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Three Poems

James Hoctor


The following are a selection of poems that were performed at “Huddle”, a fundraising event for a men’s mental health charity that took place in South London in December 2017.


“My deepest most disgusting fantasies and passions”.

Beneath the composure of lived life,
a paddling pool of filth festers, quite self-sustainably.
Its odour, a shocking smell, tolerable only,
to the most perverted of pests.

“Does sadism belong to your miserable menagerie?”
I hear you ask. Indeed it does.
As does a passion for perverted acts with Earth’s most disease infested creatures.
My prized possession in this keep-safe of horror:
masochism, rough justice,
an orgasmic lust for the sublime moment of intolerable pain.
Blood rushes forth. It erupts. Arteries and blood vessels become
pistons of pleasure.

The distinction between Yes and No –
once so meaningful, now so obscure,
I am left only drinking from my paddling pool,
a shame so pleasurable, the only thing better than a long draught
is to forbid myself of one.

I really am such a despicable pest that I prohibit myself from indulging,
for I know that the shame ejaculates so much more violently
once I deny myself its release.
I watch myself do something atrocious,
a feigned attempt at avoiding a disaster.

Delay is what makes my paddling pool darker
more revolting.
Don’t you dare try to clean out my paddling pool.
With it, I am at least violent and reprehensible scum.
Without it, I am nothing.


(Debt is sexy)

Once you’ve spent the loan
and you’ve hit the deck
the credit companies condone
but I don’t moan.

The interest builds
“Pile it on!” I implore.
The creditor obliges with much more instore.
There’s plenty more to come, from somewhere offshore.

The figure grows heavy
but I feel no pain
I find it sexy
to be whipped with this cane.

With furrowed brows
the baby-boomers fret
but I get off
on amassing this debt.

100% interest
I have no fear
this balance of mine
need never be clear.

What can I say?
It turns me on
that this financial tumour
can’t be undone.

We’ve been shafted
by Cameron and Blair
but this handsome load
I’m willing to bear.



An algorithmic flash of disconnected electro-ecstasies causes convulsive power-surges through an orgasmic network of intergalactic techno-ejaculations.
Hyperfunctioning code pistons and spasmodic biomechanisms align into machino-coherent dissonance – pleasure meets pain in a pie chart on a sprawling spreadsheet.
The chemical engulfing of bio-analogue organisms by digital pangs of auto-bliss penetrate the cryptoeuphoric technovibrations
and I dissolve digitally into cyberorgasm.



James Hoctor completed an MSt in German in 2017 and is currently working as a private tutor in South London.