maleu

uma seleta dos primeiros poemas da patti smith

+++


Marianne Faithfull

“Eu nasci em Hampstead. Minha mãe não
gritava então eles não acreditaram que ela está
parindo. Mais tarde eu fui para escola num convento. Mais tarde
eu montei em couro. Mais tarde eu peguei algumas pílulas
para dormir. Eu precisava perder…”

                                                         M.F

+++


Sétimo Céu

Ó Rafael. Anjo guardião. No amor e no crime
todas as coisas movem-se em setes. sete compartimentos
no coração. as sete elaboradas tentações.
sete demônios lançados sobre Maria Madalena prostituta
de Cristo. as sete maravilhosas viagens de Sinbad.
sin/bad*. E o número sete marcado para sempre
na fronte de Caim. O primeiro homem inspirado.
O pai do desejo e assassinato. Mas o dele não foi
o primeiro êxtase. Considere a mãe dele.
Eva praticou o crime da curiosidade. É como o ditado
diz: matou pela buceta. Uma maçã ruim estragou
o tiro inteiro. Mas tenha certeza que não foi a maçã.
Uma maçã parece com uma bunda. É a fruta dos maricas.
Deve de ter sido um tomate.
Ou melhor ainda. Uma manga.
Ela mordeu. Temos que culpa-la. abusar dela.
pobre doce puta. talvez haja mais para a história.
pense em Satã como algum garanhão.
talvez seus joelhos estivessem abertos.
cobras de satã no meio delas.
elas abrem mais.
cobras em suas coxas
esfregando-se  contra ela por um tempo
mais do que a árvore do conhecimento era sobre
ser comido… ela estremece seu primeiro estremecimento
prazer jardim do prazer
ela estava arrependida
somos sempre meninas
ela era uma boa leiga
só deus sabe

* sin/bad = numa tradução livre, pecado/ruim. resolvi deixar assim porque, puta merda, foda.  (N.do T.)

+++

Há uma doçura
na sua pequena boca de menina
e as pérolas que você segura
na palma da sua mão
toda vez que você estende a mão
você quebra você fantasia
você está circuncisada
agonizada
flagelada
coroada
crucificada
perfurada quatro vezes
seu sagrado coração sangra
goteja e goteja mais
mulheres choram aos seus pés
doze homens te transformam
doze homens te desejam
(nuvens de amônia em suas axilas)
uma estrela do mar palpita na sua barriga
e as flechas te sacodem
te sacodem te sacodem
e os músculos do seu coração doem
um peixe bate em seu rosto
você rola você rola sobre
os pátios do santuário
em um vestido preto e vulgar
abençoe sua quente boca virgem
você poderia ser Judas
e o próprio Cristo
você poderia ser Maria Madalena
a única mulher
que fez o salvador chorar
ainda assim você puxaria mandrax para dentro
como a bolacha sagrada
deixe-me para o sono eterno
Mas não. Eu não deixarei você ir.
Eu não deixarei você ir. não.
Não deixe o mel escorrer
da sua doce doce caixa
não deixe as multidões corarem e ofegarem
enquanto você carrega a cruz
não deixe as meninas de flor te abanarem
atrás de um grande ataúde preto
não deixe as pérolas
desmoronarem desmoronarem
da sua pequena boca de garota.


+++


reza

meias nos pés ou descalço
imensamente orgulhoso ou dobrado como amor
galho cadafalso
coveiro ou dançarina no vento
o mesmo vento ainda fedorento de porcos
rosa ou o pólen que faz uma tosse
cruel fantástico ao contrário de qualquer outra coisa

para ter nenhuma necessidade de aparato
de uma sala de cirurgia
para estar seguro de todos os danos corporais
para conhecer o amor sem exceção
para ser santo em qualquer forma


+++


balada de um menino mal

ó eu era mal
não fazia o que deveria
mamãe me pegava com uma lambida
e me dizia para ser bom
quando eu era mal em dobro
ela me empurrava em um buraco
e cortava todos os meus dedos
e colocava eles numa tigela de dedos
minha mamãe me matou
meu papai entristeceu-se por mim
minha irmãzinha annalea
chorou debaixo de uma amendoeira

ó eu amei um carro
e quando eu me sentia triste
eu deitava no ford de papai
e me sentia bem
e você sabe que eu fiquei mal
roubei as calotas dos homens
e as vendia as mulheres
e roubava tudo de novo
e eu consegui um carro
um carro hudson hornet
e enrolei as senhoritas bonitas
e muitas vezes fui para longe
eu fui para chicago
eu fui para kalamazzoo
eu fui para nashville
nas auto-estradas eu voei
e fui para salinas
eu rodei até o mar
e as pessoas todas me censuraram
e apontaram para mim
elas diziam ai está um garoto mal
eu era um garoto muito mal
eles recolhiam suas filhas
eu ouvi o que eles diziam
afaste-se dele querida
porque esse garoto é mal
e embora estivesse bem
e ilumina os saques
não deslize para o lado dele
ele dirige na rota errada
porque ele é um garoto mal
minha mãe me matou
meu pai se entristeceu por mim
e minha irmãzinha annalea
chorou debaixo de uma amendoeira

e eu chorei em um carro estocado
eu capturei os ferro velhos
e eu acelerei através dos cânions
embora eu nunca tenha ido tão longe
dos mecânicos destruidores
eu cultuei esses homens
mas eles riram de mim, cara
eles me chamaram de filhinho da mamãe
meia-noite de segunda
duas da terça
bêbado de tequila
pensando em você, mãe
eu dirigi meu carro, mãe
destruir carros era minha arte
eu segurei uma foto sua, mãe
perto do meu coração
eu rodei de janelas fechadas
fazia noventa graus
a multidão estava gritando
estava gritando comigo
ela dizia que eu estava louco
verdadeiro motorista galinha
sem sentido
mas eu não podia os ouvir
não podia ver
para-choques quentes como anjos ardendo dentro de mim
eu acelerei no áspero vapor quente
eu rachei e rolei em seus pés
eu subi em chamas e rolei em um poço
onde você me pegou com um ferro de pneu
e me cobriu de merda
e eu poderia me levantar
mas a multidão gritou não
esse menino é mal
muito mal para viver na condicional
tão mal sua mão fatiou

bem eu vou terminar mais tarde


+++


juramento


jesus morreu pelos pecados de alguém
mas não os meus
derretendo em um pote de ladrões
coringa em cima da minha luva
duro coração de pedra
meus pecados meus próprios
eu talho na minha própria palma
doce negro x
adão não rogou nenhum feitiço em mim
Eu abraço eva
e assumo toda a responsabilidade
por cada carteira que eu roubei
má e escorregadia
cada canção do johnny ace em que eu badalei
muito antes da igreja
a tornar limpa e direita
então cristo
estou te dando adeus
estou demitindo você esta noite
eu posso faz minha própria luz brilhar
e a escuridão também é igualmente boa
você ficou amarrado ao meu irmão
mas comigo eu desenho uma linha
você morreu pelos pecados de alguém
mas não os meus.

+++


canção de trabalho


eu estava trabalhando muito
para mostrar ao mundo
o que eu poderia fazer
ó eu acho que
nunca sonhei
que eu teria
que girar o mundo
algumas fotografias
como eu amo rir
quando a multidão ri
enquanto o amor escorre pelo
teatro está cheio
mas ó bebê
quando a multidão vai para casa
e eu me viro
e eu percebo que estou só
eu não acredito, eu precisei
eu estava trabalhando duro
para mostrar ao mundo
o que eu poderia fazer
ó eu acho que
eu nunca sonhei
eu teria que
eu precisei
eu precisei
sacrificar
você


+++


joana d’arc


eu me sinto
eu me sinto uma merda
eu preciso de
eu preciso de uma bebida
e nem mesmo vinagre
eu não quero morrer
eu me sinto uma aberração
não me deixe romper
eu não estava rompida
para ir embora virgem
eu quero minha cereja
esmagada homem
martelo amour
me ame
vive comigo
hora da morte
que inferno
hora da morte
que estou fazendo aqui
como acabei aqui
hora da morte
e eu me sinto tão livre
sinto como se fudesse
sinto tão livre
sinto como se corresse
não tenho cabelos
me pesando
corte tão perto
escalpo é cortado
parece com   m e r d a
hora da escuridão
e eu pareço com   m e r d a
hora da morte e eu me sinto livre
hora da morte e eu me sinto livre
carcereiro carcereiro
brinque com minha  b u c e t a
lamba minha pequena
isca numa dose de cabeça
pegue pegue
pegue o
pegue o guarda para
implore o guarda para
precise do guarda para
me colocar
pegue todos os guardas para me colocar
se todos os guardas pudessem me colocar
se um guarda pudesse me colocar
se um guarda pudesse me colocar
se um deus pudesse me colocar
se um
deus


+++


um fogo de origem desconhecida


você está descontente
talvez eu devesse só parar de
ser você
um fogo de origem desconhecida
levou meu bebê embora
um fogo de origem desconhecida
levou meu bebê embora
varreu ela para cima e se foi
minha onda comprida
engoliu ela como o oceano
em um fogo grosso e cinza
a morte vem varrendo
pelo corredor
como o vestido das senhoras
a morte vem dirigindo
pela estrada
no seu melhor domingo
a morte vem dirigindo
a morte vem rastejando
a morte vem
eu não faço nada
a morte faz
deve haver algo
que persista
a morte me deixou doente e louca
porque esse fogo
levou meu bebê
para longe
ela me deixou tudo
ela me deixou todas as suas coisas

anonymous asked:

Dawn Squad: Do you have any crushes? (either OCs or NPCs)

Darren: Um… sure, I guess. I mean, Inquisitor Mahalen ( @laskulls ) seems real nice. Shiny, like a star, y’know? Varric’s really great too, but he sees me as a kid and… I don’t really mind. I wouldn’t act on it or anything anyway. I’ll just keep it in my head. Nindharmen Lavellan ( @sunshinemage ) also seems kind. Warm, but also strong.

Connors: … Dagna. She is enthusiastic. Bright. Reminds me of someone I once knew. 

Cyrus: Crushes? Nah. I don’t do that. (That’s a lie he has plenty: Hanin (pre-Skyhold), Iron Bull, Nyvera (if they ever met ofc - what a nightmare that would be), Maedwyn Lavellan ( @thedosian-cabbage ) because he just seems so charming and suave, Fael Lavellan ( @kurogoesinthedas ) because that man has a smirk that makes him weak at the knees, and Jarvaazim ( @taerellavellan ) because he’s a sexy rough-and-tumble pirate, what’s not to love?)

Ralon: That blonde guy. What’s his name? de Chevin or something? Yep. He’s a keeper. Bit cold where he likes to hang out, but it is a sacrifice I am willing to make. Also have a thing for that captain, Maleus ( @lavellanlove ). Man’s got a smile like a bonfire on a dark night. Would also go for Cassandra but I think she’d plant my face straight into a wall for trying…

Lyrene: Creators, that Katsuro ( @lavellanlove ) is just something else. Real hard to get, but that’s half the fun! But don’t get me started on Commander Cullen either. I’d climb him like a tree. And Sera! She’s hilarious. And Knight-Captain Rylen phew, yep… (it… goes on. She’s got a lot of love to give okay? haha)

destinyapocalypse  asked:

for TMI Tuesday; all of your OC's and their favorite comfort foods

(art by the ever-talented @destinyapostasy​) 

AVIRA: Amaranthine Sweet Vegetable Tarts
Considering the lack of space within Alienage walls, city elves had to make the most of all they had, making rooftop gardens a common sight. Food was often scarce, so they prioritized produce that didn’t take up much space and could keep for long periods of time, which made root vegetables such as potatoes, carrots, onions and garlic a staple of city elven cuisine. Since sugar was often too expensive to buy, most elven food was sweetened with honey, instead. Given the ingredients were readily available, sweet vegetable tarts were a common treat. Eating them still takes Avira back to life in the city.

KATSURO: Silent Plains Lentil Stew with Hard Rolls & Sweet Crumble
The cuisine of the Silent Plains reflects both the availability of ingredients in its arid, unforgiving terrain and its war-like history. Scarcity of water and fresh green vegetables have all had their effect on the food. Meals that can last for several days and can be eaten without heating are preferred. Lentil stew was well-balanced, filling, and with the deep fried bread combined with the sugary topping of the crumble, somewhat indulgent. As a child, Katsuro had been known to eat the crumble straight out of the bowl.

MALEUS: Rialto Oyster Chowder
With its expansive coastline and the abundant fish in the Rialto Bay, seafood is both a fact of life and a dietary staple in Rivain. But given that Llomerryn is a bustling trading hub, culinary influences from across Thedas can be seen in the food there. Maleus’ personal favorite is a Fereldan x Rivaini hybrid: bringing together some of the heartier elements of a Southern chowder with the spice palette and the fresh-yet-briny seafood of the North. He eats it with Llomerryn Red, but then, he eats almost everything with Llomerryn Red.

Recipes under the cut!

Keep reading

Sunday Services

Monsignore Matteo Gentile had been in the small village in the Piemont for almost forty years. He always wanted to be a priest. Of course he was conservative. But not because he was a priest but because he was raised by his father in that way. At the beginning, he wanted to make career and become a bishop; or at least a high administrative position in the Uffizi of the Vatican. But he had firm principles. Celibacy and abstinence were fixed for him, and he could not accept the excesses of some of the brethren. That is why he accepted this position as pastor in the remote village, not at least to escape the influence of the Vatican. Meanwhile, he enjoys life here, is respected and always a welcomed guest at festivals and in the local trattoria. The fact that his sermons now rarely contain quotes from the Bible, does not take him any offense. In his firm order, he lives a happy life far away from the machinations of the Vatican, and one often sees him sitting in his garden, his hands folded over his now respectable belly.


Like every Sunday, the Monsignore says goodbye to the visitors and has some warm words for every one after the service. When the last one has gone, he turns around, goes back inside and closes the door. There he heard a sound behind him. He turns round and sees a larger number of men sitting in the front benches. He goes through the ranks and finally recognizes the entire city council.

“What can I do for you, gentlemen?”

The mayor gets up and places in front of him.

“Monsignore, we have talk to you.”

“Yes, please, what is it about?”

“It’s about you.”

“About me?”

“Yes.”

The mayor turns around and looks at the faces of his colleagues, who signal their approval. Nevertheless, he is hesitating. Finally he gives himself a push.

“Monsignore, you had made this collection to help the starving children in Africa.”

“Yes. And I would like to thank you again for having donated so generously. ”

“Not for that. But now we have a problem and that is you. ”

“Me? How could I become a problem? I have passed all donations down to the last Cent. ”

“I have no doubt. It is only…”

The mayor makes a break.

“What is it? You know, that you may tell me everything. ”

The mayor gazes at the priest.

“Please do not become angry now. We thanked the bishop after the collection and also sent him a photo of you, with a request to support your community. ”

“What? What did you do? "The priest is visibly frightened. For years he had not been visited or audited. Was there anything that could be reproached? The mayor looks around and recognizes that the others look to the floor. He turns to the pastor.

“We only wanted the best. ”

“It’s okay. I understand you. ”

The mayor is pushed from behind. He clears his throat briefly.

“There is something else, Monsignore.”

“Yes?”

“You visit the trattoria frequently.”

“Twice a week. Why?”

“It’s Lenten season.”

The priest shrugs. Lent. So that is it. He tries to hide his nervousness.

“Oh, come on. You do not have to take that seriously. ”

The mayor looks around briefly.

“Pastor, in the name of the city council, I have to point out to you that the bishop has asked us to call you to account for that.”

“Call me to account?” the pastor becomes deadly serious.

“And how is that supposed to look like?”

“The bishop has decided that we shall arrest you so that you can be punished according to ecclesiastical law. You should recognize your repentances and repent. ”

“Punish me? You’re mad. You don’t know what that means. ”

“Of course we do not know exactly. But we are a strict Catholic community. You know just as we do that we are still part of the Vatican in ecclesiastical matters. And if the Vatican instructs us to execute a decision, we have to do it. That’s the way it is. ”

“But you do not necessarily have to punish me. An admonition should be enough. ”

“I am sorry. But  it is the photo. The bishop has informed us that, according to your appearance, you have been giving yourself up to years of gluttony, even in the Lent season. There is no space for an admonition at all. Do you agree? ”

“I do not agree to anything. Finally, everyone has to eat. This has nothing to do with gluttony. It is not my fault that I gain weigh faster than others.”

The mayor shrugs.

“I was hoping you would understand. We will now have to take the necessary steps. ”

The mayor beckons a man who has hitherto stood in the background.

“Explain it to him.”

“Explain? Explain what?”

The man stands in front of the pastor.

“Blessed be Jesus Christ, Monsignore. My name is Bernardo Donatelli. ”

“Yes , yes. In eternity. What do you want?”

“Monsignore, I am a law enforcement officer of the authorità giudiziaria of the Vatican. Maybe you’ve already seen me. I have been here for about a week and have been able to observe you. ”

“You’ve been observing me?”

“Rather accidental. Actually, I am here to execute the order of the bishop. I have the mission to accompany you to Rome and pass you to the judiciary. ”

The priest swallows dryly and his hands begin to tremble.

“You want to … .”

The mayor turns to the pastor and taps on his shoulder.

“Come on, Monsignore? You just go to Rome, you’ll explain everything and you’ll be back within a week. ”

“You do not understand that. You do not know what will happen to me there.”

The mayor looks at the man asking.

“It’s  just an interview, isn’t it?”

“Oh well. The judicial authorities are understaffed and overloaded. The Monsignore will therefore be assigned a cell until the start of the survey. Normally, it takes two or three months for the questioning to begin. ”

The Monsignore interrupts.

“Questioning. Just say you are torturing the detainees. Until you have the demanded statement. ”

“Monsignore, as you know, the type of questioning is precisely defined in the ‘Maleus Maleficarum’ since centuries ago. We can’t do anything but practice it. ”

“And then?” the mayor asks.

“Well, the statement is submitted to the responsible cardinal, and then the sentence will be laid down. ”

“And that means?”

“Look, the Vatican is not very progressive in its jurisprudence. But nobody will be sentenced to be burned alive anymore. It’s just because of air pollution. But in total, the punishment is in accordance with the papal encyclical of 1235. ”

“And that means?”

“Well, last week, for example, a gardener of the Vatican was whipped for being drunk at work. When he was pulled out in front of the spectators and tied, he screamed so loud that the executioner had to gag him. He got thirty strokes. And after about twenty he did he stop fighting. ”

The mayor swallows.

“You mean our Monsignore will be publicly whipped?”

“That depends on what he confesses during the interrogation. But the death penalty is confessed very rarely.”

“Death penalty? You still impose the death penalty? ”

“As I said, this is very very rare. The last was Bishop O'Brian from America. However, he obviously had put an eye on one of the Cardinals lovers. They should have been wheeled. ”

“Should?”

“The Pope has pardoned the little priest. He was hung then. But he had no mercy with the fat bishop. He put him on the wheel. At first he was quite calm when the servants tied his hands and feet to the scaffold.”

The man is standing with his legs spread apart, stretching out his arms to the side.

“They tied him in this position on a rack.”

The mayor looks at the priest, who swallows dryly, rubbing his wrists involuntarily.

“Even when the servants stretched him, he just groaned a bit. He did start to scream when the executioner raised the iron bar. "Mama!” He yelled and cried, like a little child. But the executioner did not bother at all. He smashed his iron rod against him, and broke his fat arms and legs. You cannot imagine the noise of a breaking bone. At first the lower arms, then the upper ones. The shins were even louder. The executioner had to hit the first thigh three times before the bone finally crashed, just because the bishop was so fat. For the second leg, he also needed two blows. All in all, the show lasted almost an hour. The bishop had also fainted again and again and had to be awakened before the next bone could be broken. At the end, the executioner smashed his chest. The blood swell from his mouth and nose.“

"Incredible,” the mayor whispers. His voice trembles and he wipes his head with a handkerchief.

“How can a man be put to death so cruelly?”

“You are wrong, Sir. The bishop was not dead yet. The Cardinal would have resented the executioner if he had been. The bishop was fixed on the scaffold at shoulders and hip and then was put upright to be displayed in the courtyard. The next day, he still alive with his broken bones, the executioner was allowed to redeem him. ”

“That’s horrible,” the mayor says aghast, “ he was still alive?“

"Of course he was. He realized everything. But at last the executioner put a rope around his neck and strangled him. That was quite fast. ”

The man looks to the priest, who sat down on the first bench heavily breathing and sweating.

“Well, this may happen to you if try to avoid your arrestment and are captured nevertheless. Anyway, he penalties for dignitaries are still quite drastic and harder than for ordinary mortals. You will have to face a public execution in any case and I am in doubt that it will be done with a few strokes with the whip. You should expect to hang. ”

“You mean our Monsignore will be hanged publicly?”

The man shrugs slightly and describes in detail how the priest will be undressed and then hung at the neck, slowly and with long breaks. The mayor and the other councillors can hardly conceal their excitement. Each of them imagines the naked, fat priest as he is pulled up at the neck by the executioner, struggling for his life and slowly suffocating and ejaculating.

“Stop that,” the pastor shouts. His face is painfully distorted.

“Perhaps the Cardinal sentences you to be impaled. This does not happen very often, but if he wants to show that he has something to say, this may happen again. This is, of course, a poor creaking. ”

“You should stop,” the priest roars.

The man turns to the city council.

“The condemned man gets his hands and feet tied on his back and then is placed on the top of a greased wooden pile. When the first part has penetrated into the intestine, the executioner lets him go and he slowly slips down. Some when the pile comes out of his mouth again. Very often, the condemned person is still alive then and only if the cardinal pardons him, the executioner may redeem him. ”

The pastor stares down to the ground. In his imagination he sees himself impaled in front of the cardinal. With a distorted face he looks up to the mayor.

“You would really pass me over to this justice?”

“I have to. Just to save my own skin. I do not want to think about what’s going to happen to me if it comes to public that I hid you.”

He looks at the man who answers with a smile.

“We are always prepared for the execution of several condemned.”

It remains quiet for a while. Finally, the priest looks at the man.

“But you can not sentence me to death just because I’m a bit fatter than others.”

“This may only happen if I have to take you with me and you are condemned for gluttony. In that case, your circumference is clearly against you. ”

“And if I accept the punishment? What would happen to me?”

“Well, in that case, I am empowered to execute a sentence.”

“And what is it?”

“I do not know that. I received the verdict in a sealed letter. But what ever it is, you will avoid a humiliating questioning and an execution in public. ”

The priest looks down and kneads his hands. Finally, he gets up and stands in front of the man.

“Signore Donatelli, I have made a mistake and ask for the execution of the sentence.”

The man turns to the members of the city council.

“Gentlemen, I want to ask you to be available as witnesses during the execution of the judgment.”

The mayor looks around and accepts the approval of his council colleagues. They press into the first two rows, and finally, only the man and the fat pastor stand in front of the altar.

“Monsignore, I accept your request.”

The man takes a letter out of the inner pocket of his jacket, breaks the seal, and holds it in front of him.

“The court of the Vatican condemns Monsignore Gentile to the following punishment because of violating the laws of the Curia:

                 , Castigo con cento colpi di frusta ’.

You know what that means? ”

The pastor swallows dryly and nods. Of course he understands enough Italian to understand that he is condemned to one hundred strokes with a cane.

“Please prepare yourself,” says the man, turns around and goes back a couple of rows.

The priest folds his hands in front of his belly, closes his eyes and begins to pray silently. When he opens his eyes again, the man stands with the cane in his hand two steps ahead of him. He drops his hands slowly.

“You may start. I’m ready.”

The man leaves the fat pastor standing for a few seconds until the pastor looks at him questioningly.

“Please drop your cassock.”

The priest turns to the mayor and looks at him imploringly. But the mayor remains silent, and so the priest begins to unbutton the cassock from the neck to the belly. He strips it over the shoulders so that his upper body is exposed with the white, sleeveless under shirt. In front of his belly he holds the cassock with both hands and waits. But the man does not say anything. The priest looks at him a little embarrassed and takes a step towards him.

“Signore, please. I do not wear any pants. The summer and the heat, you know?” he whispers.

“I only ask you to undress your cassock. So please. ”

“You do not ask me seriously to present myself here in underwear in front the city council.”

“Monsignore, please. Or do you want to accompany me to Rome? ”

The fat pastor sighs deeply, then opens one, two buttons more, looks up to the ceiling and lets the cassock slip to his feet. Now he stands only in the shirt, large white shorts, socks, and garters in front of his tormentors. As he lowers his gaze, he looks into their grinning faces. They hardly can control themselves not to laugh out loudly. Embarrassed, he plays with his fingers in front of his belly.

“And now the shirt.”

The fat pastor pulls the shirt out of the shorts. In doing so, the waistband slides upwards over his belly. Then he pulls it over his head and drops it down. The fat pastor is nervous. He is embarrassed to stand with his naked fat belly in front of the city council. He does recognizes how they are struggling not to lough and gets a bit angry.

“Have you never seen a man in his underwear?”

The city councils roar with laughter and it takes a while until they have calmed down.

“I’m sorry, Monsignore. But we did not expect you to wear garters. ”

The pastor blushes. He fingers at his shorts, does not know what to do with his hands. In front of him the man pulls out his jacket and puts it aside. He takes the cane again and whips it through the air a few times, creating a sharp, whistling noise.

“Buono. Let’s get started.”

The fat pastor swallows and wants to turn around slowly.

“Did anyone tell you to turn around?”

“I thought…”

The fat pastor slowly turns back again. Keeps hands clasped in front of his belly.

“My… belly?”

“Yes. Your belly.”

“But you can’t…”

“Shall I take you with me to Rome?”

The fat pastor slowly shakes his head.

“So what. And now, please, stand in attention, raise your body and take your head up.”

The thickness slowly follows the commands. He straightens and lets his hands hang down at the side. After all, he stands in front of the man.

“Put your hands on your back.”

The priest hesitates, his fingers twitching uneasily.

“Shall we tie you up?”

The pastor shakes his head. Slowly he takes his hands backwards and clasps them on his back. He is getting scared. Sweat beads on his forehead and he begins to tremble slightly.

“Now let your stomach out.”

The fat pastor distorts his face. Tears are in his eyes as he bends back his upper body and by this bulge his belly. The mayor on the bench grins and looks around. All the councillors sit grinning in the bank rows, a few nodding approvingly. He turns around again and sees the man approaching the pastor and reaching into the waistband of his shorts, which is still high above his belly. The fat pastor slowly shakes his head.

“No. Please don’t do that. Not even my pants. ”

“No fear. I just have to uncover your belly completely. ”

He pushes the waistband downwards until it runs below the paunch of the fat priest and he has to present his belly naked and unprotected. Then the man steps back and places himself in front of his victim. He takes the cane into his right hand and lifts it over his head. He hesitates once more, then he strikes.

                                           - whuittt

One can hear the whistling sound, and then the priest jerks, his hands quickly snapping at his belly and he bends slightly forward. The man is waiting.

“Step back. And stop moving or we’ll cancel the execution immediately. ”

The fat pastor nods. He slowly gets up again. As he takes his hands back, he is trembling. Cold sweat appears on his forehead and he realizes that his penis begins to stiffen. Silently he begins to pray to control his erection. The man has already lifted his hand again, and when the priest is leaning back, the cane whistles through the air and draws a thin line on his white lard. Again the fat pastor twitches. But this time he remains standing in position, presenting his paunch to the man for the punishment. The man lifts the cane again and again and hits his victim from left and right over his unprotected fat satchel. Quietly, evenly and precisely, the blows hit the pastor’s white lard. The pastor holds his breath, moaning suppressed at every stroke. Each blow creates a thin line, which becomes visible after a few seconds later. But in between the next blows have already hit him. The lines, which are barely visible at first, become darker and slightly bulge by time. As the punishment goes on, the pastor’s pains increas. Tears run down his face. Again and again, a piercing pain rushes through him when the cane hits him and makes him moan softly. The man works precisely and systematically. He started at the height of the navel where braces usually hold the waistband of the priest’s trousers, and a slight, circumferential indention is visible. First, the marks crawl upward one by one. The man moves slightly so that the straps spread from the right, over the centre to the left side. Just before he reaches the priest’s breasts, he stops. The priest breathes deeply. He believes that his punishment is finished, relaxes his body, and bends his head forward to have a look at his wounds.

“Please take your position again, Monsignore.“

The fat man looks disbelieving at his counterpart. His mouth trembles and tears shoot into his eyes.

"Please,” he says with a trembling voice. “Please have mercy, please.”

“Monsignore, the verdict is clear and has to be executed. So please take your position.”

The pastor looks to the mayor, who shrugs his shoulders.

“I have no influence. But I am sure you will make it.”

The priest takes his hands on his back, looks upwards, and stretches his belly slightly forward. He waits for the next strike, and suddenly realizes how his low hanging shorts are getting wet and warm fluid is running down his legs. It only takes seconds until he stands in a puddle of his urine and his socks are completely soaked.

“That fatso pees,” he hears from the side.

He begins to sob unhampered in fear and shame. Then the next blow hits him, this time below the navel. Once again, Bat hits the bat. Exactly, evenly, rhythmically. The pastor twitches at each stroke, tightens the upper body, and thus bends it slightly backwards. Each blow leaves a new mark on the white lard that overlaps the waist of his shorts. The marks slowly crawl downwards. But the man well trained and avoids hitting the thighs or even the priest’s genitals. Finally, the belly is covered from top to bottom with almost parallel red strokes. The man lowers the cane and looks at his result. The fat pastor is standing there in wet underpants, crying nearly noiseless. He has hardly moved his belly for punishment and laid his head on his neck. The first bats on the navel have now swollen to reddish caterpillars and the others will look exactly like this within the next few minutes. The man stands next to the priest, puts a hand on his neck and slightly presses against it. The pastor hesitates until he finally stands straight again. The man puts himself once again in position, lifts the cane and now alternately hits the fat priest’s breasts. He starts at the level of the shoulders and hits the nipples precisely with the last two strokes. The fat priest cries out in pain and can just prevent himself from falling to the ground. The man looks at the priest from top to bottom and turns to the councillors and the mayor.

“The verdict is enforced.”

The councillors stand up and clap their hands. He puts the cane aside and pulls his jacket on. Then he turns to his victim. The priest still stands there, softly crying and stretching his stomach forward. The man walks up to him, pets on his shoulder.

“We’re done, Monsignore. You may dress up again. ”

The fat man takes his hands forward, and protects his wounded belly. He howls unrestrained and he is still standing there, when the councillors leave the church. The mayor takes the man aside briefly.

“Is that true with Rome?”

“That’s true. Failures of dignitaries may still end at the hangman. The Monsignore knows this. Gluttony during the fasting period, for example, is something like that; if it becomes public. But also a number of other things are still sentenced with corporal punishments. ”

“What would our monsignore have to expect?”

“It’s difficult to say that exactly. A cardinal at his own discretion determines the sentence. As I said, nobody will be burned.”

“Would you do a punishment again here? Let’s say if I report another offense? ”

“Probably. But some when Rome will no longer be avoidable. ”

The mayor looks to the priest, who has dressed up again and leaves the church through the side entrance with heavy steps.





The pastor opens the front door and enters the house. Every movement hurts and he moans softly. When he puts his hat on the wardrobe, his housekeeper looks out of the kitchen.

“Oh, that’s nice that you’re already there. The coffee is ready. ”

“Thank you, Signorina Agnes. But I don’t want anything at the moment. ”

He goes straight into his room and closes the door. The housekeeper looks at him in astonishment. She turns off the stove and sneaks to the bedroom door. Behind the door she hears the priest silently groaning. She knocks cautiously.

“Can I do anything for you?”

“No thanks. I’m fine. ”

She shrugs and goes back to the kitchen. But she barely got there and hears the priest leaving his room. She goes back, looks into the room and sees the blood stained lower shirt lying on the chair. She turns back on the spot, goes to the bathroom and pushes the latch down. The door is locked.

“Monsignore, you open the door at once and let me help you.”

She hears the priest walking behind the door. Then the key turns. The housekeeper carefully opens the door. In front of her stands the fat priest with his naked belly in his wide underpants and on socks with the black garters. His belly is covered all over with bloody streaks. In one hand he holds a wet towel. Tears run down his face.

“What happened to you?”

Before the priest is able to say anything, the housekeeper touches one of the wounds with her finger. The fat man twitches in pain and covers his belly

“They whipped me,” he finally whimpers.

“Who?”

“The Vatican. And the whole town council was watching. ”

The housekeeper hurried to the phone, dials a number and waits.

“Doctor? You have to come here immediately. Yes; il Monsignore.  Something serious happened.”

She turns to the priest.

“The Doctor’s will be here right away. Does your back look like that? ”

The fat pastor shakes his head. The housekeeper gets his hand and takes him out of the bath.

“Come with me. There is something in my kitchen that will help you. ”

The priest waddles behind her into the kitchen and watches her emptying the big table.

“Please lay down.”

She begins to rummage in some cupboards. When she turns around, the priest still stands.

“Well, what’s up? I have to nurse your wounds. ”

“I do not think that’s necessary. You know, it does not hurt that much anymore. ”

The housekeeper stands close to him and again pushes a finger on one of the wounds. The fat man twitches, groaning with pain.

The doorbell rings.

“That will be the doctor. And you lay on the table now. ”

The fat pastor nods and goes to the table. He turns around, sits on top of it, lets his massive body slowly sink to the side and turns on his back heavily. He groans in pain. The housekeeper comes in with the young doctor. She helps the pastor raise his feet on the table, whereas the fat man groans once more. The doctor bends over him.

“That looks terrible. What happened?”

“I..”

“He’s been whipped. Isn’t that disgusting? ”

While the doctor is still examining the pastor, the housekeeper fetches a large bottle from one of the cabinets.

“You have to go to the hospital. But first I’ll give you something against the pain. ”

The doctor rummages a box out of his pocket.

“Relax. Your pain will subside immediately. ”

The pastor lets his hands sink down beside his body, and lays his head back on the table.

“Please, not the hospital.”

“It will not be possible to avoid it.”

Then the doctor notices the housekeeper with the bottle in her hand.

“What’s that?”

“Some old home made medicine. Mainly olive oil, but with all kinds of herbs. I will put it on the wounds, and then you’ll see how fast the pain vanishes. ”

The doctor looks sceptical.

“It certainly does not make anything worse. But the hospital … ”

And soon the housekeeper pours a hefty shot on the priest’s belly and immediately begins to spread the oil with the other hand. The fat pastor twitches as the housekeeper touches him, but he immediately realizes how the oil starts to work and relaxes.

“That’s really good,” he murmurs.

“Of course. But now please tell me why you have been treated that way.”

“As a punishment,” the fat man mumbles.

“Punishment for what.”

“They said I would be immoderate and would not keep fasting. And that’s why I’m way too fat. ”

“But that’s crazy.”

The housekeeper again puts a large shot of oil on the naked belly and distributes it with large, circular movements.

“For me, a good priest must have a proper stomach. What would anybody think about my cooking? And my girl friends think the same way.”

The fat pastorsmiles slightly. He realizes how a heavy fatigue falls upon him. The doctor is astonished to see how the wounds are changing. They become paler and shrink. Besides, he immediately notices the intense smell.

“May I ask what’s in there?”

“Olive oil with a few herbs. Sage, lavender, camphor and a few other ingredients. ”

“Not by chance also marijuana?”

“Oh well. A little. The stuff is growing in the garden like weeds and it helps. ”

“This is illegal Signorina Agnes.”

She ignores the doctor, rubs the priest’s belly and the doctor assists her. The pastor breathes quietly and closes his eyes slowly. He begins to grunt as they oil up his lard and gently massage it with their fingers. A pleasant warmth flows through him. He breathes deeply and calmly, while his flayed paunch is caressed and kneaded. The doctor looks at the fat man and feels the soft body under his hands. A few weeks ago, when the monsignore was in his office, he had advised him to reduce his weight. But now as he looks at him lying there and massaging his fat, he thinks that he is all right. Of course the little pastor is too fat. But somehow everything fits together. He is bit too small, but round and healthy. Then he gently pushes the underpants down until the still covered part of his body is naked. The priest wants to protest, raises a hand. But the housekeeper pushes it back to the table.

“Just stay calm. Nothing will happen to you. The doctor is a doctor and I was a nurse. ”

“Yes. Yes. Nurse.” he says, visibly dazed.

The pastor lays down again, groaning and painfully and cramping. The housekeeper pours another shot of oil on the belly, and the doctor begins to rub the lower part of the belly. He shortly slips with the oiled hand through the pubic hair of the pastor and touches something hard, metallic. The doctor immediately has a suspicion.

“Signorina Agnes, would you please leave us alone now?”

“Why? I’ve seen naked men very often. ”

“Signorina Agnes, please.”

The housekeeper sullenly leaves her kitchen. When the door falls into the lock, the doctor takes a pair of scissors and carefully begins to cut the pastor’s shorts lengthwise. The priest winds and groans painfully.

“It’s a sin,” he murmurs, without being properly awake.

When the Doctor puts the fabric aside, he sees his suspicion confirmed: 

the priest’s penis and testicles are forced into a cage of thin wires. The priest’s erected penis squeezes through the interspaces. The doctor moves the cage slightly to see how he could open it. But every movement lets the priest groan in pain. Still half asleep he mutters again and again:

“It’s a sin. Stop it. It’s a sin. ”

“It is, above all, a sin to mutilate oneself, Sir.”

He rummages in the drawer of the table and actually finds a little pliers. Carefully he starts to cut the wires one after the other and so slowly release the penis. The fat man starts to mumble.

“Father, forgive me. Father, forgive me. ”

Finally, the cage is removed from penis and testicles. It has left deep scratches and some blood seeps out of a few injuries. The doctor takes a shot of the oil on one hand and gently applies it on the pastors unprotected glans and then slowly, carefully slips the pushed back foreskin over the glans again. Then he starts to massage the oil gently onto the maltreated genitalia. The priest rolls from side to side a few times half asleep. He notes how his penis slowly stiffens for the first time in years without pain, and lets it do so willingly. Finally, he is on his back again and grunts comfortably. The doctor is amazed at how quickly the wounds heal.

“That’s so good,” the pastor suddenly mutters.

The doctor shrugs briefly. He suddenly becomes aware that the small fat priest is naked, dressed only with socks and garters; lies all oiled up on the kitchen table, and the pastor’s erected penis gently slide through his hand. He opens his hand a little frightened and places it on the priest’s thigh. He looks at the bouncing penis, which shows no signs of slackening, and is really  impressed that this fat, rather old man is capable of such a solid and persistent erection. The priest slowly opens his eyes and lifts his head. He looks at the doctor.

“What…?”

The doctor pets his thigh.

“Relax, please.”

The fat man smiles and lies down again. The doctor takes another sip of oil in the palms of his hands, gently holding the priest’s short but thick penis with one hand. He pushes the foreskin back again and closes the dark red glans with his oily hand while he begins to massage the priest’s testicles with the other. The fat man groans gently, beginning to move his hips easily. The doctor feels the movements and opens the hand so that the glans glides through his hand only gently touched by his fingers. 

The minutes pass by. The fat priest rolls his body slowly from side to side and moves his hard penis in the hand of the doctor. He groans deeply at every breath, and now and then his massive body trembles in excitement. The priest suddenly cries out dark and loud and wakes up. Slowly he perceives that the groaning and snorting sounds are his own. Hesitantly, he opens his eyes. Then suddenly he becomes aware of what is happening. He gasps for air with his red face, blows out the air with bloated cheeks. He bends his legs as if to fight back. But he is much too excited to really want that.

 "Please,“ he repels. He is close to ejaculate and starts to bump with his pelvic violently. The doctor notices how some sperm appears on the tip of the dark red glans. He wonders if it is perhaps due to the herbs that this fat little man is capable of such a powerful and long lasting erection as suddenly the fat body cramps, and under the pastor’s twitching movements the sperm ejects explosion like in a thick beam. 

Two, three times a beam shoots out and the sperm spreads in thick blots on the oily belly of the pastor before his orgasm changes to a pulsating flow of sperm. The pastor only remotely records that he winds, diabolically twitches with the pelvic, and a surge of sperm rushes out of his penis. At the same time his eyes turn back and a deep, grunting sound escapes his wide opened mouth. Two, three times, he pounces with the pelvic. Then his fat body relaxes and he is lying on the table gasping for air. The doctor takes his hand away from the priest’s genitals. He gets up, wipes the thick dripping sperm from his hands and cleans the priest. He has to smile as he discovers a drop of sperm on the priest’s left breast and with a small movement wipes it away. Once again he looks down at the small, round pastor who is now lying deeply snoring on the table. He takes another tablecloth and covers him with it.

Hours later the priest wakes up. Frightened, he realizes that he is still lying on the kitchen table and is completely naked. He cumbersome gets up and rolls off the table, covering himself with the tablecloth.

"What happened?”

“You fell asleep. And because I couldn’t get you to bed, I just let you sleep here. Do you still have pains? ”

The priest runs his belly with one hand.

“No. Just blown away. You are a sorceress. ”

He wants to turn around to leave the kitchen, when a piercing pain in the testicles makes him squirm. He gets dizzy and has to lean at the table. The housekeeper realizes this and says smiling:

“These are just a few side effects. But it’s over within an hour. And tomorrow you should visit the doctor; after the regular opening hours. ”

“Yes, of course,” the priest stammers, waddling on socks out of the kitchen. On his way to his bedroom he lets his hand slip down to his genitals and frightens as he touches his penis. It is unprotected.





Epilogue

The whole next day the pastor was upset. How could this doctor do that? Without his permission?

Even when he enters the office he is in a rage. He wants to excoriate the doctor, but before he is able to start his rumble the doctor apologizes. The pastor did not expect that. And the doctor does not only apologize, he also shows understanding and places a number of cock cages on his desk. All certified to prevent intentional or unwanted masturbation and sperm drainage without causing damage to the genitals.

The priest is amazed. When the doctor puts bottle of red wine and two glasses on the table, his face is brightens.

They talk for hours; about knowledge and faith, morality and action, love and hate, God and the world. The little fat priest understands why the doctor had to ignore his vow to avert mutilations and the doctor understood why the priest had to lock up his genitals in anticipation not to do the same as many of his religionists.

It was at dawn, when the little, fat priest chose one of the cages and got his penis locked by the doctor. The cage was heavy; solid; trustworthy.

The doctor promised to visit the Sunday services more often and to also to meet the pastor in the trattoria. And the priest promised to visit the doctor for an examination every six weeks.

kittenskawaii  asked:

This may be an odd question but; is there such thing as 'Christian Wicca' I'm Christian and such brought up that way by family and blah blah - but I don't exactly believe everything I hear that way - I have done some research on Wicca and Paganism and some aspects of it; I was just curious if there was a way to follow a path without fully giving up a christian like belief system? Any help would be greatly appreciated.

Hey there, this is actually a question I’ve been asked several times and while some people disagree with me I have to firmly say “no.” I am sorry for the essay long post I am about to embark upon. But I’ve thought really long and hard about why I think that these two religions are mutually exclusive from one another. Also, I took way too many comparative religion classes.

Why?

Because being Wiccan means you believe in the God and the Goddess. You see them as equals and opposites. They are the opposing energies that make up the world and the life in it.

As a Wiccan you believe in the Three Fold Law and the Wiccan Rede. These are integral to the practice of the faith.

There are several problems with trying to reconcile practicing these two faiths at the same time.

1) People have made the argument that Wiccans see all gods and goddesses who have been worshiped throughout time as aspects of the God and Goddess, so why not use them in the Wiccan faith, why not just replace the Goddess with the Virgin Mary and the God with the Christian God? And at first I was like, “Yeah why not?”

Then I thought about it, and the more I thought about it the less it clicked.

Why? Because the God and Goddess are supposed to be equals. And the Virgin Mary and God are not depicted that way. In truth on multiple occasions throughout the Bible and throughout the history of its use women have been vilified and belittled.

There is an instance in the Bible where a woman who was raped was given to her rapist as a wife. (Judges, Chapter 19 verses 24-25)

A woman was called a possession, That she should be subjugated with silence. And that a woman could never have any authority over a man (Timothy, Chapter 2, verses 11-14)

A wife belonged completely too the man who married her and she couldn’t say no to anything he said…no matter what. (Ephesians, Chapter 5, verses 22-24)

And don’t even get me started on Ecclesiastics…dude had some serious issues. That whole section is riddled with hate against women.

Why does this matter? Why can’t you just say that you believe in god but you think women are neat? Can’t you just ignore the bible?

No, you can’t. No more than a Wiccan can ignore the Rede.

Also, Because the female energy is so vigorously ignored or hated in the Christian religion. If you are Wiccan you believe that female energy creates. It is worshiped and admired. Every person has the energy of the Goddess alive within them…you cannot belittle this energy and the vessel of its creation.

And no…it’s not in the past. Just look around and you’ll know that to be true.

2)  Thou shalt have no other Gods before me. This is a Christian commandment. It’s very straightforward and strict. It does not leave a lot of leeway room here, now does it? As a Wiccan there are holidays and moments when the Goddess is above and revered more than the God.

I always found it funny that the Bible didn’t say that there weren’t other gods…only that you can’t worship them. Neat.

3) If you don’t agree with 99.9% of a faith then you probably shouldn’t be practicing it. Take that in. I know that sounds really rude and strict but note I’m not telling you what you should practice. I’m telling you that I know, for a fact, that a lot of people cling to a faith because it is a way of connecting with your family and friends. The moment you tell people of strict religions that you aren’t one of them you can become very outcast.

Trust me. I know.

But I am telling you to be brave. I am telling you that it’s okay to step away from something that you don’t believe in. You don’t have to make any decisions about your faith or your beliefs right away. It’s okay.

Christianity has something a lot of other faiths don’t have. it has the divine fear factor. Christianity states that if you don’t believe in God and follow his way you will end up burning for eternity. That’s actually a really great religious sales pitch. “Hey, we got this faith over here, all you gotta do is accept Jesus, go to church and you will spend eternity in Heaven. And if you don’t, you gotta go to this place of pain, death, and torture.”

Wow. That’s rude. And terrifying. So there is a LOT of fear about leaving the Christian church.

4) Okay, now my final concern here is that you are using the term Wiccan and Witchcraft interchangeably. Wicca is a belief system. Witchcraft is a skill and talent. You can be a Christian Witch…but your own faith kinda frowns on that, don’t believe me? Look up Maleus Maleficarum.

I’m sorry for making this sort of a rant. But I think this subject matters.

Chrysalis

chaitea09  asked:

Maleus!

PROS:

  • Ray of sunshine, a delight to be around.
  • Up for anything.
  • Soft and good, but will go all Armada on anyone who wrongs you.
  • Great taste in wine.
  • Easygoing. Cool as a cucumber.
  • Smooth in many languages.
  • Has no preconceptions of what love should look like.
  • Pays for everything. Spares no expense.
  • Loves any gift you ever gave him.
  • Would never, ever hurt you.
  • Empathetic, wants to make your life better.
  • Passionate. Makes grand gestures of affection.
  • A+ kisser. Highly smoochable. 

CONS:

  • You probably won’t be able to keep up with the level of gift giving.
  • Feels unworthy of love but yearns for it.
  • Might try to cuddle a one night stand.
  • Can be possessive if he’s worried about losing you.
  • Sensitive. Would probably cry if you yelled at him.
  • Is uncomfortable asking for things he needs.
  • Tol. Hard to reach for smooches if u aren’t also tol.
  • Serious family drama. 
  • Probably won’t work if you get seasick.
  • Takes everything personally.
  • Can’t handle conflict or confrontation.
  • Gets really down when you’re down.
  • Absurdly ticklish.

(re: Dating Meme)

Por Tudo Que For

E depois,
A luz se apagou
E eu não consigo mais ficar sozinho aqui
Sem você é tão ruim, não tem sentido, prazer
Não há nada
Por favor,
Não me interpreta mal
Eu não queria nem devia te magoar
O vento vem, o tempo vai
Passa por mim meio assim, meio assim devagar
Vou dormir sentindo
O que a solidão pode fazer
Há um ser ferido, por saber que o erro era meu 
(só meu)
Já passou,
Agora já passou
Mas foi tão triste que eu não quero nem lembrar
Ver você, ter você
E querer mais de nós dois não tem nada demais
E pensar
Você aparecer
Pela janela tão bonita de manhã
Vem pra mim e não vai mais
Me abraça, me abraça, me abraça
Por tudo que for…