careful.careless the second

careful careless as we know it is over.

retraining in the art of domestic goddess.

and we come to the main piece of news: peeping tom is gone.

by and large he is gone but he is still at large in the world, of course, somewhere.

may i introduce a new tom, a new romance, a beautiful creature by the name POPEYE.

i am olive oyl. i am deeply true. i am deeply tired. deeply careful, careless, caring.

deeply now.

who are you?

remembrance

when will i ever learn?

last night after watching a 'moment lost, love lost' film, i became fractious and sore, telling tom:

'tom, i never want to be without you'

'thank you darling' said he

'can't you say it back' said i, and he did.

'i'm looking forward to sitting sidebyside with you on rocking chairs, on our verandah, on our farm.' tom then said.

'how old are we?' i retorted

'seventy?' he replied.

'do you mean that?' (me, running nose)

'of course i do' (tom)

my biggest problem is that i never remember. it's as though each new day needs its own declaration, its own reassurance.

pray that i should soon desist from forgetting, and disallow films from wreaking havoc with the conviction of my own life.

FGM

if i can get this right, 135million women worldwide are living today with the consequences of female genital mutilation, not to mention the millions of little women enduring procedures in this very moment. a sapling hedonist, i cannot imagine life without a clitoris. cannot imagine having my rosebud sawn off with a razor blade in a dusty paddock, while my mother/sisters/aunties/grandmothers sit on me. can you?

the perpetrators consider that it can be a kind of chastity belt, insofar as to say that the girls are neutered and restitched such that the vaginal opening is taut to the size of a five cent piece (at most) ensuring that any premarital promiscuities are documented in the inevitable tearing of such a tiny orifice. stories abound that the new vagina is barely large enough to piddle through whereby the contents of the bladder sieve through the opening as though an ocean through a nostril.

a french OBGYN and sexual trauma councellor is now building a hospital in west africa to !reverse! the circumcision and resensitise the 'prosthetic' clitoris. the service is free (thank god as the fee would be equivilent to two years wage for some women). incredibly, if you want to help, you can by ADOPTING A CLITORIS!

visit www.clitoraid.org for more information.

tiffs

having been sufficiently disemboweled by grotesque gutbug am now lying in bed compiling a list of the works in great erotic literary canon; listening to tom screw the linen cupboard (brand new screws); looking forward to celebrating the engagement of florence&walter, let us call them.

according to someone, i am having an emotional affair, but i am absolutely not. insofar as to say that i am not in the least bit interested in this person beyond their capacity to regale the intricacies of a romance-gone-wrong and provide something of an esteem boost at the same time. do not word flirt, do not provide overly intimate details of body, do not even sign off. beside the fact that i am deeply in it with tom, have definitely surpassed the allure of him by now, surely, and certainly don't intend to screw up what little chance i have of breaking fast with tiffy.

oops

oops. so coming off the contraceptive pill for mental health reasons has turned out to be the best idea yet, the volition has gone, the anxiety has gone; (or perhaps that's lexapro talking). i no longer need to hurl a fan/mug/pot/phone/fist at tom, which believe you me, is darned relief, like an angel swooped down and wee'd over me. and then an evening of passion, an evening of lovely besheer-frock'd groping between tom and i, all the good kisses; and then tom goes and comes all over the womb. fuck.

'i know i shouldn't have, i'm sorry' he said moments after.

'its okay tom' said i 'but i'm going to have to have that pill in the morning, unless you want a child.'

'okay, maybe you should take it' said he 'i'll give you half the cost'

'no you won't' said i, 'you'll give me all of it, you idiot.'

ah tom, any day now.

swingers

the peeper and i will go to a swingers club on saturday. we are interested in watching a couple make love. different to porn. unlike being the voyeur to one's auto-eroticising partner. unlike being the voyeur to one's self auto eroticising. watching. no touching. no talking. no breathing.

we are going to a place for couples. a full blown sex club. i very much doubt it will be of the calibre glimpsed in say anais's Clichy, however, the novelty of being a sex club virgin will surely make up for the venue's lack of class!

i think it is the beginning of something. the beginning of a beautiful friendship. believe you me, it is not the first time i have thought it. tom is vague, fey about it. i suspect he is either thrilled or disgusted, neither of which particularly bother me. but all i hope is that i'm not disgusted. tis the last thing i expect to be, and i expect to be many things.

until next time, i remain yours faithfully,

careless.x

a new project is underway. please visit ilovejillaroo@blogspot.com to have a look. it will be fairly scant for sometimes, but with the right amount of patience, we are hopeful for a treat of gargantuan proportions.

yours truly,

careful x

?lady chatterley's loverstory of okama sutramy secret life?

blogspot goes crazy in the style of late night sunday by the power to troppo di vino and troppo di return button. what ensues however is a something quite housebound, humourful, and potently fortified. thank you blogspot.

lolita

lady chatterley's lover

story of o

kama sutra

my secret life

delta of venus

tropic of capricorn

tropic of cancer

fanny hill

story of the eye

120 days of sodom

torture garden

bride stripped bare

diary of a chambermaid

searching for the important canonical works, what i'm really finding is that, amazingly, they were a modest cohort, modestly immodest.

the gols rosey complexion suggests immortality, and behaves thus. the gols ghost rose up as aforetomentioned, and peeper was repentant. gol forgave as gol always does, peeper renegged as peeper always does. Gol is now assuming habitat inside the lumpy stained nest of mrs m. hubbard, during the reprieve. What gol really wonders is what all the reasons were. the outline is vague, the colouring vaguer still. All that tends to happen is that gol more and more frequently falls from nest to nest. Gol misses peeper badly. It is the nature of gol's ghost, to mourne her reeper. It is nature.

After the gol's souls exploded unto the dirt, her ghost rose up with a rosey complexion. Her ghost was such that the peeper thought her recovered. He put his hand out to her and said smuggly, i'm sorry gol, you can come back and make the nest again. Firstly, the gol had already dropped all of the good twigs, somewhere betwixt the perch and the fall, they had flang everywhich way. Secondly, doesn't a peeper know, that once you kick a gol off of the perch and explode all of her souls on the dirt that you can't put her back together again?

one time there was a girl and one time there was a peeper. they met they wooed they loved they lilted. they leaned to and fro together as though they were two insects, to and fro. one day the gorl and the peeper decided to build a nest together. The girl went off to find the twigs, she found many many good twigs. It took her a lot of time and strength, she was only one girl, and she was very happy about the nest. the girl carried the twigs back to the peeper and was ready to make the nest. When she got there the peeper said sorry and kicked her off the perch and onto the ground where she exploded all her souls all over the dirt. Poor girl.