Full Spread Ahead: a Poem Remix with Images #DirtyPoem #SmutpunkPoem #LPRTG

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 Full Spread Ahead

with her ass cheeks spread open
head buried in the sheets
asshole stretched out and open
like a train tunnel to a foreign land
back arched
lips parted
thighs thick and smooth
panties damp at ankles
she seems about right
for me to jam my locomotive
full speed into her

She wags her tongue

I wage war and
power my engine
though her ass
until she screams her own name
in absolute reprehension
and I cum
deep up her asshole
i make her clean me off
balls deep

 

 

Free Bestselling Fiction: 1948 – Futa Boxing Gym 2 | #LPRTG #BookBoost #Freebie

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Free Bestselling Fiction

Free 12 Sept. – 13 Sept. 

  

Click any of the covers or ads to read reviews and get your free copy! Enjoy!

You may even want to click the hot chick riding the cock to see what other surprises you may find.

Also, if you’re a big supporter of smutpunk, please share this post on social media to get the word out. Thank you, luvies!

Finally, thank you to the original six who got reviews in before or on release day! That rocks. Each and every review is awesome and useful.

Swag from the Smutpunk Raffle | #SmutpunkSwag #Swag #LPRTG

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This stuff is going out today and tomorrow to the winners! Yay!

Please contact me by email or in the comments below if anything hasn’t arrived or if there are any other problems.

See list of winners

Metaphysical Poetry, Art, Smutpunk | Snap, Crackle, Cosmic Debris by MJ

To His Coy Mistress

Had we but world enough, and time,

This coyness, Lady, were no crime

We would sit down and think which way

To walk and pass our long love’s day.

Thou by the Indian Ganges’ side

Shouldst rubies find: I by the tide

Of Humber would complain. I would

Love you ten years before the Flood,

And you should, if you please, refuse

Till the conversion of the Jews.

My vegetable love should grow

Vaster than empires, and more slow;

A hundred years should go to praise

Thine eyes and on thy forehead gaze;

Two hundred to adore each breast,

But thirty thousand to the rest;

An age at least to every part,

And the last age should show your heart.

For, Lady, you deserve this state,

Nor would I love at lower rate.

But at my back I always hear

Time’s wingèd chariot hurrying near;

And yonder all before us lie

Deserts of vast eternity.

Thy beauty shall no more be found,

Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound

My echoing song; then worms shall try

That long preserved virginity,

And your quaint honour turn to dust,

And into ashes all my lust:

The grave’s a fine and private place,

But none, I think, do there embrace.

Now therefore, while the youthful hue

Sits on thy skin like morning dew,

And while thy willing soul transpires

At every pore with instant fires,

Now let us sport us while we may,

And now, like amorous birds of prey,

Rather at once our time devour

Than languish in his slow-chapped power.

Let us roll all our strength and all

Our sweetness up into one ball,

And tear our pleasures with rough strife

Through the iron gates of life:

Thus, though we cannot make our sun

Stand still, yet we will make him run.

–Andrew Marvell

Giogio De Chirico’s Style (from Wikipedia, please click Wikipedia for his full biography)

In the paintings of his metaphysical period, De Chirico developed a repertoire of motifs—empty arcades, towers, elongated shadows, mannequins, and trains among others—that he arranged to create “images of forlornness and emptiness” that paradoxically also convey a feeling of “power and freedom”. According to Sanford Schwartz, De Chirico—whose father was a railroad engineer—painted images that suggest “the way you take in buildings and vistas from the perspective of a train window. His towers, walls, and plazas seem to flash by, and you are made to feel the power that comes from seeing things that way: you feel you know them more intimately than the people do who live with them day by day.”

In 1982, Robert Hughes wrote that De Chirico

could condense voluminous feeling through metaphor and association … In The Joy of Return, 1915, de Chirico’s train has once more entered the city … a bright ball of vapor hovers directly above its smokestack. Perhaps it comes from the train and is near us. Or possibly it is a cloud on the horizon, lit by the sun that never penetrates the buildings, in the last electric blue silence of dusk. It contracts the near and the far, enchanting one’s sense of space. Early de Chiricos are full of such effects. Et quid amabo nisi quod aenigma est? (“What shall I love if not the enigma?”)—this question, inscribed by the young artist on his self-portrait in 1911, is their subtext.

In this, he resembles his more representational American contemporary, Edward Hopper: their pictures’ low sunlight, their deep and often irrational shadows, their empty walkways and portentous silences creating an enigmatic visual poetry.

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So what’s the connection?

Can you see and hear the link between the metaphysical poets and metaphysical art? Giorgio DeChirico ended up locked away in an insane asylum. So if you find yourself writing or painting about long shadows, I’d cut that shit out before it’s too late.

In all seriousness, “To His Coy Mistress” is just a fancy way to say “I want to get laid, baby!” I don’t know about metaphysical poetry for this one. It’s more of cockstroking poetry. Perhaps, it would be more apt to call it the Metaphysical Smutpunk. Anyways, De Chirico, to me, captures much of the mystery and sense of space and peace that Dali captures. He’s almost like Dali without the paranoid-schizophrenia. Funny, that De Chirico is the one who went mad.

Let me know what you think about metaphysical art.

See previous weeks of Snap, Crackle, Art. 

#SnapCrackleArtByMJ #DeChirico #MetaphysicalArt #MetaphysicalPoet #AndrewMarvell

How to Cheat

 Aka, How to Cheat, How to Steal a Girl and Fuck her Throat with Reckless Abandon

We already covered how to get her to let you face fuck her but now we’re covering the way more important bit about how to get me to jam cock into your girlfriend’s mouth. It’s really not all that hard to seduce your latent slut and get her kneeling and gagging. There are just a few things to consider and she’ll be eating my nut-butter in minutes. Most hot girls are unlikely to want to disrupt any good atmosphere. So get the party started. The first thing is to get her laughing. Once they start having fun they are really not remiss to eat my cum. After getting your girl to laugh, and while making her chuckle, I get her really drunk. Now I start rubbing her ass, her back, her shoulders, her hand, her nipples, her tits, her pussy, and then her asshole. The whore has been dying for deep-dicking all night, so getting her to stay with me isn’t hard. Watch the way her eyes dart around the bar, she’s looking for dick — and mine is going to be pounding her tonsils while you’re home watching youjizz.com and touching yourself (now that you’re reading this, you will be defiling my girl soon while I watch porn and jerk it).

“Cum in my mouth, baby,” she says. “I want to taste it.” Slobber drips from my shaft onto the pavement. She is ready to fully submit and get face fucked how I dream it. She lets cock bang deep down, her chin on my balls, her nose in my pubes, her throat wrapped tightly around the shaft of my cock. She’s nothing but my fantasy. 

Moctezuma Johnson
 

After the bar is nearly empty, I take your bitch outside and push her against the wall. We kiss. My cock is already out. I shove her down. Her eyes open wide and my pole pounds against her tonsils. She makes a heaving sound and then throws herself at my cock, choking herself, impaling herself — I don’t know why girls do this. Perhaps she likes the challenge of deepthroating a massive cock. Perhaps she cannot accept failure. I help her along by pushing her head against the wall and doing it to her. I see something in her eyes, a twinkle. She loves having an alpha male show her her place. She loves getting used hard. She’s sure of her role. She’s discovering herself. She enjoys submitting. She wants to serve. She’s ho. She’s calm.

I pull out and smack her with my cock. She stumbles back and her head knocks against the wall. I am about to say sorry when I realize she’s so turned on. “You like that, huh?”

She says, “I love big cock.”

I shake my head while looking down at her. “Then suck it,” I say.

“Cum in my mouth, baby,” she says. “I want to taste it.”

 

Slobber drips from my shaft onto the pavement. She is ready to fully submit and get face fucked how I dream it this time. She lets it bang deep down, her chin on my balls, her nose in my pubes, her throat wrapped tightly around the shaft of my cock. She’s nothing but my fantasy.

She looks hot getting her throat stuffed. I hold her head and blast off inside of her. She moans as each spurt erupts.

 

She feels now how she went from your cherished loved one into my total fucking whore. She swallows me spunk. She owns it. She the slut. She the cum eating whore. I new identity has revealed her true self.

 

In my apartment she slathers baby oil all over her big ass cheeks with a huge, childish grin on her face. “I feel like a slip and slide,” she says as her hand slides all over her cute little ass.

I sit on my couch with her on top and facing away from me and fuck her in her asshole. You should see her now, body all oiled, my hands behind her head, keeping her pinned while her tits squeeze together, her empty pussy open, lips flapping in the rough wind as she gets sodomized hard and deep. She still grins like a kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar. She bites her own lip and then yells out, “fuck me!”

Her eyes roll into her head. I have the camera set up and watch her on my TV. “Do you see yourself, whore?”

 

BONUS:

When a blowjob is good enough I hear steel drums in my head and my teeth fall out. It’s like my head has been filled with helium and I float over the clouds for a few minutes in post-fellatial space-travel. Me, the protein, and the pleasure principle take a cumulonimbus-dance and then I return to Earth, back to my body, kick the bitch out, and sleep. Be lucky enough to get the boot!

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Her tits bloom as she gets her throat pounded. Artist’s rendition of the mental effect of deep throat on the brain of Moctezuma Johnson

 

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Subliminal Message. Everybody loves Jynx and Moctezuma. Click the nipple to show your love.

Please help Support my Thunderclap Campaign for 1948 | #LPRTG #EARTG

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Please help Support my Thunderclap Campaign. 

It looks like it may end a little short. It ends Monday at Noon, apparently.

Put the link to your campaign in the comments below and I’ll reciprocate. Thanks.

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A Domestic Poem “Henpecked” or “Pussy Whipped” | #DirtyPoem #SMUTPUNK #LPRTG

I splashed through my trivial thoughts
on butterflies and wormholes
Until I heard her voice

my shoulders nearly shook
spasm’d
Without even a touch

water leaked out my ears
as she told me to take out the garbage
and clean the cat litterbox again.

Week 8 – Snap, Crackle, Strip! | This week we look at Comic Strips in art and poetry | #NRRTG #LPRTG #PopArt

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Week 8 – Snap, Crackle, Strip!

Comic Strip Style Pop Art by Roy Lichtenstein with accompanying Comic Strip Style Poetry. 

Click the Image to Enlarge (and read)

Most of you will know “Drowning Girl” by Lichtenstein best. You may have seen me use it with a mock-caption of my own in Week One of this Snap, Crackle, Art by MJ stuff for the Too Pedantics, err, Blue Semantics, oops, Stew Gigantics, err sorry, I meant Necromatics, blah blah…Nu Romantics. That’s the one.

Lichtenstein’s paintings have sold for millions of dollars but they may be blatant rip-offs of some other artists toiling away for DC Comics and other locations.

Indie authors may not be the only ones guilty of copycatting. Perhaps a Sarchasmo character cockslapping fools (geni.us/Sarchasmo & geni.us/Sarchasmo2) was needed to mete out justice for some of those who penned comic strips. I’m only half-kidding. Lichtenstein’s relationship to criticism was complex at best. 

Anyway, I digress.

Most of Lichtenstein’s best-known works are relatively close, but not exact, copies of comic book panels, a subject he largely abandoned in 1965, though he would occasionally incorporate comics into his work in different ways in later decades. These panels were originally drawn by such comics artists as Jack Kirby and DC Comics artists Russ Heath, Tony Abruzzo, Irv Novick, and Jerry Grandenetti, who rarely received any credit. Jack Cowart, executive director of the Lichtenstein Foundation, contests the notion that Lichtenstein was a copyist, saying: “Roy’s work was a wonderment of the graphic formulae and the codification of sentiment that had been worked out by others. The panels were changed in scale, color, treatment, and in their implications. There is no exact copy.” However, some have been critical of Lichtenstein’s use of comic-book imagery and art pieces, especially insofar as that use has been seen as endorsement of a patronizing view of comics by the art mainstream cartoonist Art Spiegelman commented that “Lichtenstein did no more or less for comics than Andy Warhol did for soup.”

Like I said, I digress.

What I want to get to is the idea of comic strips as poems. See some from ‘The Poetry’ and ‘The Poetry Foundation’. These little comic strips are poems. They have rhythm. They show the history of an emotion. Some of them even rhyme. I think they are a lot of fun. Check a few out. Click the Images to Enlarge. 

 

 

>>>>> Aside >>>>> Please Join My Thunderclap to Support 1948 >>>>>

Biography of Lichtenstein From Wikipedia:

Roy Fox Lichtenstein (pronounced Funkenstein, just kidding, it’s lɪktənˌstaɪn/; October 27, 1923 – September 29, 1997) was an American pop artist. During the 1960s, along with Andy Warhol, Jasper Johns, and James Rosenquist among others, he became a leading figure in the new art movement. His work defined the premise of pop art through parody. Inspired by the comic strip, Lichtenstein produced precise compositions that documented while they parodied, often in a tongue-in-cheek manner. His work was influenced by popular advertising and the comic book style. He described pop art as “not ‘American’ painting but actually industrial painting”. His paintings were exhibited at the Leo Castelli Gallery in New York City. His patron was Gunter Sachs.

Whaam! and Drowning Girl are generally regarded as Lichtenstein’s most famous works, with Oh, Jeff…I Love You, Too…But… arguably third. Drowning Girl, Whaam! and Look Mickey are regarded as his most influential works. His most expensive piece is Masterpiece, which was sold for $165 million in January 2017.

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