This is an adults only blog- you have now been warned twice. Chris Madoch is a published writer known for his widespread presence on various social network platforms where his 'identities' serve as 'art installations' for his creative expression. He has a justifiable reputation as outspoken and uncompromising. One of his heroes is the late great Christopher Hitchins who also took no prisoners. He is unsurprisingly a fan of Bill Hicks.
Thursday, 5 September 2013
THE QUEER MESSIAH: FRINGES OF SOCIETY
THE QUEER MESSIAH: FRINGES OF SOCIETY: 'I live on the fringes of society and the rules of normal society have no currency for those on the fringe.' Tamara de Lempicka. — C...
THE QUEER MESSIAH: FRINGES OF SOCIETY
THE QUEER MESSIAH: FRINGES OF SOCIETY: 'I live on the fringes of society and the rules of normal society have no currency for those on the fringe.' Tamara de Lempicka. — C...
Monday, 2 September 2013
THE QUEER MESSIAH: PLAIN CRUEL- lol.
THE QUEER MESSIAH: PLAIN CRUEL- lol.: Great #Parenting skills- encouraging deluded claims to fame and fortune IS PLAIN CRUEL and cultivates gobshite fools. pic.twitter.com/KAPvI...
Wednesday, 21 August 2013
Nudity v Prudity [Fight under UFC rules. LOL.]
Some of us, I am glad to hear, have evolved beyond the tiresome whinnying of those stuck fast in paralytic fear of 'ungodly' near nakedness.
How deep are their obvious issues- since clearly they are worried by perfectly fine displays of our animal selves. Duh!
Beneath our veneers we are all of us stark naked with nowhere to hide our hideous self-interested self-awareness. This is exactly why native or natural community empathy is being marginalised.
The mind-set and perverse arrogance of faithists made in 'His' image, with cocks and cunts. LOL.
Just really wish they were a tad less gobby with their righteous campaigns against what lame things offend them so. Bless. They are locked in ever-lasting child syndrome, feeding off of the fiction of religious texts and stories written for kids.
That they are well organised I have no doubt- coffee-mornings with laptops doing 'god's work' on social interaction sites like Facebook- routinely the province of American bullies who refuse to be anything less than ineffable.
Hilarious. People not condemned to living such pathetic lives are loathe to pity them but pity them we do.' CM
How deep are their obvious issues- since clearly they are worried by perfectly fine displays of our animal selves. Duh!
Beneath our veneers we are all of us stark naked with nowhere to hide our hideous self-interested self-awareness. This is exactly why native or natural community empathy is being marginalised.
The mind-set and perverse arrogance of faithists made in 'His' image, with cocks and cunts. LOL.
Just really wish they were a tad less gobby with their righteous campaigns against what lame things offend them so. Bless. They are locked in ever-lasting child syndrome, feeding off of the fiction of religious texts and stories written for kids.
That they are well organised I have no doubt- coffee-mornings with laptops doing 'god's work' on social interaction sites like Facebook- routinely the province of American bullies who refuse to be anything less than ineffable.
Hilarious. People not condemned to living such pathetic lives are loathe to pity them but pity them we do.' CM
A fit guy paying attention to hygiene-
what's not to like.
Tuesday, 20 August 2013
ONE WAY KISS TRIP
ONE WAY KISS TRIP or Random Notes from A Journal Of A Space Journey
[for Dan-Paul Flores]
blue eye to eye to your two eyes of hazel brown-green
I ease slow into flying us we
soar heavenly- above the down time-
earth diminishing a distant dot got insignificant
never before rendered so-
a past disaster object presently swift forgot
despite my sweet repeat remembering
night and day in neat perpetual motion
a poisonous snake giving head to its own tail
self masturbating
night as night as night nightly gets
set fair to part the witless from their wits
[the heartless from their tired hearts]
to have a white owl howl at vixens
on the prowl for moist passage to fecundity-
the droning moon a muddle of blue cheese and lies.
In darkness bless
the dim oblivion of moles, hills made, soil processed;
no mountains ever again to climb
or dealing with Mohammed as an unwelcome guest
his pit freshness suspect and the man's crimes made holy fish
day da dit come gaylord as a daisy bonny
air and grace alive with flitting pictures
showing femmehims just how life should be planned
to the 33rd absurd degree of club insanity-
the constant aping of a cracked construct- 'being free'-
the bounded sound of manwom all fuss and poorly rehearsed players
waving brass bassoons and carving tunes from earthly delights
and sin insinuating in like anything in the swim of self-interest
the din insufferable.
No rest. All of the arrested preparing to be lost hung out to dry
by day
at night in plain sight
truth in revolution thrust into the fires of felonious absolution
passing the unnatural passage of irritating ticks
we've not left sexual pleasure behind-
to arse away the time I suckle on the 'God' nipple
tumescent in my aching cake-hole
a meteor shower or was it jettisoned shit
a way-sign indicating years yet to Arcturus
this ship is small our minds both seriously tall wide as wide
touching every eye-lash fluttering on the rim of elsewhere
we fuck
laughid and lamentoid in messy congress
juice unloosed
[we wave clock-bots 'goodbye'
but its just a lazy and habitual semantic lie because
you cannot be with us if you don't exist-
canned canny Canute, our brute bastard offspring of vanity
who gave rise to high-rise religion, schisms and voodoo rhythms]
and the sun shrinks. Blink blink blink.
In our synapse gaps florescent frogs leaping landing
on lily pads. On thick green lily pads they write
of Monet's genius for near blindness-
his hatched eggs made far more desirable than gold.
Hell. We will both be old when we arrive home.
No natter there of battered families of trees
divided by tar ribbons driven through and through
to be hard ridden by mancunts in bland vans-
loads
stuffed with the silence of transporting acquisitions
all switched off waiting to be incandescent in appalling malls
a faux attraction magnetic and luminous
but still not a patch on breathing glow-bugs
gorgeous and gorging on leaves in the fields of tobacco
grown to smoke, to spit, to sniff, to cock a snoot at pain.
Approaching the Pleiades we
recall vacation landing on the Maldives-
oil paint droplets let from nature's dropper
dropped into a vast salt puddle south of India
the land barely afloat ut vivid with
killer flotillas of allsort boats each one after
that same fat dollar swathed in coke dust
and the intimate spoils from a billion greasy palms-
manunkind as ever
damning paradise with perverse versions of events
relentlessly destructive and as populous as rats.
We loved those away days
with the beach crustaceans electric at dusk where we trod.
We loved and lost our love of Mykonos.
The stars the stars the stars- we have come this far
to be in absentia, to be in absentia is bliss a thing both above and beneath
the increasingly sophisticated radar of the masses
as they tune into unstoppable urban sprawl, feet in concrete,
the nauseous orgy of themselves crawling mewling need on need-
its why we left.
We left to seed uncluttered and non-structured Wicca
in the yacht ponds of a distant planet where we were once king
with no evidence of practicing hatred or feckless posturing. We left to leave.
Chris Madoch. August 20 2013. Copyright 2013. All Rights Reserved.
[for Dan-Paul Flores]
blue eye to eye to your two eyes of hazel brown-green
I ease slow into flying us we
soar heavenly- above the down time-
earth diminishing a distant dot got insignificant
never before rendered so-
a past disaster object presently swift forgot
despite my sweet repeat remembering
night and day in neat perpetual motion
a poisonous snake giving head to its own tail
self masturbating
night as night as night nightly gets
set fair to part the witless from their wits
[the heartless from their tired hearts]
to have a white owl howl at vixens
on the prowl for moist passage to fecundity-
the droning moon a muddle of blue cheese and lies.
In darkness bless
the dim oblivion of moles, hills made, soil processed;
no mountains ever again to climb
or dealing with Mohammed as an unwelcome guest
his pit freshness suspect and the man's crimes made holy fish
day da dit come gaylord as a daisy bonny
air and grace alive with flitting pictures
showing femmehims just how life should be planned
to the 33rd absurd degree of club insanity-
the constant aping of a cracked construct- 'being free'-
the bounded sound of manwom all fuss and poorly rehearsed players
waving brass bassoons and carving tunes from earthly delights
and sin insinuating in like anything in the swim of self-interest
the din insufferable.
No rest. All of the arrested preparing to be lost hung out to dry
by day
at night in plain sight
truth in revolution thrust into the fires of felonious absolution
passing the unnatural passage of irritating ticks
we've not left sexual pleasure behind-
to arse away the time I suckle on the 'God' nipple
tumescent in my aching cake-hole
a meteor shower or was it jettisoned shit
a way-sign indicating years yet to Arcturus
this ship is small our minds both seriously tall wide as wide
touching every eye-lash fluttering on the rim of elsewhere
we fuck
laughid and lamentoid in messy congress
juice unloosed
[we wave clock-bots 'goodbye'
but its just a lazy and habitual semantic lie because
you cannot be with us if you don't exist-
canned canny Canute, our brute bastard offspring of vanity
who gave rise to high-rise religion, schisms and voodoo rhythms]
and the sun shrinks. Blink blink blink.
In our synapse gaps florescent frogs leaping landing
on lily pads. On thick green lily pads they write
of Monet's genius for near blindness-
his hatched eggs made far more desirable than gold.
Hell. We will both be old when we arrive home.
No natter there of battered families of trees
divided by tar ribbons driven through and through
to be hard ridden by mancunts in bland vans-
loads
stuffed with the silence of transporting acquisitions
all switched off waiting to be incandescent in appalling malls
a faux attraction magnetic and luminous
but still not a patch on breathing glow-bugs
gorgeous and gorging on leaves in the fields of tobacco
grown to smoke, to spit, to sniff, to cock a snoot at pain.
Approaching the Pleiades we
recall vacation landing on the Maldives-
oil paint droplets let from nature's dropper
dropped into a vast salt puddle south of India
the land barely afloat ut vivid with
killer flotillas of allsort boats each one after
that same fat dollar swathed in coke dust
and the intimate spoils from a billion greasy palms-
manunkind as ever
damning paradise with perverse versions of events
relentlessly destructive and as populous as rats.
We loved those away days
with the beach crustaceans electric at dusk where we trod.
We loved and lost our love of Mykonos.
The stars the stars the stars- we have come this far
to be in absentia, to be in absentia is bliss a thing both above and beneath
the increasingly sophisticated radar of the masses
as they tune into unstoppable urban sprawl, feet in concrete,
the nauseous orgy of themselves crawling mewling need on need-
its why we left.
We left to seed uncluttered and non-structured Wicca
in the yacht ponds of a distant planet where we were once king
with no evidence of practicing hatred or feckless posturing. We left to leave.
Chris Madoch. August 20 2013. Copyright 2013. All Rights Reserved.
Sunday, 18 August 2013
FACEBOOK- duh!
'It's a fact- a sorry fact that despite my list of 4500+ contacts on FB I find it a poisonously lonely place.
Intelligence and expressive intellect is not the season's black here.
OBVIOUSLY!!
Even the saddo gay community seem to shun me. Oh hun- what's with the shunning. That's just not fun anymore.
So what if I am an intellectual whore? AND ENGLISH!! [Welsh actually].
My cock is uncut and I am not a wanking yank- that's why.
And why oh why do rather bland American generated GAY pages and groups collect so many members and fans/members. LOL. How do they do it- FB is obviously very well disposed impartially to them. I mean- like, 50 thousand likes. Duh! They cheat in some way, clearly.
AND where are the smoke and mirrors groups/pages that are never intimidated by the expression of intellectual prowess.
Fuck. Masses of you folks need to go to the mental/brain power gym IMMEDIATELY. Shower there coz the stench of your folly is rank.
NO- this is not a particularly friendly post. SO- unfriend me boring dudes. Its not like I can't afford to lose you.
Meanwhile a huge thanks for my many pro-active connections who know that my life is considerably more than physical fitness and torpedo erections. You marvelous witty bastards- you keep me coming back for more on lame and increasingly lame FB, where twats hold sway.
THOUGH be warned. Taking me so seriously is such a grave mistake. I ache with laughing at that. All of my social networking presence is part of a larger art installation. End of.
I want so much to abandon that risible label GAY. I am not gay- I am a man whose sexual preference is men [its allowed] and I am far from being so vacuous that I am just cock-centric.
When I am being an activist I make every endeavour to embrace the whole gamut of issues with a broad sweeping empathy that gives me some moral clout at least. I am not the picky little shit who chooses their causes out of pure self-interest.
Humane empathy is not something to make bespoke.
I am however bored to almost death by the proliferation of numpties. Did you know that the the FB page FACEBOOK has the most likes- tens of millions. WTF! How 'stoopid' is that, like you already have an account you twats. Duh! Sign up to their satanic majesties why don't you? AND the second most liked page is a gambling game. Ha ha. I couldn't make this up.
Vague as Vegas-all gas and no air.
And the third is Michael Jackson. I rest my case.
FB is a magnet for basket-cases. LOL.
YES. I do have a man-bag- it is extremely useful.' CM ♥
Intelligence and expressive intellect is not the season's black here.
OBVIOUSLY!!
Even the saddo gay community seem to shun me. Oh hun- what's with the shunning. That's just not fun anymore.
So what if I am an intellectual whore? AND ENGLISH!! [Welsh actually].
My cock is uncut and I am not a wanking yank- that's why.
And why oh why do rather bland American generated GAY pages and groups collect so many members and fans/members. LOL. How do they do it- FB is obviously very well disposed impartially to them. I mean- like, 50 thousand likes. Duh! They cheat in some way, clearly.
AND where are the smoke and mirrors groups/pages that are never intimidated by the expression of intellectual prowess.
Fuck. Masses of you folks need to go to the mental/brain power gym IMMEDIATELY. Shower there coz the stench of your folly is rank.
NO- this is not a particularly friendly post. SO- unfriend me boring dudes. Its not like I can't afford to lose you.
Meanwhile a huge thanks for my many pro-active connections who know that my life is considerably more than physical fitness and torpedo erections. You marvelous witty bastards- you keep me coming back for more on lame and increasingly lame FB, where twats hold sway.
THOUGH be warned. Taking me so seriously is such a grave mistake. I ache with laughing at that. All of my social networking presence is part of a larger art installation. End of.
I want so much to abandon that risible label GAY. I am not gay- I am a man whose sexual preference is men [its allowed] and I am far from being so vacuous that I am just cock-centric.
When I am being an activist I make every endeavour to embrace the whole gamut of issues with a broad sweeping empathy that gives me some moral clout at least. I am not the picky little shit who chooses their causes out of pure self-interest.
Humane empathy is not something to make bespoke.
I am however bored to almost death by the proliferation of numpties. Did you know that the the FB page FACEBOOK has the most likes- tens of millions. WTF! How 'stoopid' is that, like you already have an account you twats. Duh! Sign up to their satanic majesties why don't you? AND the second most liked page is a gambling game. Ha ha. I couldn't make this up.
Vague as Vegas-all gas and no air.
And the third is Michael Jackson. I rest my case.
FB is a magnet for basket-cases. LOL.
YES. I do have a man-bag- it is extremely useful.' CM ♥
Video by The Queer Messiah Band.
Copyright 2013. All Rights Reserved.
MURDEROUS ABSURDITY
MURDEROUS ABSURDITY
Peck pecking-
small blue raptors at the seed station:
their easy flights of fact and less than easy interaction
worthy of prolonged observation, a word song.
And there, see, on the honeysuckle flower,
the improbable wobble of a bumbly bee landing-
all of it beyond our engineers feeble understanding.
Above me, in a languid sky hesitating to be bright,
the flight-path to Gatwick airport slices
with its many knives of several unpleasant vices:
a cruel discharge of aviation fuel
that hats our Koi pond with a horror film;
vast chunks, so much desperate metal machinery,
being obscenely gleaming, runts of our overblown arrogance;
all the cunts in government doing everything
in defiance of nature's better nature.
Sad [but I am glad]
we cannot still command the rain or harness lightning-
and somewhat frightening the way the birds
trill their miraculous innate skills
despite our desperate mimicry, our demi-god fuss-
the murderous absurdity of us.
We will never better all the better things that we are not.
Chris Madoch. Copyright 2013. All Rights Reserved.
Peck pecking-
small blue raptors at the seed station:
their easy flights of fact and less than easy interaction
worthy of prolonged observation, a word song.
And there, see, on the honeysuckle flower,
the improbable wobble of a bumbly bee landing-
all of it beyond our engineers feeble understanding.
Above me, in a languid sky hesitating to be bright,
the flight-path to Gatwick airport slices
with its many knives of several unpleasant vices:
a cruel discharge of aviation fuel
that hats our Koi pond with a horror film;
vast chunks, so much desperate metal machinery,
being obscenely gleaming, runts of our overblown arrogance;
all the cunts in government doing everything
in defiance of nature's better nature.
Sad [but I am glad]
we cannot still command the rain or harness lightning-
and somewhat frightening the way the birds
trill their miraculous innate skills
despite our desperate mimicry, our demi-god fuss-
the murderous absurdity of us.
We will never better all the better things that we are not.
Chris Madoch. Copyright 2013. All Rights Reserved.
Image by CM for i2i designs international.
Copyright 2013. All Rights Reserved.
THIS IS HOW WE LIE
THIS IS HOW WE LIE
Our musted, not really to be trusted, honesties
just curdle cow juice
stink of bishop's unclean toes.
Cheese and churned religions, rye bread, it is said,
is the good shepherd's brunch-
a late breakfast. Goodness as ever being late.
Plus a tankard of home-brew, spirited hope
for all of the addicted dopes at Brotherhood Gate.
Head in our vineyard's Hessian sack
atop
a bound woman with child
her abdomen swollen like the drowned
eight months gone.
Genes at screaming pitch-
a picture which we should not ever see
freedoms being arch as they are
blind to our beloved pornographies.
He shoves a shot-gun up her cunt and fires.
All the Gods sleeping-
keeping deathly quiet in Greece, Sumer and Egypt.
They could not care less, and less and less,
this monkey triptych
see nothing, hear nowt, shout shut: it rules Rome.
What should we do? Do not
blunt sensibilities or
walk lamely through the swing doors
flap of rights and wrongs
declaring utter zilch complicity.
No is by far the finer answer but
you always choose the common or garden yes.
Chris Madoch August 2013. Copyright 2013. All Rights Reserved.
Our musted, not really to be trusted, honesties
just curdle cow juice
stink of bishop's unclean toes.
Cheese and churned religions, rye bread, it is said,
is the good shepherd's brunch-
a late breakfast. Goodness as ever being late.
Plus a tankard of home-brew, spirited hope
for all of the addicted dopes at Brotherhood Gate.
Head in our vineyard's Hessian sack
atop
a bound woman with child
her abdomen swollen like the drowned
eight months gone.
Genes at screaming pitch-
a picture which we should not ever see
freedoms being arch as they are
blind to our beloved pornographies.
He shoves a shot-gun up her cunt and fires.
All the Gods sleeping-
keeping deathly quiet in Greece, Sumer and Egypt.
They could not care less, and less and less,
this monkey triptych
see nothing, hear nowt, shout shut: it rules Rome.
What should we do? Do not
blunt sensibilities or
walk lamely through the swing doors
flap of rights and wrongs
declaring utter zilch complicity.
No is by far the finer answer but
you always choose the common or garden yes.
Chris Madoch August 2013. Copyright 2013. All Rights Reserved.
Thursday, 8 August 2013
THE QUEER MESSIAH: BONUS STORIES with the website book SEX WITH STRAN...
THE QUEER MESSIAH: BONUS STORIES with the website book SEX WITH STRAN...: Sexy. Savagely ironic- enormously hard-hitting. Madoch is always inspired by his darker personal experiences which he deftly employs to crea...
THE QUEER MESSIAH: SEX WITH STRANGERS [18] by Chris Madoch: A free-to...
THE QUEER MESSIAH: SEX WITH STRANGERS [18] by Chris Madoch: A free-to...: SEX WITH STRANGERS by CHRIS MADOCH free-to-read website book for adults. http://madoch-s-sex-with-strangers.webnode.com/
THE QUEER MESSIAH: WTF is a 'well meaning troll'? Oh! Fol de rol you ...
THE QUEER MESSIAH: WTF is a 'well meaning troll'? Oh! Fol de rol you ...: Bizarre event on my Facebook event: the online launch of SEX WITH STRANGERS 'Too funny- a total luddite plonker has just posted this. ...
THE QUEER MESSIAH: NEWS on the fab free-to-read website book SEX WITH...
THE QUEER MESSIAH: NEWS on the fab free-to-read website book SEX WITH...: The fine writer and reader of the human condition Richard Lee Fulgham kindly posted the following to the comments section of my webs...
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