[Free Stuff] SMUT
3 Comments Written by
Tahnee Moore on
April 9, 2010 – 9:00 am
Remember the story of D.H Lawrence being thrown in the slammer for using lewd language such as cunt in his novel Lady Chatterley’s Lover’? That was back in the 1920s. I found it laughable that recently one of Australia’s biggest publishers refused to print a book called SMUT because of ‘potentially offensive material’. Pffft.
SMUT is an art book, filled with nipple arousing poetry, photography and art work. To be honest, I usually find most printed poetry pretty anaesthetising but the work in this book is actually engaging. SMUT arouses and sickens yet it opens the imagination and reads like a man with a brain full of cocaine and a raging boner…
The words are from three highly sexual, intentionally chauvinistic men, they are simple and easy to…swallow. Thankfully, no thesaurus fucking here. SMUT is a private, unpolitically correct publication work that freely spurts the thoughts and desires of the penis… err the man (the two are of the one mind here). The art work and design are the interpretation of the writing from three females. The result is a primal, arousing and entertaining publication.
It’s all pretty graphic and not available from the likes of Borders. If you want to get your little mits on a copy head to Polyester, Logical Insanity or etsy. Or get one for FREE. WMSG have one shiny copy (except maybe for a few little marks…) to give away. But you gotta work for it. Send us your best smutty poem or tale and we’ll send you the book. You have one week to get your SMUT on, if it isn’t already…
Add your poem as a comment under this post to win a copy. We’ll announce the winner next week.
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(sample poem. not included in competition)
i visited my family toilet last week,
like an eager Kenyan
pushing out that last litre
of diahorrea just in time,
I make it for dinner with the folks.
but something was different,
things werent as they had been,
i notice on my index finger
small and meek,
a reminder of my dinner
from late last week,
at first i was disgusted,
a fool in shit,
but then i took a sniff
and grew most fond of it.
throughout that whole evening
i was lost in desire,
questioning my lust,
convinced i was a liar,
but as evil as it was,
resist it i could not,
searching the streets
in hunt of women
who love
caramel filled butts
I began with a fart
and continued with a splutter,
some loved my initiative
others called me a beastly fucker
to this day it’s grown and grown
a lust so filthy and intense,
never again shall i refer to shit
as a problem or with offence
-have fun guys. its a great book, well worth a read. because they’re poems, it makes for a great hit of literature when you dont have time for chapters and chapters of plot and shit. good luck
it’s not necessarily that controversial, but it’s a slightly sexy poem. and I’m sorry it’s so long.
Let’s play the game called
“who had sex last night?”
From the tram window
let’s see
who is more happy –
less stressed?
Who spent the previous evening
with legs spread wide?
Who’s walking along, satisfied?
Lady with the red hat
plodding towards the lights
clutching her ecofriendly green bag:
did she sleep with a husband
or a cat?
Bet she’s a cat lady,
cat hairs all over the couch -
so hard to remove from black clothes.
She grips those bags too tight
to have had sex last night.
That beautiful pair
in preworn costume –
the boy with thinner legs than her.
Foppish hair and spindly limbs
tumbling, fumbling for ecstasy?
No, they just look around demurely,
listening to the Smiths.
Would she prefer to be on her back
with Morrissey as the soundtrack?
Pectosexual: shirtless man
he can’t afford a shirt
but wears designer sunnies.
His lack of social etiquette disgusts,
but I could scrub my clothes on him.
Maybe he made it with a lady
or even with a man.
Putting on a macho facade
I don’t know what makes him hard.
Boy holding her handbag and hand -
what a trendy couple - she totters in heels,
cigarette between her fingers.
Was she screaming last night,
the good kind of agony?
Blank faces tell me nothing.
Was he doing his duty,
doing her dutifully?
Sexy businessman on Collins
striding with briefcase
Is he distracted in meetings
by flashbacks to steamy romps
of precise and pleasurable perfection?
Your desk may be your lover
or your hand underneath.
Each weekend you stay at home,
save for your fish, completely alone.
I gather my things,
get up to leave the tram
and wonder what people think of me?
They don’t know, for instance,
about the men I meet,
the men I’ve seen undressed.
I don’t leave the game at work.
It’s part of my profession,
this everyday discretion.
City people pretend not to be lonely.
No one stops to look around.
People march onwards, always moving
to wherever someone’s waiting.
These speculations are informed by practice
but still I could be wrong.
The game’s over for now.
For some, sex isn’t the answer –
but not everyone’s an erotic dancer.
s
m
u
t
it’s my shit in your butt
two middle fingers you’ll fuck
a browned tongue that you’ll suck
my dumped cum in your muck
taking loads like a truck
I’ll paint your disgrace
smear my balls on your face
to me
you’re just a
s
m
u
t