Friday, September 29, 2006

The Straighteners

The couple were sitting on a bench in a dark corner of the elaborate civic gardens. They hadn’t known each other long. They had been on a few dates where sexual contact had been limited to a few awkward kisses.

It was a warm summer night; the air hanging heavy after a long hot, cloudless weekend. The sky was fading to a hazy half-light. It was a dream-like light, where shadows contorted and secrets seemed to hide themselves just beyond the line of peripheral vision. Secrets like the tryst between the young man and the young woman, co-workers already involved in separate loveless relationships.

It was an affair furtively played out in the open spaces of the chaotic city in the summer. For some reason, it could only happen in the summer, a time for reinvention and freedom and snatched hours wandering together hand-in-hand, long meandering walks and innocent clinches in city squares and avenues and parks, where the seeds of their intimacy were sown in shadows. It was a freedom that felt impossible in the long dark autumn and winter.
The gang entered the park at the far corner. There were five of them.
Walking with a collective swaggering menace, each harboured their own undeveloped individual philosophies, all variants based on ignorance and prejudice, but suited to their own limited life experiences.
The unspoken and undisputed leader was Gus. By virtue of his dominant personality, physical presence and limitless aggressive streak, it could only ever be this way.

Gus wore work jeans, a tight muscle vest and sported a well-groomed trucker’s moustache that he smoothed down with his fingers when deep in thought. His hair was cropped and he had a tattoo of a large erect cock on his bicep, an arc of spunk spattering up his should and across his back. Gus was a sadist and borderline sociopath, a feared figure in the hardcore resistance underworld. His crew had made their presence felt in the city with random acts of extreme prejudice.
His followers were similarly attired, a modern piratical crew of urban soldiers reared on conflict, violence and rough gay sex.

Together they were a fearsome crew whose late-night activities had already been reported in the papers. There was a hopelessness and desperation to them - but then it is always the desperate who are always the most kamikaze-minded.

The young couple were bathing in the silence, her head on his shoulder, his arm around her, one strand of her long dark hair idly wrapped around his forefinger, when the gang appeared before them silently.

Gus spoke first.
“Well, what have we here? A couple of fucking perverts.”

The crew formed a crescent around the bench.
“A pair of filthy fucking nonces…”

The young man wondered whether maybe this was some sort of joke. Like maybe there was a camera crew hiding somewhere. He fleetingly, guiltily, considered the irony of being discovered cheating because of television.

But there was no camera crew, no mischievous presenter waiting in the wings - just Gus and his militant, muscle Mary’s, the five of them captured in repose, in silhouette, before him and his lover.
He went to speak but in a flash Gus stepped forward and back-handed him. Hard.
The other offered noises of encouragement – little whoops of growing sexual excitement. Gus felt his big prick stirring into action in his tight jeans; the familiar stirrings of violence. It was like the semen in his balls were galvinising themselves, ready for action, for release.
The man took in a sharp intake of breath and the girl gasped in disbelief at this unexpected intrusion and the casual accuracy of the slap.

One of the crew grabbed her by the hair and pulled her head back.
“Shut it bitch-cunt. I fucking ‘ate straight people….”
“Yeah,” said Bepe, a small, wily half-Mexican character with one milky-eye – the result of a fight in a Detention Centre some years ago. “If God had wanted straight people he would have created Adam and Eve, not Adam & Steve. It’s you nonces that are littering the place with your mewling children, your pathetic weddings and your self-righteousness.”

The girl’s fingers walked their way to the man’s hand and held it tightly.
“Urh!” grunted the fag who had spoken before – a big, vacant lug who made good money as a rent-a-gimp on the scene. “Look at them - they’re fucking disgusting. I bet they don’t even arse fuck.”
“Well, what do they do exactly?” said Bepe.

His question went unanswered.

The man went to stand, but was backhanded again. He fell back into seat, wondering how far they were away from salvation, whether anyone could hear them away from the hustle and bustle of the promenade.
“Please,” said the girl, for the first time. “We’re not doing anything wrong – we’re just – “
“Nothing wrong?” said Gus with a laugh, his mouth twisting into a snarl.

The way his eyes suddenly changed scared the young man. He had read the stories of the random attacks on heterosexual couples. Now he remembered. He had heard about the extreme violence and sexual degradation. He had read the editorials muttering about the possibility of sexual revolution, but had paid little attention. Now he knew he was soon to be a minority. Perhaps he already was. Perhaps things had happened quickly without him even realizing it. Either way, it all suddenly felt very real. Fear filled his stomach and his bowels burned. His anus involuntarily flexed.

“You should be strung up,” said Gus, reaching into his back pocket.
“What are you going to do?” said the man, wincing as his heard his own voice. It was high-pitched, whiny. It elicited no sympathy.
“We’re the 4th Avenue Straighteners, motherfucker,” hissed the one who hadn’t spoken. His voice was a sinister lisp, snake-like and equally as weighted with venom.
“Haven’t you heard?” said Gus sarcastically. “There’s a revolution going on’. It’s time to wash the scum from the streets. It’s time for your conversion…”

He pulled a small bottle out of his pocket.
He unscrewed the lid and took a big hit as the boys moved in.
“You should be thankful you haven’t go Guido’s 14th Avenue crew,” said Gus, his cheeks flushing scarlet, his eyes widening. His voice sounded deep and flat, as if it had come from some dark place for away inside of him, from his blackened centre.
“Those boys don’t even lube up.”

Then the shadows moved in and the night narrowed down to a dark greasy passage to the centre of the earth.

Ben Myers


the man turned up tonight
in a yellow taxi cab
blaise's friend
a young mexican with a mexican face
he makes the heart beat faster
i sit here
the tv drones behind me
the violins rise
what is this?
whats going on here?
she's on the phone
my elbow slips from the arm rest
as i type
flies buzz very loudly on the tv
he's in the subway
my flatmate is now underground
closing space between us
this is worse than adultery
the only condition was that his girlfriend does not do any crack and
the last thing i hear is
don’t call me again
i’ll be downstairs in three minutes
i’m a white girl
i have long hair
bye she said
she calls
and the door closes
i gave her the number i gave her the number it was me
when she reappears she goes straight for the foil and a small metal cup
gets a spoon and burned a concoction so that the yellow gunk could be separated over the
its about 60 percent pure
about that
that’s what blaise's connection provides
and that is better than in london
she takes it in
deep in the lungs
eyes bulging
gives me
what the fuck have i done?
i’m pacing rushing around chopping lines on a cd box
it’s fine mike he’s with some girl
it’s 1.30am
soon i must be santa
it’s the journey that kills me man
the trip down to port authority
on the 4,5,6
the bus down the slope
through the tunnel
watching manhattan from alien angles
a powerful fortress
you are on the wrong side of the water
i am on the wrong side of the water
and you get pulled past a steakhouse
a holiday inn
retail trading parks
culture is a bold phantom here
on the tv
mr clean magic eraser
takes marks off the floors
erases things that you cannot believe
watch out for me she says
through the peephole
if he's coming up the stairs
i want to take another hit
you’ve had enough
he’s gonna know
you’re already tired
she just blows air at me
disappears into her bedroom
the door closes
i have my back to the tv
my back to the door
there is only one way in
and out
my fingers tremble
eleanor!!! i call
what you up to?
i'm laying down
are you alright
yeah she says
dont worry.

Bend Over

Bobby sat at his desk smoking a cigarette. His dark hair was slicked back as his lips sucked in the fumes that gently poured from the end of his cigarette. He was debonair, and as smooth as obsidian.

The door to his office was knocked.

Bobby looked up. A brilliant smiled flashed upon his face. His mind quivered with expectation. For she was there, waiting beyond that door that stood in front of him. He took a final drag from his cigarette before extinguishing it.

"Come in."

The door slowly opened . . .

In she came, dressed from head to foot exuding lust, a visual walking erection maker. She stopped in front of the desk. Bobby told her sternly that she could not sit down. He got up and walked toward her, keeping his eyes on her the entire time. He stopped behind her and ran his fingers over the bare flesh of her neck. She closed her eyes and felt the soft swirling of his fingertips.

He bent her over the desk and told her to keep still. He told her to put the palms of her hands face down on the desk and to hold them there. He told her not to move them. He told her to do as he said when he said it. Once that was said aloud the roles were now distinguished. He was in no rush. Bobby felt no need to finish this quickly. He ran his hand up and down the side of her body, feeling the curvature of her form. He wanted to take her roughly, he finally decided to himself. He felt an urge to control her. To dominate her movements and what she felt at what time.

His hand went down between her thighs and with one sure and swift movement he hoisted her skirt up. He sank down to his knees. His fingers pulled aside her panties. She was already damp, he noticed. His tongue licked between her buttocks whilst his fingers probed the saturated lips of her sex. His tongue worked the sensitive skin between her anus and her quim, which quivered to the tweaking of his fingertips every time he squeezed her clitoris. He could feel an animalism building within him. He lapped away furiously between her buttocks. The animalism was now taking over Bobby. He was famished and her cunt was his sustenance. Everything ceased to be but the connection he felt right then and there. Stuck to her cunt with that taste and that smell he felt wild inside, utterly and completely wild. He slipped in two fingers and began circling the walls inside. He heard her gasping ahead. The panting noises that she made were interspersed with the sound of the loose papers on his desk being screwed up as she gripped them tightly in her hands. He ordered her to let go of `the paper. He told her that she was to keep her hands flat down on the wood and to not move them an inch. She let go of them. Bobby pulled his fingers out and with his free hand he pulled out his prick. It hung there solidly. He moved around to the other side of the desk and dangled it in front of her lips. She opened her mouth nice and wide, like a good girl. Bobby grabbed her by the back of her hair as he slipped in some of his inches. She slurped away on his cock. Sucking at it with a sureness, with the certainty of someone who loved doing it. And a man can tell this, for he knows with straight certainty whether or not the one who is sucking away actually likes sucking away, for it makes a hell of a difference. Bobby watched his cock sliding in and out of her lips. He felt his prick growing even bigger. He felt it throbbing upon her soft moist tongue and he flashed his brilliant smile to himself.

Bobby told her he thought that she was about ready. He told her that he was going to take her from behind. Very gently at first. For she had to wait to feel it all fill her. He would do it ever so slowly and not give her more than three inches. He wanted her to sweat. He told her he wanted her to be on the verge of hysteria, for it was on that verge, and only on that verge, that he would fuck the hell out of her until she erupted. It would be the only way. She nodded her head. Seemed they had a deal. He could read it in her eyes that she would do anything. That she would take what he dished out and that this was why she was here. Submissively she stayed where she was. Bobby ran his fingertips up the backs of her thighs. Goosebumps formed from the traces of his touch. He then bit her bottom. She gasped. Bobby then followed this up by kissing where he just bit. Cheeky little bastard that he was. Still, he took a sense of pride in this, and it helped him get away with a lot in life. Next, he stood up. He didn't need to spit on his shaft as she was already like a dripping tap. His hips moved forward taking with it his wide girth that split her love lips in two. He kept only the tip of his prick in there, holding it still.

"Don't even think about moving!" Bobby said with an imperceptible grin.

He knew this would drive her quim near crazy. He knew what she was thinking that she wanted every inch to pierce deeply inside of her and to stretch her sex. She wanted to be completely filled. She wanted it pushed in there, as deep as it could get, and she wanted to squirm and wriggle upon it. She wanted this and Bobby knew it and he wasn't going to give it to her like that too soon. Oh no. He wanted to drag this out. He wanted to prolong her orgasm, so when it came upon her it would almost drown her. He thought about this with a perverse radiant joy within. He gave her an extra few inches and teased her some more by slowly sliding three inches in and ever so gradually sliding it back out, in and ever so gradually back out. Her sense of control was magnificent. She held on tightly and took it. Her legs were shaking. Bobby then took a very firm hold of her hips and pulled back leaving just the tip inside. He held it here for a couple of minutes. He could feel the gash contracting on what she had been given. Bobby gripped her hips a little tighter and plunged his dense dick deep inside. A monstrous groan ripped out of her mouth. Bobby held it in there, all the way in, feeling her snatch shivering. Quickly he began fucking her. He fucked her hard, slamming it all the way inside of her before pulling it quickly back out again and repeating and repeating and repeating. She was screaming out for god to have mercy on her orgasm and on Bobby pummelled her. As she neared the climax Bobby took her hair in his hands and pulled her head back. He slapped her bottom hard some. The slaps took her by surprise and pushed her onwards into a violent barrage that tore an orgasm out of her whole body.

Bobby dropped the back of her hair and stopped for a few minutes. She thought it was over. Her bones were shaking from the intense release of what she had just felt. Bobby flashed his brilliant smile, for he had only just begun . .

Matthew Coleman

Sunday, September 24, 2006

By Poxy

It skulks at the side
of the main hospital,
a bastard offspring,
yet hardly accepted.

They arrive,
glad of the cover
of evergreens,
even the hardy,
bolstered and big with bravado,
who deflate to a number
on cheap plastic seats.

Some may call it
the ‘clap clinic’ or ‘pox shop’,
others change names to
salve massive hurts-
V.D to Genitourinary Medicine,
wife to slut,
It never works.

Christopher Major

House Of Love

Until recently, we were really good friends. We used to walk around, eat cakes and drink Martini together. It felt like being twins of the same egg. I don't know what happened. I couldn't tell.
One day, as I was away, something happened. I saw you standing in one corner of the room, with one slipper on, one bare foot to the ground. It had happened. Your muscles weren't contracted. You weren't scared. You were just leaning against the wall, your hair of a normal colour and of a normal length was touching the white wall, and there was some kind of shit music on, the kind you listened to at some point. It might have been Survivor from The Destiny's Child. No actually it was Dip it Low from Christina Millian.
Your music taste really was something I couldn't understand. Everything about you was so satisfying that there shouldn't have been anything to contradict your perfection. You couldn't be human in that sense. Anyway, when I saw you leaning like that, I was like: "What the fuck are doing? Can you not get a chair?"
Some time after, I realised this was probably the first of a long series of mistakes. I am writing them down because I don't see you anymore and I am really fine with it.

Dan H

The Flesh Is Weak

I watched a girl drown. She didn't see me. I was out in the woods, just messing round. She was wading across the water, lost her footing. There wasn't anyone else around. One minute I was alone, taking deep breaths,enjoying the natural air. The next there she was. I glimpsed her maybe three seconds before she fell, but then she fell and started thrashing around. I guess she didn't gauge the depth of the water real well. She was really thrashing around. I just stood there. It occurred to me that maybe she couldn't swim, what with all the thrashing. But then I wondered about that because would a person try to cross a river if they couldn't swim? Iasked myself. If you couldn't swim, weren't you supposed to be afraid of water? So then I thought maybe she was stupid or something. Maybe she wasDowns. But. The glimpse I had of her, those three seconds. I knew she wasn't Downs. She was hot. She had a really beautiful body. Three seconds you can tell. She was in the water up to her middle and she was wearing a white vest top and her arms were bare and she was carrying a small canvas rucksack over her head; her arms were really muscular. Plus she had hair like Winona Ryder, back in the day, Winona Ryder kept me awake at nights. I only saw her from behind but from behind in the three seconds I got to look; she looked hot to me.
But that didn't mean she wasn't stupid.Drowning is a pretty stupid way to die. Her bag was taken by the current.The speed with which the bag disappeared down the river told me a lot. It was some current. So then I thought maybe she wasn't stupid after all.Maybe the water just got the better of her. I pissed my pants. I fucking pissed my pants. Can you believe that?

Peter Wild

Masochism Begins At Home

I just want
to be pushed
up against
the wall
by my hair
arms strapped
behind my back

A five minute crush
down a stinking piss
you ride up my skirt
push my legs
tear into me
deep and hard
somebody comes

I need strong arms
to pin me down
a strong head
to shut me up
a sharp brain
to run rings round
my vicious tongue

Only ever happy
when I’m knotted
by the wrist
lips gagged by satin
kneeling over
the bedside
as you
beat my peach skin
to a red
stinging pulp

As much as
I spout
feminist bullshit
this girl’s never sweeter
than after
the surprise
of a five minute fuck
from the
man in black
Megan Hall

Friday, September 08, 2006

Bare Knuckle

"BRUTALISTS is a movement of new writers and poets. Founded by northern outcasts Adelle Stripe, Ben Myers and Tony O’Neill in the long hot summer of 2006, the BRUTALISTS are young, hungry and rejected by the mainstream. We take inspiration from writing and music that is raw, brutal, pounds the senses, comes from the heart. We create the culture we deserve. We are the BRUTALISTS. Fuck you. "


A young lady reaches under her pillow for her trusty vibrator. She splits her thighs apart and looks downwards at her slit. The tip of her middle finger then circles her clit. Soon she is sucking the tip of her plastic friend before she turns it on. It hums momentarily before sputtering to a stop. The eyes of the young lady suddenly open up in sheer terror.

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!” She screams, shattering the vase that sits upon her desk of drawers.

Outside there is a sound that sounds like a sonic boom and suddenly a caped crusader bursts through her open window. He is dressed in a large red Lycra suit with knee-high boots, a cape and a hole in his crotch. A huge veined mambo hangs out of the hole, throbbing to attention.

“Do not worry ma’am, I am SUPER COCK!”

“Oh my!” The young lady gasps.

“That’s right ma’am, and I will make you cum faster than a speeding bullet!”

The young lady floats backwards onto her bed and spreads her legs.

“Shoot me!” She squirms.

Matthew Coleman

Monday, September 04, 2006

Brick Lane Festival - Straight From The Fridge




Ahren Warner, Wayne 'Sleng Teng' Smith, Niall O'Sullivan, Nathan Penlington, Suzanne Andrade, Dean Wilson, Martin White, Tim Wells, Rose McKnight, Yesimi Blake, Annie Freud, Clare Pollard



Last Days

Last day of wanking
Last day of coffee
Last day of alcohol
Last day of lying
Last day of porn
Last day of smoking
Last day of talking about myself too much
Last day of chocolate
Last day of television
Last day of not meditating
Last day of wasteful spending
Last day of not cycling
Last day of vanity internet searches.

Pete Wareham

I Am In Love

I am in love
with a lobster clawed
bearded lady;
she takes treads the boards
4 times a day
between the sword swallower
and the escape artist

I love her scars
and her yellow teeth,
the smell of cotton candy
and Nathan’s Famous Hot Dogs
which is gummed to her clothes
like the stench of poverty

we meet in the Atlantic Motel
most weekends
and fuck in the gloom
while the TV plays the weather
24-7, and neon Vacancy
blinks outside in rhythm
to our thrusts

she used to be beautiful

but recently came to me
with 5 fingers; the extras
stitched on by a surgeon,
and with teeth whitened by
a midtown dentist

but still I come back to her
and laugh with her
even though something has changed

the feel of five fingers
against the nape of my neck
fills me with a certain anxiety

yesterday she announced her plans
to have electrolysis
to clean up her chin permanently,
to attend AA meetings to curb her
guzzlment of cheap fortified wine,

and she asked me-
do you still love me?

fool that I am
I had to answer “yes”

I will return
I suppose
drawn by the memory
of what once was
even though her skin
now has the artificial smoothness
of silicone
and her tongue
has the flat, indistinct
taste of plastic

Tony O'Neill

Bukkake Ruined My Carpet

I buy my papers and periodicals at the ‘porn free newsagent’.
He also runs a couple of marathons a year. I do not believe this absence of jazz mags and his exuberance of energy are connected.
My regular top shelf purchases are therefore Fortean Times and Viz.
It’s not that I’m a Middle Englander… I’ve spent most of my life on the edges. I cannot abide spending my money when I know what the ending will be.
Now ‘tis true I’m a big fan of Kung Fu films and, as in porn, there is much in doing the job well. Living in the moment is important to both. Kung Fu films all have the same story; ‘Revenge!’ although often with added RRRRs for emphasis.
Good does not always triumph over evil, even on the Shaw Brothers’ set. But when it does; it is more satisfying than some Lancashire lads wet slapped all over some Chelmsford office girl’s boat.

Tim Wells

Christmas Sex

It was a fourteen day
Christmas holiday
type thing

after the first time
drunk on vodka and wine
the formula
stayed much the same

we’d smoke weed
and watch lame TV
until she went upstairs
with a wink

while I talked to D---y
her flat-mate
my friend
and corkscrew-headed drinking buddy

there was snow on the ground
and her skylight window was open
to the
winter stars

halfway through
on her back
she’d say
“I love it when you fuck me”

and I was glad to know
that she loved it when
I fucked her and that
after many months
of soul-searching
and dark nights in the city
it all still worked.

So this one’s for her…free of charge….
Ben Myers

Bitter Tale

I walk this grand city,
It’s what many see as Albion’s very own Vegas
Yet most pioneers seem to look shaken and withdrawn.

Brutal lies
A blanket of which I sleep under,
My dear friend,
bless him
As he was the one who warned me,
That the only Romanism would be
What I generated in my mind.

I wander the crowded stalls
Many of which, if I had the time,
I would stop, and ponder whether or not
To purchase some thing to waste
All my hard earned giro away.

But I have more important people to see,
(Another lie, as they are merely scumJust like myself,)
A life of mine to waste.

I sit and stare,
Drinking from my Battered, china tea cup,
I inhale and it seems better
But that’s just, yet another lie
I have formulated in my head.
I love to steal the enthusiasm

That they possess
Or at least portray,
To rip it from their arms,
To steal it from their soul,
To witness the innocence
That I have the power to tear away,
And oh my,
I have just the way.

Chloe Dyer