Eunoia Review


My peers were perplexed by the pervertedness. The strengths and strengthlessnesses est  entrenched deep. The beefy legend beseeched feeling.  The themes emerged – demented sex, lewdness.  Encrypted were endless belle tweets, velvet cheeky verses.  The messenger went sleepless, cheerless weekends, wrestling werds.  He blended berserk energy. The end delved deep – dysentery emerged.  He encysts the term – “belles pensées” est le sens.




A dirty ditty


Though I feel kinda weird posting this to a class blog, here is my attempt at a Bökian prurient debauch that is not so “fratty” sounding.

“Hi,” Isis sighs. It is midnight; Philip’s visit is illicit. Philip, flirting, tilts his chin, inviting Isis’s kiss. Livid with thirst, Isis bids Philip impish lips. Philip strips Isis’s nightshirt, wrinkling silk, his digits digging in Isis’s skin. Fiddling with Philip’s zip, Isis is imbibing his thick spit which drips. Isis is pinching Philip’s nips. Fighting ticklish misgivings, Philip is disinclining Isis’s clinch. Philip grips Isis’s thighs, kissing Isis’s midriff till his thirsting lips find Isis’s pink prism. First Isis is stiff, timid. Isis’s will wilts. Is it his skill which did it? Philip licks Isis’s clit whilst Isis twists with grinding hips. Indistinct lightning is tingling Isis within. Isis is finishing, writhing in thrill. Isis’s spirits lift, thinking “This is right.” Isis wrings Philip’s rising dick with firm wrists. Philip is jiggling Isis’s tidbits. His firming prick slips in Isis’s crib. Philip finds bliss within, lifting Isis’s hips. Isis whips Philip, wild with whim. Philip is whining, twitching. Philip spills his jizz. In dim lighting it isn’t vivid; Isis is missing his sprinkling.

The Merry Marriage of A and E: A Sort of Eunoia Criticism

            We express these needs: the letter “Ey” meets the letter “E.” The sentences were sweet, deep, yet these letters feel better when Ey sees E, E sees Ey, etc. See text:

“E et Ey”

Belle E, she, sweet, tender:

Green eyes effervesce glee—

Her eyes.

Then she, E, the very essence

Feels the grey elven breeze—twelve red trees.

Her scent melds there: every keen ken hers

Yet she seeks elsewhere.


Every three weeks, cheery freckled Ey,

He there sells eleven types peppers, less seven.

“Fresh peppers, lest ye be leery!” yells he.

Plenty, yet he seeks elsewhere.


Then, they meet. Green eyes greet peppered cheeks.

He: “Thee, me?”

She: “We? Peers, free?”

He: “Nest egg, never shells.”

She: “Chest meet chest we dwell?”

He: “Ere we see, we feel.”

She—pledges; knees kneel.

Bells pell-mell, sweetest berry,

Gentle cheer—they, merry.