“As women season & broaden, bones narrow & medications strengthen, my moon landings seem distant, an ink what’s hardened, a neck unset, a pretense chilled and de-centralised.”
Summer in July: A free e-book by Richard Thripp. 6*9, 96 pages. Download the PDF version (~500KB), or read on…
As my active eye lazes MY GOOD KIDNEY SWELLS & muscles go spastic I cash checks without signing them. I defy traffic directions as put forth by orange-gloved pigs.
Tammy knew the jungle as well as the back of her lover’s hand. He would strike her courageously when she mouthed off—her fault & she knew it. He possessed an admirable bamboo toughness & she was grateful each time he demonstrated discipline.
”Women and children first,” they said aboard Titanic,
both need firm, yet loving, Christian guidance.
Jungle gals, plains’ broads, desert beauties need a dose
of masculine roughness. “We’ll whip Fort Ticonderoga into
shape!” The pioneers said enthusiastically. {Enthusiasm’s
made this nation a country: a country of enthusiasts.}
”Enjoy these gifts, those I’ve presented the world. You, people made in my image, of star-shine & moon-glow. Easy as easy is I have breathed life into deadened rocks. Tempt & be tempted, slouch & be of crooked stance.” — These words have entered the minds of righteous souls. “It’s not so much the heat as the humidity,” many have said, but they speak no more of it now that change has come, change promised. The guile of some & reverence of many is what makes for folly…{Blah — blasé, shrimps & mussels, corks & styro-plugs, blouses & knapsacks, swim-swam-swum…}…Folly in shapeless hap, breaking ground upon glass, further taxing Euro-socialism…Sometimes when I need a threatening F.B.I. warning telling of civil & criminal punishments I utilize a film discus. Other men would come along poking about commissioning officers within regiment: A happy marriage between uniformity & civility…My stature & full hair of thick head gives me several advantageous advantages over short & stubby folks: #1. I’m first to feel rain on my head & last on my feet. #2. I’m closer to God & further from Satan. #3. My gonads are above the knees.
Many have said Jesus must be contacted on all things prayer-wise. There was a booklet that said this wasn’t necessary. Written by Friends of Satan, I think it must be reliable.
I FORGIVE YOU MOTHER THERESA
{This poem explores the pain of ego & starvation.}
For the hurtful things you said:
Starving me of love & food,
Kicking me when down.
Oh Mother T, without you, beggary has no relation.
My rice bowl is empty.
You’re so rich it scares me.
THE DEATH OF MOTHER THERESA
It seemed her charity knew no bounds & her
bottomless pit of selflessness had no bottom.
She gave, gave & then, when you thought she had stopped to
go to the bathroom or something, she’d give some more.
She’d give anybody anything save me:
She wouldn’t give me shit.
— “Look Daddy: it’s Yawn & Joko Bono!”
”So it is! I wonder what brings them to
Greene County, Pennsylvania?”
”I think it’s the pork festival!”
AIR & ELECTRICITY
I”m getting air & electricity but feel the moisture is departing my face causing cracking. I can’t understand French people when thry speak their language. When the engine blew up in my truck I was helpless to repair it. When cancer-poisoning, burning therapies are provided I loose hair & nails.
HOW ANIMALS WORK
Animals have vessels {akin to hoses} that allow blood to move
& visit organs throughout the body. An animal’s skin or hide
acts as a bag, one that’s full of guts & blood — pierce the
bag & you’ll have a mess.
Why are animals mean? Animals are mean because
they were created by Satan & he’s very bad!
Why can’t animals stay in one place? Animals are lazy & deceptive. They look to people for hand-outs. Given the chance, all animals want to get something without having to work for it. Industrious people {foolishly} help animals & are punished by God for it.
ELVIS & PRISCILLA: “Oh Elvis can’t it ever be like it used
to be when we were so much in love with each other?”
”What…?”
”When you sang about being in jail & Jesus nailed up?”
”What…?”
THE WORLD’S MOST-IMPORTANT MAN snaked the soil pipe between my toilet & septic tank. Now we may flush meaningfully. Stand aside Socrates, André Gide & other fags!
TOM LOVES STEVE homosexually.
It takes 2 men to have what they do:
A homosexual relationship.
Once Tom had misgivings so Steve accosted him.
“No more of that!”
”Can’t it ever be like it used to be when
we were so much in love with each other?”
”No! Never!”
ALL MY CHANCES: Her kitchen-skink goodness, sink-cleaning somehow, Priscilla Presley yumminess {1975 & sooner} con-tributed all to man’s wealth of world. She could be wrapped & pkg.’d, escalatored & de-neutralised, soaked & washed up and loved no less. All my chances, they are used and I have no dead ends nor wronged throbbers.
It’s amazing how many mafiosos Frank Sinatra dealt
& socialized with yet remained immune to their
charms, persuasions & influence…
Magnolia Lovebound wound her kite in expertly, because she was tree-shaped neighbors strung clothes’ lines & hammocks from her trunk as children built tree houses high in the boughs.
She was a green & leafy woman in summer & an orange-
brown, deadening sight come autumn. She was married
to Larch Malignancy & they had no saplings.
It was mid-December & the town was preparing for Rasputin’s birthday, rare enough for Florida & Magnolia, or Nolia for short {but not for long}, branched out her business interests hoping something might root. Meanwhile Larch had begun a sexually-physical affair with some rose bush called Scarlet. Nobody paid much heed to Larch for he was considered rather senile & root-bound. Besides, Scarlet was a stickler & prickly. No man would have her.
Nolia had happened upon the illicit couple twice: once out back, once out front. “No man’ll have ya!” She told Scarlet & it was true.
NEXT: The cold darkness of the motel frightened my ass as I moved ever more motionlessly. Madeleine fought back tears as had Paul before he got killed in the army. The rain fell & the sky seemed wet. “Got any tooth decay?” I asked innocently, knowing damn well she had tons.
And Nexter: Pain vs. Prick…Prick me in the neck with a hypodermic syringe & I cringe in terror. I suffer pain & horror.
”Give my ass the chance to prove himself,” a
Mexican might put in. “My ass, he is strong…”
”Just don’t cross the border with him,” I’d say.
Nothing’s left behind but wounded soldiers & untaught children. In the dirt & through smoke the world spreads before me begging for a sign fretful. I lull & gag amongst the criminal element.
”Look, I’m a bread neck!” I proclaimed with a loaf held
neck-high. “I own 3 wrecked cars & my wife’s a porker…”
Once you piss off the garbage man there’s no turning back. I learned that the hard way. They are a strange & mysterious lot: these men of refuse. Married & with scads of children, our garbage man was taking his sweet, rancid time collecting our crud. “Hurry up!” I ventured. “You sick, craven turd!”
He turned my way & laughed. I attacked with a viciousness that was alarming. He went down like a bag of garbage. I pounced & kicked him to near-death. He looked no different than a pile of garbage. The pigs came & started interrogating. I explained how I felt backed into a corner & came out slugging. Was it my fault the old bag-lobber got on my wrong side? The pig sympathized, explaining that this was common & how emotions always run hot on garbage day.
”See you next week!” I yelled as the ambulance departed.
I began to wonder & wobble a might after the ambulance. The garbage man had certainly initiated the fracas, he’d practically begged for a drubbing. Because his world was waste he’d not known the touch of a loving woman, or man. My education was gooder than his. What he lacked in looks he would compensate for with garbage. I could drive trucks of garbage thru the holes in his logic. I should pity this confused & battered man whose filth & ignorance made it too late for pizza, too early for war news.
”I can’t have children!” I yelled thunderously. “I’m sterile! That’s why! It’s no fault of my wives! They are, for once, blameless!”
Kitty sat, stunned. She didn’t know how to react to my protestations. She looked away fixing attention on my yarn balls.
I feel John’s dragging Yoko. The hostile nature
of my moaning frightens movie critics.
Take me Mama to the hellish side of heaven and the heavenly side of hell. Heaven is a place where there’s no Barbara Walters, where overwhelming personal problems become underwhelming, where stupidity is rewarded like crazy. {Your singing makes Joe Cocker sound like an idiot.}
Take me Mammy to the land what time regrets — a shimmer of cocoa & broken clock-works & rulers of 12-inch capacities. These disjointed limbs limp along unable to leap forward-thinking frogs swizzled about pencil necks. Super stupidity is anointed in soul-less, wicked fashion statements involving cool, crisp alignments…I see Yoko promoting John & John apportioned. I see scissors up to no good.
America {proper} fortifies herself against everybody. No men unchallenged. Super-states crapped out & livers drunken…
Take me for what my bloated heart’ll manage. Crank upon
a shaft’s well. Deduct me to hormone. Promote me
till all sicken at my word.
TYPICAL EVENING
“What’s your name?”
”My name is Fuck F. Fuck.”
”Geez, what’s the F stand for?”
GIVE IN to base urges, repress inner longings no longer. These moral charges are really starting to stick and: “That whore’s my friend & I was just loaning her money during these troubling times. {No fun during these troubling times.} Give in to your base-building urges…
Joe Lee Lovechild swore he’d never eat walnuts again.
Twice his front teeth had cracked costing him a small
fortune to repair. “Damn walnuts!” He exclaimed as
his front teeth cracked a third time.
”I’ll never understand why you keep
doing that.” His wife said grimly.
”Oh…?” John Lee asked. “And what do you suggest?
Should I throw the walnuts out the window or flush
‘em down the toilet? The choice is yours!”
”Why don’t you cut them from their husks & use these
nut crackers on the shells?” With that a groin, I mean
grin, transformed his face. “Alright Ice-Pick
Nipples {his nickname for her} I’ll be careful.”
Chapter 2: Joe Lee didn’t feel very laxative, I mean talkative, when the laxative, I mean car salesman approached.
”Lookin’ for a new car?” The moron asked.
”Yes,” Joe Lee answered somberly, “my other
new car is so old it doesn’t work anymore.”
”Well maybe what you need is another new car.”
”Exactly! Another new car would
render my old new car useless…”
Chapter 3: Shaking like a beaver, Tammy hadn’t
realized Joe Lee’d gone beaver-hunting. “Where’s
Joe Lee?” She asked confusedly.
”He’s gone beaver-hunting,” Sarah
Crow {local Indian} answered.
”What? Again? Seems like he’s never
happy with anything except wild beaver.”
”Never mind,” Scrow {Tammy’s nickname for Sarah Crow} soothed. “Soon you’ll be up to your chin in swimming-pool water. Do you want to go swimming or what?”
”Sure,” Tammy replied semi-retardedly,
“swimming will surely wetten me.”
Chapter 4: “Hello!” Joe Lee said as
a greeting. “What’s your name?”
”Harriett Tubman.”
”Harriett Tubman? Are you an international fashion model?”
”Just national so far,” Harriett said shyly. She was a
raven-haired beauty with impressive body features.
”My name’s Joe Lee & I’ll be accompanying you. You
know what the word accompanying maens don’t you?
”Yes,” said Harriett, “It maens to chaperon.”
”Chaperon?” Joe Lee said fumb ducked. “What’s that maen?”
”Maen…?”
”Shut up, you started it!”
Chapter 5: That morning Harriett awoke, still alive.
“My hip’s itchy — got any hip-itch cream?”
”All out,” Joe said lyingly. He had tubs of it. “I’ll nip out
& get some — be back within a short period of time.”
Harriett waited till Joe Lee was 2 blocks south to dress
then shower. “Damn it, my clothes are saturated!”
Hurriedly she rummaged Joe Lee’s drawers: “Size
38, he’s kind of chubby, but it could be worse.”
Chapter 6: Uncle Joe & Kate Lovechild entered
the freight yard @ one-thirty. “Put your bga in
the locker,” the freight captain ordered.
“My what, my bga?”
“Sorry. I meant bag.”
“Hey what’cha doing?” Kate demanded as Joe dutifully cram-
med her wrinkled & bloated body into the tiny confines.
“Ditching my bag!”
“Stowing your bag you mean,” Kate corrected. “He
{the freight captain} means your case not me!”
”I’m sorry,” Joe Lee’s uncle Joe said. “It’s just
that you are so withered & unattractive.”
”Yes I’ve aged & my anti-aging medications are shit but can’t you still love me like you used to when you were so much in love with me?”
”No way hag!” Uncle Joe screamed, putting a
hurtful emphasis on hag, as he ran like a lesbian.
Chapter 7: Uncle Joe & Kate waited by the county dump as fire raged. “There goes another pile {of garbage}!” Joe ranted, lamenting aplenty about the time he’d seen a fire engine speeding passed a water tower. Kate fingered her rosary, too tired to plunge a knife into his neck she fell to the pavement divorced from reality. “Kate, Kate, are you dead?” Uncle questioned, always looking forward because of neck-bone fusings, never wanting to praise any Messiah better than Jesus {the Biblical One}. Diversion: A promise made in the dark under religious circumstances is concrete.
Chapter 8: “How may I kill the violence in my nature?
I’m infested with venomous intentions, reliable infractions,
cross-over invectives.”
”Recant, repent!” The people of church demand as
had Harriett believed impossible 6 hours before
when Joe Lee confessed his red neck bend.
”My Lord God of Hosts & navigation, how may I
please without put-out, scheme sans plans?”
”How many Haitians must we sacrifice before Portorriqueños relent? Might we not dump our generosity upon Mexico instead?”
Harriett could never find peace with the Peace Corps,
she could not relent, repent, refrain nor recoil in
horror when the situation demanded.
Chapter 9: Joe Lee counted on social security to tie the loose ends as he planned to marry Tubman just before retirement age. A window of opportunity existed & Joe Lee was no slogger. If she would contribute ready cash they could live for & support charities that fight crippled children. Amongst flunkies & tramps Joe Lee was an impressive cut. Just under 6 feet tall & quite more than 200 lbs., he was neither handsome nor fresh-smelling. Harriett hated him just the same & often did what her God demanded.
Cha-Cha Chapter 10: The wiener factory was across the street & Harriett & her sister Tubby often toured it for inspiration. Years later Harriett asked her sister to come along. Tubby pointed out that they were grown up now & it was time they moved on to sausage.
The wiener factory across the street was the one thing
Harriett could rely on. “No matter,” she’d say, “what
comes my way, I’ll always have fresh wieners,
seeing the factory’s across the street & all.”
Chapter 11: Sally had known discomfort what with weighing so much, but not like this: the discomfort in a love affair gone horribly wrong. Our story begins in 1901, Teddy Roosevelt is president & everything’s Jake. Nineteen-ot-one: the first yr. of the 20th century, the yr. Sally’s great-grandparents were married. So much romance then Titanic!!! The ship hits a 1912 iceberg & many die! Sally’s grandfather chokes on a hunk of meat & I’m not sure if Grover Cleveland is alive.
Chapter 12: “I’m opposed to any measures taken against
Uncle Joe & Kate. They are good people, too well for
interment, too elderly for track and field.”
”The road to divorce is paved with asphalt,” Joe Lee con-
ditioned. “Do not let it be said that I’ve ever said otherwise.”
”I know,” the sheriff grunted, adjusting his badge & taser, “but Uncle Joe has broken God’s law & must be tased.”
”Well…” Joe Lee said, a bit more acceptingly,
“he’s old & I think he can take it.”
”Yes, I’ve zapped children & oldsters & many have taken it, the electrocution well, only to crack their skulls on the way down.”
”After losing muscle control?”
”Yes.”
Chapter 13: “Hello, what’s your name cutie?”
The handsome sailor asked.
”I’m Beth Wishbone. Who’re you?”
A look of frantic defeat made off with the
handsome sailor’s fetching features. “My God!”
“Thanks,” Beth said, flattered.
”No, I don’t mean you’re my God.“
”Oh?”
”I mean, before you got amnesia, I was Beth Wishbone.”
Beth was stunned as if by taser. “If you’re Beth Wishbone then who am I?”
”I don’t know!” The sailor exclaimed &
burst into tears. “I just don’t know!”
Chapter 14: Johnson was so stupid it’s unbelievable, but he was a Texan. Beth didn’t wish that her unremembered amnesia should cause a rift or memory adjustment with her new sailor man. Suddenly she speaks: “I realize we’ve only known each other —
”Will you marry me?”
”Yes! Yes! Yes!” Beth answered whichever one she was.
They would be married in Chapter 16 & she would
be elated, finally her amnesia could be forgotten.
Chapter 15: Tammy didn’t know too many retarded people but the ones she did confused her with their clever talk & deductive reasoning. “Look at the retards!” Her friends would say confidently but for Tammy it was: Look out for the retards!” She made no secret of her fear & shaved her shapely legs frontside below the knees. This was no time to go ape. Soon bikini weather would be here & there was no excuse for that. She was certain Joe Lee, Uncle Joe & Kate would be pleased to see her stripped to a transparent 2-piece, especially Joe Lee who was hung on her. His passion could defeat a one-piece, cut to ribbons a two, annihilate a three, if such a garment existed.
Chapter 16: Whence suddenly married the world accepts you
as a serious health risk. Once the bones knit you’re able to
use that leg, it will aid in walking & brake application.
Tammy couldn’t hold her feelings another moment. It
was Christmas & the Christmas-fun would soon begin:
stockings, rein deer, eggnog, sausage, crack of itchy.
They, her feelings, must’ve weighed 10 pounds & she was
eager to unburden herself. Nursing causes nipple irritation
so nurses deserve extra loving. — “Here comes a nurse
— do not tweak her nipples!”
Chapter 17: Tammy’s heart was filled with such horrible anger, such angry horror that she could not face Doctor {cardio-specialist} F. Lee Hickson. Maybe if he were denied her audience Joe Lee’s death would remain heresy & hearsay. She hated suffering in all forms & couldn’t finish her rare t-bone steak. It was bloody just as Joe Lee had been when he was killed in a violent act of merciless savagery. Doctor Hickson pled: “Please Tammy, let me apprise you of the excruciating death details of Joe Lee.”
”Never,” Tammy said, swimming thru a sea of remorse
in a bikini made of clear plastic. Her best parts
unmistakably alluring in pool-water moistness.
Chapter 18: The funeral was Saturday, Tammy & all the Lovechilds save Billy Lou, Bobby Ray & Dakeysha would be there. Joe Lee’s body could only be displayed from neck to tits & knees to belly button due to his horrifying mortal injuries. Shoes & shirts required. No pictures please.
”Will you be alright?” Reverend Milkmaiden asked.
“Yes,” Tammy answered, sucking back mucoidal tears of phlegm. “I’ve got to be for our children: Attoria, Bishetta & Kofi.”
The body was given a Christian, traditional, face-down burial. Tammy had wanted the head removed but this was refused her.
Chapter 19: Twenty-seven years passed since Joe Lee’s funeral, Tammy, Lori Saunders & Hal Holbrook were still on friendly terms. Uncle Joe & Kate were aging routinely, Xmas would always be in December for them. Their sunset period was a tangled mess of incapacities & money-laundering. Kate had suffered more as her bosom had betrayed its pronounced patriotic fervor, never at attention, always in lost pendulosity. Uncle Joe’s back spasms only worsened under her enormous putty sacks.
Chapter 20: Bowling & boating is what Sally lived
for. She could bowl aboard her boat if only it were
bigger or she had smaller pins & balls.
January is a time for a new year & a new love. She’d wanted her shores parted & now came the chance with Kofi Lovechild, son of Joe Lee, who’d died for her salvation, when she was very young.
Kofi was unappealing look & weight-wise & awfully stupid
but he had been dressing himself all along. Sally admired
him as she was half-blind in one eye.
Chapter 21, Finally: “I can’t assemble the pieces of your life Dear,” Netorian preached. “That ring on your finger screams everlasting fidelity. You & Kofi will have to work this out!”
”But,” Sally spoke, “Beth & Harriett Tubman will be here soon. I can’t let them see me wet with tears.”
Netorian put the tea bag on the dish, sprinkling Italian
seasoning into the cup deftly. “Sal, you & me
have been twisted tightly ten yeads —
”Yeads…?!”
”Okay, years. You know God-damned well the life I’ve led
& the prison stretches. Don’t let what’s happened to me
stop you from loving with all your womanly pride.”
”Thanks,” Sally thanked as she stuffed the tea bag
into her mouth. “You are more friend than cousin,
more Laurel than Lum & Abner.”
22 years would pass {49 since Joe Lee’s death}. Uncle
Joe, Grenda, Heidi & Trayvon were dead. Beth had become
a tire salesman with few feminine desires left. Sally killed
Netorian & was not charged. — The End —
ALL MY CHANCES VANISH like bowl ring when bleached. I play the lottery & nothing happens to me as it does those t.v. winners. I feel I’ve lost more than the money: the trust in state-run lotteries built up over many years. All my purpose-oriented trials give way to what’s out there. Bound & gagged people can only thump. All my spring-chicken beauty dissolves like smoke in crack-itch heaven. I display my rocks of exhibition turning blind inhibition eyeless…
All my latent love urges mark the moon with as many foot-falls as our mock astronauts made up there so far from here in 1969.
”Peeing over the boat’s side is as harmless as ocean rain,
short socks, freckles, deep dimples, or bowling from a chair…
” I told Captain Eddy, who had never heard of such stuff.
”There will be none of that while I’m commanding this craft!”
Have it your way, I thought, as all my chances to pee over the side had not vanished. A night pee just might go undetected. Anyway, he’s got to sleep hasn’t he? Next up: Lying About in Garages, a poem that’ll have you searching for details of desire.
LYING ABOUT IN GARAGES details of my desires.
Fornicating in forgotten hospitals
The weakened & the fragile
Holy but repentant we snake uncoiled
Stripped & shipped the breadth of
oceans, the depths of intrigue
the re-working of Saigon…
A THING you don’t want to hear during
routine sex-change surgery: “Whoops!”
I believe the Beatles’ song “Help!” was merely a cry for help.
Every day I arrive @ work w/a positive attitude,
an H.I.V.-positive attitude it ain’t.
It was rumored that my sister wasn’t the type who could jump from man to man altho she did, for her it was nothing more unusual than flushing grass down the toilet, or for some of us to have our brains smashed out forming 2 words as one, having these heads measured for fun—luring a wince from where there’s no pain. Our squeezings result in full-milk production, tainting our coffee & gassing our tanks. If the world really wobbled when it spun we’d have only sun spots to grouse on.
A THING nobody attends unannounced, unawares, unclothed is a moody tense differing largely from Peter Lawford on the rebound. He’ll kill for a bit of Dandridge, a merry lin or a peck of ugly head {Gaelic: Kennedy}. A thing moldy-boldy clumps the walls & curtain as I die on my way to an ambulance convention.
FISTFUL OF JUNGLE LOVE {Unfinishable}
Young people will praise this film for its frank depiction of love gone jungle. As everyone knows the jungle is a wild place full of swinging monkeys, deadly snakes & quick-sand, enter Kassiti Ja’Neah Williams: a 14-yr.-old who possesses a need for excitement, the kind only found in jungles. She’s hot for jungle-loving & looks to Carmelo Shavade Williams {no relation} to provide it. Carmelo {played by new-comer Raonall Warrick Smith} is no stranger than anybody else & agrees to Kassiti’s options. Just when things begin to go steamy a nuclear bomb blows up in Nairobi killing everyone. Nobody’s left {thus everyone} & the camera tips over into the mud. The cast & crew rot where they’ve dropped. I rate F. of J. L. for what it could’ve been, if not for the bomb killing everybody: 4 hose-repair kits.
— Motif of Simian Injustice, Carmelo exclaims:
“Kassiti, I’m being attacked by niggers!”
”Monkeys?”
”No! I said niggers!!”
DANCE ABOUT — I’ll never lie about the garage, creating suicide from a broken nose & cracked ribs. It’s a Thelma Todd mystery. The love the world harbors beneath neglect & pox.
{Tammy raised her butt high in the air like a countess, Tania said nothing. Suddenly Tammy was attacked by a wild sea-bird bent on vengeance. It wasn’t going well, the butt incident made for uneasiness. — From “The Expurgation of Give In.“}
”Dance about the issue of unemployment if you like,” Timmy began, “but you can never lie again about the love between 2 loving people living & sleeping & humping like rats or rabbits or Truman Capote again!”
GREATNESS IN LARGE NUMBERS lay people in pits dead
by Germans who didn’t think too badly of shooting people.
Oh Heather, your flowery fields conceal Scotsmen.
It’s decrepit how shocking old people are.
Some place where the bushes grow & weeds hide sprawls of other plants, there lives a type of people who money has no draw. Offer them a checking account or interestless credit & they’ll put a spear in you. Who are these people who would set fire to your mutual funds & escape into the under-cover of vegetation? These un-moneyed, weed-whackers who would scratch your eyes out if you mentioned $4,000-cash back on a new Chevy? They are your brothers’ friends & sisters’ confidants. There’s nothing untoward about 2 men with large muscles getting along well.
Greatness in the pit of my stomach retracting my muscles peculiarly. Is this a nerving reaction? Great men amongst the disturbed, distributing all shares of lies & filaments, getting together, producing a graduated tax menace to salve the productive from means & product.
Brutality is a side of me only the police know: Pig Hunter. I can’t kill all of them! Won’t you please help? How many Colombians must die needlessly? Is it possible to run low, even out, of them? Only God knows the future of these South American losers.
They say a dog’s mouth is cleaner than his ass until
he licks his ass, then both are about the same.
They {they again} call me Creamy Gravy because I work either in pornography or in the creamy-gravy business. — Unusual fact: Only women can become lesbians {not counting people from Lesbos, of course}.
”I’m down in the cellar washing my clothes in gas — don’t turn on the light! The tiny spark will blow us all to smithereens!”
”Don’t worry! I won’t turn it on!”
”Thank God…got a cigaret?”
”Sure. You’d better not light it though!”
”How come {or why not}?”
”Because it will ignite the gas fumes.”
”Oh yeah, I had forgotten completely.”
”How’s about paying me that 50 bucks you borrowed?”
”Shut up or I’ll blow your house to bits!”
MY DAY IN COURT = I’d bring a mystery man known only
as Nylon so I could say: “I call Nylon as a material witness.”
My new autobiography LIVING LIKE A BUZZARD is
better than my old autobiography Living Like a
Pig or the one before that: …a Vulture.
The first chapter: “Beginnings”: I always wanted to be hugely big busted, enough to upset tables & cause canoes to tip, drowning everybody. They {the breasts} would pendulate, coming together, causing thunderous claps. I would use them to gain speed in running, leaning forward & making headway. My sisters would be equally endowed & together we would kill people who got in our way. I have a plan to write 52 autobiographies & each will be so unique as to bear no resemblance to the one before. One {guess which} will have a baldness cure, avoiding the terror of…
MY HAIR IN CLUMPS tripping me like shoes tied together — killing me at 45 & widowing a third wife. My hair clumping in a barrel over Niagara Falls. I feel my eyes unsocketed, my hips swaying at the cable house, my beard plucked by vultures or pelicans. I’ll never kill with joy nor unrump a prayer rag.
That night bums broke into the wienery & ate all the wieners. The Wiener King was heart-broken: his wieners had been eaten & Xmas was coming. What would Wiener Claus put in the children’s stockings? How many Puerto Ricans must flee New York’s largest city: New York?
Nobody knows the date better than someone with a calendar or the hatred a father finds for keeping rulers. People fly but not for want of trying. We go our way for reasons no pope may be privy or bishop or prelate or spunky office girl—her clingy nature, material need for collation. Nobody bowls while constipated nor wins coaxing fires, singeing my hair what’s clumped, teared & stained, bleached & coded, wanted by F.B.I. for some hair collection.
LOVE ALONG RECLINING LINES lies off-pitched. It’s 50
cents times a million dollars & then some. I’ve read the “news”
papers so I know the lie: indoctrinate, divide, conquer, kill
babies & grandparents, give it to the retardates for good
measure. My life is provided by my Lord who is identical
to me least-ways image-wise.
Shirley Temple stars in Kathleen {1941} & wears nothing,
she’s completely naked as opposed to incompletely naked.
When she talks nudists listen as if taught, a design flaw
that concentrates its effects upon words & not knobs.
Playing hide-&-seek with strangers in their back yards—hiding in the garage out of breath, gun loaded & the drop on niggers. Shoot first & ask questions of no one. Love declines along the calendars’ edges, it was struck by heavy raids on Liverpool, Bristol, Portsmouth, Birmingham, Sheffield & Manchester. It’s a hiding, a blitzing & a seeking what strangles my enthusiasm for constant flushing of the enemy out whereat I can re-load. — Love along these reclining lines aclinic is no part of parting blame-worthiness as I, by nature, am none too certain.
SOMETHING DANGEROUS
“You weren’t expecting your garden-variety,
jungle love all at once were you?”
”Yes I was. I never bargained for it gobbed.”
”Gobbed you’ll take it & gobbed you’ll love it.”
”Doesn’t it seem this is a foreskin to something dangerous?”
”Something garbled is always that way. You can’t pander
to forces minced or drowned in gravy, distinguished
from malcontention, filtered through pigs’ eyes.”
”It is something dangerous in what we do, our financial
duties & distractions, disturbing our cleated shoes,
believing in nothing, forecasting doom.”
”Something somewhat & danger-fraught is bound
by laws immanent, 10 years of divorce & freedom’s
ring tolling our pop flat, our monkeys torpid…”
”How dare you suspend our have-body {habeas corpus}, it’s
the basis of all we execute in the laws bespeaking freedom.”
PRETEND THE MOON
As women age & ugly, bones thin, eyes & cocci dry, toes & beam spread, things top-side drag pendulously. Once pulling they now push with great need for calcium & D, moods dapple, sharpness dulls, perky parks itself graveside…As women decrease in stature to subjects foreign & crestfallen, they twirl themselves dizzy, wakeful & time-bogged, they create age & regional hoax stories that no one believes, nobody relishes a cold slopping…pigs know futures lost to them. After all, they can’t go on like before for all’s not forgiven. The pig man must make quota. His toes & fingers & ends cockle a puckering foil beneath the weight of shrine & Mary.
He’s 44 & taken to bed. Can death be nearing? Silly to trust nurses to wash, since they’ve registered nothing’s clean enough. Silly to cheer the cheerless. If I burped & expired it’d amount to a noteless noting, an unscripted scripting, our sun setting behind ourselves, as we pretend interest in portends, knotting our ties, otherways feeling all fine, shitting, dumping plans & flushing anxious thoughts, we skirt our finished products beneath knees of legs. Mexicans remain thankless to all we’ve given them. They continue with their Mexican stuff. Their pepper-tortured tomato sauce rats out Cubanos, defies Texans & greases my hair back. The oil slick tans my backside. The separation clauses me to spit widely & freely…
Beautiful house for sale: 3 bedrooms, 2 bathrooms, overlooks abortion clinic. Approved by a mother’s right to vengeance, & things proto-popely, psychorrhagic & neglectful.
If my bra were stuck in working order & to climb me high above a steeple-jack’s premise would enliven my fog lamps & tunnel my loving emergence, then what bra stuck as working could entangle my squirrel sausage?
”I find the season’s first cold snap inniggerating!” She
said whilst wrapping herself in woolliness.
”It’s bad-ass talk like that,” I informed,
“that causes power problems.”
She was bundled tightly, impenetrable to spatial
volatility, free to go as she wandered.
TO SAVE YOUR LIFE when drowning in the
ocean: swim like a life guard to shore.
To save a life one might follow at a distance in crowded surroundings, stupefied & blinded by a passionate love aspiration, clouds of doubt blown away by the harsh winds of unerring penalty. When drowning, or thawing hamburger, take the precaution to: always swim like a life guard.
As women season & broaden, bones narrow & medications strengthen, my moon landings seem distant, an ink what’s hardened, a neck unset, a pretense chilled & de-centralised.
To murder your life, maim, & one-up, a skill-lacking study of pencil pushing, a career in studied love & heart stoppage. Too many pilots, too few planes to crash into mountains to knock their heads off. My twin eyes are centered front-ways. My twin ears on either headside. Balls that dangle, toes a-wiggle & nose double barreled, winkful lids & brazen hatchet cleavage. Clever I think, stolen moments beneath the sink with you my plumbers’ helpmate. I dare live, breathe & capitulate my weakened satellites.
MUCHO EVERYTHING, mucho todo, that’s what I want, wane, whine for. Total districtless apportionment as far as 2 good eyes. Muy mucho culled a pointless Wonder Like Steveland or like Larry, likened my crunchy bones or bony crunches.
The matrice of her baloney nature doubled me, a wife by other fashion, a Westralian in New Zealand, defiling their sheep for a bit of variety, she mirrored. I reflect upon her statuary & tail flaps in church where it’s safe.
I was naked yesterday alone, never will I allow it again
what with a grateful public a window’s ledge away.
Mucho total of a mas o menos, una chica amicable & the
world scratches a mark below the tempermental thresh of
Nordic viability & how long my arms have lengthened.
Everybody, ever’thing, yet everywhere yonder nope thing at heaven, noy haven, nyet composing treble, nain subtle train-ware, hope for the peculiarly finished & beg-a-thons w/fire men’s boots & tears will be a commonality you’ll see.
Help me Tokyo adopt the ways of the mistreated. I’m
solidly affixed to this spot behind a table as time
records the world’s antics & popularity eludes me.
What crashes upon the orbiting moon concerns me not. My glasses, my pads & straps have drifted and adjusted north, wrecking my budget & retarding my resolve Americano.
Sex-change surgery should be performed by doctors.
{”This 2-piece insufficiently arrests my 3 items!”}
Sex-strained surgery has clasped my linguals. I feel my vices strangulated as I bruise my spine. A colorful moment I could enjoy no less if I weren’t hampered by misery & defiance, jealously & slack-belts. In the cosmos every 9 seconds Martin L. King, the junior, is assassinated. He steps onto the balcony & is shot. Every 6 minutes a fish is hatched in Michigan Lake. Every so often a cadaver is poorly incinerated in India, the remains: ash, bone, hide, are dropped into the Ganges River. People, mainly Indians, bathe in this: The River of Boniness.
THE DAY MY KNOBS FELL OFF {And I wasn’t
even doing anything, that’s the furgin’ scary part!}
“Gawd! What’s it take to get a marital aid from
this machine?” I asked a fellow urinater.
”75 cents,” he said.
”Holy shit I’d rather stay divorced.”
Does my college education make you nervous? Are you scared shitless? Don’t let my intimidating college education demean you. Age is just a number, you are only as old as you feel but measured against my impressive college education you don’t deserve to live.
She stole my heart thereby making me heartless. Her passion was a hopeless favor, a dog’s collar pieced together from other collars, a wrist-watch about a severed limb. She wore military attire & so did her sister, all but combat boots. She was every soldiers’ rag bag, every nurses’ push-up. I would love her even without paying. To learn more open a fucking book.
My new cartoon character for people in the hospital: PLUGGY = The Pee Stopper. Pluggy’s first mission: Conserve water. “Rebbie, La Toya, Janet, help, I’m being black-balled!”
It’s always endearingly humorous to hear of a scientist’s reluctance in releasing information until further studies are done. They weren’t so reluctant in stating men came from monkeys…not unlike The Day My Nuts Fell Off…Ringo Starr as Larry Fine, Alfred Hitchcock as Winston Chuchill…As fun as flushing leaves down the toilet. The next day there was an advertisement in the newspaper. I wasn’t surprised since that was how they made their money.
Luxurious eff. apartments to rent! Rent is what you pay us to live in our building. If you stop paying you will be ordered out & we’ll keep your stuff! Also we’ll say threatening things & call the police to arrest you! You’ll be stood before a judge: he’s a man or a woman in a robe, sort of a super attorney in a black evening gown. He’ll preach to you a couple of minutes just like they do in church.
My body’s a temple & I’m not renting out any rooms…
comparable to the price of a tuna fish sandwich. Do
not rankle Elvis: King of Presleys.
PARTNERS OF ITALY formerly Italian Friends, U.S.A. This newly-named organization founded by Italian-Americans is for those of Italian descent or anyone who married a grease-ball. Free deodorant available for new members.
Negroidal Council meets every Friday at 8. Surprise! This Friday’s talk focuses on gang violence, venereal diseases & general shiftlessness, alternate topic: uppitiness. Free deodorant available. Not assoc.’d w/ Partners of Italy.
Alcoholics of Ireland meeting Sunday morning at 7. Come one, come all to this important function, topic: Drinking & Passing Out, Who’s at Risk? Bar opens 6:30 so arrive early. Free deodorant available. Not associated with Mafia.
DON’T MISS! Homosexual free-for-all at The British Club.
All homosexual members, in other words: everyone,
must attend. Penicillin raffle @ 10 p.m.
Whether I’m alone or in the bathroom, on a ladder or hiding in a ditch, up a tree or furrowing a neighbor chick I remain true to the God of my choice. Won’t you join me now with twine & glue?
THE DAY I ATE SO MUCH TURKEY I NEARLY KILLED MYSELF: It was after St. Patrick’s Day 1990 & a group of Chinese refugees & myself sat down behind a barge to enjoy our turkey dinners provided for us by the Sons of Italy in co-operation with N.A.S.A. & the American Humane Society. Wang Chow, our leader, said grace giving thanks to Jesus. There was the traditional Irish favorites: spoiled meat, green potatoes {which promote spina bifida}, I.R.A. scallops {they explode in your mouth with flavor}, brown beer, all served by people who bathe infrequently.
5 years later I was rushed to a Chinese emergency room suffering from strange symptoms: runny nose, irritability, anti-infanticidal & non-interventionist views concerning the central government which I contend is too large, unconstitutional & otherwise illegitimate. I was too old for scholastic/psychiatric medicaments so that was that I thought. Pump my stomach & set me free.
Water boiling upon the stove top, the toilet struggling to fill everywhere south of the Equator. Miner hurt today, his injuries were minor. Crippled woman’s purse stolen, her debility hampers her ability to hold her purse tightly.
Stop hitting me with boulders. You’re gonna trigger an avalanche! …on Planet Eye Ball the people celebrated the birth of their martyred messiah in one of their 6 big religions. Planet Giblets — of all the love in this world, protection of which is important like cheating done in railroading, I love my giblets! Planet Acne Cyst — of all the words in the dictionary or in combination thereof, pairing acne + cyst & then naming a mythical planet that makes me harken back to my days on planet 36″ Double-D. I still don’t know anything important. If only the important people would fill me in, in like Planet Not-So-Quickly, sister orb to Planet Welcome To Self-Sufficient Africa. Boot out the overlords. See mayhem overwhelm the continent.
EXCITEMENT! I wanna job writing numbers with a black marker on the backs of dressers. After scratching my ass I decided to pick my nose awhile. Running hot like a fluoroscope — Sick’ning zounds of heaven cracking into sheets 200 miles thick, pigs & whistles, see the long-dead even deader now, see the near-dead not quite so. See the perky & the bright, the mousy & the bug-eyed. All’s normal in the world of homosexual marriage: man up man, women under ea. other. The homo-sexies speak out: Our homosexual nature demands that we do this. We’re winning points with everybody! You, 10% of the people, are us but only 1% admit to it with 9% kidding themselves. The joke’s on them. God’s love for slomohexuals has somewhat of a frugal quality to it — Don’t be afraid, nobody wants to marry you.
Wanted: partly-neutered cat, must have begun neutering process & then inexplicably stopped. Cat must be vibrant & sassy, also needed: fully-neutered ewe. She must be denuded. Buyer desperate, must have by Saturday nite. Also: Will the woman who called me Feb 18th with the fungus please deliver sample slide by Feb. 25 — Hurry, you have only a week!
Is your cat all he can be? Ever think of racing him? Racing-cats are rarely seen in Fla. Be the first in you trailer court to own one {or two, for exciting pair racing!}. If you are between jobs or even unemployable cat racing may be the answer to your prayers. It’s not unreasonable for God to answer your prayers with cat racing. It’s in the Good Book, The Good Book of Cat Racing…
Found, abandoned cat…answers to Kitty. Will not
respond to Italian, French or Urdu. Must be from
another country say Canada or Antarctica.
Clogged pipe? Call Asshole Plumbers {not ass-ociated with Fred Lesbian, anymore}. If we can’t unstop your pipe we’ll salute Hitler or vote yes for a sales’ tax increase, hey, it’s only a penny for Christ’s sake, and besides, it’s going to a fund to pay our hard-working pubic school teachers {yes pubic, that ain’t no facial hair, it’s like rat hair!}.
I couldn’t stop her from necking with me. Her lips were on fire & I offered her a hose, that doesn’t sound right, a nozzle then…Some day she’d hen-peck my ass outdoors to do her woman’s work & on a later date I’d O.J. Simpson hafta kill her. Twice lately, half likely we’d live our lives somewhere to death on this Earth. Her continental portions’ll go first, then her slippery items. I canst wait around watching her limbs fall off. This ain’t no cat race. {I knew that once my hormones turned on me they’d never turn back.}
COOKING WITH MY GAS…Food has a way of releasing
much friction & gaseous solids tho I dare not elaborate. I must
say this: my gas is stored in a “20#” tank with connecting
copper tubing. My mother is 68 & lives by her lonesome.
I’ll never forget the love Bob Hope, comedian, gave to this war-torn world. Some things I’ve said of B.H. {B. Hope}: “He spoke thru God.; He’s not responsible.; Bing Crosby died first.; May the spirit of B.H. {Bob H.} die long after Bing’s spirit.”
At the orthodontists’ ofc. 3-11-03: Looking for wuv. Sickly snooze. Crawling about the floor, it’s not the mental abuse so much as Christ Jesus having died. It’s a miracle! It’s a hardship! It’s auto insurance twice a year. It’s George Turd Bush, & Gott condemns the world with the urgency of prayer requests & faith seeds.
He looked at me uncomfortably as I wore a very revealing bikini. I said it was to support Black Misery Month. He was not aware of any special events. I told him about the chitlins’ festival & the chasing of the white girls.
At home with my girdle, the girdle not the griddle about my middle part, the part I’d show off my baby: under-born & neglected. Once pregnant I’d be your typical bitch tramp concealing little, consigning nothing to the imagination. You asked for it Egbert Murrow. Brace yourself, I’ve been shaving my legs 10 minutes & I ain’t gettin’ any nicer. Stop yourself fellow trucker.
At home in Shitsville {like Splitsville save a hosing off}…My strength lies in my ability to lift heavy things, the heavier they are the less likely I can lift them. I find it easier to lift light objects, a heavier woman understands this & supports her weight on 2 legs or, during romantic encounters, on four limbs, even on palms & knees, haunches held aloft just like the flag. My brother, fresh from prison, dated a ton of women in the first several weeks he was out. A ton of women is 3. He’s always gravitated toward the lard asses. Probably, for him, it’s a way of hiding his inhibitions or flabbing his better intentions or beating his meat against a rock. He can’t sit still for more than is necessary. I stepped on a nail & had to be inoculated against tetanus & diphtheria {they’re a combo like measles, mumps & whooping cough}.
THE WORKING PROSTITUTE = The magazine for the working prostitute, prostitutes not on vacation, etc.
The Working Prostitute seeks to document the in’s & out’s, ups & downs of modern American, street-walking prostitutes. No prostitute needs to feel, anymore, that there’s no magazine out there that represents the working prostitute. The Working Prostitute is written by prostitutes for prostitutes. Our lives revolve around prostitution & printing this magazine: The Working Prostitute. Don’t be confused by other publications like Reader’s Digest {should be Readers’}, Time, Gay & Local, Country Folk, Muzzle Blasts, these only pretend to understand the working prostitute. Since we are prostitutes, prostitutes who publish a “magazine,” we know what prostitution is: sexual relations on a cash basis.
She had a way of making 6 red-necks appear as fifteen. Fifteen stinking, barrel-burning, sister-humping, dope-smoking, trespassing retardates, ready to update their Arkansan shit list at the drop of a turd bag. Since unemployed prostitutes make as much as working ones, pesos in Mexico, francs in Belgium, a down-turn in unemployment means nothing.
Access to Lunar Violence: Once Americans begin to fill lunar voids, squabbles will erupt & violence will cause death & abortive efforts. {It would seem that the good titles for books have been used except: My Big, Fat, Wild Ass; Hack Face & Noodle Boy; Ass Face & Ass Girl…}
HOW TO CONTRACT GONORRHEA then get rid of it.
Sexing it up with the “right” people will get you a “healthy” dose of gonorrhea. There are many things you can do to increase your odds of “success.” — Readers must note: right, healthy & success are 3 key words in this section. Patience is virtuous. Please advise others. This section is hereby terminated.
”Have I Daddy? Have I missed my chance
at right & healthy success?”
”Yes Son, you must assuredly have.” = Th. End
Terminated? The end? My Lord, Peaceful Prince, will it? Can it? Ever end? The Lord didn’t commit self-murder all @ once. The proto- & anti-popes didn’t kill their sinister urges altogether…or foster perpetual love offerings, unfostered love offers.
Look, it’s retired general George Patton slapping the shit out of constipation the old-fashioned, slapping way. He’s a clyster {enema}, a show man, generally appealing, slap-happy & rankish, slow, dim & cystic…{You’re sexy when you’re violet: your purple coloring & stems, blossoms & root system.}
There’s too much violence in my violent life, life in my livelihood career model. There’s a date what comes once per calendar print, scuffing & blueing our knobs, tripping our feet, contusing knees & threatening our romantic features. We reverb w/i our minds collegiate. Pay attention to your courses & keep your head strong & plumb.
Some things can’t be learned like por ejemplo: the cow’s instinctive ability to fertilize. A cow can spread nutrient-rich materials under foot precipitating slippage & falling downness. If I ever practiced with a cow I’d surely hold my bulk in check, checking all & every, rivaling in on hormones. Some shit cannot be bagged for market, needless of following cows about the decks & fields. Doubling the bagged content & murdering the pre-murdered. I clasp my bags & cram the potatoes, same shit as the last shit last time.
My grandparents once engaged in continuous jitterbugging yet I never let it bug me. I didn’t concern myself with dance preference. They had their lives to lead & if jitterbugging was a part of it, so be it. I could stand around in nothing but underpants all day & what good would that do?
Nudely & calmly I chose to discus my bank statement with the teller but she wasn’t interested. “Hey!” I hollered as she ran. “You must help me! I can’t balance, I can’t balance!” {I dream of the day we can be married & the night that I turn her wedding dress into a bedding dress.}
My grandparents were obsessed with whatever it is oldsters do.
I often wondered how long they’d cling to life, how hard
they’d fight if they were boxers. Their violent, World
War 2-era natures would cause warring on 2 fronts. I
couldn’t believe the American fleet sat as sitting ducks in
Pearl Harbor. They knew they’d baited the trap. Japs are small
& bomb-happy. When one dies, the others go on living.
I find it curios that German soldiers who fought World War Two are referred to as Nazis, even tho most of them were not Nazi-party members. American soldiers of the same era are never called Democratic soldiers even tho most of them came from families who voted for candidates put forth by the Democrat Party. The Nazis over-ran Holland; the Nazis buzz-bombed London, yet never has it been said: The Democrats invaded Normandy; the Democrats nuked Japan. Perhaps history, as it’s often said, is the propaganda of the victors. {Note, the preceding isn’t helpful in contracting gonorrhea, or is it?} And homosexual marriage is an oxymoronic expression akin to people-ground chuck or baby burgers. It’s beyond consideration just like there’s no such thing as physical {sexual} marriage amongst father & daughter. Any such “ceremony” uniting in marriage 2 such persons is repugnant to law & therefore non-binding.
Homosex is not a basis for marriage, no more than beastial sexual intercourse or heterosexual incest. By equal measure there are perhaps no laws specifically denying the eating of human placentae, some things are supposed to be understood without being addressed by a legislature. It’s unlawful to sell your fingers & toes for purposes cannibalistic, that’s obvious, that’s sane. A man cannot “marry” with a horse or a corpse & why not?
For Halloween I bought one piece of a Dick Tracy costume: they were out of the Tracy part.
Her fall-festive, longish dress followed her like a train. Her internationally-respected beauty allowed her to undress suddenly without complaint from the studio’s audience. Many encouraged her random nudity. She could disrobe & remain thus without fear of recrimination.
Pretend my moon mission sound as it was in the 60’s & beyond {not far beyond}, beyond the cluster of inhibition as we work ourselves tizzied, lathered & stretched out comfortably upon the divan or davenport. Kill or be skilled in life affirmation. Tell what needs to be told, say what needs to be reverberated. Monkey about the Orpheum till your nuts revolt, this: To Save a Life.
SUMMER IN JULY, June, September, you name them hot, summer months. They have the heat behind them, the ball-blistering, sauce-pan effect what determines the burned, turd-browned skin we white ones can’t resist no more than often. {Nor no often-er than sooner.}
To be an unregistered sex offender has got to be better
than a registered one, but not counting nurses — I find
the registered ones more possum- {I mean passion-} filled,
more loosely based …especially in these summery July
days & sizzling, licensed nights timed.
Is this much bony protuberance normal? I feel like I’m featured in an episode of “Drag Webb” starring Jack Net or out & about armed to destroy central congress at a back door trying to thwart lesbianism, acting in a world of inaction, speaking frog whilst thinking wop…sitting and brittle like peanut brittle and buttered sandwich on a slope in Japan, alone with 1 Jap, my friend: Spooky. To be free & unrisen, unresigned to it whatever that may be. Alone & mad like Harry Truman with no one but Bess, sitting near the bathroom humming “God Bless the Queen,” in a forward-thinking way, a way in which troubles nobody.
If old, crazy Dutch Reagan were here now it’d be because his tomb was robbed. My ransom demands would follow their predicted courses, as all things criminal holding out for life rewarded: chump change then vagrancy, grab-ass then stink-finger.
”You lack lesbian-intrigue,” she accused accusingly.
”How dare you?!” I pounced. “I’ve
always been that way more so than ever!”
”I’m sorrowful now,” she {whomever she was} said,
“to slight you lesbian-wise.”
”Think no more of it,” I replied whilst
attaching myself to her like a lesbian.
”This July-based summer fun enriches our resort
commune — I had my reservations but now I’m
supporting efforts that promote reward.”
Later, after the mayor was hanged by his thumbs, changes
were enacted that fostered extensive bribery.
A summer in July allows for sun-tanning & nipple
ornamentation, a wild & free-borne happy dance
exposing all sorts of one-stop shopping traps.
We see through violation & laugh in danger’s face. Our
traps’ve been triggered. If I rolled about the floor for
hours or waxed poetically throughout the daylight, I’d be
no closer to refining a quart of oil. There’s the dirt & mustard
that finds hot dogs, a gritty hand sewing my skin together, a
wife abundantly giving, a congress running scared — frightened
of me & my heavy hand, me: with my magnetism that says
“hello stranger; good-bye close, feminine friend.”
THE CRACK CHALLENGE = Is your crack up to the challenge? I’d rather be forgotten & not dead than the obverse…
Place your crack over the intersection of porch-floor planks. With knees parted 6 inches alternate weight in rocking motion, this, for 5 minutes. Bring a friend for timing. Do not waiver! Your friend should be loyal & clean. Loyalty & cleanliness {the goodly-scoured type} are vital. return home & check crack studiously. {Have a friend direct flash light.} Rate crack with one-to-ten scale. Mine is an eight. Yours might be nine, unless you’re one to crack sassy, then I must advise: refrain from the crack challenge.
THE MEDICAL CHALLENGE = Sympathise with
the devil & keep me in your thoughts.
“It’s a medical challenge for those who don’t want to live desperately — to those who would like more money & a better girlfriend: younger, taller, shapelier. The kind of woman who knows what you want & isn’t shy about expressing a love more special than loving. Let’s say,” the doctor paused to take a drink, “you’ve eaten a fish & you’re sorry. Sorry don’t bring back the fish.”
”Yes,” I agreed, understanding the last part — the fish part — yet baffled about the medical challenge stuff. He saw the look of confusion in me.
”Look,” he reiterated, “your mother is like a flat-bed truck —
”Sorry!” I cut him off. “Here’s my bus!”
”Remember: a flat-bed!”
and: Don’t forget to submit your bone marrow, transplantation tissue before midnight, April 15…”Oh my precious darling,” she hollered louder than a lawn mower with a broken muffler, “you are my true love!”
”Holy Jesus, you nearly broke my ear drums! What in hell’s wrong with you?!” He bellowed in a voice so thunderous as to wake the dead & then quickly kill them again.
”It’s just that,” she went on even more loudly, “that I find myself lost without you! You are my compass!”
”Your what?! Your clump-ass?!”
”No,” she corrected: “comp-ass, comp-ass!”
”How dare you?!” He answered in a terrifyingly-loud voice.
There I was living a life of leisurely resistance @ Twisted Leg Apartments. My bald head & furry back could not stop my romantic musings. The park’s manager warned me to no avail. I was a love hog and no rent collector could change that.
There’s another world of hope for the medical challenger. He’s uplifting his ass from sofa & commode. The damage is done — the wick’s lit, the stain is set & the ship has sailed. My mind’s made up & my beam is broad. I brood with my gun loaded & porch light on.
I was there, living a lie, daring not to reach out to deafness: the crutch of the hearing-impaired. My lofty comparisons fall on deaf people, crushing & deforming them beneath the weight of abounding shit. Renegging & re-tooling they quietly bang each other thrilling in things workable. Theirs is a weirdly-wide world of hopeful intent & swift, furious justice: Kill a biker, go to jail. Grill one & eat for a week. They are delicious, no grit, gristle, stringy muscle. Here we live on bellies full of biker steak, our bank accounts brimming over into securities. We are wild-willed & free like Hitler’s friend Alfred Rosenburg.
My medical condition foreshadows my marital woes as I’m attacked by my bewitching wife {minus the ew}. She’s twice the weight @ half the fun.
It’s a climb for me down the mountain as my people await word. They are the phoniest of the phony & it’s all I can do to pass a civil word amongst their ranks of perverts & lunatics. I’m anxious that my bullets will run out before my anger subsides. There’s a need genuine to thin the ranks, to weed in my garden of gourds & melons.
My precious get-along-with-nobody way about me has worked
out pretty well. I’m alone or lonely on PARTY TOWN EARTH
Most people are under the mistaken impression that World
War Two turned the planet into a global Mardi Gras. The
riotous hoopla on the continents, save Antarctica & the
Americas, was bombs & guns. Women were vulnerable & as
sexy as ever, many even more so because of cosmetic
industry brutality. Make-up & mascara were short &
bullets plentiful. “I’d kill for lip stick,” wasn’t idle chatter.
I’ll be available all nights, that’s night-availability for you to respect. Be responsibly respectful of my night-time raids revengeful. I’ll maneuver like Heimlich as he’s always approaching backways, his ball-busting badness bespeaks nothing. He operates with coarseness. His wife hates him though he’s continually dislodging her craw. Nobody sees through silken steel, the pig-iron people in the pig boats agree. Nobody rots in Unalaska the Aleutians believe. Nobody kills Jesus a second time.
LOVIN’ BY A DOZEN COUSIN
They jump, they squirm, like a sackful of relatives
I ain’t gettin’ thinner cause I never skip dinner.
I chew tobacco & I shit in a crap house.
I once ate rat but never anything smaller
Lovin’ by 12 cousins
Knockin’ up none
Cause that would be genotypically risky
— Lovin’ By Conscript: Watch-words & pancakes, home fries & late-term infanticide in utero. Conscripted & pistol-whipped, Zsa Zsa & Magda, Oona & Indira, side-saddled & reined in. I hit the wall with my electric car. I love by conscription, a depiction of pictures & a cousin who loves me in an unrelated fashion.
— And I remember, because my mind hasn’t gone blank yet, a time {in the past, for the future hasn’t happened} when a woman’s main concern was dying. Now, it’s living; living life to its feministic fullness: off the land, in a cave or trapped in a millionaire’s retreat. I believe it was Lawrence Durrell who used the word cunx rather often.
DARLENE OFTEN SAID: “I’d rather be tortured by a friend than kissed by an enemy.” Or was it: “tortured by an enemy who’s been kissing a friend?” Or maybe: “a friendly enemy who’s into kissing…”? Any way, she said it, these words that I live by. I’ve not known a Darlene but I do hope to meet one.
NUMB-DUMBING QUESTIONS
Soon you’ll be asking: Are these farmers really my neighbors? How come I’ve been eating dog food for a week & I don’t feel any differently? Is this rash contact dermatitis? Why do men look at me the way they do? Is it too soon for menopause? How do diet & exercise effect my well-being? How may I test for chi misalignment? What’s the difference between a boil & a carbuncle? How shall I stop my uncle from touching me inappropriately? Why does my aunt look at me with repressed longing? Is 40 minutes enough time to properly evacuate my bowels? How many gallons does a camel piss?
There was a time when I was delightfully engaging & an ass at parties. My knowledge of theater & bridge did much to endear me with the butt & hole crowd. My beauty & youth were running neck & neck, never often clashing. Fancy boys & ready women would vie for my warm throbbers, my gainly weakness & gift subscriptions. These foolish things I likened to Lawrence Durrell by John Weigel, George Orwell by Averil Gardner, Margaret Drabble by Lyn Sadler, & The Future Unquiet & Along the Far Climb Down by me.
There came a time when I wasn’t delightfully-engaging company, nodding off at crucial times, when pigs wouldn’t let me slide. Good looks, an attractive bustline & inner beauty can take you but so far.
How may I be a better Mexican? Depositing my contraband in the handy border bins is but a start. Being Mexican is a state of mind, a mustache & love for all things spicy, black hair, brown eyes & working in El Norte.
Bruce Baxter knew his days of running were over. His tumor, many cysts & relationship with Barbara Baxter {no relation} had changed everything. “I feel like a squid devoid of the ability to be squid-like,” Bruce would say during a moment of careful, squid-type consideration, squidless. Barbara, always the loving, caring, anti-squid woman, would soothe Bill’s, or Bruce’s, violent wanderings or musings with her artful fingers & toes. “Oh Bill {or Bruce},” she would hammer as was her trait, “can’t it ever be like once it was when we were so much in love with each other?”
He overlooked at her pleadingly with his eyes. “Oh Martha, we don’t belong together. I’m in love with a man whom I suspect is not a homosexual.”
Barbara, or Martha as she’s seldom called, looked away unable to face the awful yet perfectly normal truth from another sodomite revealing himself through words. “Bruce, I’ve suspected that you were that way…”
”People kill turkeys for a reason!” Bill yelled as Martha was con-founded by many things, “killing them is by no means manu-mission to birthright!” He cautioned, crazier than before.
”Gotta go!” Martha informed, loading her gun,
hand on whip, underpants frilly & tight.
”Stay,” Bill said calmly, “we can still be ready
with the Lord thru prayer on our side.”
”Yes,” Christine sought, “the Lord’s
there, you don’t have to trip over Him!”
”How come Sunoco & Texaco never compete?”
Bruce spoke freely about petroleum & such.
”There’s no sale at Exxon,” Martha waxed, “no reason to
shop early. No honesty behind Time magazine either…”
”Look,” spoke Bruce restraintless, “here’s a movie I wanna see: Prison Outbreak {1956}. Directed by Hans Scuby & starring Fred Failure, Niles Bottom-Tough, Ira Bells. Prisoners Failure & Bottom-Tough hatch an elaborate prison-break scheme in hopes of winning the hearts of Irma {Bells}: the dual-hearted woman. She’s got an enlarged spleen & liver & the hots for Hans Scuby’s character: Gary Crant, probation officer. When Failure & B-Tough confront her, Irma {Bells} denies being pregnant even tho she’s lactating everyplace. I rate Prison Outbreak with 2 hoses & an attachment…”
”True enough,” Martha re-waxed, “we work for the
insurance companies & government tho neither
show responsibility with money.”
”You got that right, woman!” Charles agreed. “Seems
you’re an expert at bringing nail & head together!”
For supper Mom cooked up a big pot of food. My hunger made me eager to eat. Afterwards we said a prayer. Dad says you should not thank the Lord beforehand because if the food’s no good you thanked Him for nothing.
I bolted for the toilet beating my sister by 3 paces. We didn’t have — I interrupt this important story to bring you an urgent message. I will return as quickly as possible. We now return to the story already in progress — So sister decided to have the baby despite the minister’s warning…The End.
Every American killed in war 10,000 miles away is described by their grieving mothers as loving, caring & giving. Maybe if Mom had raised them hateful, grudge-bearing & selfish they’d still be amongst the living.
”When I get done with you they’ll be nowhere left to dry!” Said I, taking the hussy from the shower into the enormous beach towel.
Today I switched to minimum-strength deodorant & I’m feeling wonderful. Each day I’m growing stronger & more manly. I have to beat women with sticks. Believing in iron fists in velvet gloves, I’ll be all that I can be…& then some, like one or more of the Beatles: shy & cautious.
Tomorrow is a new dog of excitement with exciting dogs to go & exciting places to meat. {I spelt meet with an a because I believe in the sanctity of human meat.} I believe in supporting a country whereat milk runs freely, cows lactating @ maximum with farmers incautious in ways unprecedented. It’s America for heaven’s sake: blood-red, milk-white, bruise-blue…
These socks will keep my feet warm in the summer & cool
in the winter. “Your nigger-loving nights are over!” The
racialist screamed as he removed me from nigger town.
Tomorrow is a day of excitement. It’s in the not-knowing, what provides the mystery. It’ll be in different underpants and my shoes will be tied securely.
SUPER MANLINESS {I will now string my prayers together for maximum effectiveness.}
Nobody wants to be covered in herpetic sores & I mean NOBODY! Few wish to lapse into hepatic coma, very few. The people who run the health food store have to understand — I love my wife & they can’t change that — same goes for the people at the bowling alley. Nor do I hope to become so conceited as to love & care for myself above others.
”I know where you’re coming from,” the handsome Joe butted, knowing well from where the coming was. “I too have suffered! I had indulged in a male-hormone-replacement regimen to increase my manliness. My manly traits were ratcheted up absurdly. My wife, her boyfriend, everyone agreed — the time to evaluate anew had come.”
”Help me with my accentuated package.”
”My God!” Helen exclaimed. “You wouldn’t wanna spend the rest of your life dead?!”
”It’s behaviour like that that killed President Truman!”
Opined Margaret, lifting her bib & rotating at the elbows.
”Help me with my blossoming womanhood!”
The cheerleader begged.
”No! Don’t!” I put in. “Cheerleaders need never beg!” Later I felt the moodiness to relay what’s been mindful to me. A thing to cheer up leaders a: “Perversion without sex, Ping minus Pong, steps & no incline, this is the world I seek. I’ll smile sideways to get it. I’ll trick sailors & disrupt port traffic…Swaying in breezes, that’s the flag for me! A manliness stupendous, one that doesn’t get in the way of things unharmed…” To cheerleaders my words were magical & mystery-laden. I could hardily believe that a cheerer would shake her pom-poms with loose abandon. A craven, cheerless wonder she would shrink to, a drome, a steel structure melted about wooden joists, a period piece striking Johann Goethe proudly. I want my coffin nailed shut, as opposed to open & my mourners hysterical.
For about the cost of neck surgery you can enjoy a week in prayer council. Your shoes & outerwear wear thin in this climate. Don’t lapse into coma. Stay alert! Prayer will shock the heart like might a concerned doctor. Prayer will butter God up, tho He knows so much already, a little grease quiets the wheel.
SUPER-MANLY TOUGHNESS: A Prayer: Oh Lord God please stop my wife’s whoring so that I may love her at my convenience. I’ll miss the money. Please provide for that. Amen.
S.-M.T. {Super-Manly Toughness}, it don’t come easily to me. I’ve been one of the many forever it would seem, keen on women & cashing checks, riling some with incessant, profane talk. The Lord, He makes his provisions known. God, He steps empowered. His Will makes for cancer & strep…In harmony with my S.-M.T., not in spite of: so kind, giving & loving have I always been, willing to help others die gracefully & age with dignity. It’s this pronounced kindness that has set me apart from others: the dog people. They root thru garbage, greet with tongue, dig dirt & roll in carrion. They wouldn’t recognize my brand of loving-kindness if I ran over them with a truck…Belief #1. I believe that childhood is a magical time in a person’s life. #2. Sometimes we must beat the shit out of a loved one to level & bring to harmony our mental state. #3. love is sharing & sharing is caring. #4. The people who supported Sad Hussein must be tortured & their bodies dissolved in sodium hydroxide. #5. Respecter all forms of life except intracellular protozoon parasites & followers of Saddam Hussein. #6. Cat-killing must be done humanely.
— Mr. Answer says: Ask me a question.
— Dear Mr. Answer: How come dark people aren’t white?
— Well Suzy, or whatever your name is: Dark
people aren’t white because of their pigment.
— “Suzy”: My pig’s intentions are neither here nor there! For Christ Jesus” sake why are dark-skinned people not so white?
— Well, Suzy, their dark skin is caused by your pig’s iron
will. Your pig has the power to create divergent racial
stock. Hang on to this pig! He’s a winner!
— Thanks Mr. Answer! {”I prop no one. I’m tired of
supporting you! Get your pork chops & hit the road!”}
My maggots remain with me, unphased, unrepentant. My skirts are dirtied & bespeak evil affliction. I could peel a tomato & symbolize nothing. It’s being under water. People dash about the goings-on unduly, they dance about their shit-house lives.
DOUBLE YOUR FUN WITH TWINS!
I was born in bed, dumb & confused, with all the sparkle of care-free youth. My twin wasn’t. He inspired hatred for his hateful observations, believing he was hot shit & all, he thought nothing of breaking laws, nearly getting himself aborted.
”Kill the bad one!” Ma instructed the butcher {doctor}. “Suck
his brains out! Vacuum my endometrium immediately!”
”I cannot,” the Hitler responded, “your embryo
has somehow transformed to fetus.”
”Oh my God, no!”
Identical twins attract identical twins. Twin A gets confused
with B for innumerable dating-related slip ups/ins.
“You’ve impregnated my identical twin!”
”I swear, I thought she was my brother!”
”Oh my God, no!”
— Ass holes are everywhere, puckered beneath
the clothes of our most-trusted citizens.
— Surprise loved ones @ Xmas by faking your death.
Exacting twin chicks supply the world with a
care-worn, grim drama, at the heart of attack…
MAKING A MOTHER-IN-LAW UNDERSTAND…A m.-i.-l. is
a blessing. She can do with love. Sometimes I’d be better off if
she were dead, then I realize that I will have to hold out. But
for how long? She’s fat, strange and tatter-worn. How long,
tubular boobs sway & heave, her hairless scalp peels after
summer. How may I break the news that I don’t love her
daughter as I need to love her: with humptastic, physical passion?
Every morning I kissed her God & worshipped ass.
“There’s senseless brutality in this world,” an angel
observed, “sensible brutality too.”
”Painting nudes is a naked benefit of being a painter,” I
reckoned deadly. We can’t go on together with suspicious
minds, we just can’t!
Her white legs & white skirt & dark hair reminded me
of actor Oscar Homolka who looked like Leonid Brezhnev.
Every afternoon I ranked God for a blubber day, paid
my daily taxes & prayed to central government.
If it’s child support you want visit the Child Support Center for Domestic Violence {wife beating}. It’s 1 block from the land-fill {dump} & half a mile from the murder {family-planning} clinic. Incidentally: Oscar Homolka has homo in his name.
My Dad’s peculiar behavior caught the attention of neighbors: his late hours, coarse talk, rough demeanor, careless regard for society’s polite ways. One day I confronted Mom: “Ma, what’s up with Pop? Why’s he act the way he do? Please refer to above traits.”
Ma sat defeated. “Son,” she began, more womanly than
ever, “your father’s life has changed since he got into tugs.”
”My God, I’d rather him strung out on opiates than working
on tug boats!” I vomited, more womanly than mother.
”Who needs an expensive piano when you can
just bang 2 niggers together?” She asked blackly.
”How dare you!” I extolled, full of
self-appeasement & wearing size 12’s.
”Get over it,” she instructed as was her nature & ability to
bounce back from disease or condition. She had the Lord
in the palm & never back-tracked nor pedaled.
”Nature hates us,” I reasoned, “that’s why
you can’t sub what you said for pianos.”
“Just watch then!” And sure enough
she played beautifully without a piano.
”You’re right! Isn’t nature bountiful?!” I had to say.
”I’m in charge now,” Frank whispered to Henry Wallace, “seeing how Eleanor’s homosexualism is becoming less discreet…It’s not the heat so much as the humidity. She never used a straw as a child. Her father denied her all manner of vacation-related opportunities. He preferred chick over string beans.”
”A rare case,” Hank agreed.
”This black skin’s caused by the polio. It’s all I can do to keep my balls uninvolved. Hot dogs are out — too remindfully painful.”
Hank stared blankly, his legs never more able, as Frank’s were nevermore able. He could run & hide behind his big desk & no one’d know for days. But he wasn’t a hider, he was an idiot.
Y luego: “A harbor by any name’s still a gash. You can’t fight slopes outside Pacifica. Don’t tell me that! The Togo I love would never go in for that…” Y mucho luego: “Eleanor’s asleep, let’s stuff her with pork chops!” My bandy legs are unstepped upon. My Moe Bandy-like features have tortured the mail man enough.
Preview of my mysterious novel:
3 Bathrooms & Nowhere To Turn
“I thought I’d seen everything!” Willis T.B. Barrow exclaimed with slight hoarseness. {The T.B. stood for t.b.} “Tardy again & on the late Johnny Carson’s birthday.”
”Sorry Dad,” Willis V.D. Barrow said flippantly as the
V.D. stood for Vic Damone, senior’s favorite crooner.
”I’ll give you a million pesos if’n you could just be on time!”
”Thanks Pop: 17 dollars American.”
”Never mind that! Where’s your sister?”
”I think she’s turned whore!”
”Never mind that! What corner’s she working?!”
V.D. didn’t know nor did he care so much. He & sis had split over the whore business years ago. “I have no sister!” He roared.
”Now now,” Father natted matronly,
“let’s not condemn her for whoring.”
”Gosh Daddy, maybe you’re right, a right bit senile!”
I came from a violent family, it was always:
“Richard, what do you want to be if you grow up?”
A young Frank Sinatra would sing for nickels just to
get a seat in a pay toilet. When nobody was paying
attention he’d sneak pals in to have an impromptu party.
Everyone was there: the plumber, tile man, a couple of
soap & paper salesmen engaged to be married. Frank
was in charge. Break a rule & he’d have a goon rough you up.
MAYBE I’LL KISS YOU LATER or ASK MR. MEAT…
Mr. Meat: How come my meat is flimsy after hair cuts?
— Yours, Mr. X.
Dear X: That’s a tuffy! Your meat’s flimsiness may be nothing to worry about except if it’s a threat to your manliness. Is it?
Hello Mister Meatiness! I enjoy sun-tanning, beach sex
& millinery work. Where can we meat for fun & good times?!
— Desi Arnaz, sr.
Dear Desi Arnaz, sr.: I’m intrigued by your glorious offer, praise Allah, but, I cannot partake in such tasty delights now. Please inform Heather, Max & Larry. Do not fry anything, esp. fish, before Tuesday, Dec. 13th.
— Sr. Carne
USELESS PLACEMENT
“Here, place this rectal thermometer in your rectum,
that’s what it’s designed for & where it’ll do the
most good,” the hospital woman instructed.
”Are you a nurse?” I asked.
”Yes,” she answered, unlike suck-up Sinatra who called Anwar Sadat brother & fraternized with America’s most-powerful enemies. His talent involved having that dear, sweet, innocent, cuck socker Marilyn Monroe killed, & for what? Why would Frank do that? Hadn’t he enough trouble, what with the scalp treatments?
”Place this thermometer at your leisure. It’s your rectum & you should have the wherewithal to know better.”
”Thanks nurse. You are the one who understands.
May the Lord God bless you. May He temper your
onions & deny your creditors…”
A child might ask: “How come
there are so many dikes in Holland?”
”Dikes are designed to hold water.”
”Can’t they use dams?”
”Yes, but they prefer dikes.”
”Has one ever broke & caused a flood?”
”Once. During WWII dikes were blown
up by German or Nazi forces.”
”How come dikes can’t be made more reliable?”
”But they are, strong & tough too. I
once saw a dike avert coastal tragedy.”
”How?”
”What do you mean how?! The dike
dammed the town, that’s how!”
”Do you believe in dikes?”
”Yes, because I’ve seen the good that they do.”
“It’s an exciting world in the nethers & with dikes & I want to be there, participating, panting, catching what’s left of hell. Yes I too believe for I mustn’t flail as my runners remain pliant.”
Her ass’s back was furry & flat, her front, above the navel, likeways. She had burn traumatisms elsewhere & no brow hair. Walking to was walking fro & one couldn’t, w/o college-training, tell her weirdness from her strangeness, nor her cowardly wellness…& wanton hussiness…
And here’s a story children have just got to love! Flopsy: the long-eared bunny…It had been a bad day for Flopsy: a 1,000 times in & out of the rabbit hole, farmer Jones sicking a ferret on him, the wife pregnant again. It seemed that no matter how
much family-planning literature was dropped on her Mrs.
Flopsy never grasped the modern concept of a mother’s
right to choose {reproductive rights, infanticide}. She’d
go on ignorantly dropping litter upon litter.
”Enough!” Proclaimed Flopsy in Rabbitese {a language related
to hares:}. “Either you utilize sound contraceptive practice
{ferret bite} or I’m abandoning you!”
”Oh my God {Bugs Bunny or John Bunny},
what about our 90 children?!”
Flopsy didn’t give a pellet, he was hard-hearted &
had adopted the bad linguistical habits of truckers & sailors.
Once the suck-ups get into gear there’ll be no
threading waitresses…Don’t blame Mormons for the
ills of church-life. They’ve never harmed anybody.
They are Mormons: defenders of Utah.
We can plan parenthood yet realtors can’t tell us where whitey lives…After I put Priscilla to bed, choking Elvis was easy. {American dogs eat like pigs, American pigs eat like horses…}
SOMETHING OF DANGER
Something lurks in air with no remedy, on a wing,
nor by foot traffic. Somebody has the knowledge denied
mystics & monks, sitting, staring, picking up the pace.
We’ve built roads for that, plenty. Everything {all things}
in the deranged world can’t be put square.
I want long-suffering American women,
2 minutes off the toilet, 5 minutes out of station.
I want what Jesus has denied me: self sacrifice, bitter-sweet selflessness, the kind extinguished by fire, the puritan/pagan type what typecasts & squats from the hips…a lowly crush above the star-shine & beneath dignitaries. I’m not feeling customary, I’m feeling nothing.
”Kiss me Italian-style, I’m Lyle Talbot!”
“How dare you?! Besmirch Lyle Talbot & Italian-style in the same breath!” — When I’m not speaking Italian to Diego or running my wife into the ground I enjoy watching tomatoes ripen on the vine & melons, & roses bloom & birds peck each other flightless. When I’m not sharing a neighborly intimacy or stuffing my rags into bras I enjoy quiet time: me & the word of Satan.
My lonely wife looked at me from her dog hospital bed with barely the strength to say: “Muscle, iron, power, force…”
”Those are some pretty strong words,” I said. “Might I
adjust your nurse or call pillows or something?”
The Ham Stickers {2007}…Pity the moron who crosses Fred Ham, fresh out of underpants & just back from Paris. Love knows no reason as Fred romances Tess Handle, daughter of aerialist Russ Monsoon. All hell breaks loose upon arrival of Fred’s ex, the ever-lovely Mary Montana, but he doesn’t let her knobs get in the way of newly-found love as he & Tess fly to Rio with nary a care, save Russ’s impending liver surgery. Meanwhile there’s an explosion at the laundromat — soapy water’s everywhere whereat Dr. F. Lee Hickson, cardio-expert, is forced to treat the survivors in make-do fashion. His tools are of what’s left: twisted hangers, fabric softener sheets & a few plastic buckets. The Ham Stickers will have you questioning your religious beliefs whilst cheering infanticide & confiscatory taxation. This film deserves your attention. Rating: 6 suppositories.
NAKED SISTERS IN SPACE:
Somewhere beyond the moon’s confinement!
The leader of sisters {naked} speaks: “Oh Kronos, can’t it ever be like it once was when we were so much in love with each other?”
”What are you talking about? All you do is bitch about
this & bitch about that! When am I going to get the
love in my life that I deserve?!”
”But you do! Don’t you make sweet, gravity-free
love with 30 of us on a rotational basis?”
”Well, sure, but lately I’ve been seeing somebody else!”
”Who is she Greg, I mean Kronos, is she younger,
prettier & thinner than we are? Is that why you’ve
strayed? Oh Kronos, I forgive you for all time!”
”Well alright then. You naked sisters
have always been for giving!”
”That hurts me Greg, or Kronos, but
I forgive you a second time.”
”I am Kronos: lover of naked sisters in space & somebody else!”
— Do I distrust those who have cared for me? Those souls giving me sanctuary? A hungry man can eat tuna & not be turned away at picnics. A starving man may limp, his bones dry, flab lacking. Do I shiver the cold demeanors of wife & country? As the usual people reach 80 & die I’m reminded of a poem about an emotionally-injured man who loved Jesus & Hitler, one no more than the other. Nightly he’d empty his slops & pray for something better to empty such as somebody’s bank account or the neighbor-filled bra what haunts his dreams. Distrust can be a harm-festering emotion…One which none can filter nor precipitation rain out. I stay mindful of babes in woods, children of night, cuts below lines.
WE GO OUR WAY & our way is righteous, we the right-going people. Frames what square our portraits are suspended on nails on partitions segmenting our boxes. We go ways befitting those hardened & selfless.
When young we ate beans by U.S.A. gift sack, sometimes farting so violently as to injure tendons & cause knee swelling. Once I killed a squirrel & skinned it without the use of cutting tools.
Kiss me because I’m not Italian. Say, “Hey Grease Ball,” & it runs off my back. My Italianless good looks & non-Italian ways bespeak volumes remindful not of axillary hair feminie & soaplessness. I’ve scrubbed my way through England to Wales & know what filth is.
Fluctuating between someone other & me, tipping the boat & rocking the scales = one in the same for the both of us with little correcting & a modicum of self-treatment. Doctoring when it’s called for, detachments I make from harboring licenses, it’s a dog with no bite, a dorsal-less shark. If I spend my time enjoyed out of water & less submerged to my throat bump I’d often more be dry giving weight to chaplessness, Charlie Chaplinlessness, Oona & Geraldine…I prefer my Chaplins Oona, my dogs cut, my fries frenched, thick & soggy, my grapes angry.
It was Lafayette Hubbard who wrote: “They mad and drunk,” said Trombo, trying vainly to understand why the thing had to be stopped. “Tomorrow they listen to you.” [fr. Typewriter in the Sky {1940}] — Ronny Hubbard lived his life, hiding from the federales only towards the end of it.
Fleeing the country’s always a thought, perhaps bombing it from off-shore. Out of sight, out of mind, out-of-this-world savings brought home by the smart newspaper coupon-using shopper. Eighty cents off can make all the difference twixt living & suffocating beneath crushing debt. If only more newspapers could be distributed amongst the needy, the pot-smoking necks reddened by trial & conviction. A picture’s worth a 1,000 words, a matron tends to mother, a pup piddles freely, a doctor pays higher assurance rates & who’s to know?
Fluctuating between lemons & limes, cries, whines & peculiarities, whores, hookers & careless daters out for paid holidays, I note it’s teacher-awareness week: don’t forget lock down, identifying pictures, random searches, rape-date awareness, ballooning cucumbers…
President & Mrs. Kennedy impregnating & being impregnated by others as was the plan, traipsing in & forgetting nothing. A marriage is like a phone cord: curly until straightened; a shoe insert: dry & spongy till later. One can needle, one can noodle, one can skip the preliminaries & scotch the instructions & what does one gain? All what’s left is a mess, a web to entangle, a road pocked, cracked & refracted…A Jesus that allows no escapes, stop-work chits, grand manifestos, devil worship.
I stagger subsequent your love debt, unbeaned my
blanks, popping what’s said from mind …One may needle,
prick, prod till a bone’s gone ashen & an ounce is spent,
what makes for unguents & marginations joyous. What hope
can one lay aside during a musical interlude? Here we
obstruct those of short nature. Heavily-bound like corn
husk, unerring in our assessments, we tune our refinements.
OBSTRUCTIONS OF SHORT STATURE
Arthritic fingers force me to hitch-hike & wave bye-bye with elbows. One-time English Courts of Delegates & Privy Councils play no role in my daily thievings, I mean dealings.
The sallowness of my complexion bespeaks political rejection. There’s a pretense involving us all that cheats & eats away @ our resolve, no matter our dance proficiency. The murky water doesn’t make things clear for me, somehow I’m lost in the light of star shine, the smoke what sucks up the ass, a care unworn, scalp unfastened in the cheery-cherry love of the unplugged. Holes go unplayed & limbs untanned, indistinguishable from muted language & incautious lepers, despoiling linens, eating bones & all: fur, gristle. I could chaw & chaw till my plates crack & what labor alone could be costlier? Dentists, they ain’t cheap except when it comes to doing my sister.
She remains obstructed. Her gibbosity knows no upright. She’s been a party to obtrectation {slander, calumny} & stolen goods. Reception & damage, that’s her game, inhaling & cussing are her tools. I could tighten her & strip my threads but how far back would that place me?
THE WORLD’S MOST ALLURING SHOW WHORE
She’s been exhibited in the bigger cities. She’s the envy of lesser whores, the light in pigs’ eyes, the flame on birthday cake candles, the L in Lord, the P in penicillin, the k in crook. Her silkish, smoothish ways teach johns to cough up more money. It’s her youth & beauty what kept her out of the air farce. The navy wants her & they can have her till she dies.
I carry roses in my pockets fully stemmed, the thorns pierce my thighs & genitals. I scream in terror & pain thinking I’m being attacked but it’s only thorns. Jesus wore them with pride — I hate them with the blood & discomfitures. The coldness of winter afflicts my discomfitures alone @ midnite like fire & coals & coal dust, black-lunging my lungs & smoking out tumors & turning without circling.
I feel my minnows are bait, my flies are untwisting
around hooks. If I were an uglier man I could better
under-estimate your meanderings.
MUCHO MEJOR {mooch oh may whore}
Your magnetic appeal’s beginning to repulse, much in the way Pakistan repels India. Indians curse & carp & why? No one understands anybody there. No one gives a harlot’s embrace, a cabby’s impregnation for India. No one wants to see Buck Owens without Roy Clark, Jesus drowning or Jews under arrest. Who wants a naked Claudia Gerini? A resigned Sung Hi Lee? Reclining, expanding upon an array of things, slipping on nothing, falling back-ways, running her courses as she speaks of love & hygiene, a hygienic love-gift like Santa had before putting on 200 pounds. {Smack my butt & call me red ass.}
If a lesbian ever barn-stormed my house, in an attempt to throw her weight around, I would proclaim defiantly: “You’re not woman enough to take my man!” This would force a search of her loveless Mexican, I mean lesbian, heart, for anything meaningful in today’s lesbianic world. “Am I?” She may ask, “woman enough?”
Once when Lyndon Johnson was in the shit house passing a big one, word came from Texas that he could cause to be killed anybody & with heart, torn by love, hate, infarction, he squatted over Cochin-China.
”I love you mucho!” Said Agnes Nixon.
”Oh Aggy, I love you very mucho!” Lyndon replied.
”Oh Lynn, can’t we love mucho Italiano?”
”Hmmm, dago love? Oh Aggy, I love you
very mucho!” Lyndon replied.
”Oh Lynn, can’t we love mucho Italiano?”
”Hmmm, dago love?” Lynn contemplated.
“Even better than omelets.”
”Remember,” Agnes recollected, “when you sold yourself to the company of whores? For you it was whores, whores & prostitutes.”
”Those were the days when I loved whores exclusively. Yes,
if there was a whore to be had or a whoring time to enjoy, I’d
drag myself from my hospital bed to within four
inches of sustained camp activity.”
Agnes was more confused than woman, more
sensuous than susceptible. She’d lived with mono
— & open marriage, knew the measure & bulk of
obesity, reposed & supposed enough for several women.
Richard Thripp’s Terror Cell
Chapter 1: “Hi Shelly,” I greeted Shelly warmly.
“How come you’re 4 inches shorter than you used to be?
Say, what happened to your feet?”
Shelly fought back tears that bespoke the after-effects of terrorism. “My feet were blown off by terrorists.”
”Well, gotta go!” I said hurriedly. I watched “short” Shelly get even shorter in my rear-view mirror as I drove away. I would hunt down & kill terrorists just like John Kerry promised.
Chapter 2: Omar reclined quietly in his large office.
I sat on his lap “terror style.”
”Omar, Shelly’s feet have been blown off by
one of your terror-spreading bombs!”
”No! How?”
”Know-how, you got that right! Only terror specialists in
your organization know how to rig a foot-destroying bomb!”
”I assure you Mr. Thripp, if it was from my
organization I will deal severely with the —
”Alright Omar, I believe you are a man of your word.
Praise Allah and His Prophet Mahomet.”
”Praise God,” Omar said.
Chapter 3: Three weeks went by & no word from Omar. I began to worry. The time had come for a second visit. Scene: Omar’s office. I speak: “Omar, what news have you?” He rose slowly — he had lost 4 inches. “My God, not you too?!”
Chapter 4: Shelly’s therapy was progressing & she could
now use forks. I begged her not to but she forked ahead.
”Oh, Richard, you are so masculine & virile.
I bet you could maintain it all night!”
”If you mean maintain an all-night
stake-out to trap terrorists you’re right!”
”Yes, she said, checking for shoes that
just weren’t there, “that’s what I mean.”
Chapter 5: Terrorists are a funny lot: they can blow your
feet off & still remain faithful to the one, true God.
Chapter 6: “Richard?” Shelly began.
”Yes,” I answered.
”I know you like your women sure-footed, but do
you think you could ever go for a girl like me?”
”Well…” I himped. “That bomb only
destroyed stuff below your ankles right?”
”Yes,” she giggled, “my port hole & sails are fine.” Her
laugh could light the world, leading it from darkness, but
I wanted a whole woman so I left.
Chapter 7: “The Terror Cell Reveals Itself.”
Omar was off crutches & enjoying the noon sun
when I stepped into his spacious office.
”Richard, you are so masculine & virile. I’ll bet
you could maintain it all night.”
”If you mean an all-night stake — KA-BOOM,
KA-BOOM, KA-BOOM!!!
”What was that?!” Omar screamed, ankle-less.
”Oh no Omar, your ankles are gone!”
Chapter 8: Fortunately Omar’s injuries weren’t
serious but they did rob him of another 4 inches.
I mean he wasn’t tall to start with anyway.
Police records stated that terror-cell activity always slacks
off during December. December I would make my move.
Chapter 9: “December Danger.”
Shelly died on the 7th. She had been “walking” when a
bomb exploded above the ankles killing her instantly.
I took a jet to Omar’s place. I think he knows
more than he’s telling me — the ankle-lacking bastard.
Chapter 10: “Richard Thripp,” Omar said with
menace, “have you put two and two together?”
”I have Omar & it spells rat!”
”Yes, I had my feet, then ankles, amputated to
make you believe I was on your side!”
”So it was you! Exclaimed I realizingly.
”Yes, & now, because you know too much, you must
die. It’s a shame too. You are so virile & mascu —
”Cut the flattery!” I interrupted as I whipped out my wooden, snubbed-nose pistol, undetectable to search but deadly.
”What? A toy?”
”Any closer Omar & I’ll kill you!”
”What? With a child’s gun?!”
And with that he lunged at me. I fired 3 wooden bullets, each doing appalling damage. I cradled Omar in my arms. His dying words were, & I shall never forget them for they are in my report, and this is Omar speaking, not me: “…Richard…” then he turned to expectorate a frothy, bloody sputum…”you are such an extraordinary human being” …cough, more blood.
”Omar don’t, the ambulance is —
”Let me, Richard, please. Such a man as you comes along once in 10,000 centuries. So strong, handsome, masculine…A man whom I had the honor to be near, to speak with. I’m dying, my life is over, please remember me fondly. Yes, I killed Shelly. I’ve done things…you don’t wanna know. Find it in your heart Richard Thripp, find there a small place for me…
Omar died then. I returned to my office saddened
yet confident, for Shelly & the millions of other
Shellies, that some day justice will triumph.
— The End: Richard Thripp’s Terror Cell
THE MAN WITH T.V. EYES — on Noah’s Ark the animals pissed in pears, that’s why nobody would eat the fruit salad.
I’ll never have popcorn in church again!” Angelica promised.
“If I do may I be stricken with lestobiosis.”
Like God she tried to keep her face straight. It’s Sunday — no cutting up, no bending over to unmerciful hilarity’s will. She would not caress Timmy again with her long, beautiful arms, since her transplant arms would be somebody elses. “Oh Timmy, my arms are different but my heart’s the same, got a replacement thyroid though.”
Timmy looked at her familiarly as if for the first time. “Joyce —
”Angelica!”
”Right! Angelica. My love is like a small weight
watchers’ program food scale: it’s limit is 16
ounces and it’s not legal for trade.”
”You mean? —
”That’s right. We can no longer live as live-in acquaintances.”
”What then?” Angelica a.k.a. Joyce asked.
Timmy wasn’t sure, what with Elton John
marrying women & men.
”I’ll become the man with t.v. eyes: able to
see things through the eyes of television.”
”But what about unemployment?”
”Unemployment will always be with us Joyce —
”Angelica!”
”Right. But we must never forget to
remember what made Mexico great —
”Oooo I know: Mexicans!”
”That’s correct and stop interrupting. Mexico’s what it
is because of the ceaseless transpirations of Mexicans!”
”Timmy, can you tell the difference
between a Mexican & a Puerto Rican?”
”No. Can you?”
”Me neither, Timmy…”
”Oh Joyce, can’t it never be like it wasn’t
when we weren’t so much in love with others?”
She appeared taser-stunned. “No Timmy, never.
I’m afraid my garbage bucket’s full!”
A proposition: I Richard Thripp, the man with t.v. eyes, wish London, England to be, from now on, called Hamburger Town & that Houston {in Texas} be known as Lunch Meat City… Upcoming: It’s “Deadly-Thrill-Challenge Boy”! Preview: “Oh, that. What, again? I told you that these infirmities are temporary.”
DEADLY-THRILL-CHALLENGE BOY
“Flossing? I don’t-a cotton to no flossin’! A lifetime of it!”
”There there now, put a sock in it Deadly-Thrill-Challenge Boy!”
”Deadly whosits?”
”That’s right, you’re gonna be up there in an elevator.”
”Holy Kate Jackson!”
D.-T.-C. Boy was up there in the elevator. “Don’t look down or you’ll vomit!…Too late & on my Sunday bests to boot!…I’m a-gonna kill you D.-T.-C. Boy!”
Later, after a puke scraping. “Oh Challenge
Boy will you marry me?”
”Sure! Now bend over because you’ve dropped something.”
”Go easy on me Thrill Boy.”
— And much later, let’s listen in: “Oh Deadly Boy, I’m weary
of shoveling the infirmities of your dispassionate nature.”
”Oh that. What, again? I told you
that these infirmities are temporary.”
”Yes, I’d forgotten. Can’t you ever forgive me?”
BRING BACK the War Enemy Division of the Justice Dept.! Return us sedition & slacker raids, for is not servility true patriotism after all? Dig up, up Tom Woody Wilson & let’s make him some kind o’ Haitian zombie critter devoid of warmth & humanity & also, let’s hide his glasses! Press his dick stump into cream cheese & threaten him w/hot mustard. Yes, I give you these things from the gracious heart thumping, like a hot-legged harlot, in the center, tho slightly left, of my mighty chest. “We do not covet peace at the cost of honor,” said that prez {now zombied}. What the cream-cheesed dick does that mean?!
Later to be: The sign is given, the crisis passed. The garbage’s out front curbside — no need to fret. The truck’s gassed, the laundry folded — things done & painted ’round here like you wouldn’t believe. The parasites loaded the crash dummy for another go. He was altogether wasted. “That’s what you get,” chided the paramedic, “for fucking calling us parasites!” How parasitic he thunk, as I crossed my legs CRUNCH! My feminine hygiene product snapped, just like that.
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…after that: Oh look it’s native American week, we’