Dear Carthagians

Je suis très désolé mes enfants pour l’iPox. Testing on you bunny rabbits seems unjust, fluffy yet slippery, oyster shell ears a’quiver at my jabbing pipette, disgorging the crude libation, my infernal dam a lukewarm backwash, always unfinished.

So I come again, more patiently perhaps, but in bovine supplication dark, bejewelled orbs of obsidian, mucular crystal still peer upwards wanting, trembling with masochsitic preciptus.

‘Please sir? Can I have some more?’

‘More?! Of course dear calf. This horn is of plenty. I’m full of it you see. Re-download my Poxcast, for I have refined it somewhat, and it will keep your dulcet purexia in the bassinet with me a little while longer…’

(…during this nocturne of gelid founts, our icy limbs blown across frigid oceans. Touching from a distance next week’s inevitable appointment…)

But enough Brimstone and Treacle. Be back for the second-half shaking of my second Ishango Bone this time next week. Please loosen yourself to soil the Blackboxsss blog or my Facebook fan page, especially if there is a certain day you prefer to visit the home and zone out to my Turkish goebbels.

Also please tug my hem if you prefer the well-rounded cleavage of my apologues, innoncence to experience, profered here by my byzantine a-to-b, or rather enjoyed too much your lobes scirrococo’d into somnolence by a single 2hr session in my lap, downy pampas breathed back tickling tympany, cheek to the roof of my pillowy carapace.

And I wholeheartedly promise you next time Mr. Werther will be kept firmly within his warm, sticky pocket.

Until then. Yours truly x

SSS

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1 Intro

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Failed 80’s French pop star Simon Saint-Simon takes you a’rambling along the primrose path of his mediocre landscape, if you can find your way that is through the rêves of a dribblling idiot with a leaky gusset. In this black sex comedy let mistakes become magic and destinations dissolute oasis

01 Higher Than The Sun – Primal Scream