...this is some mid-life crisis.
or pre mid-life. whatever. i
can't stop submitting bullshit
writing.
and i think i'm ageing backwards. the other day
someone said 'sucking soggy nuts'
(she was talking about almonds)
and i choked and spluttered.
and she cracked the hell up too.
once in a feminist
seminar, i laughed at
the word 'vagina.'
Check out my wang
I know rude words!
Rude words! Rude words!
Look! I have written
The word WILLY!
On the kitchen wall!
In blunt crayon!
And I have written
Rude words for girly bits!
In felt tip pen on
My sister's forehead!
Mommy, I am so clever
I am so clever, aren't I?
Can I have a cookie?
A cookie, Mommy?
Can I? Can I? Can I?
Wang! Wang! Wang! Wang!
Willy! Willy! Willy! Willy!
Girly bits! Girly bits! Girly bits!
I am 37 years old
Going on four or five
This is some mid-life crisis
everyone looking at everyone
some more famous than others
and a few claimin hater
wishing ani would ask them to join
this bar plays dance music
but doesn’t have a dance floor
everyone is drinking
but nobody’s here to drink
everyone is looking
at everyone looking
at everyone
~O~
The noises I make when you’re doing it right
Are the noises I make when I’m happy
Did you lose weight? Cut your hair? You look different. You look good.
No it’s these jeans
They’re French
You can bet your (considerably bigger than my) ass I look good
And I’m happy so I smile
And I make the noises inside
It’s all in the vibration
It has a ricochet effect on my walk.
Hold on until the questions cease.
Things cannot get any worse.
Or maybe losing four toes (so far)
and one kneecap
says different
Calm your breath
think of
hand holding, dog petting,
eating warm bread with your fingers or
the noises I make when you are doing it right
To fasten around our necks
We wear these heavy chains with pride
Shall we cut our losses, bleed our selves
Locate our veins and face the sun
Here, gaze into this flaming round
I'll stand behind, linking lengths
In the burn of shining cityscapes
Swimming in our empty heads
Carry my dust in your silver locket
A hair, a nail, even a slither of skin
Open me in the birth of night
Slide the hair across your tongue
Push the nail into your warm lips
Place the skin between your breasts
Then wait until the answers come
Hold on until the questions cease
what ever happened to China?
we ask unconcerned, sipping down its tea
in pretty cream-colour porcelain. detoxing
our odd-tainted souls with slow-flow green tea lakes.
waving 'free tibet' flags on
half-mast arms, pinkie fingers extended
eternal. prodding murdered crabmeat
to see it it regrows hobo pincer-claws
to fasten around our necks.
granny panties yuck
what ever happened to naugahyde string bikinis
and placenta underoos
what ever happened to sweaty asses
in caribou fur thongs
what ever happened to crying quietly into
your apple juice while digging sharp
into your thigh
slipping out of your boyshorts
under the batman duvet
suckling guinea pigs' teats
murdering crabmeat for the sauce
what ever happened to
tasty pastries and gallons of nose-bled blood
what ever happened to China
I fucking said please
every finger making fist
get it over with
soon i surge ahead
existence nulls all triumph
i am vacant soul
bigger stronger
you may be
but I don't give easy
[even when necessary]
much better fun
hunting lively things
and I only bother to
liven for suffering
pent up flash floods
are ready to boil
whirlpool like light
and put up the good one
until until you—
either overcome
or go out trying
[advice for the weary:]
with every cry I
gather more steam
am hardened to beatings
am ready to blow
The thing about that shit is you have
to want to get hurt. Be afraid.
That's healthy. But desire has to
overpower fear. And how do we do
that? she asks. Well sexual frustration
of course. That's right. No Jedi mind
tricks here baby. We just don't come.
We don't come for days. Weeks maybe.
However long it takes we don't come.
We watch porn. Leer at the boys on the
street in front of the shop. Thumb the
girlie mags. Rub each other senseless.
BUT WE DO NOT ORGASM. Dig? Under
any circumstances. Because once you
blow your load, you get comfortable.
You want to have a cigarette, you relax,
bake a cake or whatever the fuck you do.
And that's when they come crashing your
hideout and taking your women. Or in
your case, taking you. Do you want
them to take you? Do you? No. I don't
want them to take you either. So no
fuckin' funny business, you there in
the back. I'm watchin' you. Keep that
shit in check. You may be schooled and
read all them fancy books, but your
body? It's still a body like any other.
It's still a body like your ancestors
had, and it wants just one thing. It
wants for survival. Unfortunately for
your body the rules of survival have, how
shall we say, changed, in the last few
hundred years. SO NOW, on top of
fighting the power you have to fight
yourself, grapple with your own mind.
You have to outsmart your body. Only
then can we all come victorious.
There are beatings abroad in the streets tonight
And kickings, and nuttings, and stabbings, and more
Knuckle-headed oaf against knuckle-headed oaf
Idiot on idiot, drunken bint slapping drunken bint
Outside the kebab shop, lairy wolves gobble lamb
Eyeing the competition like no-brained monsters
"Are you lookin' at my bird, you dirty facker?"
"Why don't you come here and say that, you cunt?"
The ritual: heads down, no nonsense charging
Dragging their dumb girths, the lumbering beasts
Belch seventeen pints into the doner-scented night
As they size each other up for a right good pasting
Kebabs onto concrete, thrown at the prissy feet of
Adoring white-stilettoed dolly birds, mini-skirted
To the point of no lewd imagination required
Freezing their tits off in the name of the skin game
"Hit him, Dwayne! Fackin' hit him! Knock him dahn!
He was starin' at my arse! He touched it! My arse!
That's your arse, Dwayne! Your fackin' arse!
Give him what for, lover. Give him bleedin' what for!"
"He was not! My Dave does not fancy yours!
Do you, Dave? Do you? Tell 'er, Dave! Tell 'er!
You're a bony slag, Denise! A bony fackin' slag!
Would be like humpin' a bleedin' bag of spanners!"
And so cat fight takes on git fight takes on
Helpless pubbers and E'd-up good time clubbers
The little that passes for brains gets splattered
Amongst the remains of slippery mutton stench
The men's fists are limp and useless, tanked up
On gassy lager, whisky chasers, roasted peanuts
They leave it to head-butting, groping, grunting
Near homoerotic, save for kicking and spitting
See the neanderthals in their natural environment
We marvel as evolution slides back to the caves
Words now too much for their addled constitutions
All thought thrown out for the dull thud of foreheads
"He's got a blade, Dave! He's got a bloody blade!"
The chaos stops short with a sickening squelch
As sharp Sheffield steel meets Fred Perry shirt
Meets hairy beer belly meets thick-set thug heart
Bring blues and twos and sirens if you must
Though sense would say leave the tableau there
With tottering totty knelt and cradling shaven head
As the victorious gorilla beats his chest in male pride
How I love the sound of violence on a sick summer night
Spewing out of gutters, rising up from greasy spoons
Yeah, so there's one dead moron, another behind bars
But it's a price worth paying for a little peace and quiet
Fighting Words:
BIFF! BOFF! POW! AIEEEE!
BAM! WHAP! ZAP! OOOFFF!
SPLAT! KAPOW! WHACK! EEE-YOW!
SOCK! THWAPP! BONK! AAAWK!
Fucking Words:
BIFF! BOFF! POW! AIEEEE!
BAM! WHAP! ZAP! OOOFFF!
SPLAT! KAPOW! WHACK! EEE-YOW!
SOCK! THWAPP! BONK! AAAWK!
Let's fight/fuck.
I whispered at dawn that you're beautiful
It bears repeating here, mouthing the words
As day turned darker, I saw the light
The sky collapsed, shrouding my brutality
Sat side by side in this pale moonlight
Our hillside overlooks the seamy streets
Your hair, my love, is as golden as ever
Even as viscous blood thickens its strands
May I turn your head to gaze in your eyes?
Your always dead eyes, still gone, vanished
Caress your mouth, your parted lips, expectant
Waiting for an exhalation, giving me a sign
You were cold towards me, so cold, and so
You become colder still, colder still, into ice
Your perfect legs remain unflinching to my touch
Breaking them to carry will surely break me too
I promised to take you far from here, oftentimes
I'll take you even further, I swear on your grave
Your skin is not what it once was, not sweet
Your face that fell has dropped through the floor
Your heart, it no longer beats for me
Your heart, it no longer beats at all
Your life curdles round the kitchen knife
The handle sucked up by your sunken soul
Hug me
The way Chris Brown hugs Rihanna
Kiss me
The way Ike kissed Tina
Rape me
The way W raped America
No, not like that
Like the way Miss Piggy raped Kermit
’Cause you know she did
And I love pork
~O~
that
night on
the 405 freeway
you
partially drunk
ready to fuck
fleeing
home from
that shitty bar
my
cock swelling
already in anticipation
unexpectedly
our plans
derailed by fate
a
blue minivan
rear ending us
all
sexual tension
ruined by chance
it
had to
release some way
i
grabbed one
of your heels
walked
calmly towards
family of three
smiled
warmly as
window rolled down
before
apology given
i swung hard
brought
shoe down
against stiff skull
he
trapped by
seat-belt and fear
bashing
as furious
muscle would allow
you
watching assault
in rear-view mirror
blood
spraying beautiful
like peacock tail
palmed
his skull
thrusting violently forward
nose
broken against
steering wheel column
wife
screamed annoyingly
during the melee
strided
over to
the passenger side
grabbed
the stupid
bitch by hair
pulling
her out
through open window
frail
body dumping
on cold asphalt
kicked
her solid
in soft ribs
entered
the car
to face child
displayed
father's head
scalp flapping forward
"this
is what
happens when you
throw
rocks at
the fucking pitbull"
i
whispered
to reticent child
leaving
the family
under indifferent moon
you
seemed terrified
eyes twinkling wide
the
night lost
i thought "fuck
it"
and slipped
a bloody finger
between
black skirt
parting trembling thighs
it
being the
wettest pussy felt
we
drove home
listening to talk-radio
my
chi spent
on the 405
His ceiling cries slow-oozing tears
& he weeps for this.
*
He stuck an axe in the light fixture,
twisted til it bled a
crackle.
Plopping glass tears & dripping
blood gumdrops
over the
shiny tile-floor.
Left her the packet of big league
And 47 red ants (I counted)
Said choke on it you bitch
Then hung myself in the living room
And died right on her
How do you like me now
Fucker
Remember that game
we used to play?
Neck belt floor chain frolicking
into albino blindness baby
food spoon feeding baby
bird receiving trust blackmail
fake father figure forcing
my muscles atrophied
shivering trembling skeletal with
sores weeping
You'd say, "So cute!"
and call me
Your Pet while
ignoring every whimpered plea
over old VCR loop newscasts
broadcasting
my old face
to myself
long forgotten
You always won.
There once was a bloke with a knife
Who had a six-headed wife.
Brandishing it: ‘sweetie,
This will not be pretty.’
And then her heads were five.
There once was a fellow called Fred
Who never meant quite what he said.
He told his wife ‘Dear,
There’s nothing to fear’
Whilst holding a gun to her head.
i walk home at dusk
everything seems unknown
the lawn chairs are laughing
the moon is laughing
the spider is laughing
i have three keys on my ring
the first doesn't work
the second doesn't work
the third is tight
i panic and think
i do not belong here
but then the door opens
to a small room i do not recognize
***
i walk home at dusk
everything seems alone
the lawn chairs are reticent
the moon is weeping
the spider is laughing
the lock feels violent
or what lies behind the lock
a cell i call home
***
i walk home at dusk
the lawn chairs are broken
the moon is hidden
the spider is crushed
there is no lock
only an empty doorway
to a darkness i don't
want to feel anymore
***
now there is no more walking
there is no more dusk
there is no more anything
spider, moon, chair or me
there is only universe
there is nothing left to
chronicle my failures
this coming event is my
only comfort
obscure superstar
bless the boy from o-hi-o
he will ring your bell
--------------
Profile Information: Piffle-r Number 43.
AKA: Tyrell Augustus Bluesmith III. AKA Chance LaFriend. AKA Chubba Butters.
Mood: Mr. George Jones.
Quote: Who's gonna play the Opry and the Wabash Cannonball?
Into: Group and Gloryhole.
Relationship Status: Will swap hot bitches with you but don't try to fuck me fella. Well. Ok. That goes for most of you. But that shit is private. I like certain movies ok.
Swooping and scratched
Distorted and debauched
Venus descends
In her faked furs
Figures appalled in black
Await her icebound arrival
Venus is here
Newly purged
She is sick of the sleaze
She's a social disease
Venus won't take
Your sick venom
Takes to the footlights
Like some fuck to water
Venus is not
Your sweet darling
She cuts and she bites
She strains to be heard
Venus goes quiet
Knocked down, stood up
If you brighten these corners
To find me sat, cross-legged, bowed
Hands raised in supplication
I'll be praying to every which way
I can find a likely idol to worship
Facing north into the hard frost
Mine eyes see only the whites of yours
Heading east, I watch the sun
Rising above you to christen and crown
Turning west, I watch it descend
Into the map of skin spread out before me
Gazing south, I see night come falling
Sucked down into your open mouth
Spirits such as these are tangible
They exist, breathing flames to anoint
When I kneel in the direction of heaven
And it answers by beating my heart
Does this mean you believe?
The pause asks, pregnant and pointed
I believe in nothing but what I touch
I respond, and my fingers stretch to feel
The slight sum total of experience
That is something of anything, of all
Of everything it could be, of nothing
When the ground is arid flatness. When
the last dregs stop wind dancing &
your mouth is dry and dull. And everything
in the world is a stilted ache.
The intermission rolls down a curtain;
ice cream-strapped ushers
roll in by clockwork.
And the phone
brrrings like a heart attack. -
Her words make my thoughts
washing machine water
swirling.
I don't know but what if it's all
really for nothing and the things
you say are all for less
what if the guns were there for
the taking and the knives and the
lives and the stacks disappeared
one day
when you no longer care what I think
I'll tell you how I longed for a
slap in the face to tell me you
knew
what I was thinking even though I
never made a pass
one day my mom slapped me and my
lips against my braces bloodied
and scared her
one day
she called me a whore
and the truth of that statement
bloodied and scared her
one day when you no longer pretend
to love me I'll tell you how I
just wanted a piece of me to be in
your head forever because I give
dust pieces of myself to anyone
who needs them and even someone
who doesn't
I know you won't read this but that
won't stop me from writing it
one day when we have seen all there
is to see you'll know how banal
Please publish my words
If you do, I'll give out one
Sexual favour
If you don't, I'll give out more
This is not an idle threat
Pour yourself into
This glass, so I can drink you
Whisper your "say when"
I'll savour ev'ry droplet
Like some lost alcoholic
A slightly incongruous poetic turn, An Unreliable Witness treats us to a Shakespearean-style rendition of a couple of verses of that early nineties classic, Method Man by Wu Tang Clan. Um. Yes, you read that correctly. And uh, no. I didn't bribe him or threaten to behead his budgie so he'd do this for my amusement. Much.
first things first
I set the plastic grocery bags with milk, eggs
and meat on the derty tile in the derty kitchen,
dig in the closet for porn (she ain't home yet)
good ol' days
I got XXX on VHS but cain't watch it nowhere
I fantasize 'bout my favorite money shots
when I lather up my stiff dick in the shower
and adjust the tracking of my dirty thoughts
it's not fucking unless it's fucking
my girl ain't got no old panties
always rip 'em off the coochie
her puss tastes like warm, thick water
pubes soft as baby bunny fur
~O~
I can do this with my eyes
I can do this with my nose
I can do this with my hair
I can do this with my finger
I can do this with my tongue
I can do this with my face gone
I can do this with my pure remains
I can do this with my lost spirits
I can do this with my head opening
I can do this with no more thought
How many is too many?
How much is too much?
Should I stop now?
Should I go on and on and
[Continue to fade]
Never enough is never enough
Too few is always too few
Too little is always too little
If I smile, smile, smile
Will you, will you, will you
Still save me when my hand
Is stuck in the cookie jar?
He says we found them strange and mystifying.
We are intrigued. Google ads responding say
Feeling a little salty? Always.
Discus fish delivered! [This is ]
How to Get Her Back. I wonder what it is you do
with a discus fish.
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