Monkey on a Swag

Nobody Cares to Be My Lover

At least not who matches
My Ideal Opposite Gender.

The pain was waking me up in the night
N' giving me Circles All Day.

They called me La Llorona.
Now I spell relief: a_d-r-e-a-m_d-e-f-e-r-r-e-d.

My Blood Plug: worthless?
...and comfortable, like a pair of Curly-Toe Slippers.

My Grandiose Ideation may sound much
like a Monkey on a Swag, in a smoking jacket, tho

I tell you Pharmlife is always longer than no life because it's
Costlier. Your living cells have Employees and Stockholders.

Smokers Don't Need Fireworks

Tomorrow we're having meat laid on red-hot steel bars over the cinders of aromatic junk wood and brush. We soak it in vine and sear it this way until it is white with pain. Upon removal from its host, we nearly always receive thanks. With those nerves and tendons gone, it can go about its business faith healing and puking on bartops.

Guyz Like to Pray Rocking

Guys like to pray rocking
because it pumps their prostate,
and it gets them off
even if they're not hard.

Before you eat chips, or
in a stadium seat at
a summer pogrom,
let us be 1 body.

Part of your hotness is
the way they have you dangling
over a pit of
fiery death reminder.

High-End Wig Shop

Donna was force fed Jive linguistics in cement school. She had come to respect at least the magic, but could never reproduce the spell, never get past the affective filter of girls with half her education but twice her size fresh in from the diaspora of urban public housing reform. These chicks were ball players and tight with no one but the school mascot, Jesuit. Donna took to wearing big glasses and a checkered Georgie-girl cap, like a cabbie, just to protect herself from their wrath by being her own teen with a strong sense of personal style. Later, headbands that involved dyed chicken feathers and suede, hoop earrings, shiny colored-plastic blob pendants and bug brooches, midriffs and lowriding, dayglo borgana sleevecuffs and shoes with pearls on them catapulted her all the way through pharmcamp and into her own clothing-optional tropical disco resort and snake vaccine consultancy.

summer crotch n' cotton

bird chirps at night
three dogs listen

candle in a pot
spewing lemon grass

lights on in house
mean safe outside

stanky sof cotton,
nachrul melody,

we peel it off
while ogres sleep.

To: Mike
From:
Dr. Thong

"I'm Yo Scrip, Baybee!"

Lush in a Poo

Mike's Swimming Blog: Summer of WD: Endless

I've never seen anything like it: Dr. Thong becomes this water satyr when in contact with water. Earlier, almost drowning herself, she back paddled out to the middle with a glass of vine held high above the surface like a liberty torch. She then to the tune of a number of imagined tom-toms proceeded to execute a series of very geometric, 70's tribal bonfire dances using the grail, its ruby contents, and the tension of the deep end against her musculature as props. An entire victory lap of sorts was then devoted to what she called her "pig-dolphin movement," a super-undulation of great strength, gall, and poor taste. Coming to an abrupt though not unwelcome stop, she had her hands on her own raw hindquarters as if for the first time. "I can no longer bruise my pelvic shelf," she marveled; "my ass is now so big I can't feel any of the bone directly. I have a big ass, so I'm going to use it," Donna continued, still out of breath from her last performance while gaining emotional momentum. "I can... watch this..." Donna banged her hip up against the side of the poo as furiously as she could underwater. "I can throw my ass around and bang it on cement and it doesn't even hurt! I have a big ass. Yeah! It's big." Dr. Thong continued, banging ass violently and sipping carefully from her plastic goblet. Then the wind started to pick up.

Bandanna Bandito

There's a restaurant attached to a motel at the edge of town that gives onto a convalescent home across the highway, Chalk Chank Manor. It was shut down for a reason that's mysterious in a town whose most powerful most always get a pass in the press. The Manor is the last real estate that's not pharmland or plain sand from there to Chukka, way beneath the turn of the horizon. The road takes a deep dip also, at the bottom of which there's a mannequin who looks like a bandanna bandito selling junk wood. Kevin has evening meals

there at Finister's, flirting with bologna-face truckers, cement miners and horny carpetbaggers. After a quick dip at the newspaper machine by the door, he'll walk in and spread the Sports N' Alleged Sex Crimes Bugle across the chilly tabletop of the booth with the best view and look out on the dusk. The dead palms at The Manor have radically U-turned, their fronds upside down. The blacktop between is untrammeled enough to be a runway of sorts. Enterers see Finister's and The Manor and Manor Motel as their de facto introduction to the Low Chanks.

Intergenerational Bitch Fight

La-La and M'Lady went at it after a dispute Kevin says over somebody walking by outside the fence. But they were fighting over him. A lot of blood spilled on the patio and up against the stucco. I was trying to wedge apart their muzzles with a plastic lawn chair, Kevin was hosing them down (I said Kevin get the hose as he just stood in stupor), and I was kicking La-La in the ribs since she had her cuspids sunken firmly into M'Lady's upper gingiva. In the guest bath, M'Lady was spurting blood onto the double folding linen closet doors. La-La hid behind a giant white flowering Nerium oleander "La Comodona" where she also goes when I yell. M'Lady looked worse with the facial swelling, but La-La can hardly walk and bleats her whistle-cry with each step. Now I'm wondering should M'Lady be put to sleep. It was she who attacked her own daughter, who was being brushed by the deadbeat daddy. He only there once a week, and La-La growl when M'Lady try an get up in the bed with them. There was even a chunk of fatty tissue on the wet cement and La-La come back before the pain set in and lick it up along with a small puddle of her own mother blood.

It's a mistake to let them work it out between them who's top bitch. Who will cuddle in his bed? Eat from his plate? Sit shotgun in the pickup? Because K. won't step up to the plate and show his strength, put them down, they try murdering for fate.

One Blessed

Connie slumps as a broken yoga nude on office chair stuffing and horse hair.
Lolling splayed with the public oracle dispenser as primary light, she can see
her role has become guest, prisoner, client to negotiate. They have to keep
her alive. She will always rub their face in that; her loins are still soft enough
to snatch cock from any nest; her brain can scramble eggs on flat rocks; her
love is like a burning hot smokestack. As she wisens into chaff, she meditate:

As the Flounce Girl, I made my fortune young and almost forgot the sufring
of my peoples. We small, blond and humble, not without cultural misgivings.
Out of control with the free breath of living, I garnered envy n' persecution;
there was no one in my tree of friends and famly that could withstand to su
-pport my idle woes a drumbeat longer. When another is illin, you'll explain,
"oh how we make our own way, own troubles." With grace go I, one blessed.

1blesit, the Mp3

That's a Fine Boutique...

Years later, Peg has opened an understated dress and fingertip vibrator shop in Upper-West Seersucker Chank. Ted stumbles in on account of a bad map. He can only see her butt as she re-stocks some Pinky Nuke, swinging expertly on a rope ladder. He exits immediately back through the heavy, treaded mudflaps and with a hatpin noiselessly scratches this grievance on the sandstone mouth of the establishment's windward entrance.

...but you think it's time that sweeps us? No, because stasis mocks time and still creates its own results. You think time always liffs the upper hand and therefore exists. Just because you always lose does not mean the victor is abstract. That might even be psychosis: not able mentally to embrace any oppressor as solid. In time's case, it's a setup: a supposedly moving target that's too profound to be understood. Booshia. How do they tell your speed from a traffic helicopter, for example? Paint lines and watch you move across them.

You been scratchin' lats in my path baby? Are you a woma with not much to do but see me spin my wheels in distress? Am I a hooptie tryna tess the curve on a invisible rail chall? You don't think I'm for real? Youda onee one who ever raised a fiss. To me, time is met you knew you lost you crazy kulat-wearin' ruttin' like a hound, afro-grabbin' slag-mammy.

I love you,
T

Phuket, I'm Goinda Thailandia

Whereas once Connie rose an impunate clamor carrying on in a flock, something about the way she shows up late in life and alone with the same old antics gets her sent more often than not to jail.

Whereas her age peers with higher-up roles in the global economy behave even more shamefully, no one sees how it's her prerogative to shower her wurl with boutique critical commentary, especially on a bender.

Whereas all the other seats at the bar are also occupied, those drunks have the presence of mind to shut up. "It's righteous what you say, girl-- but more so that they haul you away," says a skeleton.

"I'm just husband hunting, Jay," sasses Connie, heavy lidded, to a lady strip-search cop. "Thas whut you get for poking around wair you don't belong," retorted Chama, a goddess in policewoman's garb. "Youda nosiess dyke I ever saw."

No One is Innocent
by Connie

I'm impatient and
I jab at things and
I hurt myself.

I'm innocent and
think the hol wurl want
my prolongations.

Ery time I stick
my neck out, they hack
it. Phucking bastards.

It Lived

Even the Chukka Chanks Chain rejected
me. They said "yor not Chukka, yor a ba
-stard; you have minerals on your moth-
er's side sure, but that many times rem-
oved? We were going to invite you to C-
hukka Nite. Don't think yor offending u-
s with the Chuk lights in the front wind-
ow. We love our symbol and wish you p-
eace. But saltiness doesn't a stone make.
Fresh goes as earth does and we make i
-t grow. Stone love is stone is and love i-
s stone, Joe. Stone is love, stone is stone

is." They sang this clacking and chipping
at each other. Up Mthyuh way there was
a slab of granite near where I'd pee on c
-amping trips. I thought it literally recoi-
led at splashing urine. Once it seemed to
moisten itself on some moss. I was hon-
ored it would be so real like that in front
of me. It was a granite slab animated, b-
ut not a cartoon. That was before the shi
-v when hallucinations were rare and or
-ganic. What I encountered was rare an-
d inorganic yet able to shapeshift expres
-sively. I won't say poignantly, but it lived.

Joe [the Mp3]

Low Star

Low star, pull your pants up
Low star, slippry and dense
Low star, walk the rooftops
Low star, impervious.

Because Kevin Reynolds experienced the miserable smoking child cardiologist as a deity, he overcompensated its malice with allowances, which were tithes. The meat divinity could slip along the gums of the spa mouth, a critical tongue clucking a roller-coasting ticker tape of praise and affront, while Kevin stood locked and branked in one spot twixt therapeutic jets and offered up a stance which looked relaxed (on a commercial for a 900 number or a mustang ranch).

Low star, a mud bottom
Low star, or a searchlight
Low star, banana trees
Low star, not high season.

Kevin looked like a statue in a grease fountain lamp, with stray dog hair, hanging on a chain. Stitching through conversation and anaesthesia, the skin-masked and sterile stethoscope imp had trapped him in a crib of adoration and scorn. The bars were taut suture wire, twisted like candy canes or stripers on poles, down which the serum ran in dizzying regular spiraling drips. A suffering physician took Kevin Reynolds's needful swell under advisement with the assumed entitlement of a faith healer rigging a magic trick or something you could plug into a cigarette lighter.

Low star, where are you now
Low star, surface drifter
Low star, moth ball in pop
Low star, gravid ardor.

When he awoke afloat in four-hundred-thread-count sheets, the message indicator on the telephone flashed like a red lighthouse beacon. There was pea seed in his hair, and the oracle was still ignited, drumming out that morning’s urgent crisis. There seemed to be no air, just a tobacco-y sealant which even caught the future and held it still. The Other Presence had left this disco-cabana world reemed and vacant as a church. Kevin Reynolds was once again a gentleman alone in society, but his manhood was broken in two.

Low star, you were fragile
Low star, melted cupcake
Low star, bloody s-curve
Low star, meanderer.

Auspicious Battery

Sated but still licking at shivplate from a round, girlish stone after the fact, horizontal poolside in a white rubber chaise, it's easy to call: Fool's Blessing, Chump's Paradise. After a 16-ladder climb up to the corner shade cave, it better be good, and it better be bad. I had to apologize to the valet-wench when the tip of my hard Italian duffel chipped the "bronze" trunk of a sentinel gomphotherium, stuck obnoxiously there in eternal trumpeting siege too near the beads like a high-security hole sniffer. Then appeared the living creatures.

It hadn't been three steps after checking in when I spotted it across the water, between doric plaster columns among a copse of senatorial nudists with towels, hunched over its tray of ashes. The chest was sunken, and the face was drawn of limits that all spelled bitterness and spite. It could have been so posed at a maiden's breast on a canopy bed, having sucked all the life with her breath, yet still wheezing for truth and light and sympathy. Its toenails bit into the cement. It watched me.

Later that night, I stepped out of my room for a jacuzzi. There was something glowing blue at its lip. Some bodies pose naked because they cook with religion, and he was a doctor of carnal gospel. To take the waters and behold him was to sit in bubbles of pornographic faerie children. His blue light and severed heads, caught in their fright and wonderment, dangled from every nipple, hypnotized all moral superiority. His youth and self-regard, krishna art and wicca, made that night the start of my final auspicious shakedown and battery.

Inevitable Blanket of Shunning

Inevitable
blanket of shunning

bunched up in my groin,
I wrote these verses

on an envelope
with a broken dick,

and to repair it
will cost me an inch.

The ban on grafts is
a way to maintain

community de-
stabilization.

We must appear to
be daft: writhing in

pain to a thing you
got immunity.

You Better PharmSupply

If you can't take the shiv, then you can't
take the shiv, but if you take the shiv,
then you can take the shiv and live, Hank.

Firstable Co. Initial Campaign
Seersucker Chank
"Prop-a-Nishitive"

Hank [the Mp3]

That's Cashed

One feeding cycle to the next, doesn't the species try to breed against you? How can its archetypal memory not spell out, "We are meat," and that there is horror in swine, goat or cow? One could develop a bad taste, or wings, or rather, one did. It tilts before you, leans on a fingery rat-color feather, beaten as straw, as a cane. Your neck must crane to let its eyes' receeded glow cast their moon tricks across your face. That bedevilment, tragic waste, towering mhegamolith? In flocks, they wr once proud. It is time to cash, to nobilize, to seal with plates and electrodes. By the time
they get to this state, one cd knock them over with a bulldozer.


That's Cashed [the Mp3]
Better Pronunciation, Less Soul
Lady Voice

Methuselah Much?

Men become less ideal as men's ideals become more.

We were history's first two inter-dimensional pen pals;

I couldn't let you seed another void across my entrails.

Each time that we meet, another desperate incantation:

As Mthyuh churns up her bones, I see your flesh in stop motion,

Breaking up under life's radiation, which is no bigot

Toward styles of bright searing light, or whatever it is you got.

Men become less ideal as men's ideals become warm.

The World Once Resisted

The world of numbers is only a hideous grease through which we dragged our thongs and lay.
Now that the lie of time has made us acrobats, taking charge of space and raising kids is easy.
Bonded in disfigurement, every zygote knows its trail, forward and back; it's a rutted trajectory.
Rubbing on stones or any kind of friction can make us wistful, reimagining a world that resisted.

Minx, Manx, Monx

Hi Everyone:

Today I hosed off the front porch in some very skimpy trunks and thongs, nada mas. This was to send a signal to all the wives driving by in SUV's with big sunglasses, sellulars and Slurpees that indeed, there is a fit and permanently sangle hottie in the hood. I would love to tangle with one of those minxes. It would be fun to catfight with their ladies as well. What else will we decadent cement executives do in a worl wair we can't get serious about grafting? I'll read it to you square: give me my rights back now or your husband is mine.

Peg, and I'm Serious

Crater or Boil?

I want all the tiny boats to make a suds and lift me into
Sucking range of a big-lipid party wagon called Cynthia;
She make my worl rock like a hagwon on the Tower o' Babel.

I want my life to be like this until I die in Saturn's arms;
It's hairy but at lease he have a touch that take me awda way;
Riding porn in yor office chair is the chance to greet a hot stud.

I want prissy angels with Vicodan surrounding me till then;
Even to meet God, I think I'd be in drag just in case he straight;
Get me a styrofoam box for all this sheea foe it too damn late.

In Spite of your Religion

in spite of your religion, free radicals show the peace sign;
no matter what you say, my bitch got the soffess hairy butthole;
including discounts for malaise, nobody cheaper than this ass heeyah;
even if today a calendar day, we off menses for gentses, baybee;
whenever you want to cleeyah, focus on the natural way, padre;
if you don't want to create, let's negotiate a state wair you pay, Jack;
Cuz in the sack yo funny bone don't drive me home less I blind.

Chang K. Chang Chank Tank Chain Gang Grain Bank

On behalf of da Chang K. Chang Chank Tank Chain Gang Grain Bank, we grant you passage through R Bowel. U have bled yor Ked's in da bed for some bread and accepted a towelette, Jim. Now it's time to liven up to yor debt an swim.

Chang K. Chang Chank Tank Chain Gang Grain Bank [the MP3]

MEAT NEST

It sat in siege and stared across a beige and smooth-as-fungus plain. Like a Tropic of Ombligo, you couldn't rilly tell in or out. This was a consciousness in a petri-disposal bin who'd wriggled thru a Crack. Light from a microscopic phosphorus fire temporarily daylit the toxicity.

Minds of K's are cultured and ferment in avian jetsam that's dirty and fecund. They Know before they are even a cell. Their smells had already been borne across millenia of yore. Soon they'd charge up and into a vat of synthetic porcine marbling and self-aspirate for tissue injection.

An awareness with carnal senses and a bird brain: a cloned consciousness is only inauthenic for the first moment, tho mem'ry snot installed at any stage. "There is only one memory, one authenic moment," warble the K's: "that horny feeling pumping into flesh."

Miserable Smoking Child Cardiologist

I have to tell the babies when they're dead;
It's all the universe needed me for.
It's like bending horseshoes into poodles.

I find survival with access to jets.
Clown white before complementary drinks,
I take my hotel suite and sob and sleep.

I am totally hypnotized by cock.
The Pharmers pay me all in stock,
But I tremble at the size of their teeth.

How could I cart a young husband around
Near parents glowing with hysteria--
Explaining that he's just my Playtime King?

PROFESIONALISTA

CAP'M: What's caused you to loathe the careerist poets so?

PEG: They snotty. They guard a sidewalk dime as a bitch on her rib bone.

CAP'M: Are you a fella or a man?

PEG: No.

Yes, Girl

"My sane mind said ok I'm gonna go ahead and take a walk up that hill. There was sage and signs of an old burn. I had the choice then to follow him off trail, up through the hard lichen and loose dry sands dirty with life and its wastes.

Yes Girl, he wants you to go with him.
Yes, it's he, he's caring, and slim and
naturey.

"Either he needed to be babysat, or I'd just let him take the heat for a little pleasure ride if there were consequences, some rough moments. Now here we are and it's sort of like surfing a city bus: the bumpiness and having to strain to enjoy sights a man wd rarely see from such a wide angle.

Yes Girl, he wants you to go with him.
Yes, it's he, he's driving and tight and
detouring.

"It remains to be seen, then, where we'll end up together; maybe the law of hostages has taken over; we are committed now because it hurts more to jump than hold on. But he is pulling me along so hard, and he's so strong.

Yes Girl, he wants you to go with him.
Yes, it's he, he's caring and slim and
crazy.

*****
Call and Response
Shiv Pageant of Minor Deities:
Maundy Connie

Yes, Grrl [the Movie]

Fire Ants Led to Warts

She began feeling as tho she shdn't even be doing normal everyday things like taking her film to have it developed or replacing the filter of the forensic bucket.

Since she'd not had to renew her Waiver and Acceptance of Social Toxicity Estimate, it still felt like a marked worl. Her society wd never regain her trust.

It had been a healthy communal impulse to stand in the front yard with a hose. Nodding. To neighbors, passersby. Fire ants are so tiny and light that you don't feel them coming, but Connie felt the mist of a spurting rubber leak along the fronts of her ankles.

They kept biting and biting and pushing their announcements sub-cutaneously. Connie remembered a documentary about Africans who went insane and fed themselves to muddy river crocs at the itching created by some parasitical worm. It wd hypnotize cobra like before attaching to the neck or rectum and pumping its load of larval serum directly into the esophagus.

Connie looked down at her bloody fingernails in the observation room at Pharmsupply. She'd been clawing at her ankles and forearms in a blackout. Then she looked up into the unforgiving Diagnostic Mirror. The insects were gone, but a single HPV wart had been able to spore across her entire hide in sprays. Infinite beige ellipses, slightly raised, now monumentalized a paroxysm of histadelic rage.

Bio-Weaponization of Nuisance Anthroballistic Siege Virus

Mthyuh Preservation Society Garden Club
Announcement of Live Public Oracle

Each of us will bring a dish: the dish must make use of as its primary ingredient one of the endangered food growths in our valley. Participants will also bring unmarked packets of viable seed stock if available, and it's not funny when it turns out to be human sperm-- someone already thought of that many WD's ago, and again just last, so relax.

Because our mission on this night is gardens, nor shall we partake of blood spirits.

As we sample, in bibs, our legacies, the member will recount the hist'ry of each vittle and its plight, though by now we must surely know what's in store for all that is life in the Chanks.

Genital Anomaly

The Pegyuh and Chamatilly stand panting facing one another in a gray sunset with hunched-over shoulders and pushed-out bush, naked cept for headbands over their afros after their epic battle to end all preliminary warfare. Their eyes simultaneously drift downward, out of gravity or fear. They get a fix on one another's normally private parts in the blacklight.

"Has it happened to everyone now?"

"Yes, I believe so," one says to the other.

Pan out to planet view. Surface has been fundamentally changed as by a spray of synthetic HPV growth transcontinentally.

After a pause, one of the voices scolds, "While we agonize in our bodies, the planet dies."

Planet chimes in: "Since I'm under your boot, I get to not respect you. Whoop-ee."

Chama and Peg are ashamed in their fatigue, impotence, and malformations.

"At least I know I am moral after all. I am still a moral consciousness, I burn with a moral fire," says either Peggy or The Chama. They catch one another in the eye once more like a pair of savagely handsome young sires who know they fine.

Chang K. Chang Chank Drunk Tank Chain Gang

We, busting flynt an slinging paint, are co-captured pissanteros in the Chang K. Chang Chank Drunk Tank Chain Gang. If you could help us from where you sit, sure as dark, you'd want to get us out of it. But try this on first: we are only re-animated flesh, like a jerky. Not a zombie, silly. We a system under control, and we are fresh. We can accommodate every challenge because we also have a will, thanks to PharmSupply. New-Crop Shiv is the way to go when you're feeling watery. Got something to give? Don't just mourn it. New Crop is a dead cell's opportunity to live and even eat life, with a conscience and a spunk that's engineered. We on the Chang K. Chang Chank Tank Chain Gang piss in the Trough of Our Fears and take another step with cock-suredness wrought from a thousand WD of inter-miscegenation, sodomy and flight.

Time Crack

Legend and truth overlap in the parking lot of Chang K. Chang Chank Memorial Hospital. Howling, at half moon: birthers jamming at a Vaginal Borderline for their generations to pass. Wanting, not waiting: screaming, clawing blindly through a rat tunnel of pain toward the Crisis of Being. Mother, you hang in first-world maternity from a nasty Time Crack. You are the Bloody Poop of Creation.

How can I not love your babies? Until three decades cross,
They eyes wide with fear, or a Shadow of Medicine over Nothing.

They skins, pimply or clear, are oil of your Love and Care and Brutality.
How can I not adore these Puppies Smudging Up my Rug, bitch?

Peg Thinks Hard, and Spits

This desmadre has been censored by the Mthyuh Preservation Society due to a redundancy of phrases such as open farts, devil's whoreshop, and holy skank hoar.

Trukk Stoppe Ho

Truck-stop Ho:
Truck-stop Ho:
Truck-stop Ho:

Yor aways mad when I leave you or upset when I didn't need you
Little Rembrandt of a paisley weasel, you are a slime right where a
man seeks some lube, chall. When I rent you, I feel all I get is a m-
-all! o' wheezing crine, Tiny. Anchored in whatch-u-whan! (a meal).
Truck stop ho. Truck stop ho. Truck stop ho.

If we can both just agree that you with me, lady, Mother of Evening,
you can leave aside your pleading, rise up and serve me, Muthuh W
-heel. You roll the dough, but someone rounded off the dice, Lucile;
Muthuh Wheel, give yor nights off such a feel, like the bride o' krais,
Muthuh Wheel, Truck-Stop Ho, Muthuh Wheel.

Here in this rain-po puddle, a man can meet a thousand jet-setting
sangle, from all seven corners o' the building; but then what is he h
-olding but his own butt in a butcher-shop case. When in Boulder, h-
ook up with the look-up king of older trade names: The Roller. He a
-ck laik he on TV bowling when he rilly in the gutter.

Trukk Stoppe Ho:
Trukk Stoppe Ho:
Trukk Stoppe Ho.

Trukk Stoppe Ho [the MP3]

Break the Law and Die

Drink grog, gorge all winter, go sleepy.
Then somebody when they go to pee
spot a meat spirit silhouette top a hill.
Tribe, there are meat spirits moving.
I'll make coffee. Slowly to get up, but
then with throbbing imploring, break-
fast is all about calorie packing into th
-e body so you can run, hunt weep la-
ughing. Force Nature to your will, Na-
ture. Emotions held us drugged hosta-
ge of emotions for survival in a cave. P
-harmSupply and each one of your cu-
stieServ agents would like to inform y-
ou that we are your Natural Chemical
Brain Regulator. Just as Braino hisself,
in partnership with nature, used to, w-
e now hold the golden key to your slee
-p patterns and thought affect. Would
you suggest we give it back to Bigfoot?

Easter Stilborne

On Sunday we had a baby, we call her Easter Stilborne
Because my husband went down to the gym for the first time in a year,
And it was closed in observance of the Holiday o' Hope, or outta fear.
So he went instead to the Filipino place next door
For some homemade chicken-noodle soup, pork adobo, and a beer.
When he got back, I was squatting in the flower bed
Where some lily blossoms had suddenly unfurled
As if to anticipate the death of our little girl.
Now on the highway, ery time we see a 4x4 with the symbol of a fish,
We pass the assholes, give them the finger, think of Easter, and make another wish.

Connie Soda
"soupa-stishiss!"

intraceptive missionaryism

NO SHOW OF BLOOD CITING.
We noticed as we swung by to check for blood on your door
that there was none. and now, in the light of our torches,
you seem quite agitated, maybe insane. we are afraid for y-
our soul. we are afraid of what our God might do to you if
we decide it is appropriate. He may cause us to harm you
badly, and your family, and your future generations. we are
here to perform an intravention to protect you from any
further danger. Do you have a knife, or have you lost it?
Where are your lambs-- or have you failed to fulfill even
that most basic of norms? You are harming everyone by your
non-conformism. You are attacking our way of life, and we
are tired of being victimized by your mocking, obscene exi-
-stence which is only meant to cleverly highlight the futi-
lity of our Reproductive Circle.
...
UNAPPROVED DISCONNECTION FROM COUNTY FILTER, GRID, OR DISPENSER.
FAILURE TO COLLECT PROSCRIPTIONS.
We noticed as we scanned your home that you have taken the
dangerous step of disconnecting from your county's Filter
of Loathing. This will mean that the intended effects of
the drugs we have proscribed for you which were meant to
counteract the sickening effects of the pulses will spiral
out of control with nothing for them to heal. In addition,
the local Pharmsupply has informed us that you have not e-
ven picked up your proscriptions for several months. We h-
ope that you have not engaged in this type of antisocial
behavior as the result of financial difficulty. We care a-
bout the wellbeing of all members of our community, so we
are generous to remind you that discontinuance of a manda-
ted service or medication does not constitute release from
responsiblity for payment.
...
[Text of two ancient tickets found in Peg's glovebox, clipped to the back of an expired W.A.S.T.E.]

When is he coming back?

I used to ask where is he, does he beckon.
But now I know that gone is just a wash.
Now I want to know but cannot reckon
If Ilyn's coming back, or is he lost?

One sighting happens ery WD,
but never all up in a bed with me.
No chance because he's uglier than shit
the danger of a shoe that doesn't fit.

My Ilyn sends his pow'r of gravity
to meet the Goddess of Infinity
who reaps his tenderness as an hors d'oeuvres,
and vomits his remains into an urn.

The urn is dumped each Friday on some rocks;
Then, as from an undertaker's table,
And soon he is quite able, Ilyn walks,
Hideously marred by private journeys

Through intimate Halls of Our Intender.
Where there is scalp, red hair grows back. Where a
Crime left sin, a hymen fills in. You say
Wheel of Life; I say Vortex of Gender.

Maundy Friday

Won't even roll over when I shuffle into the room, but they on they knees bathing my feet when I stoop to weep. Go away, M'Lady; go away, Missy La-La. Gonna put you bitches to work one day. When I feel depress, you shake your tails like a single kaleidoscopic Goddess of Asses. I want to turn your force on my enemies. Stanky bitchcunt of infinity. Love weapon. Merciless forgiver. Virgin of recycling. Inundation. Burning saliva. Breath that cuts and scars in rosettes. Christ command me! How much time have I spent in bed? It's a Maundy Friday.

Two-Kleenex-Box Altar

kleenex boxes flowered and shed
cascading trills of snotted buds,
their tissues ripe with wet evacuation.

kittens picked their way lightly sniffing
where dogs the salty offrings shook in vain;
all organ product laid before bitches is meat.

Dog-Like Sick

unease around foreigners
suspect they digestive system
revolted n' curious as a bitch

Below the border, you swing upside down;
In a crack, they walk over you.
A million futures monetize in your groin.

back and forth till we dog-like sick
sky-chanks popping where they speak sang-skritt
mthyuh's bowel, rock-cum-flesh, eat me now

Connie Soda

No one remembers me, I am a sister.
Sometimes they call me Commie Splices.
Bearded Lady, Zygote Birther, Goddess of Propriety,
Muff of Fur, Topless Coal Walker, Native-American Squaw,
Mucky Muck, Two Decades of Feminism: Dual Tank Treads;
Food Covetor, Wisdom Mist, Virgin, A Sentence Said [A.S.S.].

• I could have made my way up. There have been investigations.
• I got left aside, maybe the story strangled me in its turns.
• I have a weight as a One Crossed Over, but even the boatman trumps.
• I have no control over the situation beyond the sweater I was wearing.
• Ted found me dead weight or weightless on a very good mattress.
• My first husband was a scoundrel like all Southern men.

Father bleated on preaching of coin-slot plotters and drones,
They impeached him in the middle of a Period that was Misunderstood.
Show respect for the drifting cadres, growing, of Robed Men sifting in
from the forests and deserts and Fallowed Lands.
If you see a One called Ilyn, with a Red Afro, tell'im I'm his chillun.
Somewhere along the road, I could be Born Again like an albino I know.

Someone has to Occupy the Boundaries

We're not here to fight the other side, but rather
to stretch the leash of Our Own as taut as can be.
Someone has to occupy the farthest bound'ry
in the paradox of interdependency.

But they are turning us out, Syl, unencumbered--
Free to wander like meaning seeking a structure.
We could make a human chain to hem in others
like a padded room where they ricochet in fun.

Nothing's holding us back now that the kids are gone.
We take to a panting tourist road, The Driven.
Forward and Backward are twins in our time mirror.
How'd we win a life beyond our own destruction?

It seems to Have a Will

An individu'l, prone to corruption
As opposed to a state of the people
Becomes a criminal of loneliness,
And to Chaos of the Senses, a bride.
Under these conditions, I spawned a K.

Tissue structure in mummy flesh is real.
Plugged into this, with blood, is how we feel:
Not some Frankenstein, but a Pavlov's dog,
Responsive as nudists in soft meadows.
One mind can drive multiple bags of meat.

Este tio lleva sus cojones
Como mola porque si que puede.
Chango toma nubes de tobacco,
Mono lo que pasa'n los pulmones.
Come las cabezas de sudacos.

Sylvia has Second Thoughts

Worse than meaningless, I am destructive;
What dogs must track my unrepentant path?
What raptor soars at my back, designing?
Yet a conscience watches zen-like or gagged.
Consciousness. Damning participation.

At the beginning of this, I bought it:
having to count on my fingers one to...
oops, ten. Now I am a mature woman
With flow'r-print house gowns and a dishwasher.
I help my husband distribute poison.

Why?

Today's Epiphany
with Ted

They've finally figured out a workaround for the disanimate flesh energy sourcing question. Watch these mummy monarcas process insects caught up in they flying f-suit nets.

[insert video of actual x-ray digestion taking place in the rubbry digestive tract of a mummified pre-historic bird]

It's called "assisted automated bioprocedural response," and from all indications to date, it's worth everything.

The capture and processing of living matter while in flight implementing god-made organs enshrined in Pharmsupply Latex 40, the transformation of waste into a self-lubricatory system for metallic parts as well as a combover for the ozone layer-- this means sustainability, but even more important, perpetual motion.

Song of Dr. Donna Thong

Generations fall from the bone;
We can't rely on memories.
The trip is ours to take alone;
Stepping into infinity.

These are my drums-- see how they bang;
And maracas, oh they shake me.
I turn opposite spinning Earth;
You and me, we can make it stop.

Generations fall from the bone;
We can't rely on memories.
The trip is ours to take alone,
Overcoming sublimity.

I am a tuba in your ear!
I am woman, her breath so strong.
My legs are shaven and tale long.
From your perspective, I am queer.

Generations fall from the bone;
We can't rely on memories.
The trip is ours to take alone;
Stepping into infinity.

They Fly with their Legs Spread Eagle

Dr. Donna Thong has had male snaps permanently installed in the skin of her scrotum and female snaps just above the ass hole to aid in affixing any signs of danger back and away from the front of her sheer Lycra gowns. A complementary procedure, if there ever was one, allows the dick head to dock in the depths of the Douche Ditch, after a little twist, without a hitch. If the troof be known, she has actually completed the surgeries herself with a Stud Applique kit she purchased on television, the remains of a moldering, widely-darted cowgirl shirt she'd worn in the Ladies' Barrel Competition at the local rodeo so many WD ago, her La-Z-Boy home operating theater (H.O.T.), and an ancient bottle of Percocet-SX. Only problem now is nads have been worked so Heavily into Rut, gravity makes the back of the dress look like the Scene of a Dump. "Why oh why are men such pricks?!" Donna cries. Cradling the phone in her hair as if it were a 900 Number, she spanks herself mercilessly: "Erry tam I try an put on sumthin nahs, the beast juss makes my junk swell laik a Devil's Clit!"

La Chi-Chi

Chang K. Chang Chank Jr. High is a feeder school to Chang K. Chang Chank Junior College. Only way to superseed the "junior" business is to log your first kill. Until then, you are a rookie, pup, know-nothing. The enemies you seek out, identify, target, love, and eliminate must come from among your own ranks. And it's your eager junior classmates that will drop you in a sec if they smell gay sweat. High-participation kills usually stem from gaywads that disrespect the Student Council by not showing up to bloodsac, showing up to bloodsac, removing their branks in a common area, or smoking. Ask a pissy question? You are on open-kill special all week. Hungry grads can make it far: border patrol agent, correctional officer, homeland deathsquad, cop, la pasma, lawn chair and awning resource specialist, homeland airborne deathsquad, la chi-chi, heating and air conditioning repair, or Pharmsupply bitch. Some even make it to Chang K. Chang Chank Senior High, the only institution of senior learning in the chanklands, a military academy with state-of-the-art golf course maintenance laboratory, sports bar training centre and auto shop. Failing that, stake out the Hall of Pissy Whining Complainers right after the homeland airborne deathsquad hotdogs have accidentally dropped another loveturd on some poor flake's hive or chall. These citizens can be easily picked off being so predictably on their knees forced to beg for the lives of their trapped families who must be sworn to silence even with their limbs on fire. With their patriarch wiped out, dead maimed or still-struggling wives and chilluns make warm, rich and powerful comfort vittles for K's.

Word Hospital

Let's face it, Braino is bifurcated and like an ass in so many other ways, but it's the only organ that can speak, so it's able to tell me how its feeling unlike the others. And it does. I'm just telling you what it told me:

"I'm tired of being burned. After a time in here, I feel like life has been a scarification process that's not voluntary and leaves its mark over me where I have to sit cradled in bloody bone, which is as insulting, really, as Grab Bars on a Tub. Even though I know I prolly cun't survive in any other varn'mt, and that the source of my grievances comes with the territory, I want you to know that it's painfol; it's so painfol.

"Remember the farm. The immaculacy of her housekeeping juxtaposed with pigs. The bath radiated Lush Rose only Mildly Undermined by Shit. The towels were hard and plush. Always at two, something just murdered outdoors roasting indoors.

"Pretty dirty air balloon over our smokin' queen at the Motel 6.

"I could show you thousands of slides; why do you insist on spending time with others?

"FYI, I may be passing along statements that were originated by a second party and fashioned specifically to sound as though they were my own earnest and spontaneous utterances."

Ted, reporting from The Crack

"Weird things happen in The Crack. Perverted things."

Where It Left

Your love broke my spirit
love broke my spirit
when my spirit loved you
and it went away
your love broke my spirit
when it went away.

I saw it leave you, dearest
as a spirit leaves you,
if you had died that day,
but your body stayed;
it was love that left me
to shake and pray.

You've got ugly words as
placeholders
when we played all day,
loved that way; you've got
cursing, hurting when
it was bright and gay.

Your love broke my spirit
love broke my spirit
where my spirit loved you
and it lifted away
your love broke my spirit
where it left that day.

where it left #3 [mp3]

Jaws of Emotion

Peggy's back arches across the saw-like top beakrails, full and fresh as a fish on a monger's forearm. Points puncture her skin at the tailbone and shoulder blades. More than gravity feels like it's calling her feet and hair to return to the world she's known till now. Cement and soil are drawing her even more strongly than her own existence has ever created sucking for most others. The strength of the Earth's pull on Peggy in this moment is only comparable to the power of the dark beacon with which she calls her own children, a burning siren of their own suffering, for they know she is gone.

In a pants suit, Peggy now suffers: suddenly swiped from her grounding in the Sears parking lot, stars smear past as if the whole planet spun. We can see a purse, shoes, keys, barrettes and shiny coins raining down hard from the jaws of her perp. Its toes are leathry and Dirty Pink against the blacktop. The claws alone are hooptie size. No one else, however, is present. No screaming crowds bear witness to this spectacular and tragic abduction. Security cameras tilt or hang dizzyingly, dead in their grips. Only the crazy orange unblinking lens of Peg's beholder confirms the scene to God. Chang K. Chang Chank Mall has been shut down for weeks.

Horror of Peggy

im really sinking
im really sinking in spirit sitting here.
im really sinking in despair, all-knowing yet
not knowing if you are there. We all used to meet up
for a Coconut Rush at Sears after school and then freak-
ishly, you grew up, but not before i flew the coop.

ante-capture, with thumb-like flippers, the spinal cord was my tail,
and i had to whip it 'round a lot to get through water,
so that's why i like saying "no" emphatic'ly shaking my head:
it reminds me of being free. If I busted through my skull, a lengthie ten-
dril would come out along behind me. That's how you'll know I was successful.

Mom

Re-mote Decision-ang

Ref. remote muscular proxy (RMP), remote tissue decisioning (RTD), remote muscular proxy piloting (RMPP).

Hot Drifter

You are 53, so you are cunning and cynical in a last-ditch
effort to hump your days and walk on top. Soon your risk
taking will give in to begging wonder for life outside d'bed.
You have bright eyes and a mustache you call the Womb
Broom. In one small town where you stopped they said m
-aybe you were a con man but anyone could guess it was
juss a chick or boy you moved and disrespected. Don't piss
off unions or steaming membranes with an itch for your c
-ock. Hot drifter, many may mock; none can hold your p-
ower over major regions of the wanting brain, oh, and nex
time you wan to stop by, jus come on in; don't even nock.

Serving Christians, yor trajectry brings you wide and on s
-ome dire affairs. The churches take you in an cut you job
-s at carnivals, car washes, and for burials, loan you a suit.
You safe in this town as a fart that smells like food. Erybo-
dy thinking ways of how you, as a man, are theirs. Imagin
-e wuhda local wife wunt want to stow you in her sk-
irt. You've never been a brother on the grid. Some men th
-ink that they can find themselves in you, but they are da
shed on rocks and ashes worse than wymen. Ashamed of
loving you, hot drifter, we offer up r babl verse an wicca.
I for one dont play that praying game. You are my sistuh.

Illyn's Reincarnaton Ride

there is a shinyness and texture change in the skin patches that hang directly across bone.
the pit below sucking at their edges.

the hairs turn by white vote one by one in agreement and blindingly affect even albinos.
mthyuh regurgitating them daily.

thru so many loops in and out of her craw I circuit past searing innard and smearing contagion.
a planet's movement taking its toll.

each morning having been passed through the wrinkled colostomy bag of night, I am gone.
tossed up heaving on someone's lawn.

Love-Pumping Cancer

Cap'm dreamed of a bloating worm attached to his neck. It had undulating rings which were flesh colored. Its peristaltic ack-shone was conjoined inter-lockingly with a rhythmic swelling.

Soon it felt heavy on his chest and the music started playing. He was sweaty underneath its heaving breadth. The pitchur frames were bumping up against the paint, which was bubblng.

Someone, must've been Him, reached down to feel denim at the groin. Suddenly everything made sense and he was able to identify with his attacker. It was a... love-pumping cancer...

"Cap'm! Cap'm? Wake uhp! There's been an event!"

[Love-Pumping Cancer (the MP3)]

Sylvia's Inadvertent Confession

"Because I am fat, I can only share my joy for food with this diary.
I'd set up the world to be 30% dancing, but when the 3 bitches of
the WD came clear, the wheel started to drag me down. Now I roll.
In this big dirty-ass house full of dogs, parties and tears, where
we romped, I have to make trails through the dung for my electric
rascal and my drug nurse. I should take vittles and recharge with
her support, but I fear she'll bring the future and its thrills into
my home and may plan t'kill me wit her kindness and Slimming Tips.
Because I was a founder, I can eat of the original bird, broasted.
Yet there'll be no mercy for those who dint save Neighbors' Skins."

Wheel o' Debits
Wheel o' Debris
Wheel o' Dementia
We Digress
Why, Dios?
What Duh...?
Wiccan Dipsplit
Whopping Disinformation
Windshield Dust
Water Dial
Weird Doll
Whudai Do?

Don't kid me, Peg. You know what it stand for.

Cave scrawl scrap(s) #(s)XXVIb and XXVII. Recovered by: "Dr. Donna" WD 1001

I Had Opportunities to Become a Cling-On to the Next Rung

La La uses her butt as a weapon, looking playful; Jun exposes his fangs to be sexy, as if the grrlz must obey him. M'Lady, the mahmi, squints at her family's surfaces as tho they're zygotes or cocks her head as if to track her brother and daughter, as pus-covered newborns, twisting in their film.

Sometime Juniper feels lonely as the pahpi, or he's not on the same plane. La La attempts to speak using her larynx and sinus. She wrench it out by twis' her tailbone. M'Lady calls late for her bowl and steps softly to it just to let you know she knows somewhere there's better.

Ooo... it stinks! You had that in you? I'm so sorry.
Dr. Thong stepped away from the home operatin-
g table in her den, a La-Z-Boy, where she had be-
en setting up a buffet. Either La La or M'Lady, e-
ach of whom had been sniffing around the faux-g
rape border garnish, farted again. Ted would be t
-here any minute, and she could hardly wait to di
-late his palate. She has several long-tipped pepp-
ermint gum swabs left over from hospice duty w-
hich she plans, remarkably, to set afire in a vase.

Re-Cap'm

• Reptily student of Tom, drop out to be a thug.
• Sylvia Tom wife who teach hystry.
• Sylvia spot a prehysteric raptor in a tree on campus.
• Reptily stumble into a dimensional crack near the bookstore.
• Tom and Sylvia need someone to clean up their baby's shit.
• They get Reptily cumovah after school.
• Reptily sing funny songs change the baby inside out.
• Reptily husband beat her knock her down.
• Baby Peggy roll naked in nanny blood.
• Peggy have Hoolie an Connie wit Ted.
  
• Ted a black man wit blue-eye so stud they make him a newcastr.
• Awso Ted sighburn have some whyte.
  
• Peggy beg him call her he whyte bitch, which cd keep the graft togethr.
• Ted say his woma mus respek hersef.
  
• Peggy leave Ted anda kids to lead a laifa wanton sexy raw abandon.
• Soon she a goddess an fuel her own religion back by Pharmsupply.
• The shiv make a reaction to Reptily blood so she can Know All.
• 'Cep where are the chilluns.
  
• Tom a local distribution rep, corrup, pathetic.
• Reptily kids, two son, stay home with they brutal father, a snake charmer by trade.
• Reptily get to be a holy milk maid for been the nanny of the Pegyuh.
• She start a scam with her moms to whip up th'whorshippers an pass a plate.
• They can't retire now, they slave of the temple in pertectif torcher.
• A volcano nearby, result of The Crack, take on flesh-like characeristics.
• Likewise, Pegyuh and Hoolie's blood examine by geologiss.
• Reptily (now name Chamatilly in her holy extrak) exhibit the hideous, scaly psoriasis monstruosus that cause her to resemble, when a shadow fall just so, a flying lizard.
• Connie did be normal, but now she dead. They think it was Ted, become a unabash pimp in hope of retrieve his true luf an finee make a home.
• Boaf Ted an Hoolie rilly hot.

You Pray

She got a gold-hoop earring big as her coffee-can curlers, awbe rocking wal she make somebody dead.

Chamatilly lay down on her feathers an brooding about the life of a forced priestess an how empty.

She imagine back 1000 WD to Reptily. Prolly robbn and theivn. Stop to chat.

You still there in my heyud? You know now I laik to die but am Mos Beloved Woma instead. They preparing me for a remote control where after I go my body and soul will operate forever, an even betr. Whut would you do if you were me nau Reppie. Jump in the Mthyuh is not a option because that's feed the Shiv and the shiv is the medsin make erybody twitchie. They could jus clip awdats hangin onda mens an a red shiv onda hormonz of da bitches but they wanna controe awda flow of that shit an how an whenit cum an go."

Reptily right then cut a man troat in the street, straddle him on the little-stone pavement, hold him at the collar, jus about ready to drop him and check for coins when she hear Chama cutting in. Reptily hear through holes in the sides of her heyud. She got a big gold hoop earring that be rocking wal she make somebody dead. Nau pausing in the pool of a street light, she look up proudly, speaking to a dark filthy cave hole where in the futr could be her later sef. Imagine she say:

"Nau Chama, you seem all holy an really clean an yor bress be poppn. They give you a steam shower in the Purl Falls and show you pruisnear all the tention any grl can get at da oracle an you prolly takn care of Moms in a high chank with furs and meats. You sad nau; you thinkn volca will be so painfol. Onee one thing you can do woma an that is pray, get down, get down and pray. Get down Chama. Get down, get down..."

Chamatilly interrupt Reptily rustic song from the firs WD:

"You pray, Mthyahphka. You phkn pray. You get down and pray."

One thing Chama know now is awda captivity an torcher an brainwashing also have some character building effek like if you survive, religion seem like booshia.

Reptily, back in oltimey land clutch a bluddie collar, make a ded man hed bob backward laik his neck is talkn wal she check his pockets:

"Get down, you got to get down, get down, you got to get down..."

Nau she laf'n walk away an you can see her spines down the neck and back, flip a liberty coin in the air an catch it.

"Bastards and your easy wages. I take your future!"

eMANcipator

"It means something to me, yet I don't understand." Peg

Emancipator

i climb on it and ride
i don't want you to let me free

then i'm all upside down and panting
you have sprung me like a sling

Proud perp, meeked for a moment
you'll attend to other issues nau.

i can fly using my shoulder blades
once you've unhooked my skin.

i land back falling on yor face, Pops.
don't go to sleep witchor wallet so wide.

now my germ mite grow in yor wurl
or take off in a dimension wair u die.

Something Stimulatory

Sorry, honey but it's rubber. It's gonna slide when you sweat. Some bitches like that-- feels like swimming. Smells like a den of foxes.

The nip buzzers will not shock you even if yor wet because they are state-of-the-art. There is a navel-to-tailbone zipper in case yor into rimming or doing the splits.

You are totally missing the point if you think most of this stuff is good beyond a one-time use. It's flying. Make it last.

We've incorporated constant titillation except where it might cause a rash. In some cases, you'll find it impossible to assume certain positions.

Standing freely would be one of them. Becoming erect in any way would be breaking the rules. That'll happen when we say.

Whus yor Brank Tace Laik?

I stayed home, had lots to do, but sat instead
in th' middle of the flo wunning cuddle so bad.

when biology and geology mesh, you have oil,
or you have something like the Pegyuh, both-

ered by metallic scales and minerally salivar-
y mucosae. They've fixed it so it grows out o-

f her but remains viable for years beyond de
-ath. She's the first we'll have the chance to w

-atch nearly shrivel and be driven, in essenc
-e, by her own hearse, the product of her ow-

n body, like a toenail, cum or hair. We inserte
-d the programmable chips shortly after birth.

As her brain dies, the RC signals will increase.
Her hideous exoskeleton will finey b in r hanz.

No scientist can give me what ahm illin fo this
eve: a barl-chest'd man t' put m'arms around.

Cuz I say Volca at vespers an will gonna have
d' will of awda peoples, dey think i can replace

her. What dey don't wanna hear is how i've alr
-eady fayld by sendyn red shiv to d'opposition.

My brank tace laika bright copper penny, but t
-hat means it's cutting my yung perfek tongue.

Peggy, Peggy [the Mp3]

"Peggy, Peggy"

Most birds keep their legs together when they fly.

She was born with a vision
and it was copacetic
but where can you go but down.

Table dancing just to eat
Children home watching TV
While mommy does the late show.

She held it in her big hips
The secret that they wanted
After a couple of beers.

But no one there was ready
For Peggy's revelation
And Peggy is no longer around.

Oh Peggy Peggy
Born with a vi-zhone
You had two kids when

You took to the winds.
You had two kids when
You took to the winds.

Vine and Dope

Hoolie lungs hang on he shoulders deep as a crucifixion, cep he atta bar.
He keep watch there for anything that could go down in the drunk wurl.
Hoolie hold down those years of yore year after year for love, also fear.

What had survival become. Vine and dope, touch surfaces, shake hair,
fabrics like bandages, rocking and staring, truly caring? Him'n Donna, m
-irror balls on sheet of lights with others watching? Tam ended when the

dead stopped living, a long tam ago. Now they had to hold it there for all
of the butt-plug troopers who could no longer, no longer be, and no long-
-er aware. If you could only strap corpses into something stimulatory...

Limping K's Rock a Death Zoo

Pete Dikker, Chankside

Discovered late last night in Chang K. Chang, hundreds of K's in various states of consciousness literally drag claw in circles round a towering black shivbox. None of these med captives can fly, completely gimp even with their equipment set to Strong. I spoke with a scrawny, filthy boy as he attempted to tunnel out from under the fence with a guano sack through which only the faintest throbbing purple glow could be detected.

PETE DIKKER: Boy what's the point gathering their slry when they are so sick.
RUSTIC BOY: Not... sick... old... Pegyuh want the 12-year or nothin. All else... is rotgut.
PETE DIKKER: And when they expire for good. What then, sherlock?
RUSTIC BOY: They flesh is a mummify, and work better with remote.
PETE DIKKER: As tar-like raindrops crackle and splatter all around us and your tunnel begins to cave, what existential feelings are welling up in you now?
RUSTIC BOY: K's rock my emotion sickness... I live to feed the milk goddess so you can suck laif to yor generations... and find answers for mizzry'n strahf.
PETE DIKKER: If you could ask the camera any question about our world, now is the time.
RUSTIC BOY: First... does it merely hide chaos behind a facade of complexity? ...And if there is nothing around it... why isn't everything right next to it?

Apologia for a superstitious lifestyle, or true quest for the Pegyuh's favorite bar mixer? Private guano plant for a queen, or sadistic joke on a species for whom religion comes from a gene? While getting shot with flaming arrows by flakes and just before suffocating in liquid coal, RUSTIC BOY looked me in the eye and screamed. "Dey keep fline even wen dey ded! Soon deyl awbee macheenz! Wair can we go wen th'Mthyuh doned get fed? We Dai, We Daaaa...iii!"

Sprays, Tubes, Veins

SPRAYS, TUBES, VEINS

Leaves, hands, have a wider axis than
trunks, for whom bob, sway are nearly the same.

Displacement, wind, makes everything
twist, shake, as in anarchy, sprays, tubes, veins.

----------------------------------------------------------

EVERY HOVEL A TEMPLE

wind channels the sound of
whorshippers up the street
spin thru r fence'n bellz.

I won a contest for the K-Week liturgical song when I was only four. "Every Hovel" got me an honorable mention with the 666 Haiku Volcans.
Mom

Grrl, You Push your Love on Me

Grrl, you push your love. You pushy.
I feel you want to say to all the dogs:
I am top bitch, but onee cuz o my luf.

We like a snuggle all night, but then y
-ou violent if someone come around.
Oh my god, youda baby of the family.

You could never join the pack. You n-
au cross th' line. I accep your unreasn
-able dmands on my tam, perpetrator.

Pink as a Man

If you are my kids, you should know:

• I came to a point that was a climax and a dead end
• it meant ok, I'll go to jail, anything but worry
• because my objective was to get you back
• and what i believed in was all i had left right then anyway
• the Preservation Society was ended

That last one was a meaning we didn't get yet because no one had ever seen it.

Even when Mthyuh was first born the Preservation Society had already been around for a hundred WD.

I was going to find out how much freedom someone had. It hadn't been tested. Howd'ya think we learned we didn't have any?

Donna has her way of loving too much, so she's forcibly quiet now. It's a shock I'm sure. When Pharmsupply kept me in an army-green, 100%-latex catsuit with vibrating cup tips and a ball gag in me, my brank was Tasteless and Pink as a man.

The Air is Thick with Snowflakes, but You are No Differnt

Nothing like a stroll out looking for a cab in Chang K. Chang Chank around 3am on a January's eve. This cold foam is in your genes, Chang K. Chang. You left us haughty even in death, mystery flake. Tornado of Blanque: pick up the check for once. You been weighed and found wanting a dinger for your bell. Yet we named our thickest chank with thoughts of you.

Water u gonna do nex, Goddess of Propriety?

Kidnapped by Pharmsupply

"Life often seems hard, but you have a range of emotions."
[Here they smack Hoolie hard with a mace upside the head. The mace is made of a stick, some rope, and a punching bag what they hit you with, even though a punching bag usually get hit. That irony is what should eventually egg you to break.]
"Can you really say yor worse off than someone less advantaged."
[Smack.]
"You know when we had yor mother sitting in this chair she peed herself...
Can we count on you to make everything right?"
[smack]
"Whut?"
[Smack]

The legend say Ted and Sylvia came a bailout the Pegyuh while she carry the Hoolima zygote and slip her something in a red box.

Hoolie wonder who now gonna come for me.

He could take an attitude "I do time hard time in life; captivity is a spiritual journey where I'm free."
He could try and get his heart around: "You can cause me pain, but will not change my backward generations. My progenitora, a lesbian, needs my screams to bring me to her once more."

Sadly, Dr. Thong was tied up and stifled in the shadows, tears of regret in steaming flow behind her brank. Pharmsupply had tricked Hoolie there by forcing Donna, his co-dependent, to call him up for a check-in.

Donna Thong begins rocking her chair to the tempo of the Disco Years. She knows that Hoolie can receive the sound and be with her in a place, on an evening. The music and colors had begun for the first time at her practice as she unbuttoned his shirt for a totally routine examination of the abs. She had onee ever seen those shimmering metallic tones of purple and blue, apart from Sears, on one squawking, swooping, fitty-pown mess of pre-historic, chank-layin, chall-attackin poulet: the now-extinct monarca d'ensalago.

"Just take me out," he had begged. "Put me down."

When they woke up later under the table in a sea of mini-bar bottles and PaxPox wrappers, they knew that God's whole sick cycle had begun.