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.
Friday, June 5, 2009
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
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]
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]
Sunday, May 31, 2009
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.
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.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
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.
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.
Saturday, May 23, 2009
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.
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.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
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]
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]
Sunday, May 17, 2009
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
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.
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.
Friday, May 15, 2009
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.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Minx, Manx, Monx
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
Thursday, May 7, 2009
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.
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]
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."
Sunday, May 3, 2009
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?
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?
Thursday, April 30, 2009
PROFESIONALISTA
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.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Yes, Girl
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]
Monday, April 27, 2009
Fire Ants Led to Warts
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.
Friday, April 24, 2009
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.
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.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
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.
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