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by markosterloh 

Posted: 06 November 2003
Word Count: 249
Summary: This poem was first performed on The James Whale Show in 1995. With a post-pub Eurotrash crowd in mind, my friend Johnny Law and I performed the piece wearing nothing more than surgical gowns and silly haircuts. Given the intended constituency, it's rude and lewd. Inspired by newspaper reports of the time, claims that patients were faking illnesses in order to make their erotic surgical fantasies come true, we thought a poem on the subject would be right up Mr Whale's alley...so to speak

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I’m kneeling in submission
To my qualified technician
Begging for the first incision
As I start to count ‘One…two…’

With a slice – o such perfection!
Painful pleasure, painful heaven
I am gliding through the gassy haze
Of post-sedated lust

[I want to be her guinea pig
The meat upon the slab
I want to be her guinea pig
Let’s quarantine the lab]

Injected love floods through my veins
Euphoric nightmares in my brain
It really isn’t quite the same
The good old fashioned way

She has to love me, has to care
She has to see my soul laid bare
In fact, I rather think she’ll find
I’m better inside out

[I want to be her guinea pig
The meat upon the slab
I want to be her guinea pig
Let’s quarantine the lab]

A look of joy upon my face
As ligatures are fixed in place
The blood is staunched but love runs free
Across her laundered gown

My intestine’s over fifty feet
My gift to her – a special treat
It’s what’s inside that really counts
My Mother used to say

[I want to be her guinea pig
The meat upon the slab
I want to be her guinea pig
Let’s quarantine the lab]

There’s nothing really wrong with me
No strange, protracted malady
My body is a temple
And if she should walk inside…

She will hear my own confession
My eroticised physician
Who’ll proclaim my grave condition
As a bleeding waste of time


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Comments by other Members

The Walrus at 20:56 on 06 November 2003  Report this post
And interesting and insightful piece... I had no idea. Took me into realms which I'd rather not go, but was drawn with morbid fascination. Scarey.

Fearless, I would be interested to hear your comments.

The Walrus

markosterloh at 21:55 on 06 November 2003  Report this post
Hello Walrus

Fearless has already posted some comments, but unfortunately I had to delete and re-upload the piece in order to name check my collaborator (an omission on the original posting)- and lost all the responses in the process.

Fearless jokingly suggested that the poem was too high brow for The James Whale Show. Given that the programme also featured a man who drank his own urine, an orchestra of bottom spankers and a very elderly (but very sweet) chinese Elvis impersonator, I could not disagree.

Anyway, I hope you weren't too disturbed. In the meantime, I shall explore your ouvre...

Ta ta


Fearless at 11:36 on 07 November 2003  Report this post

Based on my friend Walrus' request, i'll have another shot:

It's not love, it's lust, a devoted sort nonetheless despite being spiked with bitterness - or is that bile from the lust-giver's liver?

What do u do when you have given you all
- mind, body, soul and organ
And they still don't wanna know?

Hehe, actually reminds me of a trip or two, but thats quite another story.


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