she has the eyes
of some exotic
goddess that
shouldn’t be
talking to
someone like
me
and when she
said i was the
man of her
dreams
i laughed
either she’s
fucking blind
or it’s just
another scam
artist that
thinks a poet
has money
imagine that
it felt nice seeing old
friends happily
disappearing into a beautifully
constructed nightmare
meanwhile back in your place
for the fifth time this month
i fell asleep
laughing hysterically while
the room was on fire
it all happened so fast
you slipped my hand
under your dress
and i gave you access
to my netflix account
you were fucking beautiful
until you weren’t
you’d always say
there’s no love
when we drink too much
when we dream
too little
when all we seem to do is fuck
in public
bathrooms
and text each other pink
heart emojis
Model: @kittenlebow
Photographer: @shotbybaker
Southbank, VIC Australia
~
When it comes to redheads… they grab attention. A colour like red is not a wallflower background colour and instead shouts out from the page or canvas laid upon. Red even jumps out of photographs and signs… like in this webtorial.
The colour red represents physical energy, lust, passion, and desire. Packed with emotion ranging from intense love to anger and violence — representing both cupid and the devil. It is a hot, strong, stimulating colour that represents excitement and energy.
Red is the colour of passion.
Passion is the opposite of neutrality.
Think about what happens when you take a passionate colour like red… and add some skin.
~
Q: What’s the most interesting thing about you that we wouldn’t learn from your Instagram?
A: I can feel exceptionally shy and awkward doing everyday things like phoning to make an appointment, ordering food or returning an item to a store. This really surprises people as I tend to come across as a bubbly, noisy, extrovert, even online.
Q: Do you think nude art photography can be both artistic and also erotic? How do you draw the definition?
A: I think the human body is a little like a Magic Eye image. It is layered with meaning and can transform as your perspective changes. Our bodies can be seen as purely functional, a simple contrasting shape on a horizon. They can speak to our… experience and impact on the environment. They can be sensual, or emotive, or sexual.
I think the category an image falls into depends on social cues, context and intention — both of those creating the image and those viewing it. The weight of art or erotica can be carried in a pose, an expression, an angle, what is shown and what is hidden from view.
Both are beautiful. Both have their place.
Q: When you’re not busy modeling, what are some of your favorite things to do?
A: I’m quite a spontaneous person and I love trying new things — though I am not always so great at following through on my bright ideas or good intentions! In an ideal world, I’d be travelling with my favourite people, but I’m far more likely to be found sampling a new Australian gin, dancing around my kitchen in very fancy underwear, having a leisurely breakfast (and dessert) with friends, patting an alpaca, listening to a true crime podcast, binge watching a new tv series or making my way to the front of the mosh pit. Or sadly, scrolling through my phone. Instagram steals a lot of my time!
Q: You’re a new addition to the crayon box. What color would you be and why?
A: Emerald green. There is just something about that colour that has always drawn me in — even before I was a redhead. It is deep and bold, with just a little bit of old school glamour.
Q: What’s your favorite snack?
A: It’s a tie breaker between fresh warm doughnuts and hot chips. Resistance is futile on either of those fronts. I would happily eat both every day and preferably one after another. I can’t go past that salty sweet combo!
Q: What is your all time favorite movie and why?
A: A tough call, but I would have to say Fight Club. I’m a big Fincher fan, but I particularly like the nameless main character, the use of narration, the visual layering, the way that you notice something different every time you see it and its refusal to give you a simple answer tied up in a bow. Palahniuk, Pitt, Norton and Bonham-Carter is a recipe for gold, honestly.
Q: Come the weekend, what’s your favourite thing to do?
A: Wake up to a day with no alarm, no plan and no expectations
fin
Denny Mallory was a kid I went to school with, and even then you could tell that there was something seriously wrong.
Both him and his sister always looked kind of feral. They both had haircuts that looked like they’d been done by their mother with a blunt butter knife.
Now, I’m not knocking them for being poor, most of the kids that went to my school had families that were poor, myself included.
But this was something beyond poor, even beyond neglect. Denny missed most of his last year at school because he had ringworm, and this was 1989, not the 1930s.
Anyway after his last day at school, Denny decided to make some money for himself. So he burgled a house in which the parents and 3 children were all asleep. As he was leaving, with his bag marked “swag”, good ol’ Denny noticed that he had left big, dirty footprints all over the floor.
He knew that this kind of forensic evidence would be more than helpful to the police.
So what did Denny do?
Get rid of his shoes, perhaps ?
Maybe burn them.
Not Denny, he decided to set fire to the house with all 5 people in there asleep.
I don’t know what happened, but luckily the family woke up, nobody died, and dumb ol’ Denny got 30 years for 5 charges of attempted murder.
Now, fast forward 15 years to when Denny gets out of prison.
The guy has been locked up since the day he left school, aged 16. Like anyone else, he’s bound to have urges, I don’t know what his sex life was like in jail, but he definitely hasn’t slept with a woman for 15 years.
So, what does Denny do on his first day of release ?
On the very first night that he’s out of jail, he rapes the first woman that speaks to him.
So now Denny is locked up again, and this time let’s hope that they don’t let him out again.
If there’s a factory up in heaven, where God keeps churning out souls, then there’s bound to be some rejects now and then.
I think that’s what our Denny is, a fuck up from start to finish.
I’VE GOT ONE HEAD IN THE FRIDGE
ONE GENIUS HEAD
ONE MASTERPIECE HEAD
I TOOK A PHOTO OF IT
INSIDE THE FRIDGE
WITH MY PHONE
BETWEEN BROCCOLI AND MUSTARD
I THINK I’M GONNA POST IT ONLINE
BETWEEN THE LINK I SHARED YESTERDAY
AND SOMETHING ELSE I WILL POST TONIGHT
hard fingers where the pale meets the pink
dirty mouth hunger dripping drink
savor sweet sanguine soaking hole
suck me honey i wont tell a soul
hammer hard pavement meets the dirt
tell me why the boys they always hurt
deception occurs all the time. look around you to see. it’s everywhere. abuse of power can be a dark business. free your mind of contrived smokescreens & open up your soul to other levels. prepare to be astonished as you delve into those murky waters that lie deep beneath the swamps & shallows of stifled consciousness.
concepta sinks into sumptuous soft furnishings. the purples crimsons & gold brocades of a clichéd bohemia. original persian weaves hang heavy upon the washed-out painted walls behind her. artworks of conflicting oil & water break up the crumbling plasterwork. splinters of sunlight force their way through gaps in the velvet drapes. a spent opium pipe lays discarded on the oriental low table. candle flame & incense smoke dance together in the draught. the dark wet dreamer watches from his reading chair. concepta unfolds her silk-clad body into the supine. becoming one with her day bed.
the dark wet dreamer has bodily intent. a host of nefarious acts he could never risk within the grounded world. & so he has found a more iniquitous way. a conduit for his self-perceived holy narcissism. a ruse to escape detection. he has perfected that technique well known to incubi. unleashing the secrets of virgin birth. where the purity of concepta’s delicious curves awaits him. he will pursue his egregious urges with weinsteinian megalomania.
the dark wet dreamer synchronises his breath with that of concepta. it is cyclical. minimal. his eyeballs roll. heartrate slows. muscles slump. the weight of physical existence pins him to the chair. his consciousness rises. he floats above the ceiling. although the ceiling is no longer there. the ornate cornices ceiling roses & chandeliers do not exist from this perspective. it is only himself & concepta. along with the ectoplasmic slaver of his tainted spirit.
concepta inhabits her dreamworld. alcohol & opiates colour her consciousness. innocence ignorance & illusion. these three strands plaited together define her circumstance. she is vulnerable beyond belief. a victim ignored by unbelievers. the dark wet dreamer is already at her body. pulling poking tearing & scratching. in ways that concepta would never even dream of consenting to. yet all the while he leans back into a comfortable smirk. rooted to his reading chair. somehow physically tasting forbidden delights. as his astral presence busies itself with disgusting encroachment.
beneath sleep there are juices flowing. excitements building. transferences of energy. stimulation & engorgement. the dark wet dreamer searches out concepta’s hidden delights. those sacred places only she should ever hold sway over. on one plane he acts. on another he enjoys the sensuality. a warped crossover of consciousness. a distorted connection between the projected & the physical. concepta is violated. & yet there is no embodiment of this assault within reach for her to fight back against. were her name mary & his gabriel the story might be similar. likewise for rosemary & beelzebub.
there is always hope however. & for every act a consequence. opposite poles may attract. until one flips. & a different reaction is born. triggering repulsion. concepta cries out to her higher self. calling upon inner resources. the dark wet dreamer drools at the prospect of engendering female ejaculation. his astral phallus fills her being with the violence of an eternally-expanding galaxy. the tip of his physical penis dribbles a weak solution in pathetic anticipation. but this grubby agent of destruction is destined to become disappointed. & more.
concepta reaches deep into her awareness. then deeper still & beyond. a wry smile colours her face. she knows this because she looks down upon it. multiple perspectives drift before her. the victim’s own astral self has arisen. she has found a way to stand up to the control of the dirty wet dreamer. she has equalled his power. no longer a victim. & so now all that is left to do is best him. extinguish his hellish flame. a new plan of redemptive revenge emerges fully formed from beneath the bondage of concepta’s pain & humiliation.
the dreamer in the chair snorts with demonic pleasure. soaking his body with the putrid satisfaction of undetectable rape. wallowing satanically in shadowy & filthy smugness. each ugly thrust of his disembodied spirit jarring physical nerves into ever-increasing ripples of stolen ecstasies. yet still he remains unaware of the role his crude self-absorption will play in the alchemy of his own downfall.
concepta’s astral presence prepares to trouble the flesh of her attacker’s body. just as his is troubling hers. she grasps at the pile of occult pamphlets that litter the low table beside him. but with only spectral fingers at hand a physical connection proves fruitless. & so it is by the force of unbridled spiritual will that these papers are swept up and fashioned into an instrument of protection. swirled through the ether & loosely coiled into a cone. a vortex of magick incarnate. a horn of diabolical symbols & mephistophelian incantations.
the corporeal eyes of the dark wet dreamer remain oblivious. bloodshot behind fallen lids. & he moans. he moans to the sensations transubstantiated from his invasive astral pleasuring. as thin lips part into a hideous gape. ready to receive the desecrated host. whilst concepta’s burning arrow of the mind approaches. violation begets defiance. comeuppance encompasses the laws of karma.
concepta’s controlled rage connects the physical to the astral. resistance won’t work. for bully-boy predators. the wad of scrunched up papers slams into the dark wet dreamer’s physical maw. bukowski’s red sparrow is coming for this toerag. beak open. now he gets it. his astral self shrinks back towards the physical.
the dark wet dreamer is choking on his own sacrificial words. all power of oppression & manipulation bears down upon that stinking gullet. any oxygen to further evil denied. each victim of his exploitation flashes before him with a fuck-you smile of retribution. he dies in shuddering pain & disbelief. his astral self disappearing up the anus of his corpse. his humiliation complete.
bare scars of love
and past encounters left astray.
these small breasts
swell and wane depending on
the season,
these small breasts weren’t so
small when I was nine
naïve and boyish,
not at all co-que-ttish
these small breasts
were unaware
that young boys glancing meant
nothing more than curiosity
these small breasts
fast forward decades and
cheap romances,
I cut off tension
and pierced diagonal
restraints from pleasure,
lateral encounters
these small breasts
of tongues and teeth gone numb
on purpose,
until they grew
these small breasts
only not literally
just with excitement of the release
of fastened uprising and
centered frailty
at first lick
these small breasts
of pleased redemption.
a woman asked me
the other day why
i write poetry
i told her because
it is the only thing
that ever excited
me
other than the
possibility of
murder for
a living
she laughed like
i was joking
when i informed
her that at eighteen
i realized it was
either scribbling
in a notebook
or serial killer,
she started to
realize this was
a can of worms
that never should
have been opened
Model: @iheartdahliablack
Photographer: @shotbybaker
Port Melbourne, Australia
~
Doing business and raising babies.
Mother of two, pinup model, social worker and tattoo studio owner Dahlia Black breaks all molds.
I admire any woman who can juggle a successful career, healthy lifestyle and family life. Dahlia carries herself with so much grace although her children shall grow up thinking shes a badass someday for pursuing her dreams.
She looks like an elixir of colour and passion but if you manage to sit her down for five minutes, you shall soon realise she is an entrepreneur.
~
Q: If you did not have the career you have now, what would you want to be doing?
A: I’ve always aspired to be a police officer, or to work in the field of criminal psychology. I’m pretty content with where I am now, but I could still pursue those options down the track.
Q: Tell us about your kids?
A: I have two kids, a one year old boy and two year old girl. My daughter is a fiery little thing, she’s so stubborn and strong. And my boy is a sweet, giggly and gentle soul who LOVES his Mama. They are the best, ever.
Q: What is your parenting style?
A: I don’t really know how to describe my parenting style, I’d say it’s very affectionate and loved up parenting – my children are always told how beautiful, special and loved they are!
Q: How do your kids feel about your tattoos?
A: Sometimes I don’t think they even notice that Mummy is any different to anyone else, it’s the norm for them. One day I’m sure they’ll think I’m so uncool though! Ha
Q: Have you ever faced any discrimination due to being a tattooed mom? What happened?
A: I do get a lot of judgemental looks, which I noticed a lot from hospital staff while I was pregnant actually. I haven’t had any outright rude comments to my face, but have definitely felt judgment from other parents.
Q: Tell is about your tattoos? Who did them? What do they mean and which one is your favourite?
A: Most of my tattoos are by my darling husband Aaron Smith, at our tattoo studio Faith Hope Charity Tattoo in Flemington. Majority of them don’t mean anything, I love traditional tattoo imagery which is why I have the style that I do – I do have a few pieces that are special though. My favourite would probably be my stomach piece.
Q: With such a busy schedule and so many kids – how do you make time for your family? Do you have any tips on balancing a successful career and family?
A: It’s really hard for us to make time to enjoy each other’s company, but we always have at least one designated day of the week where we go out as a family. I don’t really have any tips on how to manage, I’m of the mind that a short term sacrifice is worth it for a long term pay off – so missing a few things now because I need to work hard means that I will have more time/freedom/money to enjoy everything when I’ve established myself properly.
Q: What is your idea for “me-time”?
A nice bubble bath, or a relaxing massage are my favourite me-time activities.
Q: Would you rather fight a vampire, werewolf or a zombie? Why?
A: Oh, that’s hard. I think a vampire would be the easier fight of the three so I’ll go with that!
fin
Horror Sleaze Trash 