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A. Andiron
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Born
Queens, NY, The United States
Website
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Influences
Leonard Cohen, Nick Cave, William Gaddis, Blood Meridian, Gene Wolfe,
...more
Member Since
September 2020
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More books by A. Andiron…
“Now comfortable in the cold dark, he explores his acquisition thoroughly; his arms and tentacles everywhere on her body, touching every curve, every marked definition of muscle or fat. She can't process all the things happening. There is too much to track. Too many arms and tentacles, too much sensory input for her small human mind. She wills him to touch anything. She wills him to see her body with his arms, his tentacles, his suckers, hooks and teeth, and his touch. She notices that he spends more time on her hard edges: her knees, her elbows, her hips — drawing a picture for himself of her external soft edge, and its strange hard interior frame that gives it an unmalleable alien shape.”
― Kraken
― Kraken
“But as her body moves, all the yarn in the room suddenly gains tension. There's a swift swishing sound as the lines pull taut. She feels everything in the room move at once, from the big ropey lines supporting her weight, down to the tiny interlocking stitches pressed against her skin.
"She rests in mid-air, suspended above her bed by the network of yarn slicing around the room. It holds her, and at the same time it caresses her. She feels its touch through the stitches on her arms, her legs, her stomach. It feels as if her weight is held in its giant hand, and it contemplates her like Yorick's skull. Hundreds of strings and lines of yarn, ranging from individual strands up to thick knitted cables now move on her. She is wrapped by long meaty loops that move around her legs, and her arms, and her neck; and thin little strings that slip between her fingers. A loop circles her hair and pulls it gently into a
pony tail, and it lifts to supports her head.
"She hangs quietly and meditatively for a while, feeling the caress of the yarn, gently tightening and loosening, and sliding over her body. It feels along her body. And as it feels her, she feels it. She can feel its affection through the way the yarn touches her. The caresses slide up and down her arms, her legs, between her fingers, and around her neck.
"She can feel all the different textures of the different yarns. The scratchy itch of cheap wool, and the smooth toughness of nylon and polyester strings. In places there's even some slick and soft rayon and silk. And she's sure she can tell just by the touch of it, that her foot has been wrapped in a small scarf she made of an extremely fine cashmere.
"But the thing doesn't just want to hold her.”
― Binding Off: When a passion for knitting becomes passionate knitting
"She rests in mid-air, suspended above her bed by the network of yarn slicing around the room. It holds her, and at the same time it caresses her. She feels its touch through the stitches on her arms, her legs, her stomach. It feels as if her weight is held in its giant hand, and it contemplates her like Yorick's skull. Hundreds of strings and lines of yarn, ranging from individual strands up to thick knitted cables now move on her. She is wrapped by long meaty loops that move around her legs, and her arms, and her neck; and thin little strings that slip between her fingers. A loop circles her hair and pulls it gently into a
pony tail, and it lifts to supports her head.
"She hangs quietly and meditatively for a while, feeling the caress of the yarn, gently tightening and loosening, and sliding over her body. It feels along her body. And as it feels her, she feels it. She can feel its affection through the way the yarn touches her. The caresses slide up and down her arms, her legs, between her fingers, and around her neck.
"She can feel all the different textures of the different yarns. The scratchy itch of cheap wool, and the smooth toughness of nylon and polyester strings. In places there's even some slick and soft rayon and silk. And she's sure she can tell just by the touch of it, that her foot has been wrapped in a small scarf she made of an extremely fine cashmere.
"But the thing doesn't just want to hold her.”
― Binding Off: When a passion for knitting becomes passionate knitting
“The emcee marches around the outside of the circle, keeping up a steady banter of insults intended to keep the audience entertained, but also clearly distracting the furiously pounding men. They would occasionally crack up laughing and slow their beat when a particular barbed shaft struck home. The emcee's eyes remain locked on the ginger woman on her knees in the center, holding her breath against the plastic bag.
It's easy to poke fun at the men. Most of their eyes are squeezed closed and their heads arch back. They bare their teeth with their lips pulled back in a gaping rictus. They look so serious — right up until the emcee mocks their manliness and their visage disintegrates into an open-eyed chuckle. Whenever this happens it takes them a few seconds to re-assume their battle pose.
The ginger woman is calm now. Her eyes have closed and she kneels with a certain kind of bravery, very erect and with poise.”
― How To Tie A Handcuff Knot: A pornographic love story.
It's easy to poke fun at the men. Most of their eyes are squeezed closed and their heads arch back. They bare their teeth with their lips pulled back in a gaping rictus. They look so serious — right up until the emcee mocks their manliness and their visage disintegrates into an open-eyed chuckle. Whenever this happens it takes them a few seconds to re-assume their battle pose.
The ginger woman is calm now. Her eyes have closed and she kneels with a certain kind of bravery, very erect and with poise.”
― How To Tie A Handcuff Knot: A pornographic love story.
“Now comfortable in the cold dark, he explores his acquisition thoroughly; his arms and tentacles everywhere on her body, touching every curve, every marked definition of muscle or fat. She can't process all the things happening. There is too much to track. Too many arms and tentacles, too much sensory input for her small human mind. She wills him to touch anything. She wills him to see her body with his arms, his tentacles, his suckers, hooks and teeth, and his touch. She notices that he spends more time on her hard edges: her knees, her elbows, her hips — drawing a picture for himself of her external soft edge, and its strange hard interior frame that gives it an unmalleable alien shape.”
― Kraken
― Kraken
“But as her body moves, all the yarn in the room suddenly gains tension. There's a swift swishing sound as the lines pull taut. She feels everything in the room move at once, from the big ropey lines supporting her weight, down to the tiny interlocking stitches pressed against her skin.
"She rests in mid-air, suspended above her bed by the network of yarn slicing around the room. It holds her, and at the same time it caresses her. She feels its touch through the stitches on her arms, her legs, her stomach. It feels as if her weight is held in its giant hand, and it contemplates her like Yorick's skull. Hundreds of strings and lines of yarn, ranging from individual strands up to thick knitted cables now move on her. She is wrapped by long meaty loops that move around her legs, and her arms, and her neck; and thin little strings that slip between her fingers. A loop circles her hair and pulls it gently into a
pony tail, and it lifts to supports her head.
"She hangs quietly and meditatively for a while, feeling the caress of the yarn, gently tightening and loosening, and sliding over her body. It feels along her body. And as it feels her, she feels it. She can feel its affection through the way the yarn touches her. The caresses slide up and down her arms, her legs, between her fingers, and around her neck.
"She can feel all the different textures of the different yarns. The scratchy itch of cheap wool, and the smooth toughness of nylon and polyester strings. In places there's even some slick and soft rayon and silk. And she's sure she can tell just by the touch of it, that her foot has been wrapped in a small scarf she made of an extremely fine cashmere.
"But the thing doesn't just want to hold her.”
― Binding Off: When a passion for knitting becomes passionate knitting
"She rests in mid-air, suspended above her bed by the network of yarn slicing around the room. It holds her, and at the same time it caresses her. She feels its touch through the stitches on her arms, her legs, her stomach. It feels as if her weight is held in its giant hand, and it contemplates her like Yorick's skull. Hundreds of strings and lines of yarn, ranging from individual strands up to thick knitted cables now move on her. She is wrapped by long meaty loops that move around her legs, and her arms, and her neck; and thin little strings that slip between her fingers. A loop circles her hair and pulls it gently into a
pony tail, and it lifts to supports her head.
"She hangs quietly and meditatively for a while, feeling the caress of the yarn, gently tightening and loosening, and sliding over her body. It feels along her body. And as it feels her, she feels it. She can feel its affection through the way the yarn touches her. The caresses slide up and down her arms, her legs, between her fingers, and around her neck.
"She can feel all the different textures of the different yarns. The scratchy itch of cheap wool, and the smooth toughness of nylon and polyester strings. In places there's even some slick and soft rayon and silk. And she's sure she can tell just by the touch of it, that her foot has been wrapped in a small scarf she made of an extremely fine cashmere.
"But the thing doesn't just want to hold her.”
― Binding Off: When a passion for knitting becomes passionate knitting
“The emcee marches around the outside of the circle, keeping up a steady banter of insults intended to keep the audience entertained, but also clearly distracting the furiously pounding men. They would occasionally crack up laughing and slow their beat when a particular barbed shaft struck home. The emcee's eyes remain locked on the ginger woman on her knees in the center, holding her breath against the plastic bag.
It's easy to poke fun at the men. Most of their eyes are squeezed closed and their heads arch back. They bare their teeth with their lips pulled back in a gaping rictus. They look so serious — right up until the emcee mocks their manliness and their visage disintegrates into an open-eyed chuckle. Whenever this happens it takes them a few seconds to re-assume their battle pose.
The ginger woman is calm now. Her eyes have closed and she kneels with a certain kind of bravery, very erect and with poise.”
― How To Tie A Handcuff Knot: A pornographic love story.
It's easy to poke fun at the men. Most of their eyes are squeezed closed and their heads arch back. They bare their teeth with their lips pulled back in a gaping rictus. They look so serious — right up until the emcee mocks their manliness and their visage disintegrates into an open-eyed chuckle. Whenever this happens it takes them a few seconds to re-assume their battle pose.
The ginger woman is calm now. Her eyes have closed and she kneels with a certain kind of bravery, very erect and with poise.”
― How To Tie A Handcuff Knot: A pornographic love story.
