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A consumption

I would eat this world, this life, this universe whole — would swallow it down, choke on it, spittle flying and saliva leaking out the corners of my mouth, lips distended, cheeks bulging; all of it, every last scrap and bit and piece, no crumb left behind…

(A pornography of of existential consumption)

If I could, if the power existed in me.

Sex and food and knowledge; the body, the soul, the being.

Everything that is. And was. Raw and uncooked; burnt ends and caramelized. Give it to me — shove it into me, push me to the brink and past.

I deserve this gluttony. The cavernous enormity of my animus demands to be satisfied. Mere substance will not do. No, mere subsistence cannot suffice.

Never enough, not for my lusts, not for my longings.


About Quinn

In it but not of it. A reformed player, now watcher. Speaker of raw truths.


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Raison d’etre

"Raw," she said. "I want something primal. I want something bare and naked. I want you to give me this life raw, unbidden, unhidden, free, fair, and true. Can you do that? Can you do that for me?"

One may only try.

September 2015
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