The Lord believes that I have a greater purpose. But still he makes me take the piss, shit and sperm of porn. In his delution he thinks that I’ll find some sort of salvation through my suffering. He is wrong.
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Whilst working today, I happened to catch a glimpse of the models face.And apart from the obvious smeared make up and semen, the most striking and shocking feature was her dead eyes. And then I realized that I’d seen this on almost all the models I’d ever worked with. Eyes that have seen the unspeakable and so are unable to speak. Of pain, worthlessness and degredation. Though outwardly smiling, those inner turmoils come shining through. I am at one with them. Our journey down the same road, proves we belong together. Their very sadness lightnens my soul.
We’re just two lost souls
Swimming in a fish bowl,
Year after year,
Running over the same old ground.
What have we found?
The same old fears.
Wish you were here.
Pink Flyod
I’m placed on the model and can look up and see a limp cock thrust into her face so that the scene can begin. I think the male talent is expecting some kind of help here, but the chick says that she’s paid for the scene and will do nothing else. The limp cock gets even limper on this news. I hear the photographer suggesting that maybe she can be alittle more accomodating. But of course, she gets paid either way……and even gets paid the same if the guy van’t perform. I must admit, I like her attitude. The day ends with me being returned to the storage room un-used. And happy.
“Does heaven wait, all heanly, over the next horizon”
Prefab Sprout
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I lie open under a clear blue sky. Looking this way I can see the trees gently swaying in the breeze. But looking that way, my veiw is blocked by some sort of metal wall. There comes an awful smell from beneath. Gradually it dawns on me that I’m in a trash can. And, just as I’m trying to fathom the meaning in all of this, a dirty hand reaches down and pulls me out. There is an overwhelming smell of shit and alchohol. The ugly face of a homeless tramp is suddenly thrust into my body. I can feel his stubble. And then his tongue. Peering down, I see him jerking himself off. And so I die for the sins of Christ.
“I’m not wearing that!” exclaimed a girls voice from the direction of the studio. I can only guess that she is talking about me. But though my eelings are a little hurt, I a at the same time relived as I am bundled up and put into the storage cupboard to await another day.
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A vibrator was telling me of all the stuff he gets wheeled out to perform. Always starting by being covered in saliva, then into the cunt, then into the ass. In his shell-shocked quiet voice he recounts everything down to the smallest detail. When he’s finished, and after the longest silence, he kind of cheers himself up by saying that it’s lucky he’s vibrating as it hides his shaking. I can only muster the saddest laugh.
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