Friday, 9 January 2015

January 9, 2015

January 9, 2015

End Freedom of Speech?
Mohammed didn’t preach this,
Et Je suis Charlie.


© 2015 Martin Graham King

Image sourced on Google Images (all rights remain with the creator)

Sunday, 4 January 2015


I concur with Hunter that sex without love (or at the very least some kind of emotional bond) is hollow and ridiculous and mere bio-mechanics. I would also agree Love could survive, and I guess thrive, platonically, depending on the two individuals concerned.

The definition of 'sex' also has a bearing on this discussion... What is 'sex'? I'm guessing Hunter is referring to the penetrative act alone, as this can, so I understand, be performed without any emotional attachment.

However, if you broaden the definition of 'sex' to include any physical intimacy from which physical pleasure (with or without orgasm) is derived then Love without Sex is an impossibility and devolves into Friendship (though Friendship of a very close kind).
Personally, I dislike the terms 'sex' and 'foreplay'.

To me, as a very tactile individual, physical touching, physical intimacy, from kissing all the way to the penetrative act is all part of 'Making Love', and it goes beyond even that!

'Making Love' is not merely physical or emotional, but mental too.

When I am In Love with someone, I don't merely fall In Love with my penis, or my Heart or my Mind...

I fall In Love with every cell of my being.

For me, being In Love is an immersive experience.

When I am In Love I am Making Love constantly. Glances, hand-holding, conversation and the sharing of thoughts, shared deeds (even as mundane as cooking together or playing board games), kissing, hugging, caressing, massage, and, for want of a better word, sex are all Making Love, refreshing and strengthening the mutual emotional, physical and mental bond between my partner and I.

Sunday, 21 December 2014

Balestruccio & Tommaso.

The curtain rises.

Two friends are seen in a tavern, each nursing a tankard of ale.

To our left sits Tommaso Dubbioso, an ostler and to our right, somewhat in his cups, sits Balestruccio il Sovrano, a troubadour.

"You're wrong Tommaso, thee knowest her not as I do..."

"Balestruccio, these words I speak are not the dribblings and mewlings of a madman.
I doubt thee not that The Lady be the paragon thee claim her to be,
but if, as thee hast intoned time and time and time again,
her heart is free and unencumbered by the shackles of matrimony,
then why is thy arm free of hers?
Why are her hips not clasped by thy hands?
Why dost thy lips not carry the warmth of hers
or remember their sweetness?"

Balestruccio bangs his tankard down upon the table and in an impassioned voice...

"Tommaso, thou truly hast spent too long in the company of the horse,

For these lips have tasted hers and on them lingers still
the sweetness of kisses stolen under moonlit skies,
These hands have gently held a form that Venus herself
would look upon with envious tears welling in her eyes,
These eyes have gazed upon Her face, which art beautiful
whether She smiles or laughs or even cries,
These ears have heard the voice of this carnelian songbird
and revelled in the music of Her laughs and of Her sighs,
This heart, oh this heart of mine has felt so deep the beat of The One
that burns brighter than the eternal Sun's celestial fires.

So yes Tommaso, this woman above all women,
this Goddess whose name I am not worthy to utter,
yet have immortalised in verse,
This Lady for whom I would lay down my life,
IS a paragon of femininity, a warrior of Her kind
who has fought battles both bloody and fierce
and stridden triumphant from the fray.

And there, dear friend, stand the ramparts of the castle
whose walls I must scale to win the treasure
that lies within its keep, the reason why her soft hand
is not in mine, why her long fingers are unentwined with mine,
why, indeed, it is thee I quaff ale with and not Her.

Know this though Tommaso,
My colours are planted firmly at Her gates
and Hers alone and n'er shall they fade
or be uprooted by the vicissitudes of life,
for Her greatest triumph
was the winning of my Love."

Balestruccio raises his tankard, urging Tommaso to do the same.

"A toast my friend...


Her uncaged heart ..

Hers is a heart that cannot,
and should not,
be caged or controlled,
for it burns at it's brightest
when it is free,
when She has the space
to be herself
in all Her glorious wildness,
And when She burns at Her brightest
I can only hope to be close enough
to feel Her heat,
and maybe,
have an ember or two fall into my waiting hands.
Martin G. King © 2014
Image sourced on Google Images (all rights remain with the creator)

Thursday, 4 December 2014

Ho-Ho-Fucking-Ho? Well fuck off Santa ..

I want to get this out of the way before 1) the "Season to be Jolly" gets in full swing (though I think that it started tentatively in Mid-September!!!!!!) and 2) the vitriol I'm building up gets to the point where anything I write on this subject becomes unpublishable ..

Okay.... Here goes...

I loathe Christmas ..

Or to be more precise... I loathe what Christmas has become ..

I loathe it to the point where I now avoid visiting the centre of the city during shopping hours like it's been the epicentre of the Zombie Apocalypse, which in a way, it has ..

I have never been materialistic, preferring to own a few, higher quality things than many middling to poor quality things. As an example, my wardrobe currently consists of one pair of jeans, one pair of walking boots, five casual shirts, perhaps ten teeshirts, assorted socks and nether wear, my tiger onesie (wearing this as I write), one short jacket, one raincoat, a Weirdfish top and thats about it.

The major deviation from this is literature. There can never be enough books in my collection. I am an incurable, unapologetic Bibliophile.

But I digress.

As the song plainly tells us, there are twelve days of Christmas. There are not three plus MONTHS of Christmas.

What are the additional two months and thirteen days for?

Bowing in supplication at the altar of Consumerism. The New Religion.

A new religion of which there are a number of denominations.

There are the Plebians who worship possessions of any sort... Something new on the Market? Gotta have it... "Oh oh oh Christmas is a-coming, all those movies that are going to be on TV..." (despite the fact you can get any of them on Netflix or DVD), "We'd better buy ourselves a New Whizzbang 64" curved screen ambient lighting cinema sound immersive experience makes the tea in the commercial breaks SamSony TV".

These are the folk who will proudly present You, their 'BFF' with a tastelessly Christmas packaged can of Lynx (or the feminine equivalent) or some other cheap trifle on Dec 25th that they purchased (probably in bulk) from the local Poundshop (or Walmart if You're a Colonial). These folk are mortally afraid that if they don't give something to everyone in their acquaintance they will die of Social Shame.

Well fuck that noise with a rampant rabbit the size of a fire hydrant.

Currently, the people on my Christmas Present list number.... Two ..

And I sired both of them.

But I am not planning on walking blissfully into (even more) poverty for my little darlings. Nope. They will each receive a gift or two, carefully chosen to be something they will enjoy and something, hopefully, to treasure. And that's it... Perhaps, in Your eyes that makes me a bad parent? Oh well, peer pressure and conforming to societal norms never was my strong suit, especially if indulging that 'norm' would mean me indoctrinating those around me into that 'norm'. I would rather my offspring think for themselves than be pressured like sheep into a culturally acceptable pen and I, for one, will NOT exert pressure on them to be anything other than their wonderful, beautiful, intelligent selves.

I am not so insecure that I feel the need to buy my friends and acquaintances affection for the next twelve months. If you think my friendship is that cheap, I ain't selling and the door is thataway ➡️

And Christmas cards! What a waste of fucking time, effort and money that is (and another ploy by big business to extort money from You... See also: Valentine's Day, Mother's Day, Father's Day, Easter, etc, etc, etc). Listen, if You like or love someone enough to give them a Christmas card (or any of the aforementioned cards on the appropriate "Holiday") then instead of a card do one of these two simple things... 1) Call them or 2) Visit them.

Give Your Liked and Loved ones the gift of Your Time. That is the most valuable thing You have, every second of Your life, once given, can never be regained, and You have a finite supply.

And if the recipient doesn't appreciate You giving them something as valuable as this, then what the fuck are they doing being Your friend anyway? Fuck'em off and find someone that DOES appreciate You and Your time.

YOU, my friend, are the greatest gift You can give this Christmas ..

Sunday, 30 November 2014


I have, over the many years of my adolescence and (alleged) adulthood, painted myself into a corner.
It would seem that I also used that non-drying, anti-climb security paint.

I am a dyed-in-the-wool, card carrying Introvert. I am not fond of people (in the main), I avoid crowds. I am not garrulous or vociferous in a group, though in a one-on-one conversation I can chat away with the best of'em. My one-liners are Killer though :)

I am reclusive to the point of hermitage and therein lies my problem.

I am friendless (no seriously... Facebook excepted), and whilst I enjoy my own company immensely, I sometimes get incredibly lonely.

My question is this,

"How do I break the cycle of reclusivity?"

Hmmmm... Tough...

1. I am the world's worst at starting a conversation. How does one just walk up to a stranger and start a conversation? I have no idea. As a consequence of this, as You may have deduced, chatting to a woman in a bar (or wherever) is something (at 47) I have never done. (I will state here that I have been married and produced two beautiful daughters, but am now sans la femme). In fact, chatting to ANYONE, regardless of gender, is something I am unable to do unless I walked into said establishment with someone. I have never understood 'small talk', the need to speak without actually saying anything and find the writing of Poetry and Prose to be a far easier proposition.

2. I rarely drink alcohol and therefore don't frequent purveyors of alcoholic beverages, again something that distances me from the vast majority of the population of this royal throne of kings, this sceptered isle, etc, etc, this blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England (thanks Bill). Mother was an alcoholic bless her, and this has turned me off the demon drink. The upside of this is that I'm a cheap date and get hammered easily (and can be hilarious by all accounts... more so once inebriated).

3. My appearance... Hmmm... I am what I am there. I have been told I can be physically intimidating if You don't know me... The frown and penetrating stare of the Myopic trying to see in focus perhaps? The Dreads don't help, but if You are so narrow-minded to stereotype me as a stinky, idle Hippy that's YOUR problem not mine and You can walk the fuck away with Your judgementalism, and I'll dress as I see fit, i.e. for comfort, rather than slavishly follow the latest trends, thank You VERY much.

4. My Brain... Is it true that people find intelligence intimidating? As a Sapiosexual I cannot understand that at all.


Truth... but I have been reliably informed that this is the case with many averagely intellectual folk.

5. Am I looking for excuses or does it look odd for a man to walk into a social establishment on his own? Especially a man whose appearance doesn't fit the 'norm'.

So how does an anti-social, middle-aged man with few social skills develop a circle of friends?

Answers on a postcard ....