Misc.

chew wheat and pick the threads out of your teeth
toilet slams
dickhead kicker
future leader
of the fallen and impaired
hiroshima honey-dripper
the Wall Street Journal said "
Plop Plop Plop go all the unburdened bodies of the world
Unburdened by other bodies
they go Plop Plop Plop
rich and falling into the autumn ground"

It's all second nature
send a dollar
screwed by the hour
until you're six feet under and slurring your words and snapping your fingers
on the disappearing street corner
by the compound like apartments
waiting on a bus
in the smother down rain
alone
you could smooth your hair back
snooze you lose
you lost it all

i had a wife as well
and all my lovers lie in the bush
and lick
the deep down dirt in the holes
slow motion growth around them
thinking of prayers
thinking of sugar maples and knife blades
they masturbate
in a clear pool
they masturbate to the image of itself
pulling ahead
unfurling like flames bent into inscriptions on the sun

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  thursday

  remember that guy who fucked you up on a human pile of purring cats and blood soaked mirrors? you looked just like your dead mother and you up on top with saliva drying like white bone and ash and no redness in your cheeks. up the pile of tarot cards. i remember it began on thursday because that day i was circling you like a pit of gunpowder hair and sex and i trembling with the suburban sun beating down on me wanting all that gunpowder and hair and sex and thinking it was destined to me by some vague arrangement. i pulled some painful utensils from the dust of that riverbed... you know the one where all the soldiers came to burn shit and twisted muscles and hard-ons. and i could almost feel it swilling around in my throat like some queer prayer and the heavens started raining and the velocity of my misfortune was like the rain-drops , these huge plaster dogs raining down. and i had nothing to give you but you gave me the dust where my voice rotted.
  
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  absence

  i never mistook the buzz and shove of the crowd

  for daddies voice

  it was a house full of bees and signified death

  like the bones in my pores and the scars and stitches of little toothless holes
• 
  

  old stuff (mary 1 section)

  MARY
  ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  Mary has a solid connection.....a pure vein of J.S.J., uncorrupted by narcs and other infirmities.
  "meet at the factory", her parting message. ____________________________________________________

  DOCUMENT #555
  ____________________________________________________

  The aroma; ah the heavy aroma, it always invigorated me. Really lifted my spirits, it intoxicated me with the rushing sensation of pure life. The savagery of youthful avarice, all around. Young men levitating 10 feet off the ground, gray aliens hanging from their backs like infant simians clinging to their mothers. They insert transparent worm-like penises into the young men. The men curl up, their eyes rolled back into their heads, there teeth clenched like enraged apes. The greys just sway back and forth in obscene rhythm.
  Other youth rent their bodies out to spectral entities (the younger the better) , possessed by desperate spirits they run screaming through the square.
  Johny America is negotiating with a decrepit old Arab on the proper price of a three-day possession. The Arab strokes his long bronze fingers through his white beard. Johny America roles a joint and collapses lackadaisically into a lawn-chair. The Arab rocks his oak chair back and forth, the floor creaks below. A pile of leaves whirls in an eddy of wind, the Arab's old shack whimpers beneath the pressing air.
  " 800 hits worth of raw John Satan Jelly, for 3 days during the Carnival.", the Arab speaks with a subtle accent, his voice rolls like a heavy oil. Johny slowly exhales a slender stream of smoke from his thin lips. "Last time I awake with terrible warts, and my eyes surgically transferred to the less savory hind regions. I want 500 on the table and 500 later, or no go.", Johny glares out through his artificial eyes with a stubborn leer.

  Everyone is merchandise, but time is the only one buying in the end.

  As I pushed through the crowd, a girl suddenly unsheathed a 2 ft. long knife and plunged it into a salesmans gut, the salesman fell against me moaning and crying in agony.
  Things were getting too crowded here, I kicked his carcass off and made my way towards an opening in throng, emerging finally into an empty plot of arid swirling dust. Only a few ragged shacks and booths remained. I didn't know why I had come here, but I felt close, very close.

  I approached a small shack, composed of long narrow sheets of metal strewn together haphazardly to form a rectangular sort of booth. Inside the booth a merchant with dusty brown hair and jaundiced skin, gazed down with his black slanted eyes. He was well over 10 ft. tall, and he swayed back and forth as if his narrow legs would at any moment collapse. As I approached him I could hear his clear child-like voice which didn't seem to fit this towering man before me.
  " You come to collect your debt.....No?" It was now that I noticed the fact that his booth was completely empty, with the exception of a black folder, carelessly laying on the front table. " What debt?"
  "I give you something, so you owe something.....No?" "You give me what?"
  " I give you information, and you give me what sweet little Mary provides.....No?"
  " Mary? What do you know about Mary?"
  " You go to meet sweet little Mary......No? You get the jelly and I give you something worth much profit.......No?".
  "You want John Satan Jelly ?"
  " No, not me! My Over has thirsty pores to feed......Yes?" " Your Over? Who is you Over?"
  " Trinity Phrack is THIRSTY. I feel this. I led you here telepathically, because I knew you go often to Mary.......No?" " Phrack ! You serve Phrack?"
  " He is an associate. Nothing more I assure you. It is a symbiotic relationship. If he has than I have that much more. You see......No?"
  I knew that this was a lie. Not a conscious one, but still a LIE. Trinity Phrack has NO SYMBIOTIC RELATIONS. Trinity Phrack is a parasite. " What do you have for me?"
  " Look in the folder. document·No?" " I don't buy for people like Trinity Phrack. An evil narc karma hangs about his person. He has a way of PISSING ON GOOD LUCK. Besides a big man like Phrack assuredly has other ways of buying. If your "Over" is thirsty than let him drink elsewhere. Preferable far from my self." " Please, don't be hasty, Mr.Ripped-cord. Document #555 will reveal the muck which tarnishes many a clean hand. The burning liquids which dirty many a fresh linen sheet, such things are credit to those who know......Yes."
  I needed closer to Phrack, but this seemed to simple. CON-SIMPLE. I felt the line being tapped, the van rolling in, the satellite drifting over, the baby dead in the alley, and the mother hanging in the kitchen. THIS WAS LESS THAN GOOD, quite possibly even bad. _________________________________________________________

  DISEASE IN EQUATOR
  ________________________________________________

  Score the hit........snuff the record..........scratch the disk and spread the jelly. This is not a toy kid......it's just as hungry as you. A dead body an empty jar.......the alleys swept clean. Satan never dreamed such evil as the FACTORY.

  Mary was a sweet girl.

  Rusty innards of contorted wall, broken assembly lines, grinding gears dripping acidic waste onto soiled floors. Places where daddy died a thousand times......a slave at the time neglected. Every one has a daddy in the Joy- Womb, but Mary was sprung from sperm spilled outside the system.
  Time is time enough when time is dead and past. Mary owns dead time, but who's buying?

  ..................................................................................................................................................................................................................

  impressions of a flash-pan suicide
  000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

  Things are deaf and blind in the Promethean dusk. Merchants stand ineffectual
  sucking in the heavy tenebrous soil
  of the fading ambers smoke;
  the recently dead,
  and death not yet fully conceived.

  Adherents to the old policy
  fill the gutters.
  Limp on the concrete
  or some such surface.
  A redolent steam rising off the pavement communion with the jaundiced virgin
  of the streetlights.

  The street is filled
  with granite statues
  of beautiful women and men
  in the midst of their youth.
  The sculptures line the boulevard.
  Their pallid translucent meat ;
  their ruddy flesh sucked out
  and bottled for resale.

  The man fumbles with the latch,
  welcomes the merchant in,
  pours him a drink.
  The merchant sinks into the famished upholstery of the man's sofa. The man is at once abashed and utterly humiliated. If only he had known the merchant was to come, atleast then he could have prepared. Maybe covered his sofa, and certainly, without question, he would have hidden his writings. The merchant scans over some the papers which lay scattered about on the coffee table. His face full of patronizing disdain, like a father finding some erring sons pornography ( " Well, atleast you're not a faggot." ). The man hands the merchant a small, exquisite mazer, carved from the extremely dark adamant wood of an extinct tree. The dark wood of the mazer rests against the fibrous fingers of the merchant.
  He swishes the lactescent substance, his eyes have a kef dreamy smoke in them.
  The merchant speaks in a strange disembodied voice which seems to reverberate through your gut,
  rising like a massive worm,
  pushing up through your throat.

  that much more. You see......No?"
  I knew that this was a lie. Not a conscious one, but ...
  
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