Sopef Log
Filtered by Feminine Potential
Suitable for lesbians, Aristasians, etc. ;-) Masculine entities may only directly penetrate this filter in overtly non-sexual settings. Also works for males who are squicked by the presence of cocks and cum. For a complete view of recent entries, see the Log frontpage.
N.b., I have not been focused on sapphic or ambisexually-narrated material for the past few months. This page should improve in that direction as I flesh it out and work through the kinks in my taxonomic scheme.
Sex and Music in Ambient Society
I can discuss in polite and intellectual company my love for music; and none will think me the worse for it, nay, all will laud me. Yet it is not so of sex. An I broach the topic and explicate my love of sex in all its depth and profundity, I am branded a pervert, a degenerate—the very nadir of filth in society.
Why must this be so? Music and sexuality are truly more alike than not. Both are sensual pleasures that originate in the physical realm, yet may reach so much farther. Both speak wonders and emotions that defy the best of poets to express in words. Both may be fast or slow, hard or soft, heavy and ponderous or light-hearted and casual.
And on the ugly side, each may be so terribly corrupted by those of a loathsome bent. Yet when I speak of music, people understand I speak of Bach; while whilst I extoll the virtues of my [archetypal sexual actress 1], people turn in disgust, self-deluded by the decadencies of their own souls and loins, and thusly blinded to the beauty I describe.
Such are the prejudices of men in ambient society.
1 In my original notes, I used a neologism that has no proper translation in current English. After I have formally defined the word, I shall substitute it back on this page. The best brief construction I can currently offer is “a (female) person who engages in sexual action”, with denotations of certain ideals, roles, rôles, and relationships in a larger context. —JQ
| Filed by Jonathan Quince | Friday, August 18, 2006 14:12:47 | Permanent Link |
Lip-Locked Quartet
Damsels of empassion’d hearts
Who sapphic pleasures lust to seek
May twice by two engage the arts
Of flutt’ring stomachs and knees gone weak.
Yea, two-squared advantage best
May they take of intimate bliss:
For each of womankind is bless’d
With dual lips with which to kiss.
In sylph-like superior osculation,
Lips north and south join exaltation.
A single pair is juxtaposed,
Poles turn’d about to unify:
For in each others’ arms enclosed,
Flesh fused dost electrify.
Or face-to-face, the duet may
See eye-to-eye and cunt-to-cunt;
Closeness is unmatched this way:
Breast-to-breast and front-to-front.
Yet this duet may multiply—
Four do now together lie.
Two by two speak tongue to tongue,
And two by two press lips to lips;
Yet two lovers dost each lover kiss:
One with her mouth, one ’twixt her hips.
Legs entwin’d, they lengthwise lay
With heads at each end of the line,
Words needed not: As fused mouths may
Commune, as may each midpoint writhe.
Two pairs kiss, and two pairs grind,
For pleasures, body, soul, and mind.
Kisses aren’t all joys in bed,
Yet kisses for the soul do speak;
Thus, let it be more often said,
Girls kissing girls stoke fires unique.
The female doth the female match
In chords of spiritual harmony;
Mouths, breasts, and cunts fit to attach
As psyche mirrors physicality.
And circuit doubled to quartet,
Those four may find kissing bliss kismet.
| Filed by Jonathan Quince | Friday, August 11, 2006 20:55:52 | Permanent Link |
My Audio Virginity: Now a Gang-Bang
[Updated 2006-01-04! Downloads below.]
Unto you, dear readers, I present the official surrender of my audiorecording virginity. As any first-timer, of course, I am giddily excited but a bit unsure of my footing; hear my first shy steps as I learn my editing program, then gain some control over my plosives. I shall learn yet, yes—and you may expect far more in the future as I learn to ply my (microphone) instrument with a bit more skill, for in this realm of media, I have plans, indeed.
Thusly am I deflowered that I might bloom.
Now, it seems my defloration night did turn into a gang-bang. Enjoy the wanton excess as I have pushed myself to my limits, determined as I was to put forth the following sextuple acts:
- Orgiastic Fluid Exchange: Elixirs Crossed in Text & Audio
- The Joy of Getting Knocked Up: Unto Life in Text & Audio
- Male-On-Female Passion: Frenzy in Text & Audio
- Spirit: Interlude in Text & Audio
- An I Be A Whore: Hath Not A Whore Eyes? in Text & Audio
- The Spirits Speak: Humanity’s Piaculum & Recrudescent Call for Humanity’s Piaculum in Original Text/Followup Text & Audio
Acknowledgements: My thanks to Audacity, LAME, FLAC, BitTorrent/Bram Cohen, and all the other essential free tools I have used tonight or I plan to draw on for my audio content creation and distribution enterprise.
| Filed by Jonathan Quince | Tuesday, January 3, 2006 00:11:47 | Permanent Link |
She
In my mind, a paragon of beauty stands naked and proud at my beloved dream-pool’s edge. She knows aught of villainy or corruption, for she is pure; and as the rain-drops fall from the moon’s silv’ry sky, her skin is wreath’d by an aura of crystal sparks. Each spark is also a prickling point ’pon the senses of her skin: Chill and bracing to match her heat, wet to match the flows in her heart or loins. You have yet to meet her, but she haunts me in my dreams; and if she comes to visit you, I bid ye, make love to her until the stars overhead are matched by those in your heart, in your blood, ’fore your eyes.
| Filed by Jonathan Quince | Thursday, December 29, 2005 00:52:53 | Permanent Link |
Recrudescent Call for Humanity’s Piaculum
It is not without some small churning of grief in my heart that I come, today, to reissue and renew the call for humanity’s piaculum to be sent forth unto me. Such times are upon us of change and decision that further delays may gravely impact upon the world’s future course: Promises made must be kept for promises given, and failings further do indubitably endanger the hope that a new era offers for humankind.
An epoch is come of decay, stench, and filth. In the midst of civil decline, I stand firm in declaring that a return to barbarism of times past is not an option. The choice, thence and henceforth, is binary: Either we rise and bring humanity to a new course of growth in purity, or we exit o’er the downfall in total of the thusly-failed human experiment. Portents of doom match those of hope step for step; be the race won, we rejoice, yet be it lost, I wash my hands and move out, sad but sure, to worthier waters and more-rewarding projects.
The call, then, is clear: Corruption must be vanquished. The future of humankind on the outside shall be firmly matched to the future of humankind’s heart; and if erasure of corruption within thus requires the extinguishment of future’s history without, then so be it. No longer shall savages of the soul, lowsome beings, be let to masquerade in the glorious achievement that is the human form. If human potential cannot be saved, then neither shall human existence.
And the call, as so stated, must start with the individual. Units of purity are amassed soul by soul, heart by heart, mind by mind; only so much may be accomplished in the crowd when faces that promise cover hearts wrought with lies. The individual, indeed, is unitary in origin and nature: Such is a fact hugged tight to the purpose, the potential, for which this experiment was indeed begun.
So, show me one: Let us start now with one. An ordinary human, neither god nor goddess, who glimmers as a bright spark amongst the masses of seething rot—so shall be the spark that is the start of salvation. Shewn to me and yielded to my hand, let this one be my hope, be my guide, be example and paragon as proof positive that perhaps yet there is hope for the others, the all.
Yet e’en as I impose this simple demand, I realize how difficult it is. Yea, whereas the ancients, in corruption, worshipped gods who demanded sacrifice of human life unto death: I say with contempt for them, death is easy, death is cheap. And cheapness shall fill the place for aught in my search for death to be vanquished. Life, and righteous living—this is the new demand of new gods, a new order, a new sacrifice.
Grief is a heavy burden indeed; yet sleep eternal is an escape from the purpose for which human seed were sewn on this Earth. Show, give unto me that soul strong enough to hold the burden of joy—joy so pure and joy so demanding, it is a rare element to shine scarcer than gold. And give me such in a human, one to become one womb for all man’s future hope.
Show me one so beautiful; give me one so pure. Let me weep in joy as I embrace her and take her to my hand. I shall take her and shape her and make her in the image of her highest potential. And by eyes so bright and a mind thus steady, I shall ordain her to a new purpose additional to herself in sich: To use her, to show the gods that human purity exists, to trade the sight of her visage for a future of human hope.
Time’s march is nay but inexorable as ever it was. The gods are waiting, their hearts heavy and patience weary. I warn ye, tarry not.
| Filed by Jonathan Quince | Saturday, October 22, 2005 14:40:29 | Permanent Link |
A Technical Hiatus
I have lately been embarking on a bit of a “teχy” holiday, so to speak. Fear not, little lambs, for I shall return anew—anew, yes, with projects in the pipeline that fulfill and extend the promises of which I have yet but merely hinted.
While I may technically be on hiatus, I am far indeed from the ills of idle oblivion. And naturally, Sopef.org shall serve as my central point of announcements to the public. Watch not yet with bated breath, but watch ye yet with care for the ideas and ideals of beauty that, with good time, shall be put forth upon this stage.
| Filed by Jonathan Quince | Wednesday, July 13, 2005 20:57:01 | Permanent Link |
She in the Forest
As I sat upon the clearing’s ledge, looking out into the forest, the stillness was upon me; and ’though the quietude of woodland wonder broke not for any visible movement, save the insects on the ground and the birds in the trees and creatures of every stripe making home in their nests, a wave of motion swept over my being. I was overtaken, for She was there—She was beside me, above me, inside me, surrounding me and touching me, holding my spirit as a mother or a lover cradles one beloved to her chest. And Her fingertips upon my spirit were felt by my body—yes, as a physical caress; for the power of Her being was, is, and will e’er yet be a monument of universal Force, and what was in spirit today, was in flesh yester-evening and may yet be again on the morrow’s morn.
Air shimmered around me in the late-evening light; and very nearly did I see Her in full and brilliant form.
| Filed by Jonathan Quince | Thursday, June 23, 2005 19:41:19 | Permanent Link |
The Focus
The warmth of his breath broke the cool pre-dawn stillness as he reached the mountain peak; liquid frost issued forth from his lips, melting away to become dew for a new day’s good morning. Tendrils of chill air teased the heat of his skin, tantalizing muscles fresh from a climb with the promise of warm daylight soon to come. He sat down upon an enormous mountain rock, challenging its hardness with his, nestling comfortably into the textures of a face weather-beaten for time older than history; and the living creatures of that habitat did witness a statue sitting carved upon the stone, a figure seated utterly motionless but for the pulse at his neck and the slow, measured rhythm of his breath in his chest.
Looking out to the eastern horizon, he waited; as stars faded from the sky and greyness swept the world, he counted and enjoyed each precious moment, savoring the time of a new day in the making.
The world turned beneath him; and as if for an artwork meant for his eyes alone, the horizon bloomed with colors, Light’s trumpet silently shining to announce the coming of the Sun.
Brilliance swept the sky and bathed the world at his feet. He became one with the rock, with the mountain, with the Earth herself as he watched and felt and drank of the brilliance, imbibing such nourishment as bread for his spirit. Bowing in his will before the glory of Nature, he opened himself to be touched by it; and thusly, thereby, was he gifted to touch the sacred and sublime.
In the moment, he was purified.
As the light melted and melded and turned to gold—as the sun broke the horizon with the glare of its fiery visage, declaring by its presence that a new day had arrived—he meditated upon the light, and he was certain of what he must do. He stood, rising from the rock in one swift, silent motion, and turned, walking down toward the door of his workshop.
| Filed by Jonathan Quince | Sunday, May 22, 2005 19:41:06 | Permanent Link |
[ Log Archive ]
[ XML RSS Feed ]
[ 1,556 visits since 2005-05-05 ]