thu, 16 Jun 2011 16:33:35 PDT

This is an oldie but a goodie - a favorite of many friends and others who've read it, including professors, other writers I respect, and the like. I don't really have much to say about it but I really adore it to death and I'm sorry I don't have anything more profound to say about it except that it seems to fit my mood today. Ah, well, sometimes that's all ya got.

For a Lover

How can I claim to be inspired

when I’m always so goddamned tired?

Instead, I’ll just watch the flames climb higher,

wonder, once again, how not to burn

even though I am on fire.

Last night, we drenched ourselves in sweat.

Later, I wondered where they all went –

these goals I’ve never met.

You, I stroked like a faithful pet.

I wished I could have surrendered.

I wished I could have wept.

I took care of drunken you.

It’s something I’ve grown accustomed to,

something I know well how to do.

You couldn’t fill the gaping hole

and I couldn’t play the right role.

Even though we’ve come to know

moods, attitudes, emotions, levels of devotion –

the part I always love the best

is the making of the nest:

burrowing my face in your hairy chest,

being cradled by your toothpick arms.

I am seduced by the least of your charms.

My friend, my friend,

when push comes to shove

and end comes to end,

when one of us is catatonic

and everything seems catastrophic,

the most important things

are always platonic.

copyright 2006 Katherine Andrews

*By the way, yellow roses symbolise friendship, hence the photo I used with this post. However, I didn't want to say that at the beginning of the post, because I didn't want to give away the end of the poem, naturally. Anyway, just clearing that up, in case ya didn't already know.*

When We're Here

noreply@blogger.com (Kake Andrews) — Fri, 10 Jun 2011 13:30:32 PDT

Damn, I've been remiss in keeping up with posting. Well, real life has been nutso, but that's a story for another day one far, far removed from this one. Suffice it to say, I've been busy. And the worst part is, my offering for you today is not my best effort. It does have its charm though. Its a tad naive, perhaps, and one of my earlier efforts, and I'm so obviously in love or at least infatuated at that moment in time it's a little gag-inducing but not really -- in all honesty, I find it a bit cute, but I'm not all that objective, am I? It does at times veer towards the cheesy and cliche, especially, here and there, in the imagery, which, in all honesty, is what bugs me the most, because, for the most part, this is pure fiction, and I can write hotter stuff based solely in fact, which, maybe is the problem, but who cares - it's pretty and I was young and while a seasoned writer, generally-speaking, not-yet-used to the genre of erotica, had not really come into my own as an erotic poet (if I have yet, or ever will) and it's a lovely, awkward, idealistic and at the same time, hot to death (though a tad cheesy) look at a sexual encounter between two lovers, in the purest sense of that term.

WHEN WE’RE HERE

Pain penetrates every muscle and joint,

And yet,

My arthritis nor my bad back are the source of the greatest pain.

I sit here, alone, and think of you,

Wonder what you’re doing,

My heart hurts

With the ache of missing you.

What I miss is your smile, your laugh,

When I do something so me,

And the warmth that spreads through my loins

Anytime, every time,

I am lucky enough to be in your presence.

Oh baby,

I see us together,

Lying near in a picturesque land of our own creation

Waterfalls and sharks going hand in hand.

In this world of whimsy,

I look into your eyes,

Feel your stare penetrate my soul,

As you read me like a book,

Knowing just exactly what I want.

You draw me close to you,

You lips touch mine and I am only in that moment

Where nothing exists except the coming together of us,

The joining of two souls.

Your hands are on my breasts,

Your hot breath on my neck.

Your hands are hot on my skin

As you fumble with my hooks and buttons and zippers and

Then we’re gloriously naked,

Our bare bodies pressed together –

Salty sweat and bare skin against bare skin.

Arms wrapped around your neck,

I attack you with kisses –

Searching, seeking, kisses;

Lusty, loving kisses;

Naughty, needy kisses.

Unable to control myself,

To delay pleasure even an instant longer,

I push you forcefully, purposefully

Onto the bed,

Straddling you,

I grab your cock,

Your beautiful cock

All hard and thick and long and aching for my pussy,

And lower myself onto it,

Slowly, gently, beginning to rock back and forth,

To bounce up and down,

To wiggle and wriggle and giggle and writhe.

My pussy tight around your cock, my nipples hard,

my juices dripping down

my thighs onto you,

I get lost in the speed and rhythm

with which our bodies meet

as you raise up and I slam down,

Perfectly synchronized and

A perfect fit,

Giving to each other of ourselves –

(By no means an easy feat) –

As we bounce up and down in perfect harmony.

I’m lost in your eyes

You stare at me,

Hypnotizing me,

As if your eyes penetrated the very core of my soul.

You know me so well,

You love me so well,

You fit me so well,

Our eyes stay locked, frozen, stuck

In an intimate stare,

A knowing gaze

Our eyes lovingly fixed upon each other,

Stuck in each other’s stare,

Lost in a moment

Of purity and perfection

Of primality and peace

Of the truth only we know –

How here we belong together,

Are connected,

At times even one.

I bounce up and down, up and down,

One hand buried in my pussy,

Fingers, nails, caressing my clit,

Digging in to make tight circles around it,

And to pinch and pull

As you hold me by the waist

Your grip firm and forceful.

You lift me up and down, up and down,

And I in turn slam myself up and down, up and down,

Grinding and gyrating and wriggling and wiggling and

Whimpering, whining,

moaning, groaning,

crying out

In pleasure and

In pain.

Your hands roam my smooth skin,

Reach for a tit,

Tweak a nipple,

Twist,

Pinch,

Pull.

WHACK!

Your hand comes down on my ass

Hard as all hell

And I scream out

Loving the pain

Loving it as you let me know

Just who is in charge

And just what to do.

So close baby, so close,

I whimper,

Repeating,

“baby, baby, baby,

Oh god,

Baby,

I love every second your cock penetrates my pussy.”

You flip me over and

I cry out so loud,

In passion

In pleasure

In pain

As your cock enters my ass,

No mercy for the greedy,

You enter me forcefully,

Filling my ass with your cock.

I know it won’t be long.

You slap my ass again,

Bite my neck,

Order me to make you cum.

Oh baby, anytime.

Every time.

It’s my goal in life.

I ram my ass back against your cock as

you reach around and begin

to pull at my clit,

Pinching it,

Then rubbing it in tight circles

with just the right amount of pressure.

So skilled --

You never cease to amaze me.

One final thrust,

One last push of my pelvis,

And we cum together,

Your white-hot cum mixing with my juices as it fills my ass.

Our bodies shudder, quiver, spasm, throb,

And release is ours,

But more than that

For a moment at least,

Nothing separates us and

we are lost in each other,

Sharing the same ecstasy,

Sharing common love.

We collapse onto the bed,

Lying together,

Our bodies still entwined,

Our eyes still stuck

in the other’s gaze,

Mesmerized,

Hypnotized,

Electrified.

Our lips meet,

Our tongues tangle,

We nibble on each others’ lips,

And with each kiss,

We pass back and forth

electric currents of pure connection,

Pure emotion,

Pure devotion.

Baby,

Can we stay like this forever?

TMI Tuesday Questions & Answers

noreply@blogger.com (Kake Andrews) — Tue, 24 May 2011 07:37:55 PDT

Apparently, there's a twitter hashtag for #TMITuesdays, based on weekly questions asked on a blog of the same name (TMI Tuesday Blog). In the following post, I will post this week's TMI Tuesday questions and attempt to answer them to the best of my ability (emphasis on the word "attempt"). You will also be able to find a link back to my answers in the comments section of today's TMI Tuesday blog post. And now, with no futher ado, for your reading pleasure, TMI about moi . . .

Official TMI Tuesday Questions from the TMI Tuesday Blog:

1. Under what circumstances would you kiss a stranger?

Under the influence of a great deal of alcohol. In a foreign country. Under mistletoe (if at a party, etc - not just totally randomly). On NYE (again, if at a party or something, not just totally randomly). Of course, these would only apply if I were single.

2. Who was the last person you sent a sexy or romantic text message to? What did the text say?

To my boyfriend, Anthony: "You just made me grin & blush & melt." Shortly before that: "Hey sexy, amazing, man; love of my life; man of my dreams. Hope you're having a wonderful, fulfilling, productive day. I love you more than I know how to express and yet I love you more with each and every breath. You never cease to amaze me." (This is how I supposedly "bested" him, as he says in my answer to the next question. But damn, if you could read all the texts he's read to me. He's made me cry from pure joy)!

3. What was the last sexy or romantic text message that you received and what did it say?

From my boyfriend, Anthony: "I LOVE YOU, forever and always." Shortly before that: "Once again you have bested me [in the love text department, so he says, *rolls my eyes*]. Just wait. I'll blow your mind this weekend." We're going out of town Friday for six days, then he's going to visit my hometown for three more days (hence the reference to the weekend). \o/

4. What was the longest romantic relationship you’ve had (months, years)? And what was the shortest romantic relationship?

Longest: off-and-on for about 8 years, maybe a little longer

Shortest: a couple of weeks? a couple of months? Somewhere in between the two. Or, for lack of a better answer, FUCKIFIKNOW

5. If there was a cunnilingus contest, would you enter? Would you “eat” or be eaten?

Yes, and eaten, duh! Though, I swear, I better be able to eliminate the duds quickly! Hehehehe. *grins*

If eating, would you bring along your choice of pussy to lick or use one of the clean delectable pussies provided?

N/A

6. If we asked your partner/lover to describe you sexually in one word, what do you think that word would be?

uber-kinky and insatiable (Sorry! I couldn't pick JUST one! It's just not fair! *pouts*)

And that's all she wrote, folks. Enjoy! And, fyi, I may even have another poem for you later today. If not, definitely tomorrow! <3

Yet Another Extended Metaphor Poem: The Wino Confesses Her Addiction

noreply@blogger.com (Kake Andrews) — Mon, 23 May 2011 15:01:23 PDT

This is a fairly obvious extended metaphor. I think instead of spelling it out this time, for once, I'll just let it speak for itself. So, that being said, here ya go. . .

The Wino Confesses Her Addiction

He's a ripe grape --

crushed, strained, bottled, and

fermented.

When he finally

comes to me,

he's finely aged,

full-bodied,

with dry overtones,

and most importantly,

completely intoxicating.

He comes with a warning

Label that I never

bother to read.

He sits chilled

and breathing

and encased in a shapely package

that gleams

and glistens

as beads of moisture

form upon it.

His heady scent

and taste evoke

danger and thrills

and secrets and late-nights and

things we shouldn't do but would never

take back.

I greedily swallow him down.

I want to take in every

last drop of him,

know every note

of his flavor,

have him

deep inside me

as I become an expert in

the ways in which

he wields his weapons.

He never fails

to seduce me,

when he chooses

to do so.

All it takes is a waft

of his oaky aroma

in my direction,

a gleam from

a bead of moisture

on his wrapping,

I lose myself to him.

It's a fight

I'll never win.

He'll always get his way

with me.

I'm powerless

against this vice

and though I know

I shouldn't drink so greedily

from his cup,

I can't help but gulp

ravenously.

matthew: an acrostic poem

noreply@blogger.com (Kake Andrews) — Fri, 20 May 2011 22:55:30 PDT

First off, let me explain must what I'm doing here. The poem I've got for y'all today is what is called an acrostic poem, which is a poem in which (generally) the first letter of each line in a poem spells out a word or name. In this poem, I spell out the name "Matthew," yet with an "s" on the end because in my early-mid 20s, I dated two men named Matthew back-to-back with less than a 6-month gap in between the two. That, coupled with the fact that, especially while I was dating the first Matthew, they were close friends, is just a bit odd to me, even today, and will forever, in some ways, link them together in my mind (as well as with the man I was involved with after the both Matthews, but that's a story for another poem *grin*). Therefore, the "s" at the end is symbolic of the poem not necessarily being representative of one or the other of them, but of facets of each of them, and of my sort of recollection of them as encompassing and symbolizing together, more than what they do apart, since their relationships have similarities that act as major metaphors for the general state of my life at that point in time, which was both wonderful and horrific, but couldn't last, that's for sure, just as neither of these relationships ever had any real lasting power as romances. Anyway, since I'm trying to become the next Faulkner or James Joyce here with the run-on sentences, I think I'll let the simplicity of this short poem (way shorter than this intro) do the talking for me from now on . . .

*(Oh, just a quick fyi, I put a space between the first and second letter of the first word of each line so that the words that's spelled out is more clearly visible without any concentration, just to make it uber-easy)

matthew

M ust this come to its inevitable end.

A ll in all we come out good, still friends.

T here were the drunken nights when I lost you downtown,

T he drunken fights where I lost my crown.

H ow far apart we grew, then came back together.

E ven after all our debauchery we still seem better off together.

W e fit like gloves, like cuffs, like hugs.

Some things are just meant to be love.

The Lover as an Extended Metaphor for Death: Two Poems

noreply@blogger.com (Kake Andrews) — Wed, 18 May 2011 12:05:42 PDT

Here are two poems in which I use a lover as an extended metaphor for death, or rather, more specifically, with my (past/previous/long-gone) obsession with death and death wish (of sorts). Yeah, I was an angsty, fucked up adolescent and twenty-something. Ah, thank god I've matured. I mean, I have, right??? (Just joshin' yas! I *know* I have. Yay)!

Getting Intimate with Death

Year after year he waits for me

So calm, so cool, so smug and self-assured

Secure in his knowledge that one day I will be his, that he will possess me

And I am so afraid that eventually I will succumb

Say yes to his promises of a world without pain

A place without race or class or religion

A place where happiness is the rule

And there are no exceptions

He catches up with me at a party

He puts his hands on my hips

I feel his warm, smoky breath on the back of my neck

I don't need to turn to know who's standing behind me

Coolant-coated fingers travel the length of my spine

He whispers softly in my ear and I automatically turn to him

I had forgotten how even a glance at him could make me forget myself

Our eyes connect

He grabs my arm, gripping tightly

Forcing bruises shaped like fingerprints onto my skin

He leads me to a bedroom, still holding my arms

Making me feel like a delinquent elementary-schooler being marched to the principal's

office

I had forgotten how he could instantly control me

I can't do anything but stare at him

Looking so good, standing tall, his slender body emphasized by jeans that look painted on

On his jaw a slender white scar

In his face a past, mystery

He is so forbidden,

I cannot help but want him

He puts his lips to mine, holding my face in his big hands

He presses the length of his body against mine

Running his fingers down my neck

Moving his hands across my body

Tugging at my hooks and buttons and zippers

My body reacts and I grab at his clothing

Pulling him down onto the bed

Not wanting to wait even a second longer

Then my head starts screaming at me

"NO! Not again, not like this," I think to myself

He stares at me, his coal-black eyes angry slits,

Leans over again

I try to resist, to push him away

To dissect myself from him

Always reminding myself "this is wrong, this is bad"

But I can't believe my own words, can't make myself stop

All the time I'm so very aware of his presence

In my deepest hunger

I want him to ease the ache at my very core

Fill the gaping hole

Days I yearn for him, pray to him, believe him inevitable

Others I resist, will him out of my thoughts

Dare him to come to me, a cigarette-smoking, soul-selling savior

I have kept him at bay, a memory best left untouched

His lips are on my breast, his hands on my ass

Salty sweat and bare skin against bare skin

But I can't go through with it this time

I push him away from me

Get up, begin to dress

We are all the time engaged in these same struggles

The prize being my life

I am so tired of our endless fighting

The pointless power struggle

The contest for a soul perhaps not worth saving

That I almost give up, give in, give away

But I can't

To lose would be to die

And then he would own me

He would recreate me

As a bitch who never thought of anyone but herself

Playing the same damn mind games he played on her

As a cunt who fucked them all over

Spreading her legs for the biggest player of them all

And never caring

As a murderer who killed all that was good within herself

This lover of mine, with his sexy eyes and charming way

Would use me

Destroying anything pure inside me, anything worthwhile

And when he had finished molding me into his image

He would have made me

A monster

Getting Intimate with Death Revisited

Even though I was so sure

That I had rid myself of him,

he still has a power over me,

an inexplicable hold.

I am no longer always so very aware of his presence

in my deepest hunger,

but I still rush towards him

in small increments, selling my soul

piece by piece, letting him

kill my spirit slowly,

gradually.

I encounter him recently,

often,

again and again.

We come together quickly,

feverishly,

lips meeting hungrily, almost

violently.

He'll run his hands across my ass;

before I know it my sweater will be around my neck:

breasts loose, free.

He'll tweak a nipple and

I'll run my hands across his crotch,

undo his belt, pull down the zipper.

Even now, I always

take an active role.

We meet as animals:

primal and fierce.

Our encounters are brief, almost

meaningless at times.

Afterwards I am always left feeling

less than.

I give up, I give in, I give away

oh so much.

I let him steal

so many bits and pieces.

Increasingly,

I ache to free myself

from my sick obsession,

to rush towards the answer,

to embrace life like the long-lost lover,

rather than continuing to rush

towards all that will,

in the end, only

kill me.

Erotic poetry from E.E.???

noreply@blogger.com (Kake Andrews) — Fri, 13 May 2011 11:32:05 PDT

e.e. cummings (more at The Academy of American Poets), an Massachusetts writer - primarily a poet (1894-1962), who, one would hope, you've heard of, is most known for his unusual word usage, phrasing, and typography (for more on typography see this encyclopedia article at thefreedictionary.com; another definiton from businessdictionary.com; and this article, "What is Typography?", from About.com Web Design / HTML). He is especially known for his unique use of syntax, punctuation, and enjambment. His protest poetry and his social commentary poems are probably the most-often mentioned. At least, that's the impression I've gotten from both my secondary and higher educational experiences, as well as my own observations of what is and isn't usually included in anthologies, mentioned in articles, featured on websites, and the like. However, in my extensive post-school exporation of his work, I've discovered two things - first, the man loooooved women and second, he could write one hell of a love poem, erotic or not. I will admit this little dirty secret as well - his erotica makes my panties get more than a little damp and makes my skin turn pink with the flush his words force upon it.

Today, I'm going to share with you my favorite straightforward, non-erotic e.e. cummings love poem (though, there is something melty and sexual about it in its ferocity of emotion and its exporession of devotion), as well as two more explicit poems. However, I warn you, if you're expecting anything but metaphor with mister cummings, you're looking in the wrong place entirely. That does not prevent him from explicitly stating his meaning within the framework of that metaphor though, and doing so beautifully and poignantly as well. In one of the poems presented today, you'd be hard-pressed not to smell the reek of sex wafting from the page - that is, if this were a book, as it should be, and not a computer or cell phone or tablet or e-reader or what have you, you technophile, you! Whoa... enough of that nonsense ranting. Okay, not complete nonsense - in the lifetime of e.e. cummings, 1894-1962, not a soul read anything but a book, because that's all that was availble (print copies of written materials, duh), hence, the previous technology rant and my sudden and overpowering nostalgia for real books. Anyway, regardless of the cause of that blathering and babbling, it's time to move on and get this show on the road. Without further ado, I present to you my second favorite e.e. cummings poem (perhaps) and maybe his finest love poem (also read somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond for comparison) followed by two of his more erotic offerings.

"i carry your heart

i carry your heart with me(i carry in in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear,and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)

i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)"

- e.e. cummings

Next, I am going to convince you even e.e. cummings could be erotic. In the next poem, cummings uses a simile likening a lovers' tryst to music at first, then goes on to use other various and varied similes and metaphors, the imagery strong and undeniable, to make clear the undefined, confused, conflicted atmosphere of the couple's rendez-vous. Eventually, ending the poem with a question that seems to sum up the ambivalent nature of their relationship portrayed within, he brings the poem back around to music with a question that serves as both the defining question of the poem and as a musical allusion, since the hurdy-gurdy is a musical instrument . In my opinion, the poem is effing brilliant. And now, (drumroll please) here's...

"when my love comes to see it's

when my love comes to see me it's
just a little like music, a
little like curving color (say
orange)
against silence, or darkness...

the tower of my love emits
a wonderful smell in my mind,

you should see when i turn to find
her how least my heart-beat becomes less.
And then all her beauty is a vise

whose stilling lips murder suddenly me,

but of my corpse the tool her smile makes something
suddenly luminious and precise

-and then we are I and She...

what is that the hurdy-gurdy's playing"

- e.e. cummings

Last, but not least, we have a poem that may need no introduction. Perhaps the most famous of cummings' romantic and risque work, this poem, while it does make use of some of the most lovely imagery I've ever had the pleasure to read, leaves nothing to the imagination either, and in places, all but explicitly spells out the good parts. It is perhaps for that reason, it is so widely read and quoted. This poem, unlike the previous poem, however, is quite clear in its intent - to praise the female and to express the narrator's adoration of her, the pleasure he finds exploring and learning her body, and how each new discovery makes him that much more in awe of her. It is truly a hymn to the female form and the act of love between two people and for that, this would most definitely be my favorite of cummings more risque or erotic poems. And now, on to the sexy stuffs...

"i like my body when it is with your

i like my body when it is with your
body. it is so quite new a thing.
Muscles better and nerves more.
i like your body. i like what it does to me.
i like its hows. i like to feel the the spine
of your body and its bones, the trembling
-firm-smooth ness of which i will
again and again and again
kiss. i like kissing this and that of you,
i like, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz
of your electric fur, and what-is-it comes
over parting flesh ... and eyes big love-crumbs,

and possibly i like the thrill

of under me you quite so new"

- e.e. cummings

Le sigh.

I think you'll see there's definitely a reason to get ya some more e.e. cummings. I suggest checking out the amazon kindle store or google books. And that's all she wrote, folks. Au revoir. Arriverderci. Adios.

Submission

noreply@blogger.com (Kake Andrews) — Wed, 27 Apr 2011 22:27:19 PDT

*Note: This version of this poem is not the most recent/updated version. However, the only place I'm aware of having a copy of the most recent revision is on a hard drive that died on Sunday and from which the data has not been extracted as of yet. Sad_face.*

Submission

first, it was a thing without a name,

now it's a book on your coffee table

a delivery from fed ex,

a night spent with a lover.

in the space in between

it took shape and form

yet remained shadow.

it still hides in shadow,

though it's taken shape.

You keep it in the shadows,

afraid to share too much of it,

afraid of the damage it could do,

while at other times

you revel in its beauty,

its depravity,

its multitude of meanings for you.

it's not for dinner-table conversation.

you speak of it in hushed whispers

with like-minded people,

so grateful for their friendship.

you embrace it,

for so long ashamed,

now you know there's no other way you can be.

and the end,

you know no end to this.

only a beginning, and a middle that goes on as long as you can foresee

filled with violence, pain, beauty, and awakening

over and over again.

Heat

noreply@blogger.com (Kake Andrews) — Wed, 27 Apr 2011 22:23:44 PDT

Heat

He whispers sweet nothings to me
Instantly, i melt
My stomach - goo swishing around haphazardly
My spine tingling as his electrically charged hands
press into the small of my back
and like two magnets being pulled together by a physical force
we fall into each other

Our bodies pressed tightly against each other
our breath shallow and our hearts
beating out the same frantic rhythm
There is no time, nor rules
nor voices in our heads
just sensation and emotion

and we come together like animals
primal and fierce
with an unquenchable thirst
our flame flaring
we will not be extinguished

copyright 2009 Katherine Andrews