TRICHOPHILY!

"Great as is the joy of love, its sufferings are so frightful
that it would be better never experienced." - Fyodor Dostoyevsky (Letters)

Mensonge de l'amour et de l'orgueil humain !
- Louise Ackermann

"C'est le jouir, non le posséder, qui nous rend heureux." Michel de Montaigne

Sexuality is less rewardingly projected out than in,
sensuality better projected out.

Testosterone is also deadly poison.

THE COMPULSIVE ILLUSION

TRICHOPHILOUS POEMS

Anthony Weir

part three

"What the American male really wants is two things: he wants to be blown by a stranger while reading a newspaper and he wants to be fucked by his buddy when he's drunk. Everything else is Society."
- W.H. Auden

"The sound of one hand clapping":
Masturbation.

GLOSS
on a poem by R.L. Stevenson

Love - what is love ? A stupid, aching heart;
rage, tears, more rage, regret and long despair.
Life - what is life ? Expulsion from the lair
into a world that is a world apart.

ALL BLOOD TASTES MUCH THE SAME

Men's armpits in their natural state
have a range of smells
- fennel, ginger,
leather, horse, ripe date,
pipe-tobacco, damp logs -
but their balls
all smell the same

though maybe not to dogs.

How sad it must be
to have been circumcised.
The happy, delicately-moister
willy smells delightfully
of smoked oyster.

LOVING A LIAR

In the estranging chill
of consciousness
which things
make ever colder,
your tenderness,
your sensual good-will
seemed and only seemed to be
warmer than the furs of kings,
and your hugs warmed me
like imaginary hypocausts
in this refrigerative dream.

A LESSON THAT NOBODY TEACHES
When Gustave Flaubert was in Egypt he was just as interested in boys as girls.

How cheapjack is ejaculation!
How frictionful is penetration!
Male orgasm
depends not on spasm
but on artistic calibration.

"WHAT GOES BY NAME OF LOVE
IS BANISHMENT" - Samuel Beckett
NOTES FOR A
CRIME PASSIONEL

1. The love
2. The devastation
3. The bleakness
4. The visit
5. The hatchet
6. The screaming
7.The blood
8. The brains
9. The kisses
10. The dragging
11. The thudding
12. The loading
13. The kissing
14. The driving
15. The stopping
16. The kissing
17. The plastic tube
18. The kissing
19. The Raga
20. The odour
21. The feeling of unfinishedness
22. The dreaming
23. The end.

Glad to be out.
Proud to be outside.

I would never join a 'gay' group - or any group.
Why would the members have anything more in common
than a similarly-structured, similarly-sized heterosexual group ?
They wouldn't even have sexuality in common,
since 'gay' men display an amazing panoply of penchants.

I have no more in common with another non-heterosexual
than I have with another heterosexual.
What did Stalin and Ronsard have in common ?
What does Gore Vidal have in common with Ronnie Kray or Divine ?

In memory of Joe Brainard

I remember
when I first ate a Madeleine last year
(I was 65) that I realised I'd never
eaten one before; that triggers of memory
for me are very rare, and the memories
themselves are at least partly false. I remember
only a few episodes
of my childhood, adolescence, adulthoood -
mostly the shocking bits, like when, aged 3, I showed
a little girl my cock, and she ran home and told her mother
and I ran home and took a knife out from the kitchen
and found her somewhere and stabbed her in the mouth
for telling tales. That was the worst thing I have ever done,
but it had a certain Sophoclean quality.

Memories are fly and amber. Why do we need constantly
to feed off other people's memories, stories and imaginations ?

I remember only now that the little girl -
Brenda, her name was - asked me to expose
myself to her, and I made her promise not to tell her mother.
I remember how untrustworthy most people are
most of the time. Not like dogs. Oh, I remember dogs...!
The pain of loss.

I remember being sodomised for the first time
by a man not much older than myself. Horrible, tearing pain -
nothing like as bad as pain of loss -
pulsating ache. I felt my arse and rectum were being split asunder.
My muscles contracted, resisted, and I bled,
but I didn't pull away, didn't dare say
Stop it! But like any daughter/son fucked by her/his father/uncle
I just hoped that it would soon be over.
And it was.
And I fled.
And I anointed my arsehole for a week, more or less.
I was not a powerless child, but a timid adult 28 years old.

Not being secretive, I have never felt the need to confess,
so why should I suddenly think these stories need to be told ?

A British anti-masturbation device, used on children
from the 1880s to the 1920s

DUENDES
self-realisation at sixty-one

This is the next-best sex: nobody
used, disappointed, or hurt - and no-one
engendered by my spermless ejaculate.
A rug by the fire, the moon
shining through the window, Verkl�rte Nacht playing,
pictures of hairy men kissing, hairy men squirting:
nobody used, nobody hurt, no misconnection.
Duende of climax

within a duende of solitude
like the greater duende of forest, of river
of peaceful and beautiful place
achingly real and not dependent
on hope or falsehood or people -

only dependent on something like grace...

[Duende is the rapture experienced by a Flamenco audience
and the rapturous playing which produces it.]

Hotel Terminus, Carcassonne

LOVE POEM FOR MALCOLM
pictured above

I love you like roast pork loves Burgundy in the mouth
Like a pig loves grapes
I love you like I love landscape or a cosy fire
I admire the landscape and vegetation of your body
I love you like I love my bed and being alone in it
far from your snoring
I love you because you love me in small doses,
because we live apart
and because of your delicious vegetable food
which I lovingly enjoy as I eat with you
and I listen to profound music with you
or I listen to the radio with you.
Is it a deep or shallow heart
that loves you most when we're apart ?
I love you as you lick the cream off my beard.
I love you because you are so beautiful and gentle
and considerate and reliable
and because we don't have sex.

Sex is the rocket that doesn't take off
but fizzles into a drain -
and sex is the rocket that shoots to the sky
and dies in the dark of the brain.

TO ANOTHER BEAUTIFUL MAN

When limbs entwine
consciousnesses usually don't.
I think you're lovely and
we could have a lovely time...
But a lovely (sexy, sensual) time
has (sadly) rarely been my wont.

The tastes of certain unwashed cocks
are better than the smells...
To think of sex in terms of penetration
is as crass and hidebound as to think of life
in terms of goals.

A HOMOHYMN TO THE STRAINS OF HANDEL
(off the coast of Coromandel)

I know that my Blasphemer liveth,
and He shall kiss and tickle my nipples.

And His sperm shall be spilled.
And His Willy will shoot
and the rivers be filled.

His semen shall rain
however, wherever

From Cock of cocks, forever! forever!
And Balls of balls, Hallelujah! Hallelujah!
For He shall squirt on my belly forever,
Hallelujah! Hallelujah!
And upon my beard.
Hallelujah! Hallelujah!
Such a lovely God cannot be feared...

SCROTUM-SNIFFING

The sounds of that
smell are the
colours of organ
music.

ANOTHER SHIFTY QUEER
(definitely not Malcolm)

Sunk in debt, deceit and lies,
up to his eyes
(his beautiful eyes,
his fulfillable needs)
he tries to rip me off

and succeeds.
And even in me
(faithful, reliable, loyal)
love, the wonderful, sordid strategy,
slowly fades
and finally dies.

PROTEST SONG

Hey X (Hey Y, Hey Z...) - Damn you!
You're like something I'd scrape from the sole of my shoe.
You...and your dribbly, knobbly dick...
your idea of 'sex' makes me laugh...and then sick.
You're just another failed masturbator.
You dribbled and left -
and I had great sex with myself a day later.

BELITTLING A BITTERLY FAILED INFATUATION

you despise yourself
for having fallen into it -
but you did not fall:
you jumped for joy.
And now you ken
that you would be no wiser now
if you had not been hopeful then.

THE COMPLEAT PERVERT

keeps
to him-
or her-
self.

ANONYMOUS

In this true confession written by my pen
(then typed) I list:
the effort
the interest
the apprehension
the music, wine and mis-en-scène
the excitement
the expectation
the occasional anxiety
the rare ecstasy
(délire sensuel et languoureux vertige)
my compass spinning in the wild magnetic
field of intimacy
the usual ennui
and emptiness
the misalignment
and vacuity
of my sexual experience with men.

WHEN PEOPLE TALK OF LOVE

When people talk of love
it sounds like Christmas

Or else something more seriously ritual
like marriage vows or circumcision
or a funeral

Or stupefyingly vague
like love of God

Or just the right to interfere
in another person's life

Or it is passion (like mine for stones and trees)
or infatuation born of lust

Or , because love is a kind of greed,
they may only mean a cheap passport
to sexual penetration and brief release
- but not from desire, of course.

If, of all desires,
desire to keep on living is the stupidest

desire for love's the most pathetic
and most unchecked,

and sexual desire the silliest.

When people talk about love
they rarely mean respect.

vacuum of desire:
a doomed gay correspondence

COPING WITH
TESTOSTERONE

The problem of mankind - and the planet - is Man's inability to cope with testosterone. Humans are evolved enough to remove all the checks and balances that limit the populations of other species, but not intelligent enough to replace them with anything other than the patently stupid moralisms based on the inanities, cruelties and lies of religions manufactured by men. Thus testosterone rules our lives, we are breeding ourselves to extinction, and - far, far worse, the planet to its sixth extinction.

Testosterone is the serpent whispering in Eve's ear. Testosterone is the devil which possesses men and the women or partner they possess. Testosterone loves possessing. Testosterone says 'Ejaculate!' Women and men say 'Here, in me!' And so we proceed.

Testosterone is also happy to sublimate/branch into other forms of desire - especially property and power, control and lordship. Human testosterone knows no bounds, because human beings are not intelligent enough to check or circumvent it, especially in civilised societies in which, inevitably, sexual activity assumes far too great an importance, because people don't know how to accord it the respect that would place it properly in the scheme of things.

Yet to take control of testosterone through sensuality is very, very easy. All we need to understand is that male orgasm is independent of ejaculation. Both are functions of the prostate gland, but one is not necessary to produce the other. Legion are the unsatisfactory orgasms - maybe most are unsatisfactory. Many and delightful are the non-ejaculatory orgasms of men in tune with their bodies. And when the prostate is 'in tune', one even gets delicious mini-orgasms when pissing.

Although I have the disadvantage of a puritan upbringing in a sex-obsessed culture, yesterday - drunk on the perfume of my armpits and my cock, rather than the 20-year old Armagnac - I had continuous non-ejaculatory orgasm for over an hour. It was amazing...

...and no animals were harmed. No human was disappointed.

read more

"Losing my libido was like being unshackled from a lunatic." - George Melly

THREE POEMS FROM THE PAST

1. MARTIAL (first century A.D.)
Epigrams II, 59

SLANDERER

Before your mouth was fringed with hair
All cocks might find quiescence there,
Till hangmen snubbed a boy so common
And shit-shifters preferred a woman,
When sucking off no longer paid
Your tongue was still your stock-in-trade -
No more so suck, but to discharge
Its venom on the world at large,
On characters low slurs to fix
As once it had infected pricks.

O filthy tongue! you'd better far
Be what you were than what you are.

2. WILLIAM BARBER (1947-)

EXPLANATION

I am not gay by your definition.
I will not stand in the drab beige men's room
like a fern watered with urine,
and wait for penises. I'm sorry -
morality will have to change.

I speak directly to the sons of
your officials, under the moon,
with the professors listening.

We have burned the closet door in effigy.
There will be no more watching for the feet
of policemen under the partitions. Nor
the mediocrity of masses of shuffling gays
in the dark bars, ghettoed and ethnic.

I love men. I tell them so directl;y.
Wherever we encounter, there are no categories.

3. CREDO
yet another reworking of a third-century-BC poem
by CALLIMACHUS OF CYRENE

Old points of view expressed anew are crap.
Old sentiments recycled yet again,
banalities of love exposed like wounds in films,
are so much pap.
My writing's much too dissident to win a prize,
my thoughts don't come processed-flaccid from the system.
What majorities desire I just despise.

Anthony Weir

A POEM FROM THE FUTURE

ANTI-LOVE POEM
to a man who is computer-illiterate

Despicable
when not ridiculous,

we are evolution's
royal wrecks.

To be in love is silly
to be loved oppressive...

...now hard my willy
- so let's have tender,
unpenetrative sex.

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THREE REMARKABLE

EROTIC MINIATURES >>

click here to visit:
SATAN in the GROIN
exhibitionist carvings on mediæval churches

"The Gay Community"
is as meaningful a term as
"The Community of Self-obsessed Conformists"
or
"The Community of the Left-handed
Ginger-haired"
or
"The over-seventies".

It requires only the slightest shift
of mind, and modest application,
to turn oneself
from sexually-deficient
to sexually self-sufficient.

Letter from Laurie Taylor to subscribers to his BBC Radio 4 Newsletter, March 2007:

Whenever the subject of suicide or attempted suicide comes up in conversation I can be relied upon to describe a piece of research on suicide notes that was published some years ago (even though I've tried, I can't find the exact reference any more).

What the researcher had done was collect a large selection of suicide notes written by two classes of people: those who had successfully ended their own life and those who had failed for one reason or another to kill themselves (attempted suicides).

He then submitted these two sets of notes to a computer analysis in the hope that this might throw up some interesting differences in style or subject matter.

As I remember he found clear evidence that the notes written by the 'attempted suicides', by people who had not taken quite enough pills, or not sealed the door sufficiently well to prevent noxious gases or fumes escaping, were heavily philosophical in tone. The writers spoke at length of life no longer being worth living, of the meaningless of existence, of the impossibility of optimism.

These were in stark contrast to the suicide notes written by those who had succeeded in killing themselves. These notes tended to be much shorter and much more practical than those provided by attempted suicides. One for example simply said "You'll find the car keys on top of the sideboard and the will in the top desk drawer."

There are thousands of other research papers on the subject of suicide. Indeed, it could be argued that sociology first asserted itself as a distinctive subject back in 1897 when Emile Durkheim first tried to formulate a structural and cultural account of its incidence which did not rely upon any psychological understanding of individual desires and motives.

In today's programme ['THINKING ALLOWED']I'll be talking about a piece of research prompted by the evidence of the 'disproportionate risk of suicide amongst lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender young people'. How much is this risk related to place of residence, familial intolerance, bullying at school and work, the inhospitable or unacceptable nature of the conventional gay scene...?

DOWNLOAD OVER 150 MORE POEMS
AS A PRINTABLE, INDEXED e-BOOK

"Between the breeders
and the homos
and the home-owners
are those who
might be called
the independent few."

Minotaur

TOGETHER

Deep in the catacomb
two halves of the Minotaur
blind and
letting go
dissolving
dancing sunless
into
invisible
jazzy
kamikaze
floating oneness

είμαστ&epsilon
αισθανόμαστ&epsilon
μαζ&iota

NOTES TOWARDS UNDERSTANDING MALE HOMOSEXUALITY

Males who, for one reason or another (e.g. absent fathers, rampant narcissism) have difficulty in relating to other males, often sexualise this difficulty in adolescence - perhaps through mutual masturbation with peers, or, more simply, from seeing an admired or feared male naked. They thus continue to try and resolve the problem of their relationship to other men through sexual or sensual contact. Those who like to penetrate other men try and resolve the problem through establishing a relationship of power, whereby they 'prove their masculinity' by 'conquering' passive men - who themselves thus feel feminised (hence temporarily justified) in a similarly banal and erroneous way.

Modern European (like late Roman) 'homosexuality' is thus a grotesque imitation of heterosexual coupling with all its limitations. Whatever happened to the time-honoured holo-sensuality that filled the lacuna, the limbo between men's legs ?

The "intra-male problem" cannot, of course, be resolved by penetrative sex, since it is bound up with learned and compulsive competitiveness - the evil force which drives capitalism, and hence modern culture.

The main feature of competitive societies is the neotenisation of males to make them demanding, envious and receptive to the work-ethic. Success is achieved by those who are most infantilised or emotionally undeveloped, indoctrinated with false masculinity - and these, increasingly, include women, who already are overburdened by men's childishness.

Crude, penetrative sex is only one - very limited, over-valued and fairly closed - aspect of life. Thus modern 'homosexual' men, fixated on a sexual solution to an emotional and cultural problem, suffer from arrested emotional development and, in my experience, generally have an emotional age ranging from around 7 to around 15. This does not mean that 'heterosexual' men are emotionally mature, it's just that they can dilute or mask their immaturity more easily.

JULY 2010
(nuzzling his fuzzy, aromatic balls)

At last
I'm music -
while the music lasts.

A MODEST KIND OF LOVE

31st August 2010

Dear Alan,

Talk about "breaking new ground"!
"Good clean fun" - no feeling of being a bit soiled or short-changed. In fact, a lovely feeling of mutual appreciation.

It's amazing how we have 'got into' or discovered this gropey-nuzzly-kissy and sucky-licky 'sex-play'. Having your nice fuzzy balls pressed against my face/beard/mouth is just the most beautiful and loving feeling ever, and I really hope that I make you feel as wonderful as you make me feel.

I think this sort of experience is pretty unusual between men. We're not playing power-games or roles, just being ourselves with each other 'in sexual mode' and doing simple and gentle (even childish) things that we haven't had the opportunity to do before. It's very liberating - and marvellously surprising - deep therapy.

It's absolute heaven when you're sucking my cock and I'm licking your balls and cock. Keep on pulling your foreskin down every night so that it will get easier and easier for me to lick and suck it properly. It would be great if it could slide into my mouth completely peeled back just as mine slides so tinglingly into your beautifully gentle and appreciative mouth.

The whole sharingness and trustingness is brilliant: feeling the freedom of being totally available to you while knowing that you are totally available to me: freedom of desire without demand; having a friendly cock and balls to play with as long as I want. Being able to be deeply and relaxedly intimate with another male is something we've both always wanted. And it's great to grope while cooking and eating - a real turn-on.

Being so happily and gently accepted as a sexual partner is wonderful. It's a bit like having lived in a small ground-floor flat for years - and then discovering that there's a garden you can walk into. I think we can now have such good times together because we aren't forcing 'baggage' onto each other, and don't make demands or have stupid expectations. You are amazingly sane and sensible and rational, especially given the soul-shrinking experiences you have had. Your recent experiences with me must be quite a shock to the system. A pleasant shock but a shock just the same. They have certainly taken me by surprise, and I wish I had known years ago that you could 'supply' such gorgeous sensuality - which penetrates (without resort to banal, mechanical, physical penetration) right to the centre of my maleness.

Phalloracular, testiculomantic nipple-ecstasy!

Back in March I wrote:

It was good that you came in my beard. For all I know, it's still there, but I think most of it got wiped off on your balls. I don't know why I have suddenly realised that I love having balls pressed into my face. There are probably other things I'd love – so All Suggestions Welcome. No need to suggest, even – just do it to please yourself!

Actually, I was sort of pleased that you couldn't come this time: it showed that you, too, were bathing in therapeutic ecstasy rather than burning with lust.
You have now experienced the intensity of pleasure created for its own sake - the beautiful and deep tide of feelings - and not to achieve a goal. I think your cock and balls were very happy being loved and worshipped, and it was just your brain that made you feel you should squirt - but it was too surprised and overwhelmed by all the feelings you're not used to!

It's great to share the love of cock - soft as much as hard. As I said, so many guys we've met seem only to be interested in their own organ. I really appreciate and share your feeling for a good, available, "friendly" - even brotherly - dick.

Keep practising pulling that foreskin back - for yet more pleasure for both of us! Maybe when we meet again you'll have a beautiful flat belly, with its blond fuzz that is such a turn-on.

Hugs and kisses and nuzzles and licks - until we meet again, in love of cock and mutuality.

Anthony

zoo- philia