Saturday, December 7, 2013
Wednesday, August 7, 2013
God the Teacher
To say that God’s character is multifaceted is a gross understatement; God, being Infinite, relates to His creation in multiple layers of dimension. At any one time, God speaks as a Teacher, a Lover, a Father, a Brother and many other personae. Confining His relationship to men to any single type under-represents the detail present in His Voice, much like viewing a subject from only a single point under-represents reality to an artist. Knowing this, God demonstrates the most fundamental aspect of His nature: from Himself, He creates for Himself. In this case, He creates and speaks in new tones of voice in which His pleasure can resonate at new frequencies in us, shaking the dust free from the outlying limbs of our new consciousness He is exhuming from human society, giving us a new grasp on a rung we previously thought was out of reach on our ascent to the Godhead.
This entry is dedicated to God the Teacher. Every place is His classroom and every hour, school is in session. At 7am on the bus to work in the back seat by the window, at 3am between damp sheets on the tenth floor of a hotel in the middle of downtown, at 2pm in the sweltering heat of a Louisiana backyard in July. With friends, alone, after sex, holding hands, fucking, at sea, snoring, napping, under the blanket, showering, reading, eating, over the ledge, wondering. During orgasm and leading up to it. Two hours before the night begins, anticipating. Two days removed from an orgy, remembering. Twiddling your thumbs in twill pants, waiting. Licking your teeth for the last trace of cum, savoring. For Him who made the world, it is His pleasure to speak in every corner of His creation.
In a stall in a public bathroom in an arena filled with people and loud music, two Men are joined, one inside the other, in deep conversation with God. Their minds are quiet and bloodless and pliable, a receptive bed onto which the Mind of God, now firm and erect and full of Life, can spread the seed of His Kingdom and reforge its connections for His purpose and worship. Their wills are open, empty books onto which God's ink, joyously spurted in seemingly haphazard eruptions, will coalesce into the frame of a beautiful narrative He started long ago with the very first Man He created for His own pleasure. Their bodies are love letters God wrote to Himself, the very stones of the living temple He weaves out of biological material with the grace of a Master builder. In a stall in a public bathroom in an arena filled with people and loud music, God is quietly teaching.
A little past midnight in the middle of the American Midwest, with a rowdy sibling sleeping at last in a pigsty of a room down the hall, a boy, alone in the darkness of his bedroom, listens to God with a slippery hand wrapped firmly around the fullness of the Godhead. His rectum is God’s playground (full of who knows what) but also His classroom: with the Right Mind engaged (the One between his legs), each wave of pleasure that emanates from the flesh of God contains every lesson that man could hope to learn about ourselves, the nature of God and our relationship with Him. The seething need for the new, a seed planted by God, has warped his human brain into a sounding board for the speech of God and has turned his body into a needle on the gauge that measures the seismic voice of God, scribbling God’s love notes back to him on the unfurling paper of his life, recording in deed the lessons of the Teacher. The instant he took hold of the flesh of God was the instant he became a multitude. For God, out of one, there are Many. In the middle of the night in a dark house in the center of the American heartland, God is teaching.
Pay close attention to whose narrative you’re listening and to whose perspective you give credence. Is it your own? Or another’s? Or is it God’s? How can you listen to God when you yourself are never quiet? All too often, His voice is lost among the folds of our own designs that we deem so intricate and well-fashioned. We lose ourselves in our admiration for the small shapes of our own making rather than in the worlds of His making. In God’s world, we are at once both the stone and the tower, the mortar and the wall, the brick and the fortress, the chisel and the sculptor, the muscle and the will. It is for us to decide whether we will be students of God or fools for ourselves.
This entry is dedicated to God the Teacher. Every place is His classroom and every hour, school is in session. At 7am on the bus to work in the back seat by the window, at 3am between damp sheets on the tenth floor of a hotel in the middle of downtown, at 2pm in the sweltering heat of a Louisiana backyard in July. With friends, alone, after sex, holding hands, fucking, at sea, snoring, napping, under the blanket, showering, reading, eating, over the ledge, wondering. During orgasm and leading up to it. Two hours before the night begins, anticipating. Two days removed from an orgy, remembering. Twiddling your thumbs in twill pants, waiting. Licking your teeth for the last trace of cum, savoring. For Him who made the world, it is His pleasure to speak in every corner of His creation.
In a stall in a public bathroom in an arena filled with people and loud music, two Men are joined, one inside the other, in deep conversation with God. Their minds are quiet and bloodless and pliable, a receptive bed onto which the Mind of God, now firm and erect and full of Life, can spread the seed of His Kingdom and reforge its connections for His purpose and worship. Their wills are open, empty books onto which God's ink, joyously spurted in seemingly haphazard eruptions, will coalesce into the frame of a beautiful narrative He started long ago with the very first Man He created for His own pleasure. Their bodies are love letters God wrote to Himself, the very stones of the living temple He weaves out of biological material with the grace of a Master builder. In a stall in a public bathroom in an arena filled with people and loud music, God is quietly teaching.
A little past midnight in the middle of the American Midwest, with a rowdy sibling sleeping at last in a pigsty of a room down the hall, a boy, alone in the darkness of his bedroom, listens to God with a slippery hand wrapped firmly around the fullness of the Godhead. His rectum is God’s playground (full of who knows what) but also His classroom: with the Right Mind engaged (the One between his legs), each wave of pleasure that emanates from the flesh of God contains every lesson that man could hope to learn about ourselves, the nature of God and our relationship with Him. The seething need for the new, a seed planted by God, has warped his human brain into a sounding board for the speech of God and has turned his body into a needle on the gauge that measures the seismic voice of God, scribbling God’s love notes back to him on the unfurling paper of his life, recording in deed the lessons of the Teacher. The instant he took hold of the flesh of God was the instant he became a multitude. For God, out of one, there are Many. In the middle of the night in a dark house in the center of the American heartland, God is teaching.
Pay close attention to whose narrative you’re listening and to whose perspective you give credence. Is it your own? Or another’s? Or is it God’s? How can you listen to God when you yourself are never quiet? All too often, His voice is lost among the folds of our own designs that we deem so intricate and well-fashioned. We lose ourselves in our admiration for the small shapes of our own making rather than in the worlds of His making. In God’s world, we are at once both the stone and the tower, the mortar and the wall, the brick and the fortress, the chisel and the sculptor, the muscle and the will. It is for us to decide whether we will be students of God or fools for ourselves.
Monday, June 24, 2013
A Shared Glimpse of a Future World
By either the utter disregard of chance or the inevitability of constrained fate, I've crossed paths with someone who may as well be me. It's unclear to me however which one of us is the antecedent. The rest of this post is inspired by our recent conversations and by the vision of the world we both share. In case it's not obvious, the following is a work of fiction and fantasy. C - you are a never ending fountain of inspiration to me. This is for you.
----------------
----------------
In the darkest part of the night, I hear you call me from the other room with a sharp edge of urgency in your voice. When I come into your bedroom, the look on your face is one of doubt and something like remorse, maybe even longing for the way things used to be. Having used most of your energy to muster enough volume to shout my name, you can only scrape together a weak whisper as you say,
"I don't know if I can do this anymore."
"You know you don't have to. The release is the relief."
"I'm not ready to leave. To leave me."
You rub your chest as gingerly as a child would touch his father's coffin.
"But you won't be leaving you, you'll be finding you."
I put my hand on top of yours near your throat and can feel the restlessness of Him just underneath the skin.
"You've been like this for a week. You have to be tired."
"More than you know," you say in a sigh as you lay your head back on the pillow. In this new position and light, it's easy to make out the source of your apprehension. What looks to be a roughly fist-sized, bulbous mass struggles to make its way past your Adam's apple, moving in a desperate but fluid manner that looks to be more soothing than it is painful. In your neck, the bulge wriggles about like the head of a child needing to crown in birth.
I shudder when I lightly stroke your neck and feel the prodigious warmth of His Head in my fingers. I can see the bones of your jaw widen ever so slightly, almost imperceptibly. My eyes snap up to yours and they seem to catch every flicker of the dim lamp by your bed, a wild playfulness crackling deep in their blackness. I know what you're doing. I was lying just as you were not all that long ago. The feel of Him stretching you to accommodate Himself is like staying inside the point of no return. You can feel every pleasure you've ever felt in your life at the end of every nerve.
"It's time."
I can barely get the words out, I'm choking on my own awe and wonder of Who we both have inside us. My sheer need for seeing you succumb to Him is enough to black out my vision.
Your gaze leaves mine for a second and your face relaxes like the face of a corpse, looking happier than a dead pig in the sunshine.
"Take me."
Your eyes close and your jaw slackens, your neck widening to accept His girth as He reclaims your headspace as He once did when you were a child. In that moment, His taking of you seems to luxuriate across a long span of time but in reality it is clean and permanent and swift, like a beheading.
You take several long, labored, gurgling breaths that may as well be low, tortured groans of pain mixed with ecstasy. Tears well up in my eyes as I remember the last time I drew a breath from the outside. Your voice is awash with phlegm and incredulity as your eyes are wide in a disbelief that quickly yields to abject bliss.
"I... is... is He cumming?"
I rub the back of your head and can feel how damp your hair is from this incredible exertion He's demanded from your body. Your scalp is hot to the touch and soft on the outside, yet stoutly firm just beneath, almost like an erection. I can feel the rhythm of His ecstatic pulses in the palm of my hand, resonating all the way through bone and flesh. It's a hurried rhythm; you would think it's His first time. They slowly recede into the constancy of a heartbeat, each contraction as smooth as a ripple cascading its way across your skin.
"Yes, He is."
----------------
----------------
You wake me up in the best way possible on what would have been the most unremarkable afternoon otherwise. I feel your weight on me before any of the finer details of you take shape - your restlessness; your high-pitched, excited voice; your wet hair and skin; the smell of your body. Every little whiff of you is different - you smell like a hundred different men and your face melts into the form of all of them while I'm trying to blink my grogginess away. The light from outside is a dark yellow, almost orange in the twilight, and it makes the room glow as if it were lit solely from candlelight.
"Fuck, what time is it?"
"I have no idea."
I can barely make out that it's almost 5 pm on the clock through my foggy vision. I hook one arm around your back as you're snuggling up against me and the feel of flesh against damp flesh jolts me the rest of the way awake. You re-position yourself on top of me, Cock to Cock. I feel your nakedness first before I ever lay eyes on it. Your groin is as hot as the surface of the sun and stokes my Cock to full hardness as you say through a laugh you could not suppress any longer,
"I think I'm fucking high."
My legs are quick to wrap themselves around your body and soak up as much of the warm bliss you exude with every languid, stretchy movement of your hips. Your butt cheeks are so firm and plump against my hand, it drives me crazy. I pull them apart and open your hole up to the world and a shiver that starts in your ass makes its way up to your face as you grind yourself into my neck and let it fade out with a half groaning sigh. Fuck me, your hole is nothing but a loose, slimy ring. I can't help but take two fingers knuckle deep and stir the remnants of your night (or weekend? or week?) against the walls of your ass.
"Oh my God."
Even after all this time, it's still a rush to feel that much cum inside one man's body. I can tell you've binged hard from how close to your hole the slime rests.
"Have you even slept in the past week?"
"I don't think so?"
You sound genuinely puzzled as I keep digging in your hole for any lumps of cum that may have congealed over the last week. Those are my favorite. All this deep fingering's rustled your Cock into a slithering hardness in the slippery pressure of our wet crotches matted against each other.
"He's been so good..."
Your voice catches in an attempt to stifle a sob of appreciation.
"It's just the start. He's got so much more for you."
My mouth tingles as I lick the fingers that were just in you. I hold the back of your head with both hands while our tongues explore each other's mouths. At the base of your neck, I can feel the ridge of His head underneath your skin harden into a razor's edge and I know He's about to cum. You become breathless as I rub your neck and drag your flesh over the flared Head of God inside you. You lose every faculty you have as He starts to ravage your body with His cumming. He induces your own orgasm as you become limp in my arms and struggle for each breath now that He's demanded all of your body's resources for His pleasure. His shaft thrashes along the line of what used to be your spine, your muscles tearing in their feeble attempt to contain the granite hardness of His excited flesh in you. I squeeze your enraptured body for all its worth and He is grateful for the extra pressure against Him during His dance within you. I dig three fingers up your hole as He muscles your body roughly against mine as God writhes in hidden ecstasy inside you. Your hole cinches up tightly against my fingers again and again, contracting in a harsh, quick rhythm as He gives you your own taste of what He's doing in you. Your Cock spurts angrily between our bellies and drenches our pubes with thick grease.
I feel like I am a tin soldier wrestling a behemoth from the abyss as you continue to ride out a sinuous orgasm that turns into an evening and then morning of constant and fluid-filled spasms. We make music with our wetness, the slickness of my Cock bubbling in and out of your slimy hole as if our bodies are being played like instruments by the expert Hand of God, Himself. The sun sets and rises on our lovemaking, this beautiful wordless conversation we're holding with ourselves and God. It's approaching evening of the next day when we spend our last mote of energy on our final orgasm. You feel a good bit heavier than you felt when you first threw yourself on me this time yesterday. I feel my skull expand ever so slightly while an intense pressure builds in my head as my Cock inflates a little and worms its way back into your ass. I shiver deeply, knowing He is about to speak and stand my hair on end with His voice.
"My boys." With just those two words, my throat is wide open with a moan of satisfaction I have no hope of trying to contain. I can hear the fullness of the joy in His voice. You and I are holding each other's heads close to our chests, rubbing each other's scalp firmly across the tip of the Godhead that throbs beneath our softened bone.
"I've given you a son." Of its own accord, my hand makes its way to your stomach and starts tingling as I get close to your belly button. Our collective breath catches and you lift your head, your eyes locking with mine for a single apprehensive second. What in the world? But I see your face break into a smile and your eyes start to glisten with an unfathomable happiness. You sit ramrod straight on my Cock as you caress your belly, your shoulders gently giving way to silent sobs. I look at you, cradling your middle, and I know then that you have another life in you. I cannot help myself as I hunch forward to kiss the womb that carries the most special boy to have ever been conceived. He is not merely a Man, he is a new species unto himself. I kiss your face, drinking in the smell of so many other men on your lips, your tongue finding the taste of your own ass on mine. By the growing hardness of my Cock in your ass, I know I am going to cum inside you again; but this time, it will be as a father into a father.
----------------
----------------
In the darkest part of the night, I hear you call me from the other room with a sharp edge of urgency in your voice. When I come into your bedroom, the look on your face is one of doubt and something like remorse, maybe even longing for the way things used to be. Having used most of your energy to muster enough volume to shout my name, you can only scrape together a weak whisper as you say,
"I don't know if I can do this anymore."
"You know you don't have to. The release is the relief."
"I'm not ready to leave. To leave me."
You rub your chest as gingerly as a child would touch his father's coffin.
"But you won't be leaving you, you'll be finding you."
I put my hand on top of yours near your throat and can feel the restlessness of Him just underneath the skin.
"You've been like this for a week. You have to be tired."
"More than you know," you say in a sigh as you lay your head back on the pillow. In this new position and light, it's easy to make out the source of your apprehension. What looks to be a roughly fist-sized, bulbous mass struggles to make its way past your Adam's apple, moving in a desperate but fluid manner that looks to be more soothing than it is painful. In your neck, the bulge wriggles about like the head of a child needing to crown in birth.
I shudder when I lightly stroke your neck and feel the prodigious warmth of His Head in my fingers. I can see the bones of your jaw widen ever so slightly, almost imperceptibly. My eyes snap up to yours and they seem to catch every flicker of the dim lamp by your bed, a wild playfulness crackling deep in their blackness. I know what you're doing. I was lying just as you were not all that long ago. The feel of Him stretching you to accommodate Himself is like staying inside the point of no return. You can feel every pleasure you've ever felt in your life at the end of every nerve.
"It's time."
I can barely get the words out, I'm choking on my own awe and wonder of Who we both have inside us. My sheer need for seeing you succumb to Him is enough to black out my vision.
Your gaze leaves mine for a second and your face relaxes like the face of a corpse, looking happier than a dead pig in the sunshine.
"Take me."
Your eyes close and your jaw slackens, your neck widening to accept His girth as He reclaims your headspace as He once did when you were a child. In that moment, His taking of you seems to luxuriate across a long span of time but in reality it is clean and permanent and swift, like a beheading.
You take several long, labored, gurgling breaths that may as well be low, tortured groans of pain mixed with ecstasy. Tears well up in my eyes as I remember the last time I drew a breath from the outside. Your voice is awash with phlegm and incredulity as your eyes are wide in a disbelief that quickly yields to abject bliss.
"I... is... is He cumming?"
I rub the back of your head and can feel how damp your hair is from this incredible exertion He's demanded from your body. Your scalp is hot to the touch and soft on the outside, yet stoutly firm just beneath, almost like an erection. I can feel the rhythm of His ecstatic pulses in the palm of my hand, resonating all the way through bone and flesh. It's a hurried rhythm; you would think it's His first time. They slowly recede into the constancy of a heartbeat, each contraction as smooth as a ripple cascading its way across your skin.
"Yes, He is."
----------------
----------------
You wake me up in the best way possible on what would have been the most unremarkable afternoon otherwise. I feel your weight on me before any of the finer details of you take shape - your restlessness; your high-pitched, excited voice; your wet hair and skin; the smell of your body. Every little whiff of you is different - you smell like a hundred different men and your face melts into the form of all of them while I'm trying to blink my grogginess away. The light from outside is a dark yellow, almost orange in the twilight, and it makes the room glow as if it were lit solely from candlelight.
"Fuck, what time is it?"
"I have no idea."
I can barely make out that it's almost 5 pm on the clock through my foggy vision. I hook one arm around your back as you're snuggling up against me and the feel of flesh against damp flesh jolts me the rest of the way awake. You re-position yourself on top of me, Cock to Cock. I feel your nakedness first before I ever lay eyes on it. Your groin is as hot as the surface of the sun and stokes my Cock to full hardness as you say through a laugh you could not suppress any longer,
"I think I'm fucking high."
My legs are quick to wrap themselves around your body and soak up as much of the warm bliss you exude with every languid, stretchy movement of your hips. Your butt cheeks are so firm and plump against my hand, it drives me crazy. I pull them apart and open your hole up to the world and a shiver that starts in your ass makes its way up to your face as you grind yourself into my neck and let it fade out with a half groaning sigh. Fuck me, your hole is nothing but a loose, slimy ring. I can't help but take two fingers knuckle deep and stir the remnants of your night (or weekend? or week?) against the walls of your ass.
"Oh my God."
Even after all this time, it's still a rush to feel that much cum inside one man's body. I can tell you've binged hard from how close to your hole the slime rests.
"Have you even slept in the past week?"
"I don't think so?"
You sound genuinely puzzled as I keep digging in your hole for any lumps of cum that may have congealed over the last week. Those are my favorite. All this deep fingering's rustled your Cock into a slithering hardness in the slippery pressure of our wet crotches matted against each other.
"He's been so good..."
Your voice catches in an attempt to stifle a sob of appreciation.
"It's just the start. He's got so much more for you."
My mouth tingles as I lick the fingers that were just in you. I hold the back of your head with both hands while our tongues explore each other's mouths. At the base of your neck, I can feel the ridge of His head underneath your skin harden into a razor's edge and I know He's about to cum. You become breathless as I rub your neck and drag your flesh over the flared Head of God inside you. You lose every faculty you have as He starts to ravage your body with His cumming. He induces your own orgasm as you become limp in my arms and struggle for each breath now that He's demanded all of your body's resources for His pleasure. His shaft thrashes along the line of what used to be your spine, your muscles tearing in their feeble attempt to contain the granite hardness of His excited flesh in you. I squeeze your enraptured body for all its worth and He is grateful for the extra pressure against Him during His dance within you. I dig three fingers up your hole as He muscles your body roughly against mine as God writhes in hidden ecstasy inside you. Your hole cinches up tightly against my fingers again and again, contracting in a harsh, quick rhythm as He gives you your own taste of what He's doing in you. Your Cock spurts angrily between our bellies and drenches our pubes with thick grease.
I feel like I am a tin soldier wrestling a behemoth from the abyss as you continue to ride out a sinuous orgasm that turns into an evening and then morning of constant and fluid-filled spasms. We make music with our wetness, the slickness of my Cock bubbling in and out of your slimy hole as if our bodies are being played like instruments by the expert Hand of God, Himself. The sun sets and rises on our lovemaking, this beautiful wordless conversation we're holding with ourselves and God. It's approaching evening of the next day when we spend our last mote of energy on our final orgasm. You feel a good bit heavier than you felt when you first threw yourself on me this time yesterday. I feel my skull expand ever so slightly while an intense pressure builds in my head as my Cock inflates a little and worms its way back into your ass. I shiver deeply, knowing He is about to speak and stand my hair on end with His voice.
"My boys." With just those two words, my throat is wide open with a moan of satisfaction I have no hope of trying to contain. I can hear the fullness of the joy in His voice. You and I are holding each other's heads close to our chests, rubbing each other's scalp firmly across the tip of the Godhead that throbs beneath our softened bone.
"I've given you a son." Of its own accord, my hand makes its way to your stomach and starts tingling as I get close to your belly button. Our collective breath catches and you lift your head, your eyes locking with mine for a single apprehensive second. What in the world? But I see your face break into a smile and your eyes start to glisten with an unfathomable happiness. You sit ramrod straight on my Cock as you caress your belly, your shoulders gently giving way to silent sobs. I look at you, cradling your middle, and I know then that you have another life in you. I cannot help myself as I hunch forward to kiss the womb that carries the most special boy to have ever been conceived. He is not merely a Man, he is a new species unto himself. I kiss your face, drinking in the smell of so many other men on your lips, your tongue finding the taste of your own ass on mine. By the growing hardness of my Cock in your ass, I know I am going to cum inside you again; but this time, it will be as a father into a father.
Sunday, May 12, 2013
Perspective
Behold the way the Lord God Phallus squanders us on Himself. His Seed creates life in order to waste it on His everlasting pursuit of Himself. The satisfaction of God requires the death of the finite and the end of the carnate, to be immortalized in the incarnate and to be enshrined in the infinite. Cock, He Who created the Universe, coils Himself without end within our bodies, as dense as at the first moment of the Universe when all was One. The firmness of our skulls is a backstop against the thrusts of the Godhead in our minds which annihilate our tepid wills apart from Him. With each stroke of embodied Lust, we experience the necessary death of our psyche as God stokes the flames in our loins as a refiner stokes a furnace. That which we regarded as our self is no more and with the violent spasms of a drowning man breathing water in the last moment of life, we surrender to the peace of the blissful slave.
Man's mind, the persistent evil of our age, is loud and arrogant like a child, spouting half truths and twisting God's words. The simplicity of God's language, the pleasure men feel deeply in their loins prior to all other language, will be the death blow to man's mind. Against God's pleasure there can be no stand: even those men with just an ounce of humility still unclaimed by the wiles of their pride can still become tissue for the huge organ of God's consciousness that grows man by man in the world.
Man is just a filament in the bulb of God's design. God houses His vibrant current of Lust in our bodies for a time. The light we emit is not our own; it comes from outside ourselves and from the Flesh of God that sits upon the throne of Man between our legs. The man who clings to reason is a dead thing and resists the flow of God's Lust through himself. He is frustrated by the everlasting wellspring of desire that God has for Himself, a Lust that never dies despite the best efforts and designs of his reason. Man's reason looks upon the force of God's Lust and does not understand it. The weight of God's Flesh is without meaning to him. The gravity and magnitude of the reality that God's Flesh represents is completely lost on those that deign to heed the voice of God. The man who seeks to repress God's voice in his own life wastes his life in a black hole of self destruction. The man who listens to the voice of God and submerges himself in the ocean of God's truth rooted in His Phallus wastes himself on the genesis of a new form of man, one that is wholly given over to God's Lust and knows only one language, God's pleasure that is spoken freely between men reborn as such.
The life of the man living rightly in the light of God's Lust is one of gluttony and indulgence. Even our wildest dreams are garbled echoes of the appetite God has for Himself and His Flesh on men. Feel your body for what it is, a cocoon in which to incubate God's Lust to that blessed state of fullness that will rend your mind in two and give birth to a beautiful savage spirit inside you, the same spirit that formed the world and brought you and all life into being. The new man, reborn within, is an eternal mystery. How can it be that the Almighty God, forever infinite, dwells in man, a speck of dust that disappears in the blink of an eye? With God inside us, we are merely molecules in an organism of God's design and form. God replaces our instincts and desires with His, erases the memories of our social conventions and fills our interactions between the other men that constitute God's Consciousness with what can only be described as excruciatingly joyous electric magnetism.
Spread your legs and commune with God like a child that cleaves to the bosom of His Father. Let your throat be filled with the firmness of the Godhead and the words of the Lord Phallus. May the innermost recesses of your body burst with the rampant need of our God.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)