Like a Sex Cactus in the Desert

Growing growing growing groan!
Moaning moaning moaning mown!

It seems that no one wants to have sex with me anymore. This is quite a hard dick to swallow given that sex and sex-related activities are up there in the top quartile of stuff I like to fill myself/my time with, alongside consuming various foodstuffs from jars on sunny balconies in company.

Statistically speaking it seems that everyone would prefer not to have it off with me, which is totally cool. But you know, it can get on ones tits. Physical contact and intimacy are important for my wellbeing. I know this because my body starts calling out to people in the street. I have to carry it away kicking and screaming and then try to distract it by going on a 50 mile cycling tour of the South Downs. My latex shorts riding up my arse for hours on end, relentlessly driving further and further into my large intestine, is about as good as it gets for me.

I wonder whether anyone else does this too. I make eyes at the other helmeted streaks of muscle careering up and down, and in and out, of the ribbons of tarmac but they don’t notice me. Maybe it’s because I have a heavy bike and a wigwam full of condoms. Let’s be clear – I’m not trying to make a move on the Armstrong set – obviously I totally would – but in this example I’m merely trying for verbal intercourse. Not fly fishing.

Not overthinking overthinking is the problem here. Automatically my brain starts writhing around in the shit swelling up on everything that’s wrong with me. What I could change. Starts comparing myself to other people. Starts thinking that maybe my whole face and body is a total shit show as well as my barbed personality. Can you get a face, brain and tit transplant package deal? I’m trying to stop going down on myself all the time, but it’s really difficult when no one else is going down on me. I know, deep inside, that ultimately no one will want to have reasonably sexy time with me if my face looks like a slapped horses arse all the time from my negative thoughts that have been totally wanked off by all that capitalism in my coffee crema.

Maybe watch Violet’s latest poetry video to make her feel better: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lWhwV6a8MQI

Soup of the Day: Shit Pea

I had this great desire for Soup of the Day. I don’t know what/who came over me. But I needed it. Hot in the bowl. White roll. Wide spoon. You get me?

I dragged myself on my belly from trendy café to sexy vend searching for it. But it was just dastard salads, chicken fillets and taramasalata, everywhere. I stepped out and all I could smell was disappointment.

Is this the end? Has all the excitement in the world dried up into a bitter Oxo Cube of shite? Should I Google it? Yes, I could get soup online. Yes, I could get it delivered, canned or chilled. Yes, I could boil a kettle and whack in some cuppa dust. But that’s not Soup of the Day, that’s just regular soup.

Favourite soups (in no particular order):
Pea & mint
Pea & ham
Pea
Penis
Lentil & pea
Ham salad
Oxtail
Horse chestnut
Spinach & briar
Hot & sour
Four bean & penis
Radiator keys & a cold hand-job

Why not watch this shit new video of me to make me feel better: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HCFhfAf75yw

A little bit of slap and tickle

Welcome to Violet Malice’s online portal of internet things. She’s glad you made it. At last. She’s been waiting for quite a while. About two years. Just sat there in the cloud twiddling herself numb.

She’s going to flesh everything out soon. Add some meat to the bones as it were. A regular blog and gig news. New poems that might tickle your fancy or slap your hind quarters. Hopefully Violet will be out and about a bit more too. Strutting around in the filth outside her cage on stages in badly lit bars.

Please sign up to the mailing list if you want to be kept in the loop about all the shit that’s going down.

And remember: never look a gift horse in the mouth.

Violet Malice

Suck It and See