On a five-wood deco vanity,
whataya say we nod to roots,
how each of us, equally strung,
experienced a knot of co-occupancy
and why we shouldn't share frankly.
But seeing's how we simultaneously
wiped index knuckles across nuts
watching psychodrama among a
whole pen of our likenesses,
blood kin can't go without staying.
This is where we gather and molt.
A hundred others combine the shame.
While not the godz-favorites, the
anonymity of obscurity has its fame.
We're heavy light triangles on water.
Showing posts with label fame. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fame. Show all posts
Friday, July 8, 2011
Sunday, September 26, 2010
The Dirty Gory
Connie was so assured of her body that while many of her peers treated theirs as something so precious as to be given like a pink angora sweater: only once, or only in the dark, or hated theirs so much as to let it go only once, or only in the dark, she could feel Pain of Rivening but only along with the knowledge of regeneration and ever-presence. Indeed a joe felt drained and used after paying for a session, and so her clientele was culled.
"I don't claim to be Eryho. I have some implants that make my bones grow. It's a special sponsorship situation from PharmCo. Only one man could keep his lid on, and that was Ted. I bet he wonders wai I'm dead. T'was Wayne that did the dirty gory; he thot that Ted wd break th' story."
"I don't claim to be Eryho. I have some implants that make my bones grow. It's a special sponsorship situation from PharmCo. Only one man could keep his lid on, and that was Ted. I bet he wonders wai I'm dead. T'was Wayne that did the dirty gory; he thot that Ted wd break th' story."
Saturday, September 18, 2010
Joy Laffter
Joy Laffter shows up at Ted's in big sunglasses with a box just as the sun's popping behind Chukka chank. Her blonde wig is human hair, a little frizzy. She stands there in nothing but a black pantsuit but for a khaki parka instead of the jacket. The vest gives it a tank-top affect. Ted answers the door, all negroid with maroon-rimmed eyes. Peggy was seeing so much red his blood seemed to swirl on the wrong side of the skin. Who are you? asks Ted, on his day off, after a couple of mad dogs. Joy Laffter, Peg responds. Her lips are pink-orange. And she steps on in.
So this is your dive. The back of her parka flutters cape like.
Ms. Laffter. I have an office. I'll give you an autograph outside.
I have something for you.
Ted takes the box.
Then all the eaters of the world swarm out. They cover his flesh except for his mouth. They have evolved to let a man scream during dinner because it makes him taste better.
So this is your dive. The back of her parka flutters cape like.
Ms. Laffter. I have an office. I'll give you an autograph outside.
I have something for you.
Ted takes the box.
Then all the eaters of the world swarm out. They cover his flesh except for his mouth. They have evolved to let a man scream during dinner because it makes him taste better.
Labels:
alcohol,
fame,
fashion,
Peggy (Pegyuh),
Swarm of Eaters,
ted,
vittles
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Born Again, But Uglier
So nice to hear rock n' roll in the Lower Chanks. Someone must be amping up for an exit. A flake mohm and her baby cower in a niche. Does a hole you scratch with your fangers count as a panic room? Someone is bleeding on the strings of a real guitar. Communities open up to picaroz and needles as long as they can watch the whole project launch soon and far.
I'm here as a Missionary of Doom, but it's a good thang. We promote something like healthy recreation. As the Hereafter Looms, why not stock up on favors to the Butt Unappealing?
Illyn
"Born again-- but uglier."
I'm here as a Missionary of Doom, but it's a good thang. We promote something like healthy recreation. As the Hereafter Looms, why not stock up on favors to the Butt Unappealing?
Illyn
"Born again-- but uglier."
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Pillow Talk
The Chama on "Pillow Talk"
with Phyliss
I am a primitive, an illiterate, yet I have a place because my work is an organic function and not everyone can pass this stuff.
Everything you produce looks like a bad and pornographic Degas, a motel-room El Greco if you're lucky.
I could be the gal who stencils red and black diamonds on the doors of the suites.
You've seen enough to know it all just makes you tired, and it's easier to just paint and drink.
Drink and paint.
Exactly.
Then why am I so goodlooking?
That's how you get away with it.
You're wearing a Timex, aren't you?
I beg your... yes, why?
Its ticking is about to give me an epileptic fit. Can we slip it between the mattresses?
[Slipping] You'll never be All-Chank because of this essential torpidity, the contempt for consensus or... regard...
You are beginning to understand my powers. They do not lie in rhetoric, sadly, nor in representation. I am a bloody wicca bitch. Can't you see. Your tongue is coiled around my clit.
*mphrmph*
with Phyliss
I am a primitive, an illiterate, yet I have a place because my work is an organic function and not everyone can pass this stuff.
Everything you produce looks like a bad and pornographic Degas, a motel-room El Greco if you're lucky.
I could be the gal who stencils red and black diamonds on the doors of the suites.
You've seen enough to know it all just makes you tired, and it's easier to just paint and drink.
Drink and paint.
Exactly.
Then why am I so goodlooking?
That's how you get away with it.
You're wearing a Timex, aren't you?
I beg your... yes, why?
Its ticking is about to give me an epileptic fit. Can we slip it between the mattresses?
[Slipping] You'll never be All-Chank because of this essential torpidity, the contempt for consensus or... regard...
You are beginning to understand my powers. They do not lie in rhetoric, sadly, nor in representation. I am a bloody wicca bitch. Can't you see. Your tongue is coiled around my clit.
*mphrmph*
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Spin, Vajra, Spin
Maybe it's my hairdo that makes your bun fall to the side when you think of me, mom. For she is I that laid your egg, not you a Peg, and members of my retinue must twist the dhammilla so low and tight.
Mechanical creatures and slime can rest in my weightless curls with room for your life and forty more. I love you that much to communicate my post-feminist claims so you may rest in my jatamandala while I shriek in carnal crime and despair.
My terrible living makes me pigeon, street girl to stars, but to compare, you are just a tiny ovum saved by chance on my vajra tip. You suffer sharply. But I am there. When you hear the cloying screech of a suparna, you feel me.
Your Peggy, Our Pegyuh
Mechanical creatures and slime can rest in my weightless curls with room for your life and forty more. I love you that much to communicate my post-feminist claims so you may rest in my jatamandala while I shriek in carnal crime and despair.
My terrible living makes me pigeon, street girl to stars, but to compare, you are just a tiny ovum saved by chance on my vajra tip. You suffer sharply. But I am there. When you hear the cloying screech of a suparna, you feel me.
Your Peggy, Our Pegyuh
Labels:
birdz,
fame,
fashion,
feminism,
goddessofdestruction,
Peggy (Pegyuh),
sticky progeny,
Sylvia
Monday, August 17, 2009
HOMO
Wow why do my loins hurt? From walking around a lot? They claim to have discovered why I swing; is that so hard? Balancing a hulk alone requires rhythm. A carrot always hangs in my face, so I must go on and on.
As God, I'd have to say that naming is my favorite thing to do. Like a beast, I want to push my fetish into others, serve fellow creatures. Did I create these disequilibriums? Every time I turn around, my big ass seems to rearrange the furniture.
--Chamatilly
Reincarnated as a monotheistic superstar
As God, I'd have to say that naming is my favorite thing to do. Like a beast, I want to push my fetish into others, serve fellow creatures. Did I create these disequilibriums? Every time I turn around, my big ass seems to rearrange the furniture.
--Chamatilly
Reincarnated as a monotheistic superstar
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