Wednesday, December 31, 2008


that our culture tells us every minute of its life, by what it says and by what it leaves unsaid, is that there has never been and never can be any worthy ideal or any worthy idealist to the Left of capitalism, and that all that is admirable in human beings is compatible with that same capitalist ideology.

Nothing less than the survival of civilization, and perhaps humanity itself, rides on our seeing through this lie and exposing it.

Friday, December 26, 2008


Sorry for the belated greetings, but I had some trouble accessing this blog yesterday (Christmas day).

My thanks to everyone who has contributed to this blog this year or who has just dropped by to have a look.

Tuesday, December 23, 2008


I'm in the middle of reading the book shown to the left, A Heretic's Guide to Eternity, by Spencer Burke and Barry Taylor. Here's an excellent quotation from page 62:

Of course, growing up, I had a much different concept of grace. I grew up in an environment where grace was described as "unmerited favor." The only problem was that getting this "unmerited favor" still required doing something -- namely, "asking Jesus in your heart" or praying a prayer.

I'm reminded of those people in the mall who are always offering me a "free" gift -- and then telling me I just have to fill out a survey or apply for a credit card to get it. Let's be clear. If I have to do something to get it, it's not free. The amount of effort I need to put in might be minimal relative to the value or size of the prize, but it's still effort. The offer is still predicated on some kind of transaction.

If grace really is unmerited favor and I really can do nothing to get it, then that should be the end of the story. But in my experience, it never is. Religious people love fine print. They just can't seem to get away from it no matter how hard they try. It's always "God loves
you -- but . . ."

Exactly. I've come across this again and again: "God loves you -- but . . ."!

Monday, December 22, 2008

PATRIOTISM -- Directed by Yukio Mishima (1966)

I watched this film recently. I had never heard about it, and stumbled upon it by accident. It is only 29 minutes long, but extremely powerful.

It's done in the style of Japanese Noh theatre and is therefor very minimalist. The music is by Wagner, (or something very like Wagner) if you can believe it.

I don't want to say much more and do a spoiler. If there are any responses to this post, I might post a spoiler there if anyone wants it, so beware!

Monday, December 15, 2008


This is the Kurogane 4wd, a Japanese vehicle used in World War Two. You've got to admit it's pretty damned cute. And that's why I've put a picture of it here. Yes, I know it's a military vehicle driven by a couple of fascists, but hey: cute is cute. And I am a great lover of automotive beauty, even though I don't actually know that much about cars. (Hell, I don't even have one!) Perhaps some day I will build a model of this (it should be 1/35 scale, because anything less would be just too small for such a small vehicle). Will I include Takeshi and Ichizo here? Perhaps. Or maybe I'll civilianize it and paint it a nice, shiny red. What do you think?

Tuesday, December 9, 2008


Here is some delightful work by CriGo, featuring Rhan and Yuki.

I do love the fish-down-the-back theme! How many artists do this? Precious few!

Imagine the supreme hysteria of a girl with a fish or some other icky thing stuck fast down the back of her catsuit. Wouldn't that just drive you crazy? I know it would me! You can find more of CriGo's work at Greco's Girls, which features the marvellous work of Osvaldo A. Greco.

Sunday, December 7, 2008


Quite a hot suit, I say. The only thing I'd change, to make it sexier from my point of view, would be that all the parts covered by clear plastic would be covered in metal. I'd love to wear something like this! One problem: how do you go to the bathroom? I mean, does it require a team of mechanics or something? They'd really have to be people
you'd trust, wouldn't they?

(Or maybe not!)

I like to think she can't possibly get out of there without help. What a sexy idea!

Friday, December 5, 2008


You've likely heard the old controversy about who makes the best James Bond: Sean Connery, Roger Moore, Pierce Brosnan, and whoever came after him. Really, I can't stand James Bond no matter who plays him. (Great theme music, though.) Smug, sexist bastard! But I rented THUNDERBALL recently, because I'd seen an interesting pic of one Fiona Volpe, a character in the film, in leather and mounted most enticingly on a motorcycle.

Well, predictably, the film had no such image at all. Instead, there was a brief sequence of her on a motorcyle, almost indistinguishable from a guy, until (SURPRISE!!!) she takes her helmet off and long hair flows out. YES, it's a GIRL on that bike, [insert exclamation of surprise here].

The rest of the flick she dresses like an astronaut's wife. And the movie itself is a cat's breakfast.

Sunday, November 23, 2008


And I'm not talking that skimpy brass bikinis stuff. I'm talking plate, head to foot, cap-a-pe, as I think they say somewhere in Shakespeare. Give me a woman who's been locked, bolted, strapped, and screwed into a full suit of armour.

Sunday, November 16, 2008


"The City Pony," a new story of mine never published before, has just been accepted for Cleis Press's upcoming anthology, WHERE THE GIRLS ARE: URBAN LESBIAN EROTICA (editor, D.L. King). I'm thrilled about it. This means that so far, I have two stories lined up for hardcopy publication in 2009. The other story, of course, as announced earlier, will be a phallogyne story to appear in the MAMMOTH BOOK OF EROTIC CONFESSIONS (editor, Barbara Cardy) some time in the middle of 2009.

Keeping my fingers crossed for some more submissions under consideration.

Friday, November 14, 2008


This story is a bit different from what I usually do, although not more unusual than most of my work. It was published at a few months ago and is still in their archives I believe, but since their exclusive rights to the story have expired I thought I'd post it here. Enjoy.


by Roxy Katt

He has asked her to meet him here, where they first met: the Eighteenth Century Room at the Metropolitan Museum of Bizarre Curiosities. This Other Woman, at the moment alone in the room, stands tall and cool and self-possessed in her professional looking black leather suit: high heeled boots, knee length pencil skirt, fitted jacket, matching bag over her shoulder. Her hair is short and black. She wears dark sunglasses. She looks with a wry smile at the exhibit that inspired their favourite game: a delightfully filthy adventure wherein she calls him "Mickey" and he eats a fat wad of cheese out of her steaming pussy.

The glass display case before her contains a small, dead, stuffed creature, which looks like nothing more than a little ball of fuzzy orange fur. There is a plaque:

CATALONIAN CHEESE MOUSE: Known for its phenomenal sense of smell, the Catalonian Cheese Mouse is thought to have been bred secretly for purposes not entirely clear. One theory is that it was used by aristocratic ladies as a means of personal gratification.

Beneath her straining skirt, beneath the high-waisted, longline, white open bottomed girdle that secures her expensive stockings, her unpantied cunt is stuffed with cheese.

She has decided to serve him Gouda this time. Actually, she thinks, she may have cut too large a piece. It’s wedged in pretty tight and she’s getting excited already. When will he get here?
When he does, she wants to tell him to skip the restaurant they had planned. They’ll go straight to her apartment and they will pretend that she was going to give some nice cheese to her pet "Mickey" but seems to have misplaced it. She and "Mickey" will look high and low for it, until he will sniff the air and say, "Wait! I smell it."

"Where, Mickey? Tell me where?"

"The smell seems to be coming from under your skirt, mistress."

"Oh no. That’s not possible."

Sniffing about her as she tries to dodge him: "I believe it’s in your cooter, mistress."

"What? How stupid do you think I am? How could I possibly be stupid enough to lose a huge whack of cheese up my thing and not even know it? Oh you dirty minded little mouse. No cheese for you!"

"Yes! I wants it! I must have it!"

"NO! You’re a very bad little mousie. Back to your cage this instant!"

Then of course, mousie loses all control, and, dreadful little creature that he is, strips, binds, and orally ravishes his unfortunate mistress while berating her for her culinary stupidity, all the while enjoying two kinds of delectable repast at once.

If "Mickey" doesn’t get here soon, she thinks, sweating into her girdle and her leather outfit, I’m going to have to find the ladies room here and . . .

* * * * * * * *

This last one was the last straw. My husband has cheated on me for the last time and I am leaving him. But when I found the bitch’s picture I was conflicted: damn, she’s hot. Do I want to kill her, or do her? I’ve suppressed my desires for both sexes for years to be loyal to my husband. Not any more. It would serve him right too if I took his latest popsie away from him.

And why not?

So here I am, unnoticed by her at the opposite end of the Eighteenth Century Room at the Metropolitan Museum of Bizarre Curiosities. Tasteful, tight black leather. Very hot. She looks terrific. Very well put together.

But you can’t just walk up to a woman and say, "Hi! I’m the wife of the bastard whose been boinking you! Let’s have dinner!"

She looks very proud. Proud bitch! How I’d love to break that pride and turn her into a quivering puddle of jello. I wonder what would happen if this proud bitch encountered a situation she simply couldn’t handle? What if something bizarre and terrible happened to her in this museum of the bizarre and she got into trouble and ended up pleading for rescue? Rescued people can be very grateful.

Yes, I know all about hubby’s habits. He and I used to do the cheese thing long ago when he still cared. If my hunch is right and she’s got her muff wrapped around a fat stick of Edam or Gouda she’s about to have a surprise.

Yes, enter my new little friend, Mickey. Hello, my little furry friend. Tired of being inside my stuffy little purse? How about if I set you down on the floor here. What’s that? You smell something tasty? Off you go then. See what you can find. Yes, look at him run, the little devil, look how he scampers right towards her, her with her cheese laden and unsuspecting Achilles cunt. My dear Mickey does love a bit of cheese so.


Thursday, November 13, 2008


give a fuck.

I am very tired.

Tired of failing every single fucking day of my life to life up to any sort of standard I set for myself. Whether that's because the standards are too high or not, I just can't meet them.

So I've gradually stopped setting them.

I can't live a single fucking day that I don't feel was wasted. My labours seem always inadequate, and even when I can acquit myself of the charge of laziness, my labours seem to achieve much too little.

So I wander through my days in a kind of stupid autopilot, unable to get off it. Inspiration, ideas, enthusiasm frighten me because I know I will be on autopilot again before I can ever make anything of them.

Some people are plagued by bad health all their lives, poverty, drugs, some miserable family situation, some terrible character flaw, whatever.

With me, it's just pissing everything away. I can't figure out how much of this is my fault and how much of it is just the inevitable imperfection we are all saddled with one way or the other.

The wealth of my mind and my soul is buried in junk.

Tuesday, November 11, 2008


Since when, I wonder, in a supposedly democratic country, is a town allowed to block purchase of a home because it doesn't like what the prospective owner publishes, however legal?

Check out Brenna Lyons' Blog for details.

Citizens of Greene: what is your fucking problem?


ulations, America, on liberating yourself from the Republican nightmare. There is still lots to do, of course, but this is a great step. Well done!

And putting that in today's context, Remembrance Day, maybe now in future there will be fewer whose deaths we will need to grieve.

Canada, take note. You are still asleep when it comes to Afghanistan. You are kept there by the same kind of sometimes mindless, sometimes politically motivated rhetoric which, for example, sent so many to their needless deaths in the imperialist war of 1914-1918. Today is a day to learn from those deaths, not to use the honouring of the dead as a tool to make more of them.

Saturday, November 1, 2008


Blargh! I wrote this wee 250 word story to post at Alison Tyler's blog for her key contest, but I made a mistake about the date and now it's too late. Well, let's just post it here, shall we?


by Roxy Katt

Her shiny, form-fitting suit of armour makes her look like a steel mannequin or a robot. You can't even see her eyes beneath the narrow slits of her sealed anatomical helmet. She has a huge raygun on each metal hip.

But there is a real woman locked inside. Tall, proud, an alien with designs on my planet. She gave me her key, for the lock she can't quite reach.

Her need was unbearable, she said.

"Hurry woman," she says, bent way over, metal ass in the air. She grasps a slender tree for support. "We must not be discovered by my troops."

The lock is placed like an asshole deep between her metal cheeks. I stick the key in: turn.

*BOING!* The hinged bumhatch flips up. Her skin is so soft, so white . . .

Slowly, slowly, I push it up her bum: the huge, well oiled plug she gave me. She gasps, trembles.

Then it's all in . I pause. I throw the switch at the base and it begins to hum.

"Oh . . . oh . . . that's . . . so good," she groans faintly.

I watch. I forget what she offered me in return but it's unimportant. I push the hatch down firmly and it clicks shut.

"Huh?" she says, standing upright, feeling her locked bum. I drop the key down a ventilation slit in her back. "What the . . .?"

"Your troops have spares. Enjoy your humiliation before them, stupid bitch!" I walk away laughing. But I know her type: she'll come back for more.

Friday, October 31, 2008


If you care not only about your country but the planet it dominates:

--show the backbone we proved we don't have in Canada recently and turn down the party that best represents the interests of the wealthy parasite classes.

--say NO to the party that took you to war and murders countless people in Iraq on the basis of lies, imperialism, and a self-indulgent narcissism that calls itself "patriotic."

--say NO to a presidential candidate who thinks that any tiny effort to share the wealth in your country just a wee bit more fairly is some kind of abomination.

--say NO to the Republicans. I don't expect miracles from the Democrats, for they also are in thrall to capitalism. But there at least you find some people who want to put a break on the increasingly insane imperialism, the increasingly rampant exploitation of the poor by the rich both inside your nation and your empire.

--say NO to the Republicans, who will do anything to make you feel good about America no matter what it does. Sometimes the truth is hard. You, like the rich nations of the world in general (such as my Canada) are doing a lot of things wrong. You need to repent. You need to turn around. Anyone who tells you pleasant lies about this is a self-indulgent wimp: yes, even if he was a prisoner of war. Don't forget that Hitler spent four gruelling years in the trenches of WWI and was decorated (twice, I think) and he never denied his molly-coddled ego any lie, cruelty, or self-indulgence it craved.

Those Americans amongst you who, like myself, believe in God, know this: She loves you no more than (and no less than) Her other children. Look into your hearts. Has she given you a mission to dominate the world? Has she given anyone a mission to assert the abomination of capitalism (which has the shamelessness to call itself "democracy") anywhere? Jesus Christ and Capital are irreconcilable enemies. You cannot serve two masters. You cannot love a brother or a sister while you seek to push them into the gutter while marching down the stony road of social Darwinism.

Sunday, October 26, 2008


You know the insipid image we have of that Virgin Mary, a women one cannot imagine taking sides in a political struggle? Check out the Magnificat, i.e. Luke 1.46-55 [italics mine]:

"And Mary said, My soul doth magnify the Lord, And my spirit hath rejoiced in God my Saviour. For he hath regarded the low estate of his handmaiden: for, behold, from henceforth all generations shall call me blessed. For he that is mighty hath done to me great things; and holy is his name. And his mercy is on them that fear him from generation to generation. He hath shewed strength with his arm; he hath scattered the proud in the imagination of their hearts. He hath put down the mighty from their seats, and exalted them of low degree. He hath filled the hungry with good things; and the rich he hath sent empty away. He hath holpen his servant Israel, in remembrance of his mercy; As he spake to our fathers, to Abraham, and to his seed for ever. "

This is something for the cheerleaders of empire (I am thinking specifically of the American Empire and the Capitalist Empire) to think about.

Monday, October 20, 2008


A common theme in Biker's work is the accidental (or "accidental") stripping of attractive women down to their underwear or to a state of nakedness. Comical humiliation, as you all know who have spent any time at my blog or website, is right up my alley.

Now I love sturdy foundation garments, and I love situations where women are embarassed by their own figure-controlling underwear. Unfortunately, Biker does not usually draw pics of women in the more heavy-duty types of undies, preferring bra, panties, and garter belt in many instances (Benny Hill springs to mind. That is, Benny Hill situations, not Benny Hill himself!).

However, this pic is different. Imagine the audacity of one women simply hiking up another woman's dress in public to reveal her stalwart OBG! I mean, the nerve! The cheek! Or, perhaps I should say, the cheeks!

Is there no end to such insolence? Who knows? Maybe next she'll haul the poor thing's tight little dress right up over her shoulders and trap her that way, making her stagger about with her arms wrapped about her head and unable to escape...

Thanks again to Biker for permission to post his terrific work!

Tuesday, October 14, 2008


Another great Biker Spacebabe pic. I love the idea of an extra tether, or what have you, attached to the end of the zipper pull. Some wetsuits have this feature, which is quite alluring.

Think about it: why is the zipper long enough to go at least part way up her backside? It can only be for convenience's sake in the bathroom, right? Oh, such an arrangement could be used for sexual purposes of course, but spacesuit designers, one should expect, would be above such unprofessional preoccupations.

I can only conclude, therefor, that this must be one hell of a difficult suit to get out of for the designer to have felt the need of some kind of "convenience opening."

I think the poor girl needs a shave. And no, I don't mean her face. And it looks like she isn't the sharpest pencil in the box, is she?

Monday, October 13, 2008


This is a wee shemale story I wrote for Alison Tyler's blog recently. It was part of her Auto Erotica contest, which had 17 entries, each of 250 words or less. Some very fine little tales there, so check it out. Anyway, here's mine:


The chauffeuse pulls up alone to the mansion in a pre-WWI Silver Ghost. She gets out: a huge, buxom, Valkyrie of a woman, warrior-browed, clad in tight, black leather, black boots, and an interesting kind of buttoned sailor flap over the groin.

That flap has a tremendous bulge to it.

"You’re the new maid," she says. Wearing my stupid little French maid uniform I want to say something sarcastic but I just nod. "Your duties have been explained to you?" I nod. "Get in. I need you now. We’ll go somewhere private." I nod. "You’d better be good because the last one was absolutely hopeless." I nod.

She gets behind the wheel. I jump in beside her. She moves to put the vehicle in gear and I’m sorry, but I just can’t wait.

I reach with ecstatic, frantic fingers. Pop pop-pop pop. A giant sausage flops out. She gasps. Then it’s in my mouth and I’m in her lap sucking with more ferocity than that fucking vacuum cleaner I used all morning.

"Help!" she squeals, writhing in helpless panic. "Rape!" She writhes and swells inside my mouth, expanding exponentially. The butler and several maids come running.

"Oh my," says the genteel old butler, clearly at a loss. My arms are around the bitch’s big leather hips like a vice.

"Bentley!" she cries, breath coming in great heaves, "help! Save me!"

Then she blows up in my mouth and all the little maids clap and cheer.

Wednesday, October 8, 2008


Check it out. A number of very short stories (max. 250 words) all having to do with cars and sex. Not necessarily sex WITH a car, just a car connection. Vote for your fave!

All at Alison Tyler's blog:

Tuesday, October 7, 2008


Here is a quotation from Freire's Pedagogy of the Oppressed (1970):

"Nor yet can dialogue exist without hope. Hope is rooted in
men's incompletion, from which they move out in constant
search -- a search which can be carried out only in communion
with others. Hopelessness is a form of silence, of denying the
world and fleeing from it. The dehumanization resulting
from an unjust order is not a cause for despair but for hope,
leading to the incessant pursuit of the humanity denied by
injustice. Hope, however, does not consist in crossing one's
arms and waiting. As long as I fight, I am moved by hope;
and if I fight with hope, then I can wait."

Sunday, October 5, 2008


One of my favourite erotic artists is Biker. An example of his work can be seen to the right, as part of his "Spacebabe Academy" series. Biker's work is very much about the comical and erotic embarrassment of females.

What do I like about this pic? Well, the pose for one thing. She looks like she could be making love to that fortunate flying shark. She's very nicely snuggled in there. I also love the look on her face: a kind of post-coital, dizzy self-complacency, that of a woman who feels assured that while she's in her skin-tight sexy spacesuit, and on top of her powerful jet bike, absolutely nothing can go wrong. And of course, when that's what you're thinking, that's when you're really asking for some embarrassing comeuppance, isn't it?

Any passenger she might take on would have a lovely view. BTW: where is the zipper located on that suit? Perhaps more on that with a later pic. You can check out more of Biker's work right here.

Thanks to Biker for permission to post his work!

Saturday, October 4, 2008


I don't know about the rest of you who are writers, but while I love getting published, sometimes I just feel each story in print is a drop in the bucket -- that I will never get anywhere until I not only write QUALITY stories (which I have no problem doing) but stories in great QUANTITY.

I should post at this blog more often. I should update my website (which I haven't worked on since May). But dammit, there are only so many hours in the day!

But what do I mean by "I will never get anywhere"? I don't know. I'm a little depressed at the moment. I went to a lovely local bookstore lately but came away with the usual resentful knowledge that while some of us must write a lot, send out to a lot of publishers, and put up with a lot of neglect from people too important to answer their email, others get all the goodies of the writing world dumped right in their laps for nothing. Take for example, what's her face who did the Sarah Palin impersonations for SNL, who has been offered a multi-million dollar contract for books she hasn't even written yet!

And yet, even as I was writing this, some woman on CBC radio just said something about focusing on what she had, rather than on what she didn't have. I missed what the context was, and I know the sentiment is corny, but I think she is right. Dammit, I can write damned good stuff. That is what I have -- that ability.

I shall carry on. "Zontar prevails"! That shall be my slogan. Some day, when I get out my erotic sci-fi anthology of lesbian and phallogyne tales, I will have that slogan in the book.

And it could be worse. I could be the unfortunate woman shown above in a suit of armour with a magnetic boot stuck on her ass. In public, too! I mean, if that happened to me, I think I'd go totally hysterical with humiliation! That poor creature!


Friday, September 26, 2008


Okay. If you go here you will find the following quotation:

"Welcome to the subgenre of 'vaudevillian humiliation fetishism'" - Diva

Now, "vaudevillian humiliation fetishism" is a term I coined to describe my erotic stories, so presumably the review quoted mentioned my work while discussing BEST LESBIAN EROTICA 2008, in which I have a story ("The Ant Queen"). But I can't get Diva Magazine where I am. Does anyone know more about the review?


...where you wished you knew the story behind it? Is this a publicity stunt, perhaps?

I believe the German sign in the background says "Wine Cellar for Black Cat."

Actually, that looks like fun. And a nice outfit. Maybe this is how Catwoman trains to fight Batman, and that man or woman in the background is her henchperson.

Friday, September 19, 2008


The following quotation is from Ed Vulliamy, "Inside the Pentagon," the Observer, 30 September, 2001 (as quoted on page 145 of Ellen Meiksins Wood's Empire of Capital):

"As war begins in Afghanistan, so does the assault on the White House -- to win the ear and signed orders of the military's Commander in Chief, President George W. Bush, for what Pentagon hawks call 'Operation Infinite War'. . . .

"The Observer has learnt that two detailed proposals for warfare without limit were presented to the President this week by his Defense Secretary Donald Rumsfeld, both of which were temporarily put aside but remain on hold. They were drawn up by his deputy, Paul Wolfowitz. . . . The plans argue for open-ended war without constraint either of time or geography. . . .

"[T]he Pentagon militants prefer to speak of 'revolving alliances', which look like a Venn diagram, with an overlapping centre and only certain countries coming within the US orbit for different sectors and periods of an unending war. The only countries in the middle of the diagrammatic rose, where all the circles overlap, are the US, Britain and Turkey.

"Officials say that in a war without precedent, the rules have to be made up as it develops, and that the so-called 'Powell Doctrine' arguing that there should be no military intervention without 'clear and achievable' political goals is 'irrelevant'. . . ."

Sunday, September 14, 2008


"We must be competitive."

Translation: in the divinely sanctioned world order of musical chairs, we must ensure that somebody is always left without a seat. This is our moral responsibility. The worst possible scenario is that there should be a seat for everyone.

Monday, September 8, 2008


This is Gigolo Jane from the film, A.I. Her appearance in this
flick is all to brief (surprise surprise. Ever notice how the ultra-
babe in the sexy latex or leather catsuit is always given short
shrift by the camera? What about Trance in Andromeda? Notice
how she's always in darkness so you can't get a good look at her
leathers? What is this shit anyway? I mean, maybe the idea is
that people who like that sort of thing are pervs who must be
given the nod now and then but not overindulged . . . dammit.)

Anyhow, I'd love to wear this. Except I'd rather do so not as a
robo-prostitute, as Gigolo Jane is. Rather, I'd add some
paramilitary accessories and be some kind of space cop or security person.

Gee, I sure hope no one would use my handcuffs against me! That
would be too totally humiliating!

Thursday, September 4, 2008


Mrs. Partridge, you shameless tramp! Look at you there, gazing at your backside in that fancy gilded mirror of yours. Should the mother of five children even be considering going out in public in a getup like that? Just look at the shock on the neighbours' faces!

If you're not careful, that woman will bend you over her knee and give you a good spanking. Is this an example to set for your daughters? I don't think so! You take those hotpants off right away, do you hear? How dare you flaunt your MILFy booty at the world that way! Outrageous!

Wednesday, September 3, 2008


Donna George Storey wrote a very positive review at ERWA of Best Lesbian Erotica 2008 last February which I somehow missed. She mentions many of the stories from the anthology in particular. Here's a quote of what she says about mine:
"Roxy Katt’s “The Ant Queen” will delight movie fans with its lesbian Mrs. Robinson figure and its nod to Casablanca. I laughed out loud, but I also admired Katt’s ability to capture the feelings of every young woman in her late teens, the heroine’s “nameless inadequacy” that is most satisfyingly banished by the story’s climactic end."

For the full review, check it out at the Erotica Readers and Writers Association here.

Monday, September 1, 2008


All goods and services come basically from these two sources, either directly or indirectly:

1) The natural environment

2) Human labour.

Money, however, useful, even necessary as a means of exchange, produces nothing. Money does not work. People say "make your money work for you," but this is a metaphor mistaken for a reality.

Money, unlike humans and nature, does not work. Therefor, property and power accumulated through the possession of money, and not through one's labour or the free gift of nature is theft.

Friday, August 29, 2008

"Hello, Greta dear? . . . oh yes, I did get the shaper I ordered from you . . . oh yes, it works very well . . . oh yes, holds me in marvellously. Er, there's just one thing dear . . . oh no . . . quite reasonably priced. But you see, the reason I'm calling . . . yes, the colour's just fine too. No complaints about that. But the reason I'm calling you is . . . can you tell me how to get the flying hell OUT of this humiliating, patriarchal antique rig? Because you see, darling, I seem to be hopelessly stuck in it. . . . That's right, I feel like a complete idiot. Got it in one, dear. . . . Say it happens all the time? Pardon me, dear, but you're not actually laughing, are you? Because I do have a lawyer and I can sue for emotional trauma you know . . . you'll have a girl over right away? . . . you mean that cute little thing with the sassy look on her face? Thank you darling. Ta-ta for now . . ."

Monday, August 25, 2008


In our society the question which is thought to define who we are sexually is this one: which sex -- your own, the opposite, or both -- do you like to have sex with? This question is assumed to be central. Beyond that, everything else is seen as secondary.

But even if there is one primary question to be answered to determine the groundwork of our sexual identity, perhaps it is this: what gender do you want to be when having sex? Perhaps what is most important for some people is not which sex they want to do, as it were, but which gender they want to be while doing it.

Friday, August 22, 2008


For the whole review, which is very positive, check here. The reviewer also mentions my story, "The Ant Queen," among others:

"The Ant Queen" wields domination and humiliation. The story takes a concept like Mrs Robinson (The Graduate), and upends it. Power is reversed, placed in the hands of someone you'd least expect. Meanwhile Mrs Wellington extols her sexual confidence and knowledge (or presumption), with a patronizing air, to fall into the situational trap. Mrs Wellington's daughter's friend uses the moment for leverage and gains power. Dustin Hoffman was tongue tied in The Graduate, but this seductress is no wallflower..."

And she goes on to quote a bit of my story, if you're interested. I love being

Saturday, August 16, 2008


Strange, but true. Those who have perused my blog will know my politics are very Left (as in socialist). Unusually enough, however, I am a war nut. Not a militarist, but one who has a great interest in some aspects of military history.

Why is that? Is there a fascist lurking within? Those in the political middle often like to say "extremes touch," implying that the radical Right and the Radical Left are essentially the same. Sometimes this is true. Morally, there is little to choose between Hitler and Stalin. But where is the Right Wing equivalent of Rosa Luxemburg? You can find tyrants on the far Right and the far Left, but in the latter you will also find people of integrity, brains, heart, and a real concern for people and justice. This cannot be said for the far Right. Love can be found in the radical Left, but not on the radical Right -- unless we include the love comrades in arms have for each other while murdering the innocent.

But I digress. Perhaps more anon . . .

Sunday, August 10, 2008


Ah, I see -- a zucchini, according to my CONCISE OXFORD DICTIONARY. Why did I ask? A brief review by Helen Sandler of BEST LESBIAN EROTICA 2008, refers to my story, "The Ant Queen," thus:

"When a teenager finds her best friend's uppity mum trapped in a PVC insect costume, she stuffs her with a brace of courgettes."

Cool. I never hear that word before. I think "courgette" actually sounds sexier than "zucchini"!

Tuesday, July 29, 2008


Managed to acquire the video shown here recently. WWI fascinates me, the air war included, so I could not turn this down. But I fear it shall be but an exercise in military hagiography. Stay posted. We shall see, Billy Bishop, we shall see . . .

Sunday, July 27, 2008


Yes, I have a thing for women in distress--especially proud, powerful, confident women (or phallogynes) who find themselves unexpectedly in a vulnerable and embarrassing position. So from time to time I draw cartoons along those lines even though I am much better at writing than I am at drawing.

You will excuse, I hope, the crudity of my efforts. How I would love to find more graphic artists who share my kinks! I did once or twice have the pleasure of working with a graphic artist in the production of a graphic story and would love to do so again some time.

Meanwhile, our two tinplated lovelies from planet Zontar are in a dreadful predicament. Whose fault is it, I wonder, that the special wrench was lost? How will they endure the humiliation of having to be rescued with a common CAN OPENER, of all things?

Friday, July 25, 2008



Khing, the master carver, made a bell stand
Of precious wood. When it was finished,
All who saw it were astounded. They said it must be
The work of spirits.
The Prince of Lu said to the master carver:
"What is your secret?"

Khing replied: "I am only a workman:
I have no secret. There is only this:
When I began to think about the work you commanded
I guarded my spirit, did not expend it
On trifles, that were not to the point.
I fasted in order to set
My heart at rest.
After three days fasting,
I had forgotten gain and success.
After five days
I had forgotten praise or criticism.
After seven days
I had forgotten my body
With all its limbs.

"By this time all thought of your Highness
And of the court had faded away.
All that might distract me from the work
Had vanished.
I was collected in the single thought
Of the bell stand.

"Then I went to the forest
To see the trees in their own natural state.
When the right tree appeared before my eyes,
The bell stand also appeared in it, clearly, beyond doubt.
All I had to do was to put forth my hand
And begin.

"If I had not met this particular tree
There would have been
No bell stand at all.

"What happened?
My own collected thought
Encountered the hidden potential in the wood;
From this live encounter came the work
Which you ascribe to the spirits."

Thomas Merton (from The Way of Chuang Tzu)

Sunday, July 20, 2008


"Conversion is supposed to banish the deepest dreads, fears and anxieties of human existence, including the fear of death. This is the central message we are told to impart to potential believers. But along with this message comes a disorienting mixture of love and fear, of promises of a warm embrace by a kind and gentle God that yearns to direct and guide the life of the convert toward success, wealth and happiness, and also of an angry, wrathful God who must punish nonbelievers, those who are not saved, tossing them into outer darkness and eternal suffering. The message swings the faces of this Janus-like God back and forth, one terrifying and one loving, in dizzying confusion. The emotions of love and fear pulsate through the message. God will love and protect those who come to Him. God will torment and reject those who do not come to Him. It becomes a bewildering mantra."

(from pages 52-53 of American Fascists)

Hedges has it right on. Good God/Bad God. A familiar tactic practised by propagandistic versions of Christianity, whose purpose ultimately is to alienate us from God. The very suggestion that God might love us now and forever, unconditionally, is rejected with contempt, that unmistakable curl of the lip that proudly cannot endure salvation if everyone is going to receive it. Surely somebody must be damned in the cosmological economy of spiritual Darwinism, or how can salvation be worth anything?!

Saturday, July 12, 2008


Okay, I told you I was bad at publicity. This should have been posted ages ago! But anyway, here it is:

Excerpts were read recently (March) from the BEST LESBIAN EROTICA 2008 anthology at Bluestockings Books in NYC. My story, "The Ant Queen," is in that anthology, but I was unable to attend to read with some of the other authors in the book. However, editor Tristan Taormino did read my story and I have heard it went over very well.

Thank you, Tristan!

Friday, July 11, 2008


I know you're supposed to keep a blog up (they say) by posting fairly frequently, and it has been some time since my last post. To tell you the truth, I just get distracted and busy and don't always have something to say. Or I do have something to say and the computer isn't handy.

One of the things I really hate about the writing world in general: a merely competent writer (of fiction, what have you) who is very good at networking will go further than a much better writer who simply doesn't have the time to be jabbering to the world about her latest publication.

I have a talent for writing, but not much talent or patience with publicity and self-promotion.
So. Fuck me.

Tuesday, June 24, 2008


I've been thinking more about the "Christian" fundamentalists and the Hedges book (see previous entry). Here's my problem: on the one hand, my understanding of Christianity is that while anger is not necessarily sinful, it is always wrong to hate somebody.

But on the other hand, I really HATE these fundamentalists. I mean, I can't say with any assurance how it will fare with me when my life is judged, but I find myself lusting to see these people driven INSANE with humiliation when God sews their eyelids open and forces them to see the truth of what they are and what they have been doing: all the lies, the persecution of the innocent, the bullying and sneaking methods of preaching a false gospel, the Nazi-like desire for control of other people, the willful destruction of all that is beautiful, the smugness, the spiritual Darwinism, the turning of the church into the whore of the state and the whore of capitalism.

I am probably pissing into the wind because very few people have ever responded to a blog of mine here, but I'll give it a shot. What do I do? How do I overcome this terrible feeling that the more you blaspheme the name of God in the name of God the more surely you will prevail? Where do these bastards, these hypocritical "Christian" Jesus haters get their certainty they will win, while the rest of us fuck about and let it happen?

Now if God says I am not allowed to hate these fundamentalists, however evil they are, how do I deal with it? I can't just flick a switch inside me and make myself love them.

Am I turning into one? Simply a mirror image?

I will not pray that anyone ever lose the grace of God forever. I suspect that we all, without exception, shall be eternally united with her somehow. In fact, it may well be that a belief in hell is the root of all the sickness that passes itself off as "Christianity." But I would like to see god thwart the plans of these blasphemers, bring them to absolute powerlessness and true repentance.

Friday, June 20, 2008

AMERICAN FASCISTS -- by Chris Hedges

I haven't finished this book yet, but it's good. Damn, but these fundamentalist/dominionists creep me out. And no, I'm not a dyed-in-the-wool secularist, I'm a Christian. As is Hedges.
Started reading Christopher Hitchens' GOD IS NOT GREAT: HOW RELIGION POISONS EVERYTHING, and didn't really read enough to give it a fair review.
But I kind of got tired of hearing what an asshole I am just for believing in god, so I doubt I'll finish it. Hey, I'm open to arguments for atheism, just don't be shittin' on me every page, okay, Chris? You know how YOU react when the religious folks try that on you, don't you?
Still, and all, Hitchens is identifiably human, however much saddled with an ego whose gravitational pull exceeds that of a gas giant planet. On the other hand, the fundamentalists, it seems, are in the process of diligently attempting to erase any semblance of the image of god in themselves, or anywhere else, despite all their pious shite.

Thursday, June 12, 2008

Could it BE any cuter?

Simply adorable. I think the space babes in my previous post should drive this. I really do. This is from a last year's issue of CAR COLLECTOR. (The caption says this: "a Micro racer from the 1950s; the Stanguellini 750 Sport was raced at LeMans.")

Sunday, June 8, 2008


Couldn't resist posting this. Even the caption is hot. If you have difficulty reading it, it says this: "consumed by envy, she yearns to escape the exorbitantly priced confines of her vinyl mini-dress. Plus, she really wants a ham sandwich." She wouldn't have to eat much before that dress exploded! I love space babes, by the way. Usually I imagine them in rubber spacesuits, but these dresses are just fine. BTW: can anyone think of another even sexier caption for this pic?

Sunday, June 1, 2008


My challenge to you is simply this: prove that you actually exist (please!). As I may have mentioned on this blog before, I am fascinated by military history (esp. WWI and WWII). However, the politics of these historians tends to range from the political Middle off to the the political Right. Are there no Left military historians? Is there not a Howard Zinn of military history? I have asked before whether there is such a thing as a lefty Canadian novelist as well, with very little response. The silence is deafening. Therefore, I boldly strut forth, proudly, in my tight leather catsuit, snap my fingers contemptuously and cry, "left wing military historians and left wing Canadian novelists do not exist!"

Will no one humble me in my pride? (Please! I deserve it! I've been a bad kitty!)

Monday, May 26, 2008


"Yeah yeah," you're thinking, "Roxy, enough of the cars and the serious politics. Say something pervy. Say something dirty to us."

Well okay then, here's a pic of a drysuited woman that gives me dirty ideas: prankstery, mean-little-girl ideas.

"Oh hi, Roxy, can you zip up my suit for me?"

"I'd be delighted, dear. My you certainly look fetching in that . . ." (notices a bucket of live eels near by).

"Thanks. It takes FOREVER to get into it,"

"I'm sure it does. Next time, ask me to help you. Oh. Your ah, husband isn't around is he?"

"No. Why?"

"No reason. Now, for that zipper . . ." (pulling a live eel out of a bucket).

Friday, May 23, 2008


George Orwell said this in 1943, right in the middle of World War Two:

"When one thinks of the lies and betrayals of those years, the cynical abandonment of one ally after another, the imbecile optimism of the Tory press, the flat refusal to believe that the dictators meant war, even when they shouted it from the house-tops, the inability of the moneyed class to see anything wrong whatever in concentration camps, ghettos, massacres and undeclared wars, one is driven to feel that moral decadence played its part as well as mere stupidity. By 1937 or thereabouts it was not possible to be in doubt about the nature of the Fascist regimes. But the lords of property had decided that Fascism was on their side and they were willing to swallow the most stinking evils so long as their property remained secure. In their clumsy way they were playing the game of Machiavelli, of 'political realism', of 'anything is right which advances the cause of the Party' -- the Party in this case, of course, being the Conservative Party." ("Who are the War Criminals?" in The Collected Essays, Journalism and Letters of George Orwell Vol. 2: My Country Right or Left 1940-1943. Emphasis mine.)

What is so interesting about these observations is that while they are in some ways quite similar to the usual narrative about the pre-war years (Hitler got his way throughout the 30s because nobody stood up to him; he was appeased at Munich, etc.) Orwell deals with this theme in a class-conscious way. The usual historical narrative elides the profound significance of class in the the Nazis' rise to power. Orwell here sees the failure to stop Hitler before WWII as less a failure of nations than a conspiracy of the bourgeoisie.

In "Pacifism and the War" (1942) Orwell also refers to "[t]he fact that the rich everywhere tend to be pro-Fascist and the working class are nearly always anti-Fascist."

Tuesday, May 20, 2008


So. I read a lot about military history. Especially WWI and WWII. In a fairly well written if conventional history of the air war of the Great War (seen at left) we find this:

"Jasta 15 reverted to the Fokker D.VII, and it was while flying one of these, on 10 August 1918, that Rudolf Berthold scored his last two victories, bringing his final tally to forty-four. Soon afterwards, in a fight with Sopwith Camels, he was shot down and suffered yet more injuries. He survived them only to be murdered [italics Roxy's] by German Communists in Harburg on 15 December 1919." (page 72)

When military historians refer to soldiers killing each other, they do not usually call it "murder." They may say "killing" or may even refer to the deaths of men as "victories" as we see above. I have no problem with this historico-literary convention. However, by what right, therefor, do we accuse Berthold's killers of "murder"? Is it because they were communists? Is it because they were not lead by official generals sanctioned by a state? Berthold killed men in a war which had no clear cut good guy. It was an absurd and unjust war fought for imperialist interests on all sides. But if the men who did all this killing are not murderers then we must say that Berthold was killed, not murdered, for his death was far more justifiable than the ones he inflicted. Berthold was killed during his support of the reactionary Kapp Putsch of 1920 (Jackson has his date above wrong). He was fighting to support men much like Hitler: in effect Hitler's fanatically bloody Freikorps predecessors (and eventual followers), men who paved the way for him with murder and terror. If killing one of them must be referred to as "murder," then historians should refer to every death in WWI with that same word -- not mere "killing" or "victory."

Jackson, therefor, displays a prejudice common to historians: a prejudice which prefers officially sanctioned violence, even in an unjust war, over violence that is not so sanctioned, however well justifiable. And of course, the communists are always bastards, aren't they?

Monday, May 19, 2008


So, according to CAR COLLECTOR (August 2007) the car pictured here is an even earlier example of one sold earlier in 2007 for $932,000 U.S. I think it would be cool just to touch this thing. It's ancient. What a piece of history!

Tuesday, May 13, 2008


Not satisfied with their own abundant success, it seems, some people must decide for others if they are worthy or not. The following quotation is from "Kingmakers" by Stephen Henighan. The complete article can be found here:

"The first four nominees were introduced by Canadian actors. As soon as Atwood stood up to introduce the fifth shortlisted author, Vincent Lam, anyone who understood power in Canadian culture knew that Lam had won. Margaret Atwood does not introduce losers. By placing her authority behind Lam, she was giving the equivalent of el dedazo, the crook of the finger with which a Mexican president signals his successor. The image was so powerful that the next day’s Globe and Mail misreported the event, stating that Lam had received his Giller Prize from Atwood when, like every previous winner, he was handed his cheque by Jack Rabinovitch, founder of the prize. But in political terms, the Globe’s initial report—later retracted—was accurate.

"The peculiarly Canadian feature of Atwood’s intervention was her astonishing decision to tell in public the story of how Lam had approached her to read his manuscript while working as the ship’s doctor on an Arctic cruise on which Atwood was a passenger. The Family Compact takes for granted that advertising pre-existing links between old and new members of the establishment legitimizes the next generation in the eyes of the public. Our bourgeoisie, being weaker than that of other Western countries, must assert its cohesiveness in public. In the United States, the story of Atwood’s role in finding Lam a publisher would have remained the property of a small group of acquaintances educated at private colleges. In Great Britain, the story would have surfaced weeks later in a tabloid newspaper. Only in Canada could it have been broadcast on national television, prior to the awarding of the prize, to enable the old Wasp establishment to claim parentage over the new multicultural establishment. In an instant Vincent Lam, in contrast to previous “multicultural” Giller winners Vassanji, Rohinton Mistry and Austin Clarke—all of them relative loners, none of them born or raised in Canada, none of them able to boast an exemplary interracial marriage such as that between Lam and his Anglo-Greek-descended wife—became a member of the Family Compact and a potential teddy bear."

Wednesday, May 7, 2008


So why the hate propaganda against reverend Jeremiah Wright? Why the intense, fanatical pressure on Obama to distance himself from this man? The notorious "God Damn America" sermon is touted as proof that this preacher is evil: a hate-filled monster, beyond the pale. The actual name of the sermon is "Confusing God and Government," and therein lies a clue.

Reverend Wright's words, "God Damn America," are not an expression of hatred and vengeance, but of just wrath. If you don't think so, here's a link to a transcript of the entire sermon. If you want to hear it on audio, it's easy enough to google.

Here's the link to the written transcript:

Here's the terrible irony of the deceitful and morally pusillanimous reaction against the sermon:
a man whose point was, among other things, that people should not confuse the American government with God is taken as hating America. How revealing! They say he is "anti-American." What they really mean is that America is God, and that therefor Wright has committed blasphemy. Wright's opponents show that in their hearts they DO confuse the U.S. government and even the U.S. nation with the Almighty. Few of them would be crazy enough to say outright "the United States government is God," but in their hearts there lies that blasphemy and confusion. Remind people that neither the American people nor their government are God and the Right Wing has a heart attack. They cannot conceive that God might be in conflict with the U.S. government, U.S. imperialism, or the U.S.A. itself. Yes, God loves her enemies, but she does have enemies.

The ruling classes and the religious fascists of the "Christian" Right hate and fear this kind of preacher more than anything: a man who will say without compromise that God is for justice and righteousness and love, even if that means anger against the bullies of the world -- such as the U.S. government and any U.S. citizens who willingly support imperialism. The religious Right think they have Jesus in their back pocket. I have news for them. Jesus is too big for their back pocket. Jesus is too big for them. They've made themselves small so he can't get in.

But he will. And they can help that process along by dropping the blasphemous will within imperialism.

Friday, May 2, 2008


Not much there yet. But see the link on the sidebar at the left.

So now I have a webpage, a blog, and a Myspace page. I hope this doesn't turn into a personal bureaucracy! I am already finding, as a writer, that I'm spending a large proportion of my time now on the net: making contacts, setting up pages, following up submissions, processing writing related email, etc. Does anyone else have this problem? Writers and non-writers included?

Also, I want to keep the whole "Roxyverse" well organized. I really dislike disorganization on the net! Nobody wants to follow what you're up to if they have to be a private detective to do it!

Speaking of that, I once heard of some chap who lived behind the old Iron Curtain. I think he was a writer. Anyway, he was some kind of government official and wanted to escape to the West. So he started writing up official communiques and the like to other officials who were fictitious. He just made them up. Then he had them write responses and communicate with each other, etcetera, creating a whole bureaucratic web which he actually used to get permission to emigrate. Anyone else hear this? Do I have the story right? Who was the person in question?

Thursday, May 1, 2008


This is the most politically incorrect holiday of the year. In fact, it is generally disregarded as a holiday. At least, that is the case in my country (Canada). But I beleive its time for rejuvenation is coming.
To the left is the self-portrait of Rosa Luxemburg, who lived her life to promote the struggle of the working classes of the world. She was a socialist, an intellectual, an activist for justice. She was murdered in Berlin in 1919 by a Right Wing goon squad sponsored by Germany's ruling classes. This was the same class (and not only in Germany) that did so much to bring about two world wars.
And yet Rosa Luxemburg lives. This is no idle rhetoric. The spirit of Jesus Christ manifests herself in all of us, and in Rosa Luxemburg she seems to have been particularly strong -- even though Luxemburg did not, as far as I know, "beleive" in him in the usual way.

Wednesday, April 30, 2008


With all due respect to Bert, it doesn't look like his advice worked for himself. I mean, the man is frowning in the dark, and seems to be looking over his shoulder at that fleeting happiness he is supposed to have conquered. But seriously, it's a good book, actually. I just had to post this incongruous cover.
Cynicism is my bete noir, and this is what Bertrand Russel has to say about it:
"Cynicism such as one finds very frequently among the most highly educated young men and women of the West results from the combination of comfort with powerlessness. Powerlessness makes people feel that nothing is worth doing, and comfort makes the painfulness of this feeling just endurable."

Sunday, April 27, 2008


A sexy scene from NAKED GUN 33 1/3. Raquel Welch, playing herself as hostess of the Academy Awards, is accidentally struck from behind by schlemihl detective, Frank Drebbin (Leslie Nielson). Lurching forward, she gets a microphone stuck in her mouth and struggles desperately to remove it. Drebbin has to administer the Heimlich maneuver.
This scene is all too short. There ought to be more of them! BTW, one of the sexiest dresses of all time, to my way of thinking

Thursday, April 17, 2008


Remember my earlier post on bourgeois formalism? There's an excellent article by Louisa Burton at ERWA (Erotica Readers and Writers Association) on formalism and its negative influence on literature:

ERWA, in case I haven't said it before (thought I probably did) is the centre of the erotic universe on line.

Wednesday, April 16, 2008


A previously unpublished erotic story of mine, "Waiting for Mickey," is up now at FOR THE GIRLS:

It's a quirky little story of just over 800 words.


I'm getting curious about left-wing Canadian fiction. How much of it is there? Most of what I encounter in the Canadian literary scene could probably be classified as "small l" liberal, but I am not that widely read when it comes to radical Canadian fiction. Can anyone recommend some good left-wing Canadian novels? Especially stuff from the last, say, 30 years or so.

Friday, April 4, 2008


I still have some copies left of Erotika: Bedtime Stories.
(See link to left and illustration below left.)
Want to review it? just email me with your request for a
copy, and indicate your publication or website address.


Mammoth Book of Erotic Confessions has accepted a previously
unpublished work of mine! To be released in hardcopy in 2009.


Monday, March 31, 2008


Michelle, my very close friend of many years, writes literary fiction (novels, specifically) and tells me about how hard it is to publish a novel in Canada -- or, for that matter, to attract the attention of American publishers and agents. That woman can write circles around me and has never yet been able to get a publisher even to look at her novel manuscript.

My own experience is in the world of erotica, which, though frustrating at times, is very different from Michelle's. The long and the short of it is, even though I have encountered publishers ranging from the highly professional to the hopelessly incompetent, I find there are only two requirements to getting one's erotic stories pubished:
1) Write good stuff
2) Send it to the right publisher

In short, the erotica publishing industry is more or less democratic, as far as I have been able to determine. Right now, for example, if you go to a well stocked bookstore with a good erotica or gay and lesbian section, you can find two major anthologies with a total of three of my stories in them. I have been able to succeed without being much of a networker.

The literary fiction presses, on the other hand, seem to have mysterious requirements one can only guess at, unspoken byzantine laws about networking and about who (figuratively speaking) must suck who's dick and how. In short, the literary presses are a Bloomsburian clique. Just to get a fucking agent one needs to get a fucking agent, and to get the first fucking agent one must have influential friends. Yes, even with small, supposedly left wing presses this is the case.
I remember submitting a short essay to a site called Okay, with a name like that you'd figure they'd publish anybody, as long as the work was good. I did not get an answer at all, never mind a rejection.

My message to writers? For all that I have said, if you are good, don't give up. There is always hope. I know Michelle and I know she will never give up. But I have seen the repeated failures of the publishing world make her mean. As the poet Blake said (roughly quoted) "the world shall have my poems whether it like them or no."

As for all the mediocrities whose query packages clutter the desks of publishers, taking up valuable time that might be used examining genuine talent, just fuck off and find out what it is you are really supposed to do so others can have a chance to make their own contribution. Writing is one of the few professions where the mediocrities actually crowd out their superiors, and publishers let it happen.

Roxy Katt

Tuesday, March 18, 2008


Check us out:

This is a new and swiftly rising organization of writers of f/f fiction. You can check us out at the above address or drop in for a chat all day at Literary Nymphs on March 22:

The genre of the day is lesbian themed, and there will be lots of f/f writers there, including some from Sapphic Planet. This is a good chance to talk to us and see some steamy excerpts from our fiction, including some yummy tidbits from Beth Wylde's Torquere Press release, SWITCHING SIDES.

Wednesday, March 12, 2008


Yes, looks like the reviews are coming in. Check this one out

written by Jean Roberta at Erotica Revealed.

Monday, March 10, 2008


I have been surprised lately at how few reviews there are of erotica
books, all things considering, including reviews of hardcopy books
put out by major publishers and sold at major outlets.

However, here's Ashley Lister's review of BEST LESBIAN
EROTICA '08 (which I am in -- see the sidebar to your left).
The review is at ERWA, the Erotica Readers and Writers
Association, which, as far as I am concerned, is the web
center of the erotic universe.

Monday, March 3, 2008


"Alienation is apparent not only in the fact that my means of life belong to someone else, that my desires are the unattainable possession of someone else, but that everything is something different from itself, that my activity is something else, and finally (and this is also the case for the capitalist) that an inhuman power rules over everything. There is a kind of wealth which is inactive, prodigal and devoted to pleasure, the beneficiary of which behaves as an ephemeral, aimlessly active individual who regards the slave labor of others, human blood and sweat, as the prey of his cupidity and sees mankind, and himself, as a sacrificial and superfluous being. Thus he acquires a contempt for mankind, expressed in the form of arrogance and the squandering of resources which would support a hundred human lives, and also in the form of the infamous illusion that his unbridled extravagance and endless unproductive consumption is a condition for the labor and subsistence of others. He regards the realization of the essential powers of man only as the realization of his own disorderly life, his whims and his capricious, bizarre ideas."

Saturday, March 1, 2008


Paul Fussell is probably best known for his THE GREAT WAR AND MODERN MEMORY, and excellent book, by the way.
THE BOYS' CRUSADE (2003) is not a large book (184 small pages) but it is excellent. I have often gotten the feeling, having
read a lot of military history, that the stories that are most
instructive are the ones least likely to be told. Even the literary
"anti-war" canon leaves a great deal to be desired. THE BOYS'
CRUSADE talks about the American infantry in Europe, post D-day. Fussell gives a sense of the utter chaos and confusion of war, what happens when soldiers are overwhelmed or badly prepared. Yes, it is a cliche to say that war is not glorious and that it is hell. Not a few writers say this and inadvertantly manage to make war look wonderful after all. But not Fussell.

Tuesday, February 19, 2008


This is from one of the sexiest things I have ever seen on video. Yes, the flick is called ABBOTT AND COSTELLO GO TO MARS.

The woman on the far right is wearing a suit of armour. She has Costello's magnetic boot attached to her ass. Can you guess what happens next? Too delicious!

Monday, February 18, 2008


Many might find it unusual for someone who calls herself a pornographer and cultural bolshevik to also be a Christian. I see no contradiction, however, between writing erotica and religious faith, contrary to whatever the fundamentalists think they know. As for Christianity and left-wing politics, the connection is natural and self-evident.

Like a lot of Christians, however, and not just left-wing ones, I find myself without a church. The traditional churches tend to range from the stultifying to the outright vicious. I admit, that I also have always had difficulty in being a sociable person.

Anyone else in this position?

Thursday, February 14, 2008


I have no car. I can't afford one, and don't need it.
I don't even like driving. But I do like old cars, and have taken recently to reading magazines devoted to car collectors.

CAR COLLECTOR has a section called Auction
Forum, wherein old cars recently sold at auctions
are discussed and evaluated. The August 2007
edition includes an entry on a 1937 FIAT 500
Topolino Siata Gran Sport Cabriolet, Body by Ghia, a picture of which I include here.

I quote part of the CAR COLLECTOR entry here, because I was surprised at the level of passion expressed:

"Ugly, awful chassis, engine and everything else.
Totally neglected except for paint and seats. This
is a shamefully shabbily treated Topolino, an
auction car that someone has given a top quality
repaint and new interior and left in absolutely
despicable condition everywhere else.
It is a disgrace, and was deservedly shunned by
the bidders in Monaco. The scum who presented
it to the auction can now take it back and try to do
the rest of the car without messing up the cosmetics."

Yowsa! "Scum"! Well, some people are passionate
about their hobbies. I can understand that. I'm
in no position to disagree with the expertise of
the writer, but I must say the vehicle in question
looks darned cute. Not sure I like the white
wheel hubs, though.


Happy Valentine's Day to all of you!

Saturday, January 26, 2008


Okay, so I don't listen to Fox Radio and don't have cable. But
here's what I have picked up recently on John Gibson's
recent mockery of Heath Ledger's death and Gibson's
comments on "Brokeback Mountain."

Check that out and this one too:,2933,180499,00.html

What gets me is that mixed in with his homophobic bullshit
Gibson says this (from the site of the second link):

"I said, 'Hey, I know people who are gay and I have nothing
against them . . .'"

Well, the bad news is this: yahoos like this are on the air, and,
as corporate flunkies, spreading their hate propaganda.

But here's the good news: the homophobes feel obliged to
pretend they're not anti-gay. An age old prejudice is facing
defeat, and it's getting scared to show its face. It may still
be a long road, but I suspect that by the power of Christ the
days of this bullshit are numbered.

Monday, January 21, 2008


God damn. I write soooo slow. Like, everything is sloooow motion. I do everything
that way. I am a good writer. In fact, a VERY good writer. But a very sloooow writer.

Fucking dam.

Saturday, January 19, 2008


at my site, (go to the "read my work" button).

No, you didn't miss an earlier chapter. I have not posted the first one.
I just thought I'd post a teaser. Chapter two, as it happens, stands well on
its own. Hope to publish the whole thing some day.

If you like smart-mouthed lesbian PIs and women in leather flying suits
you might want to check it out.

Tuesday, January 15, 2008


On this day in 1919 Rosa Luxemburg, a leading figure of the radical Left in the early 20th century, was brutally murdered, along with Karl Liebknecht, by a Right Wing goon squad in Berlin.

She was hated for being the following things: a socialist, a Jew, a woman, a Pole, and a physically handicapped person. But more than anything else, she was hated because she was a socialist and would not compromise on her insights into the capitalist-militarist forces that eventually seized power in the form of Hitler some 14 years later.

These same forces, though they do not wear a swastika, are very much alive in the ruling classes today.

Had there been more people like Rosa Luxemburg there would have been a successful revolution in Germany in 1918/19, unlike the seriously compromised one that did occur. There would have been no Hitler in power, no World War Two, and no holocaust. It is even possible that the influence of a socialist Germany would have turned the USSR from the path of phoney communism and tyranny to that of genuine socialist democracy.

It is not hard to find material on Rosa Luxemburg in any well stocked library. But she remains, in North America at least, completely shut out of mass media representation. The possibilities and the hopes she represents are fatal to the politically correct cynicism and despair fostered by capitalism.

The exclusion of the spirit of Rosa Luxemburg is quite deliberate. But this exclusion shall be broken. Rosa Lives.


The following I am posting here from Wendell Ricketts to promote submissions to an anthology
that looks like it will be very interesting.

"I'm the editor of the successful anthology, *Everything I Have is Blue: Short Fiction by Working-Class Men about More-or-Less Gay Life* (Suspect Thoughts Press, 2005; http://everythingih aveisblue. com/ ).I'm writing to solicit contributions to an online writing project, 'Still Blue: More Writing from Working-Class Queers."*Everything I Have Is Blue* was always intended to be more than a book. It was intended to be an opportunity to use creative writing to build connections among working-class queers across race, gender, and region."Still Blue: More Writing from Working-Class Queers" is an online writing project that showcases our imaginative writing: short fiction, life writing, memoir, poems, work that doesn't fit the categories. If it illuminates our realities, our struggles, our resistance to assimilation and mental gentrification, and if it's well written, I'll consider it respectfully. (Submissions of previously published work, as long as you hold the copyright, are also welcome.) Please *do not* send erotica, as I cannot use it.Writers of any and all genders are welcome!Send your writing to me as a email attachment formatted in Word. Include a biography. Send to: editor (at) everythingihaveisbl ue dot com. If your server doesn't like that address, try me at wendell.ricketts at gmail."Still Blue" is an ongoing project and there is no deadline. Work that's selected will appear on the "Still Blue" page: http://www.everythi ngihaveisblue. com/still. html. There, you can also read The first two "Still Blue" stories, "The Werewolf" by Donal Mosher and "Day by Day" by Allen Conkle.Many thanks!Wendell Ricketts"

Saturday, January 12, 2008


"Some call you the elite; I call you my base."
George W. Bush, speaking to an audience of rich people.

What is truly appalling is that that comment did not get Bush into
a lot of trouble. No trouble at all, as far as I know. Wake up, people! There
is a ruling class, and they're screwing us.

The ruling class can be defeated soundly. And they shall be.


Saw this movie recently. Not bad, but probably not a flick
I'd want to watch again.

Saturday, January 5, 2008


Having increasingly become a fan of Japanese movies in the last few years, including anime, I can recommend TEKKONKINKREET, which I just watched recently. More info here:

A good flick. However, My all-time anime favourite remains GHOST IN THE SHELL PART II: INNOCENCE. Just a damned beautiful and intelligent film. And since my writing (including my erotic writing) is frequently in a sci-fi context, I appreciate the aesthetic inspiration. This film doesn't turn me on (very few films do) but it is very beautiful.

Tuesday, January 1, 2008


I just posted a story of mine at my site: "Surprise in the Sky: A Stewardess Story from the Golden Age of Air Travel."

(In which a stewardess during the early sixties dons a supremely tight bodyshaper for the sake of beauty and a delicious sense of self-control. But an unusual in-flight accident makes short shrift of that...)