The blog of author Dennis Cooper

Meet HannahArendt, JeffinPalmSprings, MartinHeidegger, ([depressed]), and DC’s other select international male slaves for the month of May 2020


SatansChild, 20
Slave looking to be owned 24/7 365 with No limits You can even castration me or cut my penis off or remove my arms legs from my body or brake my back and paralysis me whatever
Im a nice shy person but my sexual desires are uncontrollable


Anonymous – May 26, 2020
BHP is notorious for filming guests with hidden cameras and selling the videos on the dark web.

Anonymous – May 25, 2029
I s***d a guy at BHP last year without a trace and they couldn’t have been nicer or more helpful.

BDSM_hotel_prague – May 24, 2020
Hey, BHP is a small BDSM private hotel nearby Charles Square. In this bad time we will offer you rooms for hour rate/ 13 € per hour:)
We have five themed rooms, all soundproofed, ranging from “The Fun Zone” to “The Slaughter House” 😉
We are 100% discreet.
Our rooms are thoroughly cleaned and disinfected after each guest.



inmyhead, 18
Proud, chronic young masturbator looking for expert bator master to take me under his wing and get me deeper and dumber. I can’t stop, I’ve tried, to stop. I won’t STOP.

I am a proud, chronic, frenzied, habitual, addicted, irrational, obsessive, bate-stupid, compulsive, gooned-out, penis-blissed, cock-babbling, uncontrollable, dick-pounding, fucked-up masturbator.

And I’m 17 btw
If you have a problem with that just ignore me.
If someone reports me ->🖕🏻


inmyhead (Owner) – May 12, 2020
Thank you and God bless.

DerEdger – May 12, 2020
I tied him to a chair, naked, legs over the chair arms, and then played with his body, first simply with just hands and mouth to massage away his masculine composure, which took mere minutes. Then I kept him for a long time close to orgasm, as he groaned, begged, writhed, poured sweat until he looked more like some kind of seal and human hybrid than himself, without letting him come, then worsened his already desperate situation, using a riding crop, nipple clamps, a cockring, anal plugs of increasing largesse, a prostate stimulator, ballstretchers and especially my mouth, nibbling and slathering and swallowing his dick until I finally let him come, vast streaks of sperm flying everywhere as he screamed in relief, but I kept licking and wanking his sensitive dickhead and shaft until he was hard again, and then I started all over from the beginning, and before the long night was over, he’d gone completely crazy, just a nearly lifeless, soaked body making faint garbled, effeminate noises as I milked the last of four drooling blasts from his sore, wilted organs.



MAGAfaggot, 24
Just here looking to see who’s into revving trucks. I like to rev trucks while getting to. Bonus if it’s a diesel blowing smoke. I also love the sound of cars, mostly the rusty ones (like what the main guy drove in The Perfect Date). My biggest fantasy is to jerk off on the seat of an old Ford/Chev pick up truck while my partner is revving his truck loudly and then fuck on the tailgate. However, if you’re into revving but not anal or oral, we can jerk together.


MAGAfaggot (Owner) – May 20, 2020
it is now PROUD to be CONTROLLED by its MASTER WorldMagaMaster and to have the HONOUR to be HIS MagaSLAVE PROPERTY for the rest of its LIFE. It has not been a step which it has taken without great consideration but it has found its MagaMASTER and MagaMENTOR and it know it is its DESTINY. it has been S. O. L. D. which means HE and only HE will receive all of its body. it wishes everyone here the same sense of FULFILLMENT and JOY that finding your TRUE PLACE brings.

kingoftrumpfag – Apr 28, 2020
I love put trump fag in dirty place
Im Mark a King of Trump Fag
I love scat and animals for my trump fag
I let trump fag fucked by dog
I make trump fag lick urinals
I love to humiloat trump fag and dragged them down



JeffinPalmSprings, 20
Hi, I guess I should call you sir really. Because I’m guessing that’s what you’re looking at me for and I know in my heart that’s what i want, even if my brain isn’t always honest enough to believe it.

I’m Jeff, I’m quite new to boys. I’ve plucked up the courage during covid to come here because i’m guessing i’ll get a bit more time before you strip me and hurt me. But ultimately that’s where I know I’m heading. Just hoped you might like to chat whilst I’m on the journey. And plan some adventures.

I have a lot of different fantasies.
To be displayed at a party by an older guy who strips me in front of my friends who are so turned on at seeing me naked they all rape me even though all my friends are straight.
To be a remote control bot for a man who tells me exactly how to have sex with my GF which I covertly film and have him watch it back while he throat fucks me naked between his knees.
To have my balls busted and be caned by a sadist so I can never sire kids which will fucking destroy my soul and surely turn me gay if anything will.
But then maybe your fantasies are even better, after all you are better than me in every way… I hope we meet soon.

Thank you for reading this. I know you are busy. I will behave I promise, you just might need to hard on me to break my straight head.

Jeff x


Toiletmaster2020 – Apr 19, 2020
Been using pretty white boys as white toilets for the last two years and it just feels right. For me and the white toilets. Looking to expand my stable of eaters so me my friends have more options.

Aaac – Apr 12, 2020
I got a dog shock collar that I want you to wear as a cock ring and I’ll keep the remote.

Nooseconnect – Apr 12, 2020
My passion is nooses. In a long relationship but my partner doesnt share my passion for nooses. Hard to find boys who do. You want to explore hanging options?? Can meet at your place or secluded outdoor venue.



thegirlnamedpatrick, 18
Embracing my status as a sex object, even guys I think are friends do always view me only as a sex object. Probably because I am?


need2seed – Apr 22, 2020
I Want My 11 Inchs So Deep In You And To Fill You With So Much Cum Your Mouth Becomes a Cum Drinking Fountain For The Whole Fucking World If That Answers Your Question

thegirlnamedpatrick (Owner) – Apr 22, 2020
Feeling like I am really sexy in my photos, let me know if you agree.



Guy_from_Detroit, 21


Guy_from_Detroit (Owner) – May 3, 2020



atyourdisposal, 23
I’m straight or ok bi and partnered. I love her but only to a degree.

I’m supposed to be in college but I decided to take a break to hitchhike and surf to find out who I am.

I’ve had a rough day, give me a rough night.

That’s it, man. I’m not writing anymore about myself.


atyourdisposal (Owner) – May 13, 2020
You would need to be very fascinated by me and prove it.

BindTormentKum – May 13, 2020
Bind, Torment, Kum (BTK)… I’m a very experienced, well educated (Ph.D., M.Sc., and J.D.), travelled professional, speak multiple languages. My specialty is Psychosexual Behavior Modification (PSBM) which is the use of both corporeal and ephemeral modalities to promote submissive behavior through operant conditioning. How the modalities are selected and weighted are, naturally, dependent upon the physical and psychological makeup and responses of the SUBject. PSBM is a long process and cannot be done casually; therefore, it is more suited to long term D/s relationships. If you are interested in this, please contact me.

Modalities include ephemeral and corporeal discipline, forced and internal servitude, algolagnia, genitorture, mummification, depilation, psycholagny, sensory deprivation and restricted external stimuli training (REST), omorashi, breath control and asphyxiation, immersion, urolagnia, and transgenderfication.

Expert in abduction, interrogation, and humiliation sexual psychodrama.

Note on my screen name… Of course, it is a play on the psychotic serial killer BTK. Many people have extreme fantasies and like to act them out, either as the giver or receiver of physical and psychological stressors; the primary difference is that psychotic sociopaths like BTK lack human empathy – they are motivated by dominance, power, and control over their victims like in D/s or BDSM, but without regard for the victim’s extreme suffering. I am a firm supporter of RACK as there is some inherent risk in just being alive that cannot be eliminated. In my activities, I always attempt to reduce the risk of death to as low as practicable within a reasonable degree of certainty. I have great empathy for the people I interact with and use risk mitigation to make my consensual-nonconsensual activities as safe as possible; however, just like parachute jumping, one assumes a reasonable risk of malfunction as long as the providers have taken reasonable precautions against known failure modes.

I have extensive knowledge of human anatomy and physiology, so I know what can be reasonably done to the human body without terminating its inhabitant, and pride myself that I have only had deaths twice in my career; once because of an adverse psychological reaction due to undisclosed childhood trauma, and once due to physiological heat stroke of which I had forewarned.



WantToBeDrunkWhore, 19
So, yeah. I’m 19 years old with serious daddy issues and my favorite hobby is walking from my bed to the fridge. My ass is interested in experiencing the violent life and I learned long ago that I have to do what it wants OR ELSE.

I’m only into predatory men over 50 who cruise at night looking for drunk vulnerable boys walking home to offer them a lift but instead take them to a place to brutally rape and abuse them.

Yeah, I’m waaay too horny for my good and waaay out of my depth. If anybody is interested just tell me a night and street and I’ll be there drunk and walking and it would be greatly appreciated.

Also if someone is playing Dead by Daylight or Animal Crossing, please write.


StevenStrange – May 6, 2020
I’ve owned this teen 24/7 since early March
My fetish is gaining
Nothing’s hotter than watching this teen outgrowing his cloths, jiggling with each new pound, and degrading him for letting himself go, taking the fatso in the bedroom to beat and rape his ass
He’s already getting so fat that no one, not even chubby chasers, will ever want him very soon.



PushTheButton, 18
Offer a small but deep and velvety white ass for you. Go through my fourth gate, way in there, please, Dad?


PushTheButton (Owner) – May 14, 2020
Send a face pic with your fists lubed and visible in the pic.

rammiTthard – May 14, 2020
I am currently seeking an experienced, knowledgable, and sane boy who also shares my fixation on fisting and other heavy ass play activities and will dedicate his hole to my fists. I am not seeking this arrangement because I enjoy having young hole on the brain 24/7; rather, my aim is to provide myself constant relief and satisfaction through surrounding a young hole with my mind, heart and fists whenever, wherever, however it is dictated that that young hole serve me. I have never sought to own a young hole in this extreme capacity; however, my inexperience doesn’t get me down. I see this as an opportunity to finally grow into the addict of young holes I’ve always known I am deep inside.



rubberpetite, 18
hi my name is stefan. i’m very tiny, 4’6″. i love rubber masters who have rubber clothes for itsy bitsy boys like me. it is very hard to me to find someone who is into my size, many laugh at me calling me dwarf. i’m very shy but once in rubber i love to extreme breathpplay, bagging, strangling, noose hanging, drowning, hard and relentless for hours or even days and maybe terminal if you want but tell me before starting cuz it’d be nice to know when it comes to that so it wouldn’t be a shock. i can drive a car if i sit on a pillow and will drive up to 2 hours.


Anonymous – Apr 1, 2020
Not sure if anyone local is up at this ungodly hour but I have this little guy over here wrecking his cunt with my fist and massive toys. He has a really hot prolapse going on and I would love if another guy wants to come over here to help me pull his guts out.

rubberpetite (Owner) – March 23, 2020
please don’t tell me you’re going to terminate me if you’re not going to do it. either don’t do it and don’t talk about it or say you will and i’ll decide if you can do it, one of the other.

rubberpetite (Owner) – March 21, 2020
I am not into little kids. Have to say that. Ive had some people want me to do some crazy stuff!!



btm-liar, 18
I’m 15 cute hahaha bisexual liar ,use many drugs❄️💉 hohoho I crave sex with 16 to 17 year old 🚀✈️ I love to lie ,slam drugs, I’m very fake hahaha


BoredInMyHouse – Apr 7, 2020
He is someone who wants to get to know already afterwards his gender is white not black or mixed skin and and if for the physical not muscular his end and with glasses its him and not bother who likes to kiss and cuddle after not him already all the rest you will like and also he young to say between 13 and 14 years old no more

btm-liar (Owner) – Apr 2, 2020
@bordemLife 😡😡😡🙊🖕🏻🖕🏻🖕🏻

bordemLife – March 27, 2020
Im 16 and cuter than btm-liar and bored of my life and I’m looking ti be brainwashed and please any boy I can and turn into a little slut willing to do anything for cock.

Instagr – March 21, 2020
You had better not be lying or I will kill you



HannahArendt, 21
Yo, College student based in Erie, Pa. I already have an intense humiliation fetish regarding stupid costumes but I want to take it to the next level.

Personally it’s due to internalised homophobia driven my my dad’s attitudes. Well. Fuck. That.

I hate cold. I wear stupid clown and ballerina costumes in public. I’m proud of that. I’m scared of people knowing how filthy I am. I’m not out. Get me drunk.

How extreme can it get. Fuck it. All In. Yolo.


everyDropmatters – May 11, 2020
Please tell me you used HannahArendt as your screenname because you’re a fan of her and not because you look like her or something.



StarTwins, 18
If you come to Schwarzenberg you can rape etc the famous Star Twins.



CashSlaveDerek, 19
My plain disguise as a nice teen cutie during the day may fool some, but little do they know, I’m a kinky bottom with whose biggest turn on is being handed cold hard cash. I climax from watching my bank account increase, knowing men are devoted to my bod and turned on by giving me their money.

With that said…..

Free yourself and relinquish your money to me. It is worthless as you are worthless. Your money has no meaning in your hands — you don’t deserve it. None of it. You think money gives you power? Wrong. Men like you can have all the money in the world but will still be disgusting. Your material possessions do nothing for you because you know they are insignificant and mediocre like you. Your whole life has felt meaningless because you’re a useless piece of shit. 

You’re empty without a cash slave.

I reply swiftly.


A $100 Tribute MUST be paid in order to initiate communication between me & the master (you). No Exceptions!

Send Tribute to:

Cash App: $CashSlaveDerek
PayPal: paypal.me/CashSlaveDerek


CashSlaveDerek (Owner) – May 20, 2020
Let me rephrase myself. I am looking for an economically rich man to know and that I also like him, with whom I can live and get engaged and married. This will allow me to have a good life and I will return it every day with sex. Does that sound better?



jj213jj, 18
really inexperienced submissive twink high school guy. 18 years old from ct, usa. definitely really submissive and can take really a lot, so if you have the same kinds of kinks as me in an oppositional way, hit me up.
-heavy impact play
-dental play
-medical operations
-full force slapping
-punching lights out


neobyzantium – Apr 17, 2020
We are on a date, newly naked. I wrap my muscular arms around his soft but toned arms, which he loves, but then I suddenly place one foot on his chest. I brutally pull his trapped arm away from his torso until a loud popping sound is heard from his shoulder. A howl of agony escapes his lips as I drop his ruined arm on the floor. I take a moment before pulling his other arm out of the shoulder socket effortlessly.

Knowing that he is completely unable to defend himself, I roll him over face down on the floor. Clenching my right hand into a fist, my strength now superhuman with adrenaline and lust, I ram my entire forearm into his beautiful young ass. At first he gasps in surprise, followed by an ear piercing screech that soon turns into wails of terror as I work my way deeper into his body, tearing and shredding the lining of his anus and bowels with every movement.

My arm enters and exits his ruined ass like the piston on an engine, blood gushes out between his legs with every motion, he spasms uncontrollably from the amount of internal damage. I rush to get a gasoline tank before he passes out, douse him in gasoline and light him up. His screams are music to my ears, as he rolls on the floor in shear agony. But then I pull out my pistol and put a cap in his head, probly because of some splinter of remorse for causing him to suffer so much. Nevertheless, I grab an extinguisher and put out the fire, then I take his charred body and feed his remains to my dogs.

Anonymous – Apr 16, 2020
I would either break his neck and necrofuck him on top of his kitchen’s countertop, or decapitate him and fuck his neck with his body still squirming while making out with his head.

itwouldbegreat – Apr 12, 2020
I come across him skinny dipping all alone in a lake. I’ve snuffed many boys before, but he is the best I have ever seen. I admire his body for a few moments then with a surge of adrenaline jump from the bushes and tackle him head on. Surprisingly, he doesn’t fight back or even try to break free. He only stares back at me and understands the lust that posesses me. As I begin fucking him, I kiss his neck slowly and work my way up to his lips. After a long french kiss, I begin pounding him with all I’ve got. His moans of pleasure only strengthen my lust – I pound his sweet ass one last time and erupt, filling his tight hole.

He looks at me, and knows that the end is nigh, but still he smiles, pleased and in a state of extasy. I give him a long kiss as I reach for my machete with the right hand. I pin his head down with my left arm, then slit his throat with the machete with my first move. He seems surprised, but only for a second, probably from the sudden pain. After that, I saw at his neck, back and forth with my machete, while looking in his ever dimmer eyes. I finish cutting his head before he loses conscience and dies, so I give his severed head one last kiss then use its mouth to clean my cock of drenching cum. The last look on his face is one of relief. I take his head to my backpack, which I left behind the tall bush, and place it in a big jar with preservation fluid – after all, he’s one of my best snuffs so far. After that I return to his body which awaits butchering.

With my machete in hand, I begin hacking his body. First, I cut him in half at the waistline, then I take his torso and cut off the arms, as I will use it as a target for my archery range. I also cut his feet at the lower knees as I will use his ass for a few more weeks, before the preservation fluids no longer have effect. I cook his arms and feet and eat one of each, saving the other two for later. After I arrive at my establishment, I mount his head on the highest position on my trophy wall and go to rest.

Ykvr – Apr 12, 2020
焼印 Branding
乳房切断 Nipples Cut (off)
首絞め Strangling
ボコ顔 Beaten face
拷問 Torture
抜歯 Tooth Pulling
出血 Bleeding
火あぶり Burning at the Stake
だるま Quad amputee
内臓 Viscera
開腹 Opened stomach
内臓露出 Viscera in view
腸 intestine
切断 cutting
性器破壊 Genital destruction
水責め Torture with water
電気責め Torture with electricity
四肢切断 Dismemberment
有刺鉄線 barbed wire
絞首刑 hanging
エロ処刑 ero execution
眼姦 Eye socket rape
ギロチン Guillotine

M.A.D. – Apr 10, 2020
First I secretly drug him. When he comes to, he’ll find himself chained to the ground in what amounts to a dry well. The floor and walls are concrete, smooth and featureless except for a few embedded D-rings that his chains are connected to. I’ll wait for him to regain just enough awareness that he knows he’s caught, before I unleash his death. It would be too easy to drown him – and too quick. No, what I do is far slower. I gather several buckets of starving rats, and drop them down the well – and then I simply close the top by lowering a steel lid over it. And I wait. And I listen, as the rodents start to devour him. I imagine it will be a long and agonizing death, taking him hours to succumb to unconsciousness from shock and blood loss. When it finally occurs, I will open the lid and have the well filled with molten iron.

BlauSturm – Apr 9, 2020
I would use a magic spell to strip him of his clothes, then strip myself down the more conventional way. I would then proceed to take him, thrusting my cock violently in and out of his ass as I roughly grope his cock. When I’m about to cum, I use a wind spell to decapitate him, and shoot my load into his headless corpse. Once that’s done, I use a preservation spell on both the head and the body, and another spell to bind his soul to his head, keeping the body as a love doll and the head as a… conversation piece.

M – Apr 9, 2020
I’m just really horny and bored, so does anyone around here want to play a game? The game is you can snuff this boy any way you want, how do you do it? I’ll go first …

I’m a teacher at his school who has an extreme lust crush on him. One day I can’t take it anymore and I give him a undeserved F on a test. I tell him if he does detention with me after hours I’ll change his grade. He’s in detention sitting at his desk and I just walk over and pick him up by the neck, rip his shirt off, get out my knife and fiddle with his nipples, but I don’t do anything yet. I throw him down onto the floor and undress us both, then I proceed to satisfy my lust with him. Once done, I snap his neck, rendering him paralyzed but still awake and able to feel everything. I wait with a maddening anticipation for a few moments then I plunge ahead with my knife, stabbing his groin until his cock and balls are a bloody mess. Then I bite off his nipples and disembowel him, and just before he goes unconscios from bloodloss, I kiss him then bash his head on the floor until it’s a pink mush.



usemelikethewhoreiam, 24
Although I have been fascinated with BDSM since I was a young teenager I haven’t had much opportunity to explore either my kinks with others as I have dealt with very severe arthritis since I was 14.

Because of my experience dealing with the arthritis I have an extraordinary amount of experience with the physical sensation of pain – at times a constant extreme for years at a time in my life. I would say the sensory perception of pain is probably the most significant form of sensory experience I have ever experienced, more than even sight or sound.

I am also technically cybernetic (perhaps Proto-cybernetic is a better description). I literally have a hockey puck sized implant that gives both a daily rate of pain medication and allows for multiple additional injections controlled through a cell phone app. The medication is (essentially) injected directly into the brain fluid and is legally prescribed (Fentanyl is the primary). The amount is normally reserved for large mammals such as elephants.

I have had the pump (called an intrathecal chemical drug pump) for over 7 years and do not get ‘high’ from the medication (as the constant pain I would otherwise ‘absorbs’ the medication too fast). Anyone else simply touching the medication on their skin would be lethal. I receive it intrathecally, which is 300 times stronger of an administration method than through the skin (transdermal) and 10 times stronger than intravenous.

All this to say that, yes, I understand I may present as an incredible fetish opportunity. However, for safety of the greater community reasons I must restrict ‘events’ to persons skilled and experienced enough to deal with such a complex dynamic.

Otherwise I am very often described as very kind, respectful, compassionate, empathetic, and selfless. I consider altruism a moral imperative as a fundamental ethical principle of my identity.

Definitely would be fun to shoot some videos of the ‘event’ for the community (imo) as I know cybernetic implants are rare.



RapeThisAss, 23
Punk fuckhead who ain’t needing no one.

I totally acknowledge the fact that my mind is insane and that I am a real daft psycho.


On the following page [1] you will find two propositions. You will know exactly what I am offering.

Please get in contact if you want some of my anus and deep rectum.

Are you willing to shove a live grenade up my ass for me?

I have held on tightly to the hope that this blessing will be bestowed.

But I ain’t losing sleep over it.


SwiftAgain2 – Apr 26, 2020
This piece of insane garbage has been abducted and is being held prisoner in a back woods shanty. He’s a very fit guy but he’s a wussy. He begs all the fuckin time. He’s always sayin please, please please …it makes him seem so cheap. When my friends drop by I introduce him as a homeless charity case.

TommyPureheart – March 29, 2020
Deep cunt. Permanent community piss and cum dump. Head games, screaming, and insane requests. Completely worthless. Knows his rights, 0.



([depressed]), 21
I’m sweet and snuggly but with a little bit of mental illness.

I have sex only if I want to and atm I don’t want to.

Forewarning, I have a lot of scars from self harm.

My Grindr acc got banned and I decided to get in this shithole.


hadz89 – Apr 11, 2020
if i’d found the body i would’ve shredded his cold white face with my teeth like a mad primal werewolf on angel dust

slitneck1 – Apr 11, 2020
Yes. It’s a complete waste he was perfect. He should have been frozen and donated to gay necros to pass around until he starts to fall aprt from much ass-fucking and sole licking.

Necropolis – Apr 11, 2020
What a shame, I had him in December, he had a perfect ass, really perfecto

phyzzique – Apr 11, 2020
Deceased 28/03/20 suicide

([depressed]) – March 19, 2020
Don’t ask me how am I, I’m just wanna die. Text me, let’s make a deal.

DonnieTheBagman – March 12, 2020
Wear white socks when suffocating in a plastic bag. A cute guy feeling suicidal like you is required to put plastic bags over your head and wear white socks until I fuck the sad, depression and suicide outta you… well I’ll just watch you suffocate in there for as long as I please, and then we can have more fun. 😉 turn ur suicidal thoughts into sexually explicit thoughts. Plastic bags aren’t just for suicide, they’re for your head! 🙂 and do please wear white socks when bagging yourself.



Laidbackguy, 19
So I had a girlfriend since age 14 and we broke up and it caused me to get depressed so I turned to porn and that led to all types of porn including hypnosis videos. Then I got addicted to gay hypnosis ones. So I guess I am looking for a change in life and not sure what the change is yet. I have never been with a man yet so I am considered straight. I really think those videos changed me a little as I find the idea of being hypnotised by a man or woman hot. Even had thoughts of castrated or tats put on me. I am not sure why I have all these dark ideas in my head as this is way out of the normal for me. Right now I dont feel too normal.


Anonymous – May 21, 2020
be change

Laidbackguy (Owner) – May 21, 2020
Now just r@pe meat for bedroom sadist that only enjoys sex when the bottom isn’t.

Laidbackguy (Owner) – May 6, 2020
I’m now looking to disappear from the outside world for the rest of my life, an otherwise purposeless fuckhole forever locked in a dark room and never see daylight again. A big penis would be great.

Laidbackguy (Owner) – Apr 25, 2020
I have decided to embrace the part of me that wants to be a dump. I wanna further explore this side. I do not wanna be anything other than a dump. No foreplay, romance, kissing, oral, talking. Just a dump. I would like to be a dump with consistent men. If you want a one time dump, we probably aren’t a match.



The_Dark_Smile_, 19
My name was James til I discovered the Emo life. I was owned and kept for six years. Yes, I’m 19 and you read that right.
My last owner and I have split ways acrimoniously because I am “too old” and he hates that I became a dark, depressed Emo. I need to be someone new’s property. You can do anything to me.
I learned my place a long time ago even before I was Emo. I don’t want to and can’t and won’t say no.
I’m so used to someone always putting me down and telling me what a loser and embarrassment I am.
I want extreme piercing, branding, botched botox, castration, cutting my penis into two halves and other things like that.
If you are interested in anything other than that then f off.


Kaito – Apr 16, 2020
Emos are hot, I want to see their deaths.

The_Dark_Smile_ (Owner) -Apr 15, 2020
Are you all sure of your judgment Allinme?
I have a small penis, a fragile disposition, a love of submission, and a longing for death’s release.
Almost all my school years from age 5 onwards were spent in the hospital. Fractures, wounds, and internal injuries.
And it was the “twinks” who did that to me. Emos were the only ones who tried to protect me and sadists are the only ones who help me.
If it wasn’t for Emo and men like Anonymous, I would have just been stabbed boringly to death by a chickenshit twink after another rape.

Anonymous – Apr 15, 2020
Twinks are better than Emos because of the following:

Stronger than Emos, be it mentally, physically, emotionally, verbally.
Can be sexy with short hair, long hair, tan, pale, muscly, average build, in jeans and t-shirt or a suit, unlike Emos.
Age better.
Have longer shelf lives than Emos.
Look better naked than Emos.
Can actually make selfless decisions.
Do not annoy people with their mere voices or sheer presence.
Don’t get sick easily.
Can come back from depressions and suicidal thoughts unlike Emos.
Do not feel the need to manipulate men with their depressions.
Have always been heralded as important in history, unlike back during the BC period where if they gave birth to a skinny little runt, they would be beaten. We have not valued frail humans before in life, why value them now?
Twinks fight for what is right, an Emo only fights because his weak-willed emotions tell him he’s a victim and he should “stand up for himself”, when he is no victim at all.
It is a TWINK’S world. Not an Emo’s. A twink’s. Remember that.

Allinme – Apr 15, 2020
And twinks aren’t?

Anonymous – Apr 15, 2020
Emos are death baiting sluts who are shit in bed, just that, and that alone. They are only good for being breeding sows, cutting boards and punching bags. Prove to me there is an Emo that does not view himself as a worthless cumdump who deserves to get his skull bashed in and dumped on the doorstep of a morgue.



Doom, 21
Do whatever you want to me, slap me, whip me, spank me, punch me, beat me, choke me, leave me aching in pain, leave me bruised, scarred, do whatever you want to me.

Use my ass however you want, fuck me as rough as you like, fuck me with your fist, fist me wearing a wristwatch, fuck me with a gun or with a knife, fuck me with a flamethrower.

You can do anything you want to me and I’ll beg for more, will cry out for more as you break my body and mind. All I want is to not care for anything except your happiness.


reik22j – May 14, 2020
He a fuccin weirdo Aesthete

Rouge-XIII – May 3, 2020
… “fuck me with a flamethrower”.. you think slavery is like a fucking Roadrunner cartoon!? I absolutely fucking despise you bullshitting little evil Instagram cunt. Is it just me? Does anyone else wish they could track this cunt down and slaughter him from the neck down just to see the lock of shock on his lying fucking filtered face?



i provide refreshmenTs that you want and the glassware & utensils that you need for them lol idk why


SERVINGTEA (Owner) – Apr 8, 2020
once Miss Rona leaves



Casey911, 19
My names Casey , I live in Tennessee , I like the feeling of things up my butt I want to be tied to the bed with my head on the floor and my butt in the air , and someone put anal lube on my butt then put a toilet brush the brush end in my butt and act like you are plunging the toilet.


YallAreAmazing – May 17, 2020
Since when?



SexSlaveMe, 20
I come to you, take a few sleeping pills and then when I’m asleep you strip me, tie me and then use me for anal (ab)use (ff, giant toys, etc) and destruction (whips, cuts, burns, etc.) and full body pain (caused by violence only, so for example fists and kicks and baseball bats yes, but needles and such, no). Even invite other doms to wreck me or take photos or videos of me. Let’s try to avoid scars to my cute face that will be there to stay. But if you really need my face to be ugly and horrific I do want you to be pleased.


Anonymous – Apr 4, 2020

BRUTALforN0W – March 27, 2020
no reply probably don’t have life left

jackdaniels566 – March 10, 2020
He say he with it, but he act like pussy when it happen.

SexSlaveMe (Owner) – March 6, 2020
hell is paved with good Samaritans



laststraw, 22
Not sure if this is the right place to post this.
Can anyone find all / any, pics of the boy in the pic alive and dead?
I’ve been obsessing about this boy ever since I saw this pic in an article that said he was sex murdered.
Can someone do a little research for me about him.
Like name, story on how and why he died, where he lived, etc.!!!
Thank you very much1!

All I heard was that he was supposedly, 22 died from being snuffed during some rough sex or something….
I need to know, I can’t think of anything else….


Meatpie – May 9, 2020
My pleasure. Add me on facebook.

laststraw (Owner) – May 9, 2020
Heh, actually.
I did some research, and I found out who he was.
Via name, age, cuase of death and why, where the found him, how they found him.
Now all I want is like more pics of him alive or something.
Does any got any?
btw i have all of his special collect.
I have a tripped planned to Bulgaria to pay my respects to him at his burial, sometime next month.
Yes, this boy iis my obsession now.
I’m litterially going bonkers.
Now I see what you mean, Meatpie.
How this consumes your life.
But with me its just this one boy.
Best wishes.

Meatpie – May 9, 2020
That is correct, he was a prostitute who was tortured and strangled to death and dismembered by at least two men it is speculated.
There is a full set of crime scene pics in the snuffed prostitute collection in the forum on the CuteDeadGuys site.



MartinHeidegger, 18
Freshly 18 😉 I kinda want to discover what I’m into while I’m young.

I know I find cardiovascular (cardiology) examinations extremely exciting.

Maybe you can do various tests on me such as measuring blood pressure and pulse, EKG, ultrasound, eavesdropping, exercise ECG, or other tests.

Maybe it can be very tough and exhausting.



iloveyoursperm, 22
hello I want to be ballgagged, muzzled, blindfolded and tied up in a dark room with complete gears and no sound can get out of the room for the rest of my life with my body and soul penetrated continually as my muscles atrophy and I slowly starve to death lol.


Anonymous – Apr 21, 2020
You are my next big mistake I will never forget about.



Mishka_FemWolf, 19
Just a boy that loves macho Turks, Arabs, Blacks, Albanians with a driver’s license and a past with jail or prison time who wants to have a vagina whilst still presenting as a boy dressed as a girl.

Refugees Welcome !!!

I’m a mosquito, I’d still keep on sucking you even if you slap me.

“When life gives you lemon, suck dick.”

Mmmh yes, my parents have no idea how I’m really in this, it’s awesome what they don’t notice !!


Playground – Apr 23, 2020
Hammer off the rusty lock on the gate | Open the gate by force | Kick | Rusty toys laying around | Pick up ropes and tapes | Walk into The Chamber | Disappear into a dark corner | Wait for the curious | daring boy who follows the sign I left – “This Way To Helpless”

LOLOMG – Apr 12, 2020
His cock is small and soft … and that’s a good thing 🙂

xx_ax – Apr 30, 2020
I met him at the Marina of Floisvos where I announced I would like to begin with some physical exercise. He very reluctantly jogged with me all the way to Roubesi in the New World where I keep space for casual adventures secretly from my husband. When we arrived we were both really soaked by sweat. He was drenched and exhausted in the hot Attic sun at noon and I was very excited. Closing the door, I monologued that he must be horrified by thirst, and I immediately took off his shoes and, squeezing the sweat from his black socks into a glass, offered him the glass to quench his thirst. I found it genius that he downloaded it in one go. Then I wrapped the socks around his neck and pulling him from there led him to the bedroom where in the meantime I had left his shoes so as not to pollute the rest of the house. I took the shoes and put them on his face which was still panting and while he was taking deep breaths into them I put the socks one on top of each other like a double handmade condom on my bare penis that was very hard and ready to gallop and started to fuck him mercilessly. When I poured and pulled out of him, the socks were not born, so I told him to put on his shoes and leave, telling him that I owed him a pair of socks. Of course, I then took the socks out of his ass because he couldn’t go home with them. What would he do with such nasty socks? However, I did not throw them away because I want to keep them as long as I can as they still have his scent. Unrepeatable experience.



ilovefuckme, 20
If you want sex, I’m still tight, I’m very loud, I howl and scream. I can give it to you as long as you LOVE me and visit me Here in Macedonia😍💕 If you LOVE me and come visit me😍💕 you are always welcome here in my nude body💕😍 You can ram huge dildos into me with full force but LOVE me and BE MY BOYFRIEND💕😍 If you don’t LOVE me please stop😏😏


ilovefuckme (Owner) – May 13, 2020
I’m about to start a relationship with someone completely in LOVE with me and special <3, so don’t be surprised if I have to reject many of you soon. I hope you can get over it: D

Lots of love to you all, Jens

HungManXXXXL – May 7, 2020
ride me and i’ll die for you

meWow – May 1, 2020
Warning- he’s an ethically non-mono, poly/relationship anarchist.

CrazyMadness – Apr 28, 2020
you seem like a nice guy

Cherry_Lips – Apr 26, 2020
If you want him AND TRUST ME YOU DO you just need to be able to pronounce the word love with a modicum of sincerity and he barely understands English so that’s easy to pull off. The hard part is having to cuddle post-coital and keep the lovey talk coming because once you’re soft HE IS QUITE BORING.



Preaton, 22
When i’m not a cumdump pussy boy twisted slut you’ll probably find me fishing by a creek, hunting mallards, hiking to that special spot, and/or camping in the bed of my dad’s truck.


Virgomoon2 – May 20, 2020
This gullible loser has been taken off the grid for the remainder of his pathetic faggot life.

Preaton (Owner) – May 11, 2020
My name is Preston, I wrote it wrong.

Virgomoon2 – May 11, 2020
WE are a couple in our 60s searching for a slave who is just that.
Your duties would include domestic & sex to both parties. Looking for someone who wants to start a life of service without looking back.
Want to disappear? For sure can work with that.
I am personally looking for someone to fuck with maybe lots of torture.
My partner is looking for a human pillow/pet to cuddle, clean, cook, and suck him off while he plays video games.
We have cats and dog. you can not smoke nor drink. Poppers are okay.
Leave your name when writing. Example : slave Preaton.



Methfagdestruction, 19
Quarantine has turned my live in bf of a year into narcissistically inconsiderate meth trash.
Before you ask no he won’t clean up his act I’ve tried every incentive and threat for months.
He has already experienced a lot with me since this started and therefore he is hardly shocked by anything.
He has an intense paranoia of the police so if you’re worried he’ll tell them don’t.
I’ve been having this fantasy that I beat him unconscious, dump him in some remote place and bears eat his body.
Everytime I think of it I get so hard that I have to fuck him several times to feel better.
I’m interested in living out a fantasy that is less impractical than mine but has the same outcome.


Anonymous – May 5, 2020
Hook me up

Alex_Taylor – May 2, 2020
I’m your “bf” and I live in Oakland, California, and I do porn modelling for BoyFun, and I’m 27 years old, and I’ve never met you in my life.



ShitRecycler, 21
Yes I’ve been on here and yes i always chicken out.
Boy seeking to become a permanent plumbed-in shit processor, fully encased, permanently entubed in all orifices and fed continually on human and/or animal excrement.
Would like that to be my only food except vitamens. Want a toilet flush tattooed onto my face so Master can flush when he wants me to consume.
Also want be to castrated and nullified and have me carry my cock and balls around in jars where they should be.
Seek master who has the time and determination to make this unique project a reality.


Ono – May 8, 2020
Intestine is not some garden hose coiled inside, it is more like a skirt which is hanging on the spine so you will not be able to pull it out unless you tear it.

Anonymous – May 8, 2020
Quick question. I am told by Wikipedia that the gastrointestinal tract, from the mouth to the anus, stretches 30 feet. But if you opened the front of the body, severed the rectum from the anus, then grabbed the rectum and walked 30 feet away from the body, would it actually all remain connected to the throat? Or would parts of it come apart? Please, I must know.

callmecaleb – May 4, 2020
I would gouge out one of his eyes, although I wouldn’t force him to eat his eyeball. I’d crush it between my teeth, swirl the pulpy liquid with my tongue, savor the taste as long as possible, gargle it a bit, and swallow. Then I’d run my tongue around his empty, bloody eye socket, sucking out whatever came.

CRitchelly96 – May 4, 2020
I liked his suggestion that you slice off his – sorry its – genitalia and make it carry them around in jars.

Anonymous – May 4, 2020
Not to brag but I’ve got him, now referred to as it over here hostage for days now brutalizing and victimizing its body from head to toe. I have decimated it physically and broke it down mentally to where it surrender everything and learned to stop begging or crying out for all to stop. Because I won’t. That state of only makes me hurt it harder. Destroying it. Choke it until it sees stars and fade out. Smack it around to wake it up. Beating it senseless. Obliterating its ass with anything at my disposal until it can’t even stand anymore. Its hole is opened up badly. Made it my filthy toilet and take it lower than I ever thought possible. Anyone have any sick fantasies about it you want me to make reality?

Ono – Apr 26, 2020
Random observation. If you dehumanize someone then you are essentially alone with your your refrigerator.
Yes it may still look like a human but it is not a human.
The problem with my tastes is that I see them as something extremely stupid and it still sometimes looks stupid, because when I rationally think about something like cannibalism I just can’t understand the reason why I would want to cook a cute boy, but then what do I do next? Cook him.
But that’s a typical problem with all sex stuff because what we do is totally absurd and pointless.

ShitRecycler (Owner) – Apr 26, 2020
Alternately strip me, erase my mind with chemicals and strategic brain damage, encase me in wax, and turn me into just a breathing statue representing who I was. Or butcher me, cook me, and eat me. You choose.



Aristotle’s_Poetics, 20
I am into consensual torture/death, and imagining myself in situations like that helped me to love myself even more. Self love and even self romance got elevated to new heights when I started putting myself more into gorey situations with myself :3


StereotypicallyDepraved – May 15, 2020
he used to be a skinny boy who wore a womans shirt and skirt and was willing to get facefucked n take semen n spit all over his clothed body.he stroked, sucked, blew n swallowed w no anal sex but i guess things have changed?

Aristotle’s_Poetics (Owner) – Apr 24, 2020
Needle and knife play, and yeah, I’ve done some self stabs, lots of warm feels. Blood flowing down my skin looks beautiful. I can recommend it to everyone who is into things like that, but do not cut deep if you don’t want scars, and don’t drain yourself out of blood unless you want anemia etc …



selfsuckgod, 18
I don’t know what I’m doing, this will probably end in disaster, I’m shit at doing things, I’m recently unemployed.




p.s. Hey. ** Niko, Hi, Niko. I wrote to you. Sorry it took me a bit. Hopefully we’ll speak very soon. And an excellent weekend to you! ** Armando, Hi. I’m good, you? Today … I’m not sure yet. Yesterday I hung out with Zac who’s just back from his quarantine time away, and we saw art, ate falafel, walked and enjoyed increasingly back to life Paris. Nice. Today … we’ll see. Yours? I don’t think I know of ‘Brahms: The Boy II’, but I’ll look into it. Curious title. That Marten book is excellent, and I think it might actually still be in print unlike most of the others sadly. ** David Ehrenstein, Ah, indoors, how civilised. Yes, the current rebellion over there is something to see, and I hope it leads somewhere. ** Bill, Hi. Yeah, they were heady days. Strange how they just ended in a flash. A big controversial flash. A lot of the writers are still writing great stuff and publishing it, but some seem to have been pushed off the radar by that movement’s demise, I don’t know why. Maybe it’s time for someone to write a book about Alt Lit. Yes, as I might have already said, I was totally boggled to see Sean Ford talking about my novel, and so interestingly. That was wild. He’s a sharpie for sure. Diarmuid’s book comes out on Monday. He made a ‘welcome to the world’ post to mark the occasion. The book seems to exist already. No one has sent me a copy, grr, but a guy who Zoom-interviewed me the other had it, so I got to peek at it from afar. ** xTx, xTx! Oh my goodness, I miss you! I know you probably won’t answer, but how are you? What are you doing? Are you writing? Gosh, it’d be nice to catch up. Want to chat on FB or by email or phone or Skype or something? It’s so great to see you!!!!! ** Steve Erickson, Cool about the album. I’ve still to get it. I’ve seen a handful of COVID short films that were pretty interesting. Well, as Criterion Channel isn’t available here, rarefilmm is an especially big loss. MUBI is pretty much the whole show now. ** Okay. By the luck of the draw, you get a weekend full of slaves, a batch driven to new heights of depravity in many cases seemingly by the pandemic. Enjoy if that’s the word. See you on Monday.

Spotlight on … xTx Billie the Bull (2012), Frank Hinton Action, Figure (2012), Darby Larson Irritant (2013), Eugene Marten Firework (2010)



‘I think there is a contradiction in being a ‘private’ writer, hiding behind a pseudonym, yet vying for publication. One of the definitions of publication is, “the act of bringing before the public” so it’s a very awkward line I am walking; trying to maintain a level of privacy, yet trying to get published and read in as many places as will have me.

‘When I first started sending stories out, it was more of a lark for me, just to see if I could get accepted and if people would like what I wrote. Well, turns out I did and they did, so I kept on doing it. Now that I gained a sort of momentum and now that getting published is more than a lark, I may have some decisions to make in terms of leaving xTx behind and continuing on with a name that contains more vowels. So, yes, I do consider leaving the name behind, but I’m not sure if my writerly voice is inseparable from the avatar of my pseudonym. I guess I will be forced to find out when the time comes.

‘I probably am a good case study for internet over-sharing/ privacy/ literature/ anonymity. I didn’t mean to be, but it seems I am here and if any sort of college person would like to do a study on me, my contact details are readily available. I would like to know the results of the study as soon as possible as it will help my decision making in regard to what I discussed, above.

‘And yes, at one point I might’ve had a job that would’ve fired me for writing what I do on the internet. Or maybe one of my husbands would’ve divorced me or one of my parents would’ve abused me more or my Amish brethren would’ve had me banished or one of my girlfriends would’ve moved out on me more dramatically or one of my boyfriends would’ve beaten me beyond recognition. It’s self-protection, plain and simple.’ — xTx


xTx Billie the Bull
Nephew/Mud Luscious

‘xTx writes beautiful stories. By beautiful I mean she writes stories that stick daggers in your stomach and then draw exquisite paintings in the sand with your blood. She writes stories that are edgy and dangerous and make you feel a little uncomfortable, like you stumbled on your boss and his secretary banging in the utility closet and they didn’t see you and you start to walk away, but then something in you keeps you rooted to the spot, and instead you watch. xTx writes stories that feel like memories you never had, or acid trips you’re glad you never had, or something you saw on TV while falling asleep. She is not safe for work. She reaches into your subconscious and takes the bad stuff and the good stuff and squishes them together until you’re so mixed up that you can’t tell whether you’re enjoying the heel to your neck, or if she’s just told you that you like it. She writes stories like that, and that is why she is one of the best writers around.’ — Dog Eat Crow World



Billie Marcus cradles the larger one in arms made only for him. He settles safe in a crook that fits his growing arc. She can already see how his feet are beginning to test the skin of his shoes. His legs, his arms, won’t be far behind. She will need to get sewing again.

The growing comes in painful waves; of this she is well aware. He turns infrequently in his sleep, but when he does it is with an unintentional strength and muffled noise like the growling of a feral dog. When his body jolts, she holds strong. Repercussions of a weaker grip from a smaller mother echo in her memory; Billie winces.

Her smaller one, so baby-bird-pitiful lies lonesome on the floor. Some blankets. Safer. From the beginning she felt she would break him, but this was what she was given. This is what she would live; as she must with everything else.

The smaller one fit well in his easy thrift store clothes, second-hand shoes. His feet won’t force the fit. His feet, she knew, would take their time before making new ways; and when they did, it would be nothing unusual, nothing special; blue skies of shelves of everything for that one. No struggles will mark his path, nothing like the sufferings the one in her lap will come against.

He sleeps with the noise of a pin, tucked into the wood of the floor.


When the restlessness of the larger one settles into quiet slumber, only then can she close her eyes. She sinks into the two walls of the church that make up their sleeping corner. The last vestiges of her gaze upon the two strong doors that keep them safe.



Hands and feet, Billie dreams. Legs, arms, fingers, toes in the sizes she hardly remembers. Barely. In this vision she harbors them with a cling that cements warm to her insides; savoring. They will be floating soon, fleeting; even as she dreams she knows this, as she’s dreamed this dream before. It recurs tortuously, inflicting and inflicting. How it feels to be dainty. She caresses the tiny bits of skin with her dream-version bits of skin: treasures of never becoming. She runs through fields taking an hour, not minutes, to traverse. Her face looks at the bottom branches of trees. She wades knee deep through streams. She cannot catch animals with her hands. She scares nothing. She calls to the bears and wolves, waiting to be vulnerable. “Chase me!” She runs and trips, feet catching not crushing. Her fall disturbing nothing. “Where are you? Come bears! Come wolves! I am a morsel!” A scream, a laugh, a spin, all of them a baby’s squeak she will never tire of. She picks flowers under a blue and pink sky, her fingers pinching the delicate stems, her teardrop nostrils only allowing in the smell. She becomes the sky; a white bird with wings; the sky again. She is a whisper, weightless and so very small.




‘There’s a patronizing old cliché, “youth is wasted on the young,” which has always confused me. What is really being said is that youth and vitality are a prize and young people waste it. That assumes that being young is actually fun. From personal experience, I can vouch for there being fleeing moments of satisfaction, smothered by a series of grandiose disappointments. Youth is teeming with professional or academic failures, emotional traumas, disastrous relationships and the burgeoning realization that mortality is right around the corner. Is it actually that great?

‘That question is at the heart of the visceral, compelling new novel, Action, Figure, by Frank Hinton, who is best known for editing the literature blog Metazen. It is not really known whether or not Frank is a man or a woman behind the online pseudonym and many of the characters in the book are in some way ambiguous in their identity. Frank and Lili are roommates in an icy, bleak section of Halifax, Nova Scotia. Each chapter is told from one of their perspectives, as they struggle with the common anxieties of being young and bored. Frank has just finished college and seems incapable of motivating himself to do much of anything, not even answer a very troubling e-mail from his mother. Lili is an outwardly positive girl with a knack for organization, and an emotionally distant boyfriend. She has built a model city in her bedroom out of everyday household items and spends much of the first half of the book marveling at her system. The two roommates find themselves drawn to each other for peculiar reasons, and their attraction comes to a head after a night of heavy drug use and drinking. In between these alternating perspectives is a highly abstract story about an androgynous, blind prisoner in a war-torn, unnamed city. This is the only spot where the book loses steam, as these very lyrical passages interrupt a very concrete, well-paced narrative structure. At the same time, they illustrate a great many themes of Frank and Lili’s story.

‘Death and bodily harm lurk in corners all around the three main characters. Lili’s drug trip causes her to physically assault her boyfriend (who may or may not be gay), drool uncontrollably and stumble through town subsumed in a fog of chemicals. Frank seems to be decaying physically and emotionally under the weight of an unspoken guilt. The androgynous third character is blind, crippled and grief-stricken by the loss of loved one.’ — Dave Schilling, Thought Catalog


Frank Hinton Action, Figure
Tiny Hardcore Press

‘In a war-torn wasteland someone wakes wounded and blind to a life they don’t remember or understand. Halfway across the world a woman builds an intricate city out of personal debris to celebrate a brief period of happiness. Just downstairs a man sits meditating before his rumbling clothes dryer contemplating harsh realities of adulthood that seem to be rushing forth to consume. These are the lives of Frank and Lili, two roommates and sometimes lovers unable to accept or cope with anything but each other.

‘Set amongst an unknown exploding city and Halifax, the city that once exploded, Action, Figure moves within and merges streaming consciousness, self-loathing, and the recovering mind as three lost souls move to scaffold realities they don’t accept. To cope they attack themselves in whatever way they can, hoping that whatever survives will see through to better days.’ — Tiny Hardcore Press

from Metazen

FRANK STARED AT THE washing machine. He watched it shake and rumble. The underside hammered into the concrete floor. Waves of sound came forth in a dissonant pulse, loud, metallic, watery. It was old and seemed ready to die, to die in anger. It might explode. It was tremulous and violent. Frank sat cross-legged watching the machine work. He didn’t understand the dynamics, he just enjoyed the spectacle. He took deep breaths as he watched. He imagined an explosion that filled his body with jagged slivers of metal, fragments of his half- washed clothing, detergent. He knew explosions like this could happen. There was a sticker on the side of the machine with a picture of an explosion. The sticker was a warning. Frank closed his eyes and listened. He felt himself vibrating with the machine. He sensed a place in his chest that sent out the same energy as the washing machine, a center that was calm and still within turmoil. “Maytag,” Frank said.

The city Frank lived in had exploded once. Frank thought of this and other explosions as he focused on the washing machine.

Frank closed his eyes and took a deep breath. His breath came in. His breath went out. There was a brief moment between his breath coming in and going out. There was a brief moment before his breath going out and coming in. He listened to the washing machine change cycles. The machine filled with water. The pipes in the walls began to hiss and echo. The veins and arteries of the house were alive. Everything seemed to be in motion but him.

He sat for five minutes.

He opened his eyes.

He took two action figures from his pockets: The Ultimate Warrior and Super-Shredder. He sat them up so they were facing one another, staring at each other with painted plastic eyes.

I’m playing, Frank thought.

He looked at the two figures and felt silly for a moment. Grown men don’t play. Adults don’t play. Play is for kids, production is for adults.

“Fuck,” he said.

Frank picked up the figures and held them apart from one another. He looked into their eyes. The figures stared into one another’s eyes. He made the figures look at him but even with their eyes pointed his way Frank didn’t feel like they were looking at him.

Frank clicked the toys together. He made grunting noises. He made Super-Shredder punch the Ultimate Warrior. The Warrior fell backwards into a roll. Shredder picked up the Warrior over his head. He was about to toss the Warrior over the edge of the washing machine but the Warrior wiggled free. He slipped behind Shredder and gave a heaving push. Super Shredder tumbled to the floor below. Shredder struggled to get back to his feet. He was in pain. His back had been injured in the fall. Above, the Warrior raised his hands. His plastic fists cut through beams of light from the lamp. Frank made a growl and the Warrior jumped and flipped through the air. Just as Shredder got to his feet the Warrior came crashing down. Shredder’s body crumbled. Frank slammed his palm on the basement floor.

“One. Two. Three.”

Frank pulled the Warrior off of Super-Shredder and made cheering noises. He imagined a crowd of thousands mounting with applause. He felt like he was doing something valuable. His breathing changed. It was difficult to do valuable things, he thought. The washing machine was loud.

Frank put the figures down and touched his face. It was wet. He stood up and left the laundry room and entered the basement living room. It was a dim space with a vinyl sectional, a flat screen television, a recliner. It was a little man-cave. The floor here was carpeted and Frank laid down on the floor and put his face against the carpet and let it take some of his perspiration. He closed his eyes tightly and let his breath enter the carpet. He felt the fibrous pile scratch against his skin, hundreds of loops massaged his face. He opened his eyes looked out over the carpet, took an aperçu, sensed the modern landscape.

He sat up and took a deep breath.

He picked at the carpet. This carpet was his own.

Things had been strange since graduating University. It seemed as though everything had become familiar, nothing could be new again. Something had been lost. Some crisis had appeared, one he didn’t understand and couldn’t make shape of.

“We are in a crisis situation, people.” He felt alone in his adulthood.

In the laundry room the washing machine entered its final cycle, its most violent.





‘When Ben Spivey, editor of Blue Square Press (an imprint of Mud Luscious Press), sent me the galleys of Irritant by Darby Larson, I wasn’t expecting the form to be quite what it was. What it is: a 600+ page paragraph––sort of. One immediately looks at the text and thinks, “This is Steinian,” or, “This is going to be difficult to get through.” Due to length, the book is daunting. But once you get started with it, it becomes easier to read, and, as Blake Butler recently noted, its “intentionality” is what propels it along. Irritant doesn’t so much have a cast of characters (though there are figures that appear) as much as it has an impulse––not without intention, mind you, which makes it work––in the form of the “irr,” short for “irritant,” I’m assuming. And what this “irr” does is move through a cartography of the imagination. Guy Davenport would have loved this! I thought. It’s a geography, and not without its twists and turns that make it move steadily, though with vectors and (again) intention, toward a commonality of thought that one can find, oddly enough, universal. Because of the intricacy of the images that Larson employs, the book is universal in scope, I think. Here’s a little bit more, using quotes where appropriate, to give you a sense of what I mean:

The irritant appeared in back of the truck and the rest is the moon on the back of the sun. The mirrored blue ate smoothly. Okay! Is that okay said something extra exasperatedly. The irr crawling on its elbowthumbs in front of this porch gave the porch of the water a yawn. The artichoke and the mirrored man awake next to the covered water slept for something extra. The man felt like sighing. So the trampled uterus slept while the irritant gave the slept uterus an artichoke for its cough? The man wore the heart of the irritant and there was little left in it.

‘So much is packed into a length that approximates about half a “traditional” paragraph, but is embedded, of course, within Larson’s story. It’s a sexual scene, of course, replete with innuendo and birthing––almost. The irritant is (and continues to morph in and out of these roles) both man and woman, and also, oddly, child. Is the irritant a creative urge? One could aptly guess so. Does the irritant spend itself, giving and wasting its powers, as the Bard of Avon would have advised against? Yes, possibly. There are many ways to read the impulsive irr’s intentions throughout the text, and it’s just barely propelled enough along to give us a hint of what’s to come, but not so pressed forward (forcefully) that the text doesn’t leave room for surprises. I think it’s entirely possible to read Larson’s narrative as a story about creation and destruction, echoing (slightly) the old refrain of both capital and Hindu mythology: “create––sustain––destroy.” We recognize our own impulses, and hence receive (if that is indeed possible) the mirror that helps us see through these urges.’ — Laura Carter, Fanzine


Darby Larson Irritant
Blue Square Press

‘There are two books I’ve read only ever in bed somewhere on the cusp of sleep and waking drunk in the logic of their sentences, those being Wittgenstein’s Tractatus and Joyce’s Finnegans Wake. Darby Larson’s Irritant has turned into the third. It is a puzzle machine of engrossing order, deceptively simple in how it wakes and slips and snakes itself with mesmerizing syntax inside a single 624-page 1-paragraph-shaped monolith of colors and suns and prayers. The result is a relentless, terrifying spell, or book of spells, or library of books of spells, or worse, a multi-mega-leveled text-world the likes from which I or my ability to sleep may never find an exit.’ – Blake Butler

Digestable Moose Kidney Sculpture Garden
by Darby Larson

A boney face may take my exquisite lick like gutter saviors saving, savoring days saddening happier blooming radial tires for toilet seats and off we eat toward tea green seas when our guitar strings need shinglier sugar coaster rings and here’s a necklace for your faceless lady, and when I’m seventier let’s drinklier sanguidlierly scrump period. A mix run through a run through a mix and lift paper clipped cunt spunky kitten powder baked boney face taking out its outfits missing pippy. Digestable moose kidney sculpture. Knocking nothing but bona fide moose lodging paw served with jingoistic chicken fingeristic ticks, soon, malpracticing misdemeanors disheveled hangularly placed within distances of similar instances of disimilar similes. How can you say ett. Spring water summertime poem summertime spring water summertime poem for our four fungus omnibuses. How can you say eat my boney face moose marathoning pippy lock down shut. Blunt shuck the chuck nunnery. Up. Jaded eco bottle smash to the good luck gunnery jump. Dynamic. Wok when struck in duck pat cat jab. Digestable moose kidney sculpture, part seven. My sharp exquisitely mixed lick stained grounded rabbit focus may miss your tender jelly lip stained boney nose, my canned toe from the americannery, bless you. Where’s the something’s weather boots besides ancienting Frank Blasterman’s squid fresh slaw and ketchup, Frank’s boney finger says how much in the typewriter cannonball, the television incision, the paperweight hopscotch jelly date? Period. Tuner downtown, turn down the pope faux pas, sleek, before we’re heads in a sewer kilt with parsley. Frimagine Frat Fumage. The jungle grunt staked to the pylon means the rainbow ghosts are high on bylines regarding brandy lines sharing gauntlet boxes under autumn moms. Don’t point that atom bomb at the apple parlor our cougar mother gave dixie dad a bad wake-up shut-up under cup Vienna meal lacerating a first base save. Punch. Or unch eal ave eal and the walrus comes a crumblin down to the hell of your neighbor, Earl, eal ave eal unch. Jumping Judy on Jeopardy: What is part eighty; digestable moose kidney sculpture garden, the one we’ll make love in, the one we’ll rump mumps on, the ones we’ll light Haiti on fire for to appease our ignition syndromes. Renunciate. Reorganize the fiberglass bones of his face then trace our lines to shine and juxtapose infinity with it until streams from your eyes are strung strong, long, and right. Pass me a knife. The sink while you’re at it. North. Flip South. Flip North. South. Jest eh jecket fer yer cells. Mirror West. East. Mirror East. Six dark and lucently sixes high pick up pick up, ground’s on just even through meatened walls colored brown and tangerine babies exquisilick tambourine tantrums in valley-maiden Spain. Take your pants off, let me get a look at your gorgeous grammar. Later, huddle for a win in the vegan insidious crop of & or % or OR for kidney bean submarines in summer under tongues, stutter, stutter, got ahead and suture this clock, stutter, shut from its one thousand eight hundred four parts, digestable etc. The bones of the grammaphone have a youness no one is hating you for. One million four hundred thirty-four thousand seven hundred eighteen. Cloudy. How may our owls howl hungrily appropriating stereominimal anti-notions absobliminally flutely? Yesterday? Just run the other way but turn around first, see the stone, run at the water, see the trees, head toward the desert on the kidney planet of androtesticulodrema. There’s a joke heading toward you, duck. Tell me to tell the phone to stop sounding hurt, to stop when its ripe, to eat when its hungry or not or when something’s in front of it, or when the hen wakes up, when the young one runs a lung off, when the starter motor’s juiced, when the pen in your head’s dead. Debah sevah Farah sevah Jurah sevah. Digest my moose kidneyish skull, part tulip. And run the other way. And there goes your boney face facing honey lipped Q-tips facing killer bishoped sex goddess garbage tartar controlled, packed and shipped. Uh. Exfamatory story: Nickel dives in dressed and sent to them so said them with weapons and twinkies, so much for the seven dresdens, the hend. Part one of digestable moose kidney sculpture jargon: so they’s right and yeah I say so’s here’s when what? for like right on. Sew a pear a punk taught a vixen eight oaked paint to get a bear a truck tire, hate, yolk, faint. What was this that said and went higher? There was always this question that what was this that said. What is this that was said and made to hang from deceased rat skulls, their boney faces with traces of semen eating marrow. Address. Ah, the schedule’s shot like a grape tacked to a target, shot by a sling with a lost tooth from the head of the baby Adrian. Sew a pear a punk taught a vixen eight pears pulled taught and necklaced. Sew a pear a punk taught a vixen eight nickel dives in dressed and sent. Nickel dives in dressed and sent when the starter motor’s juiced, sliced, winched. Hatred, but what if I said I love you and gave you an exploding kitten. Then the bakery would stay open till Tuesday for us. Now there’s a love story in these words forever. Where’s my machete? Where’s my oar, I’ve got to steer my friend’s ship before we drift hipsterishly into the llama sauna a kidney beats heartly on the floor of. Finally we arrive: Digestable llama kidney sculpture, part circle part square. Frimply Frimagine Frit: Do you, Bitch, take Bastard to be yours to punch in the gut? I do. Let’s moon this honey and wax the backs of these camels to surf. D. Use the vorce. On with it, with it, on, it with on, it on it. Your pop got licked up. Your rook got bishoped. The compact disc you swallowed is shit. Intra. And now the smoke detector’s been smithereened by the staccatoed fricasee she’ll serve to the funeral-goers going home and channeling Charles, handsome Charles, see his bust in the corner made of the boney faces of moose skulls, so don’t start a fire, there’s nothing to detect it, take this peppermint pill for your ignition wishing, this herbal principle for your smoking fundamental amplifier. Dance. Here’s a check, check, death sentence: The subject killed the predicate. Greeters gents and magmaphants, step up left of the cleft toward the sword stuck in the giant shrimp scampi. Here’s a tree and here’s a snail and here’s the squirrel-ka-bob and here’s the tree again and the snail and the squirrel-ka-bob again and here’s, oh, a new tree with condescending leaves and a heart made of tea leaf seeds, trash compacted and cookie-cuttered. All here in the hard-on of Sidney’s digestable bone scultpure garden of groping, Frank strollering Adrian around Muriel’s naked clown pose. Walk by and she’ll ask for an empty post-it note she’ll crumble and eat and weather-talk the day away, fall in love, out of, in, out, iut with you, so be ready. D. M. K. S., part F, insert notch of part LL into hole of part UR. She tripped and fell up the stairs where her hair was braided by Brandy waiting in the attic for all the falling up braidy girls until the attic’s full and they’re falling out of windows onto the yardless driveway, bouncing from car to car to work to colate the magistrate’s blind date’s tax returns. Back to sleeping dream: Sister? Someone? What’s this ghost skull floating in the fridge for? Don’t kiss me, I’m rhetorical. Why’s dad dressed like a pirate again? Back to reality: Why’s dad dressed like a baby pirate grandma’s pushing in a baby carriage made of tin? Is Shawna still in the sauna with the surfable camel? We need her out here to lay on the stones and undulate the clown car, tell her. Can we all please move toward the garden and get organized, stand in a circle, in a semispherical meteor shape, next to the kidney, Sidney spit out your gum somewhere other than the bed of tulips. Now everyone, big smiles, cheese. That one’s going to outer space like my poor dead husband Jeffrey’s ashes I ate half of before spitting the rest at the sky. Can you tell me why the wine is raining onto our curvy bodies instead of into the blood of our curvy thighs? Can you whine us why the raining bodies curve into the blood of our lady’s eyes? Can you hope less and read on? Can it miss us by kissing us gently like a fly lands on a flake on the land of our stray rabbits passing frenzily by and chanting? The sun’s what’s up. During my clever thing I’m cleverly going to do that thing I do with pickles, where I die and slice the pick and suck the juice and come to life, clever. Here’s what Frank looks like, a picture I drew, let me describe: chainsaw boney face in formaldehyde. Remember: Part two: Digestable moose kidney sculpture visits the Louvre: bonjour je suis la sculpture de rein d’élan et je fais mal horriblement comme les souris étant envoyées dans la gravité. Part ninety-eight: Digestable moose kidney sculpture returns to the garden, trips over Muriel’s poses and into roses. Ala. Ogo. Epe. Take the soup and walk away, no one will miss it cept the waiter who shit in it. Ogo. Save me a high C. Ah. What the. The. What in the. Pour it quick. Part beetle part walrus. Part it quick. Sweaty. Here is earth. A table saw upon it. And we said it suits us. And then there was light and we said here is light, ah. And the land happened under. The donkey walked by. It’s the way the world was made, not a bang but a sigh. Ah. An extriation. Did you notice the woman riding the donkey? Her name was unpronouncable. Did you notice the gift I gave was wrapped in lace and velvet ribbon? Did you notice the donkey kissing the moose, the woman kissing the lizard? What did you do with the bucket of text I gave you? It was a gift. Pour it all onto the cobblestone path and let the ants take it. This is making sense. What’s a pound of hen for in the den’s buckle drawer by the fire I started? Where’s the siren at? Nevermind. Go to the farm, buy a pig, bring it back, ask it how, while so much war is won and worn smartly, will we ever get back to the farm by the chart the general shouted his directions toward and Ronny captured in type though he’s blind and faithless like a wingless plane, a tongueless tribute, a bloodless bank? Answer: Part gangrene, part visually impedimental, part temperately clusterjunked. And here we come to the swing of the thing, swinging and thinking, how did the digestable moose kidney sculpture acquire that hat? It’s what you’ve been thinking. I’ll tell you finally. The hat was a gift, something I picked up in Haiti. Take a picture of the owl on it, sit on its boney face before Ronny fires the cannon and we’re all back inside our exhaustion and slipper time for final pajama wine pillow pouring next to Frank and Unpronouncable coitusing noisily in the bed above and others and just lay back, no, I’ll lay back, I’ll try, the thing in the light has meaning, we’ll find it tomorrow maybe, or if the squirrel jumps its small ship and into my friend’s, we could continue the rowing together, toward what it might mean for the two of us, while above, planets twinkle and drinkle their oxygenated oil. See the kidney in the window, part three: kiss me.

Tickled Pink (for Darby Larson)

Mel Bosworth reads ‘Reflexive’ by Darby Larson




‘The despicable yet utterly sympathetic protagonist in Eugene Marten’s terrifying third novel doesn’t stray far from those of his prior works: Like the janitor in the cult classic Waste and the locksmith from In the Blind, Jelonnek, the state-employee antihero of Firework, is a shiftless man whose routine is shaken by a series of twisted circumstances and terrible decisions. Marten masters a world of blue-collar minutiae with spare, striking prose and meticulous detail, but Firework is, at 370 pages, a breakout achievement that also tackles issues of gender, class, race, identity and family. … Marten approaches his novel’s slow-building disaster with fearlessness. Equal parts road novel and psychological thriller, Firework is a superbly written exercise in impending doom, which makes sense: Marten seems at home in a world where the worst-case scenario is the most likely outcome.’ — Kimberly King Parsons, Time Out New York

‘In Firework, a novel that starts in the gutter and never once looks at the stars, Eugene Marten accomplishes two extraordinary feats. Not only does the book establish Marten, author of In the Blind and Waste, two other bleak miracles, as one of our finest contemporary prose stylists, but it also introduces its publisher, Tyrant Books, as one of our best purveyors of contemporary fiction. … (Firework is) not just about language; it’s about American language. It’s not just about culture; it’s about American culture.’ — Snowden Wright, The Rumpus


Eugene Marten Firework
Tyrant Books

‘Jelonnek is a blue collar Midwesterner trapped in a life he is almost sure he wants to escape. Driven by a dim yearning to transcend, he makes the first real choice of his life when a simple errand to a convenience store escalates into a terrifying encounter. He soon finds himself on a cross-country odyssey with a woman he barely knows and her young daughter, in search of escape and new beginnings. They find shelter in an isolated existence at the edge of the country, only to be besieged by threats from outside and, finally, from within. A descent into paranoia, nascent violence and sexuality follows, culminating in a one-man Armageddon and an aftermath as hopeful as it is horrifying.

Firework is the story of a man who, though ill-equipped to help himself, attempts to help someone else, and the beautifully rendered, perhaps necessary catastrophe that results. Unequaled in intensity, it is also an exhilarating expression of the noble, all-too human impulse to become more than what we seem to be.’ — Tyrant Books


The anchorman says, “In the interest of good taste.”

The street reporter calls it a rental property. “A child,” she says. “A man and a woman…who may or may not be husband and wife.”

We can’t see all the words. We see a man wearing a blue smock. Behind him are shelves of typewriters with little tags wired to them.

“I’m the first one in the door,” he says. “I’m the last one out.” Probably he was the first to see it. He called 911 and and started greasing carriage returns.

A sign in the window: “We dont speak to Reporters.” Some of the neighbors do but nobody saw or heard anything. They stand in front doors and on porches, looking hastily dressed for an appearance. A woman still in her bathrobe: “We turn in early on a school night.” Their next-door neighbor, she adds, is never home.

She says they seem like nice people. She says, “They keep to themselves.”

You can see certain words, a name, crude figures, but the shots are composed so that other words are intimated in fragments, or missing entirely. The pace of the editing is rapid, like a movie trailer.

A boy and a girl pretend to wait for a school bus—the children of the woman in the bathrobe, perhaps. “A prank, like,” the boy says. “Like trick or treat.” We watch the girl watching him talk.

The car, the windows. Lines of rough grammar that bend around corners. Some of it is blurred, washed out, almost shimmers; they must have done something to the video.

“With the aid of digital technology,” the anchorman says. “For those who might be offended.”

“The owner could not be reached,” the street reporter says. She conducts interviews in a trench coat, nodding emphatically. She is attractive but not glamorous; energetic, likeable, down to earth.

“Residents say this has to be the work of outsiders.”

“People are people,” the man in the blue smock says. “What’s that outfit up from California?” They’ve set up headquarters in the west suburbs. (We don’t see him trying to think of the name, or saying that a Selectric has more than three thousand moving parts.)

“My kids play with their kid,” the woman in the bathrobe says.

A police spokesman, a spokesman for an anti-bias group. A former skinhead whose face is a shadow.

“On condition of anonymity,” the street reporter says.

(We don’t see the girl at the bus stop imitating the dead cat in the parking lot: “His eyes were made of ants.” Her tongue lolls in footage that will not be seen. She will not be heard describing the two women who live together at the turnaround, who could be mother and daughter but are not.)

The street reporter stands at the corner with her microphone, police cars and yellow tape behind her.

“Until that happens,” she says.


Eugene Marten reads from ‘Waste’

Gordon Lish on Eugene Marten’s Firework (unedited)

eugene marten reads



p.s. Hey. ** Today I’m spotlighting four fairly recent books that were published several years ago in the heat of the ‘Alt Lit’ era. And I’m doing that both because they’re fantastic books and also because, strangely, they seem to have fallen off the radar. While they were well received in their recent heyday, I haven’t seen them mentioned or written about in quite a while. Plus, their authors, as far as I can tell, have also gone very totally quiet and MIA of late. All of which seemed like a very good reason to draw attention to them. Highly recommended to a one if you can find copies. And if anyone knows what the writers are up to now, I would love to know. Also, if you’re interested, yesterday The New Inquiry published a really interesting conversation about my novel ‘The Sluts’ in the age of social distancing had by writer/d.l. Quinn Roberts, writer and author of ‘Wrong’ Diarmuid Hester, writer Elena Comay del Junco, and twink porn actor and fashion model Sean Ford. If you’d like to read it, it’s called ‘Final Fantasy: Dennis Cooper’s The Sluts in the time of social distancing’, and it’s here. ** rewritedept, Hi, Chris. He was just a kid in that. You should watch his later films, many of which are just great films in and of themselves. Awesome about the guitar and equip, and the teaching of the son thing sounds really sweet and cool of you. Nice. I’m good. We’re about to get even more reopened so I’m happy, and all else is on track, I think. Later. ** Armando, My pleasure, of course. I love Leaud too, obviously. ** David Ehrenstein, Hi. Wow, ha ha, that has to the first time ever that the names Leaud and Charlton Heston are the same sentence. I missed a chance to see Leaud talk at a recent screening of ‘Le Chinoise’ very foolishly, and I don’t know if there’ll be another chance. Wait, you fisted a guy lying down on a street in WeHo? Okay, you win. ** Thomas Moronic, Hi, Thomas! So cool, yes. Always. Great about the post, and even better obviously about the potential freeing up of the thing itself! For the post, you can put the images in the doc, but, if at all possible, please also send then attachments. It’s much easier for me to construct posts that way. So, if that’s possible, that would be great. If not, I’ll make do. Thanks! Excited! Have a great one! ** _Black_Acrylic, He’s in so many films that are great and even crucial. Enjoy the Varda. I’m pretty sure you will. ** tomk, Hi, Tom! Great to see you, buddy! Oh, man, that’s a flashback right there, and cool if it was Proustian, even if I’ve never read Proust and don’t exactly know what that means, ha ha. Yeah, weird, huh? The very earliest blog posts are still just data on a hard drive that I haven’t uploaded yet, which I need to do. But I think it’s safe and sound. You good? Big love to you, pal. ** Sypha, Ah, okay, wait and see re: the reopening. ‘Goo’ is one of my favorite Sonic youth albums. Apples and oranges. It was so awesome that SY asked me to write the ‘Sister’ liner notes. I think the version of the album that had them is probably way out of print now sadly. ** Misanthrope, Hey. Good about your mom and my fingers remain stranglingly crossed for as long as needed. ** Steve Erickson, Hi. Both of those are good, but I think the Villaelvin is especially good. Gaga retreating to the sound of albums 1 and 2 seems like the canny career decision available to her at this point. I’ve heard Backxwash, yes, and I’m interested in that album too. That’s terrible news about rarefilmm! No! There’s so much I hadn’t watched yet. That’s a real loss. Damn! ** Bill, Hi. Indeed. When I was teenager, he was one of my big imaginary boyfriends. Delay’s stuff is pretty various, yeah, from what I know. ‘Penda’s Fen’! I too watched that back when _B_A showcased it here. I remember it being a blast. Maybe I’ll re-cue it. Yes, as of next Tuesday, we will have cafes, restaurants, parks, and supposedly even museums, or some of them. Really psyched. France’s methodology re: taming the pandemic seems to be working very well, thank god. Nothing but upswings so far. ** Right. Dig into those books and give the idea of reading them (if you haven’t) serious consideration, if you will. See you tomorrow.

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