sex – Cajun Mutt Press

Cajun Mutt Press Featured Writer 07/08/24

July 8, 2024 James D. Casey IV

Dear Marshall,

I prayed for you in 1999, legit offered you up in a request at Bible study. I didn’t actually hear an Eminem song till later—the one about the trailer park girls—yet back then in my living room with other young married couples, I prayed for your salvation.

I forgot to notice you for a decade, exchanged friend groups for new ones, and you went to rehab. When a homie slid Relapse into my CD player, I took myself to Best Buy to get my own copy.

You presided over morning joy and were loud over hours of sex. I won’t ask how getting gospel-saved worked out. Just wanted you to know I prayed for you when we were both young and understood the world in one dimension. Maybe you felt God’s hand over the years. I hope you’ve settled into life, wiser than before we were vintage, grateful to still be alive for now.

With much respect,
Catherine

Two lifetimes ago, Catherine performed her poetry in Madrid. Now her main jobs are to write and hang out with her family. Her work has appeared in Pank, Deep Water Literary Journal, and The Grief Diaries. Her chapbook, Soul Full of Eye, is published through Kelsay Books.

Find her on twitter @czickgraf. Watch/read more at http://www.caththegreat.blogspot.com

Cajun Mutt Press Featured Writer 05/22/24

May 22, 2024 James D. Casey IV

Hey Baby

“Nothing dies of too much love.” Paul Simon, Seven Psalms

Either it happened or it didn’t.
Either way, I have no complaints.
I made Facebook contact with a porn star
I’d been following for a decade,
a woman forty years younger than me,
her gang bangs and DPs, her lesbian sex,
flimsy porn plotlines before getting to the raunch,
the videos all over Pornhub, Vixen, Brazzers,
Peekvids, Hamster and all the others.

But for a moment it felt personal,
once we got past the Hey Babys,
the conversational wariness,
the transactional vibe:
an actual exchange of confidences.
When I asked about her tattoo,
Chinese characters snaking up her spine,
she seemed to laugh and explained –
When life gives you lemons, make lemonade.
生活带来您时柠檬做柠檬水

Or was this a publicity assistant,
an AI spambot, after all?
Didn’t she have better things to do
than banter with a stranger online?
Sure, it was in her interest
to keep the fans attracted to her,
maybe get them to subscribe to a sexy chat service,
maybe buy some doodad, some merch.

But she or her assistant or the AI program
or whoever responded to my comments
made no insinuations, while the dialogue lasted,
no attempt to score a buck.
The admiration felt mutual, the human interest.
Unless it wasn’t, but does it really matter?

Charles Rammelkamp is Prose Editor for BrickHouse Books in Baltimore. Two full-length collections were published in 2020, Catastroika, from Apprentice House, and Ugler Lee from Kelsay Books. A poetry chapbook, Mortal Coil, has just been published by Clare Songbirds Publishing.

Cajun Mutt Press Featured Writer 02/26/24

February 26, 2024February 26, 2024 James D. Casey IV

I Think I’m Ready

When I die,
I shall go to
Heaven.
Unless I die
On a weekend.
In which case,
Just leave me
At the club
Until Monday.
Don’t wanna
Miss anything.

Always

There’s always
The possibility
Of what I say
Being misinterpreted
Or meaning being
Misunderstood,
Articulation and
Rancor being a
Regional and social
Underlying nuance.
It often becomes
A necessary
Inconvenience to
Have to follow-up
My rhetoric with
Physical action.
Whenceforth comes
The inability to
Clearly understand
The intended meaning
Of “Are you a natural
Moron, or did you take
Lessons.”

The Last Pussy

The last pussy I had
Came with a jealous
Boyfriend and his shotgun.
Fortunately, he showed up
After I’d left. I didn’t need
No confrontation. Snatch
Wasn’t all that good anyway.
I was just being a gentleman
Helping her over the blahs
Brought on by too much same.
Used to splash tequila on our
Dicks while whoring in Mexico.
I don’t know if it did any good.
I never caught nothin’ but my
Runnin’ buddy had to get the
Mallet smash to the penis to
Break up those painful pustules.
Good reason not to share women.
I have been thinking of changing
My ways and becoming a priest.
I have been wondering what the
Hell made me even consider that.
I know my processor is abnormal.
Head scan showed as much. I got
Those folds missing on the back
Of my brain. Slick like melon.
The docs thin it’s bizarre. Me?
I’m having another beer.

Daniel S. Irwin resides, for the time being, in the hills of Southern Illinois. Artist, actor (30+ stage plays, over 100 films), writer (work published world-wide), soldier (retired military), scholar (BA, MA, PhD), and holy man (ordained Dudeist priest 2007 – and damned proud of it). To date, seventeen books published (poetry and short stories), most recent book: Still Wanted in France. Latest work can be found on-line in Horror, Sleaze, Trash Magazine, The Beatnik Cowboy, The Rye Whiskey Review, Cajun Mutt Magazine. The asylum from which he escaped does not want him back…ever.

Cajun Mutt Press Featured Writer 02/02/24

February 2, 2024February 2, 2024 James D. Casey IV

OUR WARS

A long time ago ...
couple weeks, I reckon
(shortly after Empire)
In a galaxy right down the block
Lived an emotionally immature genius brat, by the name of Anakin Skywalker

Always thinkin' 'bout 
     Padamay's fine ass self
and never accepting the fact
   that when you're dead, 
       you're fucking dead
Kid, get over it!

But no
Prolly 19 years old 
  and this dude thinks
some stank-ass evil old man, 
a godpoundin' politician 
   no less, is gonna save
       his lady love from dying
when she spurts out
       his blessed youngins

Eventually!

In this war of ours
We've got your
  emotionally immature    
     Darth Vader
Henceforth to be known as
    the Galactic Baby Slasher
          on the right!

And a hi-tech, yet always 
    getting their ass kicked   
        Rebellion, with a few 
    broke ass struggling Jedi 
on the left!

Now, 
 it's gonna be a good battle
   cuz both sides know Kung-fu
So you gotta dig: 
 The real battle is    
    Galactic Baby Slasher
       vs. The Rebellions poverty

You know it's gonna be 
  a damn good fight
   cuz Obi-One and Luke 
      are all about whipping ass 
           and taking names later,

and so it is too 
      with that fucker Darth Vader

Now, 
Baby Slasher's gotta lotta clout
what with being 
the Emperor's bitch and all
Plus, he can stop lasers
 with his hand, 
    so it's exceptionally difficult 
       to whip his ass

What the Rebellion's
 got going for them
   and they don't even know!
is that Obi-One
 done learned 
   the Jedi secret 
     to immortality

You see, Yoda taught his ass
   that technique right after Anakin became Palpatine's – a.k.a. Darth      
       Sidious's -- bitch

So what do these 
 old school Jedi do
   with their gift of immortality?
Welp, they guide Luke's 
 semi-educated ass 
   through these wars 
   so he don't end up     psychopathic
like his pappy

For as Jay and Silent Bob
     had to remind his ass:
he never even fucking
       finished Jedi school!!!
That's important
 for a Jedi Master 
    to remember,
cuz Yoda could've whipped Luke's ass, when he was a good healthy five-fitty, 
       or prolly even when
 he was straight up 50,
so the lesson simply is:
 Never fuck
        with the Maestro

But let me digress
The last thing we need
is Luke 
 tryin' to take 
   Yoda's ass on

It's bad enough that he's got a pappy that's a baby slasher
so let's cut the young Jedi
   some slack
Luke's got some 
 emotional problems too, 
   so let us praise the Good Lord Thy Goddha!!! or The Force, that they ain't nearly as detrimental as his pappy's was

Luke's just kinda shot out
  cuz he knows his pappy
    is the Galactic Prick
      known as Darth Vader
Also, he's never been laid, 
  and after he finds out
Leah's his sister
      he's gonna have 
some emotional problems
when he thinks back 
on how he used to   
   fantasize about porkin' her ... yep

So let us cut the young Jedi some slack, alright
I'm almost sure 
if we could convince
 Han Solo into taking Luke to a 
     First-class galactic bordello,
he could release all his pent up sexual frustrations, 
and thus let       
      The Force
flow smoothly through his blessed heart

Take care of that little problem
and The Dark Side
   best look the fuck out!

You don't even know!
the cosmic glow
the power conveyed
when a Jedi get's laid!

You don't even
   muthafuckin' know!!!

So go on now and tell 
   your brothers and sisters,
your mammy and pappy,
    your friends and neighbors
that they gots to check out
               
                  Our Wars

Coming Soon 
   To A Hood Near You

Known since 2008 as Da Honky Wit Seven Names, Gentle Dragona is an American Poet, Lyricist, Mystic Stranger, and Bloody Dirty Dancing Dervish. He authored the underground collection of 69 poems in 1998 – IN DREAMS WE HIDE – published by Arkansas Writer’s Press; and the book CUSS! The Ancient and Transcendental Art of Hangin’ Out, in 2005, published by AuthorHouse.

Da Honky’s seven names are Eric Kristian Willey Gentle Shokya Candalla Dragona. He resides in his adopted town of Austin, Texas.

Cajun Mutt Press Featured writer 01/22/24

January 22, 2024 James D. Casey IV

Shimmer

The ecstasy of space
Robots on acid
Fuck me space-boy,
FUCK ME!
Bloody virgin on a bed of cosmic dust, we can plan an interplanetary genocide or start a religion
But maybe it’s all the same
in outer-space
The ecstasy of space
Robots on acid
Eating peyote
The perennial singularity
Phallus slammed in a closet door, waterlogged in microwave painting with sound- can we break
the brain of god this unknown source of which we feed upon its corpse
My mind is glowing
Vulva shaped spaceship performing terrifying miracles of light as darkness eats stars, wanton
nebula jettisoned in birth reverse swirling fabric of being and time
The ecstasy of space
Robots on acid
Astronauts in love
A carnal quasar pumping frenzy
Nameless
Recordless
no real living beings here
there are no cages but boundaries
without pasts an ever uncertain present and veiled future
dire transformation
distracted bv skin and sin
the divine motive looking for that spark in primary colored space-jockeys
switching sex organs, eyes and limbs
lies, fate, false memories
The ecstasy of space
Ocean of the void
Robots on acid
The singularity will be fragmented and unrecognizable

Mike Zone is the Editor-in-Chief of Dumpster Fire Press, co-founder of Deadstar:Control, and manager of the band Tail From the Crypt along with being a producer for the record label Paranormal Vinyl Cassettes Hair Extensions. He is the author of Wonderful Turbulence, Fuck You: A Fucking Poetry Chap, The Earth Was Shaking For Days, Shedding Dark Places. Also coauthor of The Grind and Razorville. A frequent contributor to Alien Buddha Press and Mad Swirl. His work has been featured in: A Thin Slice of Anxiety, Black Shamrock Magazine, Horror Sleaze Trash, Better Than Starbucks, Piker Press, Punk Noir Magazine, Synchronized Chaos, and Cult Culture Magazine.