Wednesday, October 29, 2008
The speaker, stunned, actually answered. "Why, I am JoAnne Studebaker and I am the Director General of the WSBI GMC [Greater Motor City]. It was clear they were all under three feet of snow, it was crowded and warm, no one was getting out until the thing was at an end, and even then at risk of trampling or fros-titty. During the blizzardy 8-hour trans-industrial tour from Mai-Kaina in an unheated car, Peggy found she could break off a hunk of her freshly shampooed hair like a fibrous herbal popsicle.
Later that night in a Group Apartment full of filing cabinets and armoirs, one or two Workers or Students with a blanket, a Mexican poncho or a polyester sleeping bag were situated roughly parallel, every few feet, as in a slave ship or graveyard. There was no smell of marijuana or drink, just lesbian tea.
Ted always felt they had been sent by someone, possibly Comrade Studebaker herself. They came and settled next to him easily after everyone had quieted down and the lights had been dimmed, as before a naked photo-op. He'd been granted a wide perimeter.
He felt their thudding behind him on the bare wood floor through the nylon that wrapped his clothes that sheathed his body, and there were sickly goosebumps on his back. They seemed to be slithering in and out of one another's sack. Then there were wet clicking and smacking noises, strange aggressive giggling.
The proverbial Sventlana and Judith had really shown him who was in charge of that political landscape. All the guests at the crash pad were polite and hushed. It occurred to Ted that these maybe were just spoiled ivy league kids with a denim and bandana fetish.
Peggy and he her own twin brother had still never met. Even in the womb they had been a hot throbbing membrane apart, jus' two pieces o' pie from the same automat, ass to ass.
Where was she nau? Where was she when he needed her not only to be but to be there and not only to be there but to be a woman?
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Morning Edition, October 23, 2008 · A New York City man is convinced the elephant-headed Hindu god Ganesh appeared to him in his backyard as a purple flower.
The 4-foot-tall plant sprouted up between concrete slabs in Sam Lal's yard in Queens. He says the plant began to resemble an elephant's head and trunk. Lal, a Hindu, told the New York Daily News that the plant has healed his back pain.
"They say God comes in many forms. I figure this has taken the form of a plant to come into my yard and bless me," he said.
Now these bitches take up huge branches in the architecture of our minds and even reach somehow into the visceral, archetypal regions. They reign as they reek across centuries. They are the cheesy milk hags of a baby's unbaptized cravings; later, you can't see the future at all, and you can only even imagine it if you are looking into their widened pupils in the dark. They will nip at your calves until you use them for good. They beseech yor best impulse of the loin. They chatter their teeth as if to murmer or mock yor jaw wagging. These stinky girls with big butts can only offer you tongueloads of saliva and to fill yor gut. What if there were two!
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
guide me to prayer-o
wenna wirl-o manso stron
ma-needa woma company.
walk me thru this bigole
neighborhood, fo-I go grrl.
gai me hom-a nau woma
stop an pray-yay witme.
then we can catch a show
or lounge about ata bar-o.
guide me home woman
gai me to pray-yayer-o.
Monday, October 20, 2008
1 hour. hoolie screaming
1 moment. steel blades sliding
crowds erupting, cutlry
place settings slammed down
like an uptown diner, echo;
some famly members
in the counseling chamber.
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Peggy have incennive as well as desire. She got to go, go on. For one, she always itchy down there. Peggy like, "This is bullshit. Gemme a man down here." She only wanna drink and fuck. But she a deity, and so it goes, you gotta suave it on your streetcorner crew, take personal interviews, not too many speeches, live in a graciousness safely above the minimum mark for a milk slave of Mthyuh.
Ceremonies. That the main job of a milkuh. And they caint be cynical cuz when you do-- ooo watch it grrlz. You must believe it baby or you suffer so bad. You wouldn't burden your own family with dangerous knowledge, rational doubts, so why do that to yourself either. Under pressure, you'll have no idea, you won't be a fink. Only problem is they torture you.
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
because you left your kids, two of them
to seek after spiritual enlightenment, you
know? fuck them! because you knew that
would carry them back. their pain would
carry them, carry them into yor arms again.
faiwere on my det bed
i dlet you guide me
I do anything you say
you, woman, are from a-
nother wurl, and i cannot
fine you less i take yr wor
you can santify me woma
only you can see me thrua
horra show, when ahm touch-an-go
we put a liddle uh in the walk, babi
we no longa walk across town or up
and down and up the staircase of the
big city laif we chillin in suburbs in
the lakeside or fireside or rurl-militry
industrial chal, we got the firey crops
and jetting blue studs with their gleeming
sex appeal and rubber and steel, we got
greens and beets and subtle kill, beef,
cockatiel and swan, sparrows, cranes,
ptero-dactyls, reefer, guano, beans and
elevators, but only for grain, escalators
that feed poisons and metal to your brain
through every cavity we got the mill but it
aint for gaining strenth, if you get ill
you can try to catch yer breath waiting in
line with the wretched millions bleating to
break free from whut, mexico, bulgaria,
illinois and Pee, Wisconsin. we gotchur
brefass rolled up ina puffed up corn tor-
tilla ana cyanide wafer, movie stars in
hum vees an lemonade vests ducking into
the trailer half the day traina rest wal
da extras stay out na heat practicing they
no lines at all, practicing being: in lines,
not having: lines but just standing, extra-
like ina shadow of a trailer, not evena
trash-level environment by Mercan standers.
prayers are shit;
shit is gold;
what of it?
oaths are prayers;
prayers are bold;
or so we're told.
God is dumb;
Dumb is loud;
Can love speak
In a crowd?
Push is shove;
or if he's nuts,
fire will bless us.
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
They harrd all th' old shivlords, ones not sent to
prison, the torchrrrs. Gave them the job of call
-ing up folks on the phone saying you can make
it stop, only you can, any time. And jo mimimm
paymen eeyus: whatever. You can make it stop,
only you chamatilly an until theyun, we call you,
we call you woma ever naughtier laf. All nait lone
woma. We call you call you. Weda shivlords n we
gotchors baby. Chamatilly shake and sweat, turn
over. With the other ear exposed, she could hear
them writing letters. We know you in trubble cha
-l. don dowdit: we rspechu grrl chal. Yu beta pay.
Then sum wicked clerk walk up to a guy in a bar. Step right on his foot, with all he weight. Say mista. Hear you gotta anger prolm.
Well da udda say: I, well I, huh, uh, woe! say...uh.. you on my foot buddie.
An da clerk go, "Uh... idaynt yo foot. It belong to da Lo', bitch."
Chamatilly all ooo i aint even gotta foot dees daze ooo mami whaidai evuh evuh become a damn deity yall sheeyut. [etc.]
Sunday, October 12, 2008
back to terror again, with
hot flushes of shame in bet
-ween. The fire shows a w-
all of water only eight feet
high, but it keeps on comi-
ng for thirty minutes. all r
hugging, scrambling up po-
les, not screaming OMG! n
-ow we can time it with a s
-top watch; then, you cou-
ld only stare, as if under th
-e spell of a venom, or cry.
Thursday, October 9, 2008
They's all med wards. You in a ward you on meds. You a nurse you on meds. You a live you even dead you on meds. They checkin my pulse and my powers, all strapped down in a bed. The guns in green come in they say Correctional Officers, as in Correct-Ol, the laxative. They four hours sayin: mmm Jimenez waintcha geddus a peetsa. Mmm I cd go frwun. He say he a magician. It aint comin out. We hada pikim up frm Contraband Watch, no he wuzzina cell. Non-responsive. They say if he gonna lee-of, they gotta giv him da opa-shiv. Da only one ken lift da opa. Doc comes in an sez "iss unfortunate dahling but I've got to save you. It's my damn job." This man is a spoilt, the prisoner who ate contra-shiv and has to get it out in a bucket with guards and docs and clerks on overtime. Day say one broke all up inim. An if is condums, iz ownlee a manner of tam. They standing four hours waiting, I am in normal torture they have me now in a rack. other side o the curtain they saying what about the cubs. whut about da mets. fuck them they waiting for that bitch to shit out her cocaine? tax payer dolla make huh lisp an ask for a tube down her throat cuz she don't like da frooty tase of da lixuid aquative. Hunerd thousan dolla fora nurse an some bitches to surroun dis sociopat wit tits an ass an kindrids? It jus be gonna shoodout day say. It'll shoodout. An we'll have to cleenit. Iaint cleeninit. But itl b evi-dence. Shia, I ain cleeninit.
always running to the window if w-
e hear a sound on the street, other
dogs barking, any plastic tires be t-
hey on a Big Stone or the waste bo-
x. but I realize now it's all the exer-
cise me and the bitches get. unless
i run around in circles and letem ni-
p at my ankles in a useless frenzy,
we all sitting down or loungin out b-
ig time. we can hear that life is blo-
somming everywhere, and in burs-
ts, occasionally, right in the framey
ovda livinroom winda. weird grainy
film of an era, average people, on a
street. Through the polyshiv lace c
-urtain. while we? whose recordin-
g it? get this, bitches: if they try a-
nythin? you bite. they'll member it.
Monday, October 6, 2008
to moov that biggi
thang on uppy. Jus
moovit grrl. Moovit.
Moov that biggy grl
that thang on uppy.
Time to move along
no story here to tell
woman. Jus yo biggi
on da mappi blockin
awda traffik grrl yal.
You got to move grl
go on moov dat napi
Grrl I feel it is time
to moov that nappi
thang on uppy. Jus
moovit grrl. Moovit.
Moov it on uppy grl,
dat thang is nappina