sand bitches

 

Mamboon

I love these Waterford crystal double old fashions. I love them looking into the facets and think of how a queen would see it, as a royal mamboon, and I am going to hold on to these-- tight-- when I move up to that trailer.

This fire will be all I have to show the natives that I do come from somewhere, else, somewhere where I once thought to go online and order some Waterford crystal with my credit card. Now, when I laugh you can hear a whistle--


Donna

Griddle v. Grid

What is going on at PharmSupply, the Preservation Society?
Why does the Public Oracle Dispenser suck more and more?
Why always worse and worse; is this the future we'd pland 4?

Even the basic things like a keyboard or sound don't work right
Out of the factory. And then begins the process of petitioning
For your life to re-akin. Hackers are so desirable because they

Can decide whether or not you continue on. Fool. Automaton.
Prisoner. Sucker. Valued customer. Reject. It doesn't matter. I
-s it that yr working to fulfill mankind's death wish, as a biker?

No one humanoid can wreak a disaster without accomplices. B-
Utt a machine can reap chaos in your faculties. Remember whe
-n no one cd communicate w/ anyone because of no electricity.

bronze sailboats

On a five-wood deco vanity,
whataya say we nod to roots,
how each of us, equally strung,
experienced a knot of co-occupancy
and why we shouldn't share frankly.

But seeing's how we simultaneously
wiped index knuckles across nuts
watching psychodrama among a
whole pen of our likenesses,
blood kin can't go without staying.

This is where we gather and molt.
A hundred others combine the shame.
While not the godz-favorites, the
anonymity of obscurity has its fame.
We're heavy light triangles on water.

Peg at rest

DOUBLE-LEGGED SPIDER

there were twice as many as in a hair comb or double-lashed beauty.
half a can of botanical killer and its steps just got bogged down. Nex,
even with a fly swatter, it was only enough to cut through the two-ply
webbing. But look: It's left a package: a bi-pedal or two-headed bee.

spider of parietal jungle, parietal nose-centre targeting
tickling through its own creation more like wind in fringes,
a double-legged bomb on our minxes, terrific wall shadow,
please mother of nations stop yr hyperciliac protist worming

freak light

http://www.nytimes.com/2011/06/30/us/30paint.html?_r=1&scp=3&sq=brown&st=cse

Life was great but at a regular hour each day everything she had ever done was wrong. 
She felt cities were a place for soft music but in her case...
There seemed to be moments you could only get when things relaxed to see how they wound up,
and there seems to be the ecstasy of rounding a time bend and siphoning the horror outta change.

but in her case, still, the planet kept on with its annoying pitching and spinning out of range.
colors previously thought to be unrhymable until today: orange, burnt-orange, sienna;
now it made more sense when you sat that deep into a morning past sign-off stage.
There was a freak light in the meadow made it shake like a curly bulb went split side-ways.

By Reptily

freak light.mp3

Noon End

Boatman to the underworld, we can value yor perspective.
Remember tho you will never speak for the main stream.
You are tubed between over and outer realms, respectively,
So how could you aspire to be seal of the land, our bubble?

Galleon after galleon of crude, unleaded wall walkers,
Middlebrow conformists to venalism, hiders: they're
Your clan, down in the crossing lanes, border surfaces.
They say when universes they touch, it only means bangs.

Your breath, then, is everything even death cannot digest,
Something that will never be compressed and born again.
Yr word is precious in the finer markets they call perverse.
It takes a special kinda stud with a steady punty and blow

To take on what you've got already and just fuckin' row
With no attempt to show us how to buzz about our targets
Or weigh a lamb, a daughter, in some zero-fault vacuum;
Time for souls to find you at the noon end of a pendulum.

to shake and pray

Hyperbole soothes my emotion sickness;
I have behaved as jane fonda in the morning after,
Meryl streep in she devil, alternately
Wracked with laughter and sudden bitter sobs,
Hugging herself, her own elbow bones, against
the illuminated wall hanging of a drink tumbling
down mountain boulders in chiffon-slick streams,
light wheels working a mill house under blue plastic.
What I share with womanhood around the world,
Even in its masculine expressions, is the fortitude
to shake and pray and rock and sing to my babies.

by Donna

this hell, this shithole

We share an elbow and more, sister but for me it's sharp.
Don't know which part of the brain you have and I lack,
But sometimes it seems like you don't get the painfulness.

Yor crap all mixed with my stuff, having to accept a twist.
When you turn your back so, you know it makes me pee.
And because we're different species, I'll have to enter rut

Without your compassion for the tactile static, more guests.
And I have to live in this hell, this shithole, with pets who no
longer trust me to lead them always t'wats safer than whut they could have got alone.


Suddenly conjoined from birth at multiple sites to Peg, Reptily-as-banshee

False Cladistics

While they may wave unwashed radiant flesh in rustic gauzes near yor face,

seem complicit in a nascent taxonomy of intimate-hot proximity,

they only wish to know enough to shake you down.

Even if you own the very sticks that make the chaise lounge or milking stool that supports these assos,

in that epistemic medium, you are an outsider passing through. 

They come from a large line of squatters, only upright and anxious long enough to check out opponents, run a scent, lash out at lunch.

They have blood pride in what's spilt on soil, a mechanism that speaks loin to power, so fertile as to sprout meat once tread upon.


by Wayne
"Call me suspicious."

chicken

a sensitive man can feel the dimming of life giving jam.
as the headlights on the road out get stronger, he plans.
"this means release from an obsession-- maybe I can..."

We used to know a mexican bodybuilder named Vic.
Being in the stick trade he'd show up with a recliner
just because he's horny for me or me and my chicken.

some bitches you come home an they've rearranged the furniture.
Victor may have flipped the dinette set or every last dish for china.
he wanted to demonstrate how anything can change cep his dick.

Donna
"Thinking about how men of color have rocked my kitchen."

pyrus calleryana 'Chanticleer'

It started out as a good dream because even though he was homeless he was sleeping heavily in the loose saffron folds of a muslin sarong on a mattress of moss and hearty dichondra under a bud-laden pyrus calleryana 'Chanticleer,' the ornamental tree that smells like semen, in a lush mediterranean cancer survivors' park. Green bottle flies the size of hummingbirds droned their white noise of optimistic dirges and lullabies, as if to lay paving stones for oblivion to rock along down on its squarish wheels. A grease that acted as courage-in-a-vessel for Nature glugged sloshing through art-ceramic channels to every life in a nirvanic system which bid a deserved nod of its fertile date palm fronds to the stylized irrigation ditches at Al-Qal‘at al-Ḥamrā’.

But next thing you knew he'd found a length of masking tape blown from one of the costume trailers in the sanitation district's haunted village. With a chunk of abandoned picnic charcoal briquette, he wrote in caps with the sticky side imobilized in grass: I WAS A COLLEGE PROFESSOR.

We found him sitting in his own shit, autobiography unbecoming as a headband, speckled with the organic spray of chaff and seed and grit that invisibly sandblasts the open night and all those who may be closed up in it.


by Mike
"having encountered Ilyn in the midst of an expression rarely sensed by humans. Just by luck. On the way home from a medieval-themed piano bar near the run-down shops along the sea wall."

career v. trajectory

 

when you left a heath bar and some toilet paper next to me unobtrusively, i froze into a sacred position and felt the whole world around me, in its dark cacophony.  now in daylight, i see whut i've wrought, these irons.

Mahlabeya

Union "Chapel" 

wailing

gut flora

While renting a uhaul, the
in the process of hiring a truck,
some of the vendor's stomach flora
released and attached to my face.

you could almost see the blooms
of coli as they splashed on your
eyes' moist surfaces and flocked the
uvula. Even five hours later, my

his gut mosses linger in my sinus
chambers and continue to stimulate
synapses reserved for archetypes,
arranged marriages, harsh caprices.



by Tom
"How life can be separated between tomorrow and today, where I've forsaken society by knowing almost no one but the famous. How I've changed home into a structure that had spent a year splayed in three separate but potentially interlocking components, in a meadow, with sticky bee hives seeping throughout it that would start a walkathon movement among any normal gathering of concerned citizens... How in 40 thought-out moves not a one was aimed at something like whatever this is, but something measurably better... But how the plain truth is that, with a fat bitch laying by my side, I can spring forward into the same strange land that you are all trying to navigate, how I can live in horror and sanity somehow, all integrally, where a plan is a map and a map is a planet... Sylvia... come back to me..."

Cuernavaca

Cuernavaca, under key and lock, a
passenger in his own custody for
so many gin-rocks that his massage chair
could have flown to Mexico, but they
wunt be enough air in the city for he
and his ex, who would talk about him.

They'd met at an enchilada party, shared
an edible guac basket. They breathed the
smoky ambient grease in and out and
bobbed in their pelvises to a dvd-rom.
Mouth-rolled cigarette filters littered
themselves freely on small lamp tables.

Who does it make you, a pino with no
woods, Cuernavaca? If spring birds
never seen you then what's yr name?
Are yor lungs still clenched with the
wisp of char that yr breath took away?
Cuernavaca, la enchilada ya no te quiere.

weltschmerz v. theodicy

Where to go when yr hungry and it's too late.
Hikikomori's, where dress is not an issue,
or a table corner at Anomie if yr also wanting

a mantle, something willing to absorb a man's
debris field, show a measurable blossom of
participation vs. enthusiasm, intent to self-

regale. Some claim a life form emits an iodine
that can aid in digestion when it isn't yours
and isn't pale. So relax, your urge is benign.


Tom
"My boss is Wayne."

Theodicy [the Mp3]

Greatest good

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SPu59h8OrL4

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ta-F4NAVURs

Hoolie, 16, bursts out in tears while visiting his best friend's family at the Waymore D'Nuttn Homes, Southchank. It's a 19-floor aviary of blacks, with views of 16 more. They rode the potty elevator with a tough 9-yr-old Mom in Pink Tube Top. Everything strong, everything dented: steel door, bricks, dense turf. What if bees banged their tin cups on comb wire. What if no one can't leave anyone alone because he appears to share some blood. Because there are no shops tho, what you have is more valued by neighbors.

"Where I laughed and played is a hole in yor eyes."
"No, there must be love around I'm sure."

Then the boys ducked into the mother's perfumey wardrobe hollow behind a changing table and fellated each other. It was a taste of the greatest good ever, or else they'd never have gotten together.

Less like mayhem

There were survivors, but they experience mood swings (happy, sad; or happy, sad, then quickly happy, then sad for a while; or sad, sadder, somewhat happy, then saddest of all, only to end the day on a light note...).

Too bad their accounts come across so bland, due to meds, as to be unstable. Good thing someone can sweep in and take up where stark reality quits, keep the tracking smooth, even in a temp-est of shite.

My reporter's emotional waveline makes a narrative of these lives just as your finger might follow an aircraft outta jive, spinning a bed spring of smoke behind, which looks a lot less like mayhem when you feel what's in it.


Phyllis
"Freelancing isn't free."

Semenuncle Journey

flipping bacon naked

Meat turn three taiymes

d'mo likely da burnya bb.
mai verge day cn be prr-
deen tinse, th'out no hep
frm th'nvirenmnt. yo be-
ss ment wurds? only mk
me frgitcha waleye focus
own cookin brefuss chall.

She Gotta Bigole Heyud 

Wachit grrls! She gotta bigole heyud.
an she gonna licki. She piss her own
daughter' beyud. Grrowl, piss, licki,
spread, she a bitchona water beyud,
were whichit could git sticky, freyun.

dull leather bell 

yung wombmate, yu must forgive me
for i contact you only once on a manic
mission, once eighty fortnights. when
i come up for air, i scream back thru t
-he ages, and there you are, the same
flowered grrl. sometimes i have not e-
ven grown a year since i saw you ther
-e. only layers of shame and emprison
-ment blanket me from your hair and
flowing skirts and love, which i also h-
ave memories of in nearly half a cent-
ury slogging toward a dull leather bell.

mod child 

mod child, you blame yorself
mod child, yor daisy frowns
mod child, yor invested in color
mod child, what a large belt buckle
mod child, you wear a Sears medallion
mod child, even domestic violence is mod
everything you do mod child
could be on a color tv or in space
you could be reduced to black and white dots
why can't others feel the love that you want
[and freeze]

distruck-shone 

To the mother vol-
cano, there is no hu-
nting; the food kill
itself and jump in
your mouth. Are
you in? Now that we
have centuries of da-
ta we find we're rare-
ly wrong. We want no-
t only to record but al-
so guide the
metamorphosis of yor
distruck-shone.

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...