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.