eyes are as wide as the lens of a telescope, each pair – one set from each beautiful pet – boundless in width when I relax my gaze and let the pairs unite. Arms like the legs of a cloud, the girls crawl closer to me, their fingers long, firm, and smooth, nails like fangs: their sexy snakes, fingers and tongues, more beautiful than any cock could ever be. And they inch closer to me as my cock pulsates to the beat of the sharp song. Ripe, juicy, sweet, a fruit basket rests at my feet. Inside are over ten different forbidden fruits, succulent, juicy and wet with perspiration.
* * *
We're inside a snow dome, all shook up. So it's hard to keep track of time and space or piece together the scene just right, but I'm down on my knees preparing to write. I look up at the ceiling – a shiny, clear, glass dome – and attempt to gather my thoughts. The stand-up act, the foreplay, the friction, and the reflection. And as I reflect on the night, as the light beams – the color of fireworks – fall onto my body as though droplets of water falling from clouds, her back is pressed firmly against mine. We don't move, frozen like maniquins, struck into a sublime pose, her lips a rose which has now bloomed. I see her reflection in the dome, her face the color of the passing clouds. This is when I realize – by reading the sky – that it is 7am and time for me to leave, when the sunlight begins to pour through every nautical square inch of the glass, through every crevice in the wall, begins to lick at her skin and mine as though a single tongue.
The figures in the room slowly climb to their feet, like porcelain dolls caught in a slow dance. They move like puppets but freely, orderly, in a controlled manner, but expressively, as though dancers who have mastered the movements required for adequate self-expression. And they walk slow, like pens in the embrace of hands, caught up – cue Usher -, held tight, and moving like a cursive breeze. And I feel the collective heat from their bodies washing over me like the rain of a passing storm as they wander towards the door. Each smiles as she passes, lips moving slowly like how silk ribbons appear to under the control of ribbon dancers. I smile now, place a hand on my left shoulder, shrug, blush, and rise to my feet. My movements are still stiff, my steps not yet mastered. But I still manage to move so well, almost like a writer's wrist.
I crouch and take in mine the hand of a girl whose back was pressed so firmly against mine all through the night: our lips in each other's embrace, tight, taught, stiff, but still soft, much like a subtle theme undefined.
******
References
1 Love the Fall – Michael Paynter and The Veronicas [Lyrics in quotations “” taken directly from the song].
2 Sing – My Chemical Romance
3 White America – Eminem
4 Brinckerhoff, B., [Director] & Spies, A. [Writer] (1991). Stand (Up) and Deliver. Beverly Hills 90210. [Treat the films and shows like songs: these are still backing tracks to the respective pieces].
5 Ramis, H., [Director and Writer] Stupnitsky, G., [Writer] & Eisenberg, L. [Writer] (2009). Year One.
6 Who's That Girl? - Guy Sebastian
7 Flaunt It - TV Rock
8 Turn Off The Light - Nelly Furtado
9 When The Lights Go Out - Five
10 Enter The Ninja - Die Antwoord
11 Hey Baby - Pitbull and T-Pain
12 Miami To Ibiza - Swedish House Mafia and Tinie Tempah
13 We Dance To A Different Disco Honey - Short Stack
14 (Selling the Fountain of Youth: How the Anti-Aging Industry Made a, Disease Out of Getting Old--and Made Billions, by Arlene Weintraub. Basic Books, 2010 ($29.95))
15 Club Can't Handle Me – Flo Rida
16 What's Your Story? – Red Hot Chilli Peppers
17 *Deisseroth, K. (2010). Controlling the Brain with Light. Scientific, American, 303(5), 48-55. doi:10.1038/scientificamerican1110-48
18 God Is A DJ – Pink
19 Promise This – Cheryl Cole
20 **Feng, J., & Trodden, M. (2010). Dark Worlds. (Cover story). Scientific American, 303(5), 38-45. doi:10.1038/scientificamerican1110-38
21 (She Blinded Me With Science – Thomas Dolby)
22 ***Piore, A. (2010). Fit for a Princess. Scientific American, 303(5), 24. doi:10.1038/scientificamerican1110-24
23 #Omenetto, F., & Kaplan, D. (2010). From Silk Cocoon to Medical Miracle. Scientific American, 303(5), 76-77. doi:10.1038/scientificamerican1110-76
24 ##Kirkwood, T. (2010). Why Women Live Longer. Scientific American, 303(5), 34-35. doi:10.1038/scientificamerican1110-34
25 mOBSCENE – Marilyn Manson
26 Crack A Bottle – Eminem, Dr Dre, and 50 Cent
27 Gervais, R. (2010). Ricky Gervais Live IV: Science.
JACKSON CURTIS - 12:03am - December 16 - 2011
'Last night was amazing,' Shaun says, stepping onto the platform at Bankstown. 'I never knew you were a comedian.'
'I'm a lot more than that,' I say with a shrug. 'Wouldn't pick it, huh? Way I act at school and all.'
'Ha. But last night you were uncut. Jackson, I think I've got an idea.'
'What?'
'Look: I'm proud to say that I never watched a single episode of Big Brother when it was on the telly. But I'm thinking that the creators were actually pretty clever. They knew what people wanted to see and they gave it to them: ordinary, everyday people. They knew what people wanted to hear and gave it to them: the ordinary thoughts of ordinary people, of those who don't usually have a voice. Now Adrian, Ben, Jamie, and I, along with Shelly and Jerri, have been writing about our experiences, writing down our thoughts, our ideas, everything: maybe these are like transcripts for some strange Big Brother set within a high school. But what you have in your experiences, your thoughts, your soliloquies, is Big Brother Uncut, know what I'm saying? People might actually want to listen to your voice.' - Shaun shrugs - 'I know I do.'
‘Like a worm, under remote control, I’mma crawl into their vaginas and rest on their clits, still they're screaming with ecstasy.'
'What! What the . . .?'
'Imagine that,' I say. 'Imagine we had these sexy little worms we could control remotely. We could make them crawl up the legs of girls, into their vaginas, and onto their clits, and then we could watch as they cum, in full view of everyone inside some supermarket, or on the busy streets of Sydney . . .'
'Maybe that's a little too uncut.'
'Stitch my thoughts up a little?'
'Yeah. Maybe.'
'Ha ha. So why are we in Bankstown?'
'Don't know,' Shaun says, shrugging. 'The Centro's not bad, it's got a few good restaurants. Dude, this place is totally multicultural, just like the joint you took me to last night.'
'Yeah,' I say, nodding. 'Must have talked to at least five girls who were from around here. This place is totally hot.'
JACKSON CURTIS - 7:04am - December 17 - 2011
It’s a Bondi Beach house.
It’s large, luxurious, spacious, and has a communal bedroom. The windows overlook the sea, but only this wide expanse of blue, as shiny and reflective as the whites of eyes. Seagulls dot the wet, salty scenery like salt might a piece of battered fish. Inside the house are 250 video cameras, strategically positioned so that every movement of every person every night and every day will be captured, seized if you will, and this footage streamed live on line so that anyone, anywhere can view it. Big brother has no name: he could be anyone who logs onto the site – even you. Those inside the house live under the reign of the general public. The rules they must follow are prescribed by the public.
‘Know