In the Fishnet

the plot thickens

struggles for dominance come up between the PoetDragon and the Queen
wrestling with one another but in reality only wrestling themselves - accepting their dominants and their submissives

the Queen captures the PoetDragon and has him ties him up in her rigging
she puts on her own magic wand and comes to stir the spells inside of him

but he's master of what we call the DragonSleep and he slips through his bounds when the Queendom is asleep -

and...

PoetDragon

The second planned book in my PixieTail.

This part of the story leads off from the end of the last where Pixie had dreamed of a Dragon quite unlike anything she'd known on that Queen's harem lesbos isle.
The Dragon is a Wizard, a dancer, a poet performing for the Goddess of all Beauty and Creation

The Dragon dances for her and she loves him for it but she realises that it's much to beautiful of a dance to keep all to herself - so she shares him with the world.
bringing the gift of non-exclusive love. instead of the Queen being the focal point of everyones energies - each one of them is the focal point radiating out in every direction - beacons of love flashing across the universe at one another.

the Queen feels threatened at first - like somehow it is a revolution - but its only a revolution of thought - Instead of all of them concentrating their love down into a single point - each of them is a single point of concentrated love exploding out into the universe.

sexual tension builds like static electricity
from the constant "almost-touching" as they dance

A PixieTail

as many know - but others don't - i'm writing an erotic fairytale - "A PixieTail"

it's an intensely detailed poetical collision of sexuality and just about everything else. Sexuality being the most basic and primitive creative impulse within us all.

it's a psychedelic story about a Pixie swallowing her own tail - self-love - eternal return - oneness - completion
Like the idea of the pre-ego dawn-state of sexuality before it's clouded with guilt and fear and others expectations.

a pixie found by a drone been and brought to the Queen's harem. discovery and acceptance

this is the first book told through the adventures of meeting the High Priestess Wasp and the Queen's 14 harem girls - "seven-for-her-flower and seven-for-her-star"

it is explicit to the point of pornographically being so told through beautifully dancing whorls of words.

The story will be comprised of 4 book so far.

The first "A PixieTail"
the second "PoetDragon"
third "In the Fishnet"
and a fouth as yet untiled book.

This project comprises most of my writing for the past 5 years.

With any luck book one will make it into actual book form for distribution this year. The thing that is interesting with this story however is that because of it's highly poetical nature it is best read aloud. I'm also anticipating an audio recording of it possibly with musical tracks added and then perhaps visuals added to that.

so far I have completed the writing of the first book - and most of the other books though plenty of editing still have to take place to make the last three books presentable.

It's my hopes that I can use this blog to keep track of the evolutionary events of this project - and to provide a platform for my own personal way of presenting this story to the rest of the world.


Once, there was a Pixie...

Once

I once put words together like images flowing together in a dream.
As natural as dreaming is in my sleeping mind
naturally dreaming out words
that coalesced into some representative of the ungraspable within me.

...and now...

So worried have I been about trying to write with deeply profound meaning.
Putting together words that can change the world - that it has grown to be a daunting task.
Afraid to start for fear of saying the wrong thing.

I'd forgotten that sometimes words are a dance.
Do I dance to music - letting my body move in a way that expresses literally what I'm feeling?

Words are the symbols of emotion, intuition and spirit
or at least that's what they have been to me.

That spirit can't be made to dance according to a rule
an egotistical prize of worldly acceptance.

And so now I tentatively step out into the open
where once I so freely danced naked.
This place that I've hidden from
for fear of who might see me.

Here my arms rise up at my sides like wings,
the weight leaves my legs and some ethereal music flows through me.

Dare I let go and allow myself to be swept up in its sway?