trash night

piles of garbage line devilstrips, the stench lingers in the summer air hovers like galloping butterflies and draws me into the plague of flies late night waltzing wrist hatchet for raccoons
worn shoes on the pavement tiptoeing under sworn streetlight epitaphs and crouch behind tin can house peering into window envisioning pale bloat loose hanging flesh drooling sweatstained chairs in television lamplight adverting gaze from walls
seeing a raccoon on a garbage pile brown curmudgeonly bags grey harp trashcan i tiptoe to the animal and whack it with the hatchet into the street where it writhes i lean over it and bludgeon its skull bubbling over onto the pavement boiling sour milk raccoon corned beefg hash brain ooze writhes i smack its gut open reach inside pull out intestines organs wrap them around my head hack off tail shove it halfway up my ass with my pants at my ankles shuffle down the block with an erection
passing car denizen stops and gets out i rush at him chase him around the car he dives into a sewer i stand above it when he reaches out i smash his hand with the hammer pick his pinky up off the street and chew it like a chicken wing
another raccoon devouring pizza box mold resin i crawl up to it surreptitious like and slap it in the ass with the hatchet it crawls up the block dragging its guts behind it i cave its skull in with hatchet and gnaw its leg off hacking belly open pulling the creature open leaving it like an ink blot twitching on the sidewalk tie it over my balls and cock with my belt feel its slowing tensing organs and muscles around my cock falling at my feet staining my boxers

 

my house

i live on a square of pavement that is uneven
i own a broken television on the abrasion in the stone
in a trajectory towards my rain wet easy chair under a few
torn umbrellas sewn together
painted on the television screen is a happy face and a penis
i have a medicine chest that hovers stonelike in mid air which contains
all my medications
vanishing cream
effexor
risperdal
aspirin
shoe polish
ether for the pustule on my neck
a chronic decay, either gangrene or black plague
awakening on my chair i take my medicines
the red babbling face hanging on the giant apple near my home disolves and is sucked into my ear
a strange pair of undulating transparent pants shapes with one leg longer than the other slowly disolves and is sucked into the drain on the palm of my hand
the snake boat oar shaped slithers up my ass with some discomfort
and i shave the skin off my face and walk through vaseline smeared streets in cowboy boots banjo over my shoulder to work
men and women walk past me into the store slashing themselves open mumbling derisions to themselves and others licking their empty eyesockets with nine inch tongues crows heads growing out of their foreheads pecking them without repast
skin slowly melting off them kept attatched with clothes pins and safety pins the walls ululate like a small dirty puddle and small gasping heads reach out to exhale rot breath into rubbing alcohal ear gourd nostrils
with a beer bottle vertically prying open his mouth skull the manager approaches me
i smash my banjo make a scene and clock in

 

cart boy

mincing my disorder with my job creates sweat pain and discomfort, having a cinderblock inexplicably stuck in my bowels
i rush madly to the carthouse taking five carts and pushing them through the parking lot dodging cars full of screaming drunks and furious yuppies going 60+mph squeeling to a halt and rushing into the store running out again leaving for carts
i take five more carts slam them into line
customers rush in taking carts
i rush out gathering five more carts
"DIE YUPPIE SCUM!" i shriek in falsetto and light a cigarette
my sweat stained armpit uniform and clown nose drip with salt and last nights booze
wild pigs sprint across the pavement battling with rancid bony crows for piles of suncooked raw discarded chicken stale cakes half eaten doughnuts and rotten steaks tossed around or in dumpsters and yanked out by raccoons i rush at a clump of five wild pigs whacking them wildly and screaming with a dustpan and brooms
"MOTHERFUCKERS!
i scream as they scatter
five more carts
five more minutes
carts pile up
five more carts
i want a drink
i light a cigarette
"are you on break?
"no, just smoking
five more carts
time drags slowly like a slug pulling a washing machine across a parking lot
with a dental floss yolk
five more carts
sun beats down
grease
"your loosing your carts
"i know
i spit on the floor sickened by lifes banality rage false drama and why does a couple single boring phrases appear in my mind as a strange mosiac of colors and hallucinations
word hallucinations
they exist like the bonedust white moon
after what seems like a period of 300 years
my bones now made of tin cart poles i shuffle home puffing smoke and guzzle beer and yell at the smiley face at my television as the red babbling face
sluices out of my ear and collects on the ground
"ldkf kkk zibbit hour tin hate kill kill kill
say it
the snake slithers out of my ass and curls up in the reeds
new creatures crawl out and hang from the tree s like obscene christmas ornaments
i take my pills
a hand reaches out of my potbelly stove
there is a man in there
the chimney reaches crookedly for the clouds
his gutteral babbles elocute forth from infracted
i fall asleep and dream of charles manson dancing with adolf hitler and mickey mouse upside down on the roof of my drunken grandfathers crotch around a campfire of human bones
penis on the cob

 

mack the knife

while walking suicidally deep in the woods i stand a moment lost in though
hipnotised by dancing shuddering trees
and old man dressed in golf clothes with eyes pinched shut centimeters apart
stabs me in the armpit from behind
i fall down and look around he pursues but i stand and limp away
he follows angrilly spitting golfballs and stabs me in the thigh
i continue walking
"go away
i dribble from my otiose lifeless self crouched on three legged chairs staring
at the clock
he follows furiously bellowing nonsense and slashes up my spine
yellow paint and butterflies fly out and bounce about happily in the air
he grabs my arms and cuts off my thumbs
"cut it out man
i manage to say between annoyed tobacco coughs and stumble forth
he reaches around and slices off left nipple
i reach home and walk through the door i have nailed to a tree and sit in my easy chair
he sits down next to me and i pat him on the head
"good boy

 

the sunrises happily

i see the scorching sun in the sky cooking the human race like a spilled bucket of undercooked fried chicken edging across a gravel driveway
an hour hand, a minute hand, and a second hand rotates slowly on the suns face
i take the assassins hand, he takes the hand of the man reaching out of the potbelly stove and we bellow a song
watch it dry up
we sing
watch it dry up like a greasy puddle
outside a heavy traffic fast food joint
watch it dry up
pools of oil on the sidewalk
watch it dry up
bloodspots on a wall
watch it dry up
spilled gasolene on the rooftop of a church
watch it dry up
shit smeared on your sleeping face
watch it dry up
your last pickle dropped into the litterbox before starvation
watch it dry up
dogshit on the bottom of your boot
watch it dry up
your kitten smeared on the highway
watch it dry up
your aborted condom sausage in a dumpster next to cologne boxes and used
matchsticks
watch it dry up
your amazing shakespearian wit
watch it dry up
your amazing beauty
watch it dry up
humanity
sizzling fat spot hissing into a black stain on a log in a campfire

 

NOW THATS WHAT I CALL A SPLEEN!!!

i hope you all know
none of you know what poetry is
you just write pretty words
and hope someones gonna worship you
and all you ever learned is what daddy taught you what was wrong
your poetry is shit
all your poetry is garbage
i could find more poetry on a wad of used toilet paper
if you had ever made any good points
i might want to take the trouble to slaughter you
but fuck that
i might as well destroy a broken television
you dont know shit but what you read in the bible
you fucking garbage nothings
go to your cushy jobs, get your cushy pay
come home with your expensive wine and food
feed your pigs
watch your TV you slimy fucking hogs
you dont know more that the fucking
nutrition value you fat asses
eat my shit

 

917

i work nights in a grocery store, and last night i happened to forget my portable cd player at home
usually, i love my job. i get to stack shit on walls, and listen to music on my walkman all night. whatever i wish, books on tape, opera, charles manson, hitler speeches
i do this to avoid listening to the conversation of my coworkers, which may seem selfish and snobby, but if i listen to them, i grow bored, disgusted, and nervous ive learned through my strange acute perceptibility that each time a man speaks he creates an image in all heads which hear what is said and each image is different
a man can only speak about what he sees and experiances each day, and what he dreams, or what he creates in his mind
anyone who isnt cynical of the shit they see lining the dirty shelves of the material world, and speaks only in crude jokes, and blunt simple statements, simply reflects the garbage that chokes the poetic minds with a muddied mirror i love my coworkers, but they speak without poetry, if they were going to live forever, go out of their way to destroy their speech and make themselves sound as repulsive and distorted as possible
their words sound of my head beating against a wall
simply repeating words heard and seen on walls remixed in their minds to a mediocrity acceptable by the nearest person
we are all damned to this mediocrity, as most people sneer and run, at the first signs of something that questions their belief that their might be a reason to live,
and if this is true, then why do they go on living?
i often fantacize at work, that all of us, snap simultaniously and begin attacking eachother violently, with cans, with chemicals, with our teeth, and descrating our bodies when we are finished, and anyone who is still alive after the mele, howls the word "FUCK" and then tears out his own adams apple. i once fancied myself a poet, now, just a pair of hands, and a sinister mind, that beats itself away from the people who might offer consolation from my unending viri le struggle with myself, my back, as heavy as the sky


 

ok luke, heres the skivvy

theres no way we can get to mexico right now with you having just 155 lining your pockets but there is a way ive been stewing over we can get there and stay for as long as our cashbox and pistolas hold our pants up around our waists- you need to get a job and save every little penny, untill we have enough to buy a used conversion van, a real bullet muffled tanker that will stifle the blows of the outside, a big black conversion van with whitespots on it we can drive and park anywhere JP comes along with his camera, he said he wants to live in el paso for 299 a month rent and we can split south whenever the wind stinks like rotten roses and assholes of northe yuppies chewing slabs so we either stay in el paso or get a grand ol' mobile van and drive it down south of the border and find a place to plant ourselves before the outsiders crawl inside, any old place of peace possibly under a dock and during the day we hunt the sweltering streets for heron and cunt and lettuce and nightfall bring it down home and if in the right place toss a fire somewhere and sit around it getting fucked beyond belief and then fucking our processed mexican lunchcunts hows that sound fanny worhol? we go down south and suck up all the blood like a couple of starved vampires and maybe buy three guns so we can shoot the moon

when i reached puberty from childhood my parents tried to stop it with the jaws of life
now you can write all you want about the virtues of parents, and the joys of family, but the truth is that parents are selfish creatures who want nothing more than to engineer a perfectly original human being into a quivering likeness of themselves
my parents taught me nothing but misenthropy, sloth, and pale faced pop culture, and they taught it with an iron hand that would make the gestapo tap their feet on the floor in giddyness
it started when i first found the urge to jack off
the first time i made myself cum i did it by rolling my dick in between my hands like a piece of playdough being rolled into a snake by a child it was warm, it felt good, something greasy, and i walk around the dark house naked, while listening to love phones on my walkman but as my taste for masturbation progressed, my parents caught on and started to torment me whenever i was alone in a room for more than ten minutes my father has only fucked his wife, watched television, drank, worked, and tortured me, so hes sheltered. he taught me nothing else than everyone other than him was evil and should be avoided at all costs, hence my misenthropy.although he kept me well fed. thouroughly well fed. instead of playing outdoors, daddies answer to my urges to want to explore the world around me was stifled by him tossing me a bag of cheap potato chips. i did have a television, here im looking at the dim weak limp bright side of things. he wanted me a blob of flesh chilling in a refridgerator like a leftover blob of hamburger. i would try to jack off in the bathroom, the only door that had a lock. parents would bang on the door
"are you OK?
"kurtice, im watching star wars...
"kurtice, i cooked a piece of pork fat just the way you like it...
everytime they banged on the door, a rap, a pound, with the butt of a gestapo rifle, my cock would shrivel in my hand. i was a fat kid, so staring out the window and jacking my cock out of my fat loins was one of my few pleasures.it makes me laugh now,then, it made me insane, my face crooked and dark, my behavior brooding and miserable.
they would try to bust on me and catch me in the act but they never did, it disgusted me and made me hate, if theres one thing a person deserves, its the privacy to jack off in fucking private. and if theres something my parents did give me, it wasnt a legacy, it wasnt conversation, it wasnt love, it was shame of my sexuality. this may seem funny to all you well dressed trendy yuppies talking over candlelit dinners with your hubbies and having grand old times on your days off, but it wasnt to funny to me, and four years later when i was chewing the skin off my fathers nose, i wasnt laughing, i wasnt smiling pleasantly, i wasnt attractive, i was hateful, and all you cute angels and devils out there who like to jar their hips back and forth to yesterdays jazz and pop music should watch for the glint of my knife in the moonlight. i want to chew your daughters hymen out and spit in into her mouth. go watch daytime tv, kids, charlie manson loves you.
i loved videogames when i was a fat little sprite.i would site and play for hours just to avoid the idiots around me washing the same damn pot over and over.i played all night. im 14 now, and my memories from this age are precisely this.
my dad wakes me up at 530am exactly by walking into my bedroom, a mattress on the floor, an alarm clock, and a cabinet, dressed tightly in a moderatly priced monkey suit as he called it, his hands crossed over his crotch and his head hung down shamefully, because i liked to sleep naked under black and white sheets.
"its time to leave kurtice...
"just give me a minute to get dressed...
"ok, but im leaving in just five minutes, and you better be downstairs
he shakes his fist at me ready to hit me.
"can i change without you watching?
he leaves the room silently. its a silent american pasttime for parents to sexually abuse their children. and if they dont do it physically, they do it emotionally. and if not emotionally, they do it spiritually, and if not spiritually, they do it financially.
i throw my moomoo on, grab my walkman, and hunker wearily down the stairs.
the date is important here.
it was my summer vacation, at age fourteen.
between years of prison like schooling, i had three months to enjoy life, and while jousting with my asshole parents over their forcefeeding me to keep me heaved over in a cellar chair watching a busted little television and playing videogames,i had to work five times a week, twelve hours a day, thats including the two hour drive back and forth from the bank my father ran, successfully at least, sitting alone in a basement of hard driven concrete that stunk of burning paper, was adorned with christmas decorations all year round, and had a couple bottles of syrupy bilge unsuitable for a wino like myself, that i wouldnt even dare dream of touching, i had a radio in that little prison cell, and my walkman, a few heavy metal cds, and i would sit down there for eight hours shredding paper, running long trails of conn ected paper, bank accounts through a steaming paper shredder, for 20$ a day. while my peers were out running around in sprinklers, in the summer heat, having their first illicit sexual experiances, getting kissed by shy naive virginal girls, getting fucked up on drugs, playing video games, skateboarding, i was sitting, all alone in a pitch black basement for 8 hours a day listening to heavy metal cds and shredding paper. my youth is splattered against those walls like the stale christmas decorations, as wasted and strange and unwanted and obscene as plastic santa claus heads hanging from walls, my youth, my adolescence, my puberty, my sexual fucking blossoming was done in a basement to heavy metal music, solitude, the stink of burning paper, darkness, and a mountain of shredded paper in trash bags. daddy only came down to visit one, to bring his pig his feed, a sausage and twelve seasoned hotwings that i devoured madly, as someone who is deprived of all other pleasures focuses vigorously on the ones he still possesses.i often jerked off in the bathroom to images of the pretty bank ladies up stairs, women who would smirk at me when i gawked at them with a hardon, women who daddy didnt even notice. he rushed by them like a slave driver, head down, like some five dollar gangster getting off on opening the big mans beer cans.towards the end of the day my mind was completely pulverized by shredding all this useless paper, bankrolls, records from 1972, i would pull out of a tiny room stacked to the ceiling with vertical columns of papers, vulgar likenesses of trees made out of needless paper. i would dream i was shredding volumes of classical literature instead of bank receipts. dickens, hey i caught a line there before it was devoured. dostoyevski, there goes prince myshkin. john steinbeck, who? it made the work alot easier. the drive home was chaos. we would pass countless car wrecks and traffic jams, bodies smeared on the roadside, roadkill, forests being mangled my gyrating bright yellow machines, hitch hikers wear ing halloween masks, roadside graves, billboards, cafes, diners, and gas stations independantly run and probably inwardly assembled like three packs of cigarettes tossed carelessly on a linoleum floor.run by strange creatures carrying epic poems in their pockets with their penknives and carefully taken pictures of their children. i slept for most of the way, i hated seeing that shit. it made all the meat in my stomach turn and wretch like a skinned possom trying to fall asleep in a litterbox full of roadsalt.this goes on, five days a week, im worked in ohio like an illegal alien, and i blow my 100$ weekly paycheck on videogames, comic books, and overpriced shit and drugs i get from my friends, thinking themselves con artists or some bullshit, ripping some demented horny overweight overworked child labor fourteen year old out of his wallet for a used videogame or a dime bag so that he might have one evening of peace before hes run slowly through the thousand needled paper shredder time and time again. my friends noticed the change in me. i would often break into cackles of laughter for no reason, do obscene dances that would never fit into any music other than the noise of a tower of pots and pans colapsing down a flight of stairs, acting like a drag queen, my horniness was maddening, and my heavy metal cds made my friends eyes glow with wonder. they had spent their days dancing in fields you see, while had been shredding thousands of classical novels into confetti, in a dark, stinking, garish, moist, prison cell basement. their eyes glowed, oh, how their eyes glowed.

 

beware

E equals MC squared
or
1+1

crouched in my aisle, at my job, night stock, unafraid of hunger, or some
midnight assailant come to rob me of a pint of blood, i sat, nearly at
peace, gorecki in my ears, stocking cans of catfood, afraid of nobody but...

DA JUJ


(micheal jackson plays)

i was busy hustling my ass on the street when the police came.
HEY YOU FUCKIN SLUT
they grabbed me and tossed me in a box with holes carved in it
after a few hours of driving around, they pick up the box and drag it into
the woods and toss it into the brush
minutes later, erect cocks bob in and out of the holes carved in the box
one pokes my asshole
i rock back and forth shrieking like a hyena
SHUT THE FUCK UP
and the box is tossed into a lake

the courtroom was a sight to behold
on the ceiling was a huge gyrating fan with layers of spinning blades, tiny fishhooks hanging from each. charles manson songs played as we entered. the room stunk of rotten meat and the walls were painted with cum, afterbirth, and blood.behind the judge, who was painted up like some drunken five year olds baby doll, red cheeks, smirking like some delusional pop star with an eating disorder and shaved armpits,and a pink and black judges robe. to her right is an audience of journalists toting cameras, and to her left is the pigpen, full of starving lunatics with their eyes and genitals cut off, they shriek, spit, gasp, and groan. the judges makeup is so thick her face is undetectable under all the paint. the creatures at her right, all wear the same faceless black plaster mask. behind the juj, two windows adjacent to her right and left rotate towards her with conveyor belts and small paddle shaped protuberances manipulated by a small button held by a man with an erection and no legs crouched in front of the juj with a hideous smile on his face and leaping almost humane earthworms trying to slaver into his urethra. the juj pounds the gavel, smirks,
OFF WITH HIS HEAD
the bag headed gimp standing in front of the juj runs in circles, before a midget leaps across the stage with two mangos nailed to his temples and whacks him in the jugular with a grostesque conglomeration of knives and broken shards of glass welded together. the creature splatters blood all over the juj and she thrusts her pelvis into the air orgasming. a spray of cum shoots out of her loins and splatters the front of the audience.pregnant women begin to roll towards the open windows, and juj lights a small butter stove the size of a chocolate chip cookie before her.
I CALL SOUP PISS FUCK DOG CAN TO THE STAND
HELLO STUPID FUCK CAN ASS
WHAT IS YOUR CRIME
well...
FUCKING LIAR?!?!!
YOU LIE TO JUJ?
MY CHILDREN ARE PRESENT!
juj lifts her gown revealing seven or eight withered writhing baby heads wedged into her cunt and gagged with wooded clothes pins. tears and cum
dribble down their faces.
i dont lie juj, all i did was... i i i i
yYES??!?!
i jacked off the other night... watching a rerun of cheers...
OFF WITH HIS HEAD!!!!!!!!!!
she pounds the gavel on a stickshift and an axe drops from the ceiling striking the man clean in the groin. several headless men rush from dark areas under the desk and toss him into the pigpen, the starvers devour the creature, tearing him limb from limb, flinging pieces of his body at the audience
a pregnant woman comes towards the window, the protuberance captures her ass and carries her forward, the juj reaches into the pregnant swollen cunt with bladed fingernails painted silver into the cunt, blood sprays on the juj face and she jerks cum splattering the front row of the audience like shamoo at seaworld, yanking out the baby from the cunt, it falls apart in her hands, the lower part at least, she shears off the babies genitals and umbilical cord and tosses it in her cooker, frying it in bacon grease, the baby writhing and gagging in front of her, then sucks the fried baby parts out of the cooker and smiles, dancing back and forth like some virginal pop star with a razorblade up her ass.
NEXT I CALL
BIG BOB GOD BRIR RIJ RAJ REIMIX
a tiny black boy dances up to the mike
SO NIGGER KID? YOU THINK ILL LET YOU TALK?
a mob of headless men mob the kid,slice his clothes off and slide a lit roman candle up his ass. two seconds before it goes off, muffled explosions and blood drools and sprays from the kids ass, he shrieks and wails and whines, while a handful of chickenbones is shoved into his gullet and his mouth is jarred at rammed open and closed chewing the bones into splinters SWALLOW IT, NIGGER FAGGOT WHORE
blood spurts out of nose and mouth as he chews and swallows, then the toss the bleeding from both ends husk into the pigpen who devour the kid before they realize someone has planted a bomb in the kids ass...
KABIBBITTY BOOOM
half the pig pen hangs from the walls and the roof and a couple members of the audience die
the juj cackles and dances her little soup can dance.
juj tosses the baby in the air and the fan catches it on one of its little fishhooks rotating the baby round and round the room as it writhes, but not before she smashes its skull with her gavel and feeds the brains to the 8 writhing heads stuggling to escape her cunt displayed like 8 or 19
disgusting cans of pinto beans on a shelf each with torn labels.
another pregnant woman comes towards the window,
the journalists dive and leap with orgasm clutching their video cameras like vibrators
YOU FUCKING CUNTS, SETTLE DOWN
I OBJECT!
a lawyer leaps up, and a gun goes off sending spine brain and skull all over the walls.
the journalists giggle and dance around like their listening to techno music at a rave.
NEXT I CALL.... THE MOTHERFUCKER
the motherfucker comes up to the stand. its a five year old holding a bouquet of blood soaked flowers with a rotted kitten fetus sitting on the dun blooms.
WELL IVE HEARD ENOUGH... TOSS HER TO THE PIGPEN...
BUT NOT BEFORE YOU... ASSRAPE HER...
the creatures of the pigpen crawl out like spiders and trickle onto the terrified youth wrenching her clothes off. their mouths start at first licking and tasting her asshole, cunt, and mouth... but then they start chewing on them... swallowing the saccharine saturated meat tastily and spitting vomit in the air dancing around tearing tufts of hair from their skulls and shrieking like hyenas, they devour her cunt, her flat chest, her face, then take to fucking her with their scarred mangled ten times mutilated cocks, the holes in her skull, her chest, her ass, her loins, her gut, her face, a woman with seventeen eyes dances in mid air playing the violin, as the pigs drag the kid into the pig pen as the juj carves up another fetus and tosses the detritus into her frying pan slurping it up like wet and greasy five foot long spagetti noodles dropped in a toilet teeming with vomit.
video cameras capture every shot, ten or twelve of them, getting every
abstract avante guarde angle.
HOW DARE YOU PIGS ASSRAPE THIS CHILD IN FRONT OF MY CHILDREN!
she flings her legs over her head revealing her gigantic stretched out cunt housing the lock and quarried heads of her twelve or so yet to be born but
still growing children writing and thrashing.
oh, but enough!
WHO HEAR HAS READ MY BOOK
everyone leaps up screaming, and she sprays orgasm over the whole room like a lawn sprinkler.
she flings her last devoured mangled fetus into the air that gets caught on a hanging fish hook and rotates around the room on the ceiling fan the
hisses like a vietnam war cannon proppelar.

INTERMEZZO
how many gulps of vodka can i pour into my guts?
2
wwwweeeeeeeeee

a man runs up to the stand with a thrashing horseleg instead of a head
EXTRACT HIS INTESTINES FROM HIS ANUS... AND LIGHT THEM ON FIRE...
the juj growls in an asexual rasp
five men dressed up as cowboys stumble over to the creature whose horseleg thrashes on the stand
the cowboys swill down whiskey as the horseleghead creature stumbles wildly about bracing his hips against the thrashing thigh growing from his neck, it clobbers one of them tearing its jawbone clear off and kicking it onto the judges skull like a tiera
her eyes open wide
EXTRACT HIS INTESTINES FROM HIS ANUS... AND LIGHT THEM ON FIRE....
they tear into the creature beating it with their brass fists
techno begins to blare as a dj with a baseball cap on dances furiously
behind turntables
the peanut gallery begins to bop reluctantly to the beat
one cowboy pulls an instrument no surgeon has ever seen from a sack that resembles a cow brander crossed with a human hand with seventeen fingers it latches onto the horseheads ass as hes chained to a table and the seventeen tiny fingers work into the asshole, opening it up as precariously as a lover with the same tool sewn to his stump genitals, and the cowbrander piece works its way in, which is actually a pair of steak tongs, as the horseleg thrashes as malefically, smashing the chest of its owner, smashing the pieces of the table
a second later the tongs jot out holding a tiny pink chunk resembling a
halfway melting action figure in a microwave
one of the more drunks sprays lighter fluid on the soft pink vein bound chunk whith a shrugs and a giggle,and flings a cigarette at it, black spot and the tiny intestine ignites into tiny sizzling flame as the horsehead thrashes and beats its owners chest into an oatmeal slime untill after a few obscene rasps the body lays still, the intesting still cooking...
a dollop of soy sauce...
one of the texans cuts the charred meat from the ass with a surgeons knife, picks it up with a pair of tongs and drops it in front of the juj who catches it with her fly swatter tongue ansds slurps it into her teethdevours ing it whole and swallowing it without chewing thrice.
I NOW CALL SIG BOP TOO BEE DEE BEE BOP to da stand
white serregated walls crawl up and down with intensity a moving turd in a flat as floor gut shaped as a grapefruit hard as gravel
fan beats wildly
ground crawls and whispers and shrieks clucks and belches chicken heads slathering up unders ths the carpet STOMP of feet peanut gallery smashing chicken heads and a bloodstain in the grey matted shag carpet littered with busted condoms and shreds of fetus meat
a most unimaginable abomination slieeesddsssdseseedues up to that stand... organs hanging out of dozens of aveolas propped up by home made prosthetics contrived from rusty coat hangers, can openers and raccoon spines.
eyeballs quiver and spit, asshole spits and shudders
a tiger bursts into the room roaring and tears a few of the lawyer,
vampires, fairies, peanuts, mounds, supermen, cunts, drunks, crackheads,
cloud punks, and gopher heaps into splatter paintings before the texans and cops overtake it, attatch gesapo helmets to their cocks and hammer their dicks like knives into the torso of the beast before it vomits blood and colapses into a pool. chicken heads peck their way out of the carpet and peck and chew at the beast spitting rotten meat out of their neck apertures. VODKA
charles manson walks in and sits down, lighting a cigarette and begins to masturbate by inserting the lit tip of the cigarette into the urethra of his erect penis
the wretched beast at the stand moves up to the microphone
grreeeeueesuty i mssoosmsokkeesk osme ate twtotowo cigarrrrrrrrreetttt
CIGARETTE SMOKING IS ILLEGAL IN PARADISE, MY FRIEND
but jccdduu dju kkdujfn cbbdehe hoo yaaa on a hyoo ya *hic
ok... its time to dispose of this rubbish. nail an anvil to it and drop it out that window over there
the creature explodes into a thousand maggots, a thousand saccharine wreches, a thousand soft needles, a thousand tiny liquified cocks, a thousand blood red salted flesh candies, a thousand hickory smoked minnow sized sperm, a thousand shriveled crack lighter torched cunts, a thousand flesh splinters and explodes across the courtroom writhing and spitting, slithering into openings, into zits into walls, into pores on the skin of living creatures, and disappears withing seconds.
after an overdramatic silence...
now i call... VINNIE to the stand

sigh intermetzo
beer, smokes, fuck life, who gives a shit


a 19 year old walks up to the stand wearing street clothes and a backwards cap.
I SENTENCE YOU-
WAIT JUJ
NO YOU WAIT YOU STINKY POOP
I SENTENCE YOU TO A YEAR IN THE COUNTY JAIL
SLAUGHTER ANYTHING THAT DOESNT LOOK LIKE A SOUPCAN
HALLELUYAH!!!!
the cops take vinnie in chains into the backroom, a scuffle is heard, then
silences... many silences growing atop one another like fungus on rotting
flesh
video cameras click and spasm

CHAPTER 2- - - - THE STREET KIDZ

juj got off work and walked under lude trees swooping to her car
a year after the chapter 1
when three children dressed as garbage bags grab her, a fourth following her
with a video camera
HEY BITCH, I CALL YOU TO THE STAND
she babbles
OIOH HUJ BEEBLE BABBLE HOOGOO LOGO
THESE BOOTS
they shatter her jaw with a crowbar and shove a rawsteak into her mouth and force it down her throat with a broomstick untill they feel the click of her stomach collecting the object, bone and all, blood leaks from her throat
they latch a jumprope noose around her neck and drag her into a playground
as she jerks wildly around screaming
I SENTENCE YOU
they tear her clothes off and yank out her unborn children
child 1
they rip it from the wide cunt and toss it into a sandbox full of roadsalt,
its pink emaciated deformed body writhes helplessly
child 2
pulling it from the cunt with a pitchfork nailed to a shovel creating a pair
of tongs
tongues and snakes slither out of the hole and slaver into holes in the
ground.

 

when i reached puberty from childhood my parents tried to stop it with the jaws of life
now you can write all you want about the virtues of parents, and the joys of family, but the truth is that parents are selfish creatures who want nothing more than to engineer a perfectly original human being into a quivering likeness of themselves
my parents taught me nothing but misenthropy, sloth, and pale faced pop culture, and they taught it with an iron hand that would make the gestapo tap their feet on the floor in giddyness
it started when i first found the urge to jack off
the first time i made myself cum i did it by rolling my dick in between my hands like a piece of playdough being rolled into a snake by a child it was warm, it felt good, something greasy, and i walk around the dark house naked, while listening to love phones on my walkman
but as my taste for masturbation progressed, my parents caught on and started to torment me whenever i was alone in a room for more than ten minutes
my father has only fucked his wife, watched television, drank, worked, and tortured me, so hes sheltered. he taught me nothing else than everyone other than him was evil and should be avoided at all costs, hence my misenthropy.although he kept me well fed. thouroughly well fed. instead of playing outdoors, daddies answer to my urges to want to explore the world around me was stifled by him tossing me a bag of cheap potato chips. i did have a television, here im looking at the dim weak limp bright side of things. he wanted me a blob of flesh chilling in a refridgerator like a leftover blob of hamburger. i would try to jack off in the bathroom, the only door that had a lock. parents would bang on the door
"are you OK?
"kurtice, im watching star wars...
"kurtice, i cooked a piece of pork fat just the way you like it...
everytime they banged on the door, a rap, a pound, with the butt of a gestapo rifle, my cock would shrivel in my hand. i was a fat kid, so staring out the window and jacking my cock out of my fat loins was one of my few pleasures.it makes me laugh now,then, it made me insane, my face crooked and dark, my behavior brooding and miserable.
they would try to bust on me and catch me in the act but they never did, it disgusted me and made me hate, if theres one thing a person deserves, its the privacy to jack off in fucking private. and if theres something my parents did give me, it wasnt a legacy, it wasnt conversation, it wasnt love, it was shame of my sexuality. this may seem funny to all you well dressed trendy yuppies talking over candlelit dinners with your hubbies and having grand old times on your days off, but it wasnt to funny to me, and four years later when i was chewing the skin off my fathers nose, i wasnt laughing, i wasnt smiling pleasantly, i wasnt attractive, i was hateful, and all you cute angels and devils out there who like to jar their hips back and forth to yesterdays jazz and pop music should watch for the glint of my knife in the moonlight. i want to chew your daughters hymen out and spit in into her mouth. go watch daytime tv, kids, charlie manson loves you.

i loved videogames when i was a fat little sprite.i would site and play for hours just to avoid the idiots around me washing the same damn pot over and over.i played all night. im 14 now, and my memories from this age are precisely this.
my dad wakes me up at 530am exactly by walking into my bedroom, a mattress on the floor, an alarm clock, and a cabinet, dressed tightly in a moderatly priced monkey suit as he called it, his hands crossed over his crotch and his head hung down shamefully, because i liked to sleep naked under black and white sheets. "its time to leave kurtice... "just give me a minute to get dressed... "ok, but im leaving in just five minutes, and you better be downstairs he shakes his fist at me ready to hit me.
"can i change without you watching?
he leaves the room silently. its a silent american pasttime for parents to sexually abuse their children. and if they dont do it physically, they do it emotionally. and if not emotionally, they do it spiritually, and if not spiritually, they do it financially. i throw my moomoo on, grab my walkman, and hunker wearily down the stairs. the date is important here.
it was my summer vacation, at age fourteen.
between years of prison like schooling, i had three months to enjoy life, and while jousting with my asshole parents over their forcefeeding me to keep me heaved over in a cellar chair watching a busted little television and playing videogames,i had to work five times a week, twelve hours a day, thats including the two hour drive back and forth from the bank my father ran, successfully at least, sitting alone in a basement of hard driven concrete that stunk of burning paper, was adorned with christmas decorations all year round, and had a couple bottles of syrupy bilge unsuitable for a wino like myself, that i wouldnt even dare dream of touching, i had a radio in that little prison cell, and my walkman, a few heavy metal cds, and i would sit down there for eight hours shredding paper, running long trails of connected paper, bank accounts through a steaming paper shredder, for 20$ a day. while my peers were out running around in sprinklers, in the summer heat, having their first illicit sexual experiances, getting kissed by shy naive virginal girls, getting fucked up on drugs, playing video games, skateboarding, i was sitting, all alone in a pitch black basement for 8 hours a day listening to heavy metal cds and shredding paper. my youth is splattered against those walls like the stale christmas decorations, as wasted and strange and unwanted and obscene as plastic santa claus heads hanging from walls, my youth, my adolescence, my puberty, my sexual fucking blossoming was done in a basement to heavy metal music, solitude, the stink of burning paper, darkness, and a mountain of shredded paper in trash bags. daddy only came down to visit one, to bring his pig his feed, a sausage and twelve seasoned hotwings that i devoured madly, as someone who is deprived of all other pleasures focuses vigorously on the ones he still possesses.i often jerked off in the bathroom to images of the pretty bank ladies up stairs, women who would smirk at me when i gawked at them with a hardon, women who daddy didnt even notice. he rushed by them like a slave driver, head down, like some five dollar gangster getting off on opening the big mans beer cans.towards the end of the day my mind was completely pulverized by shredding all this useless paper, bankrolls, records from 1972, i would pull out of a tiny room stacked to the ceiling with vertical columns of papers, vulgar likenesses of trees made out of needless paper. i would dream i was shredding volumes of classical literature instead of bank receipts. dickens, hey i caught a line there before it was devoured. dostoyevski, there goes prince myshkin. john steinbeck, who? it made the work alot easier. the drive home was chaos. we would pass countless car wrecks and traffic jams, bodies smeared on the roadside, roadkill, forests being mangled my gyrating bright yellow machines, hitch hikers wearing halloween masks, roadside graves, billboards, cafes, diners, and gas stations independantly run and probably inwardly assembled like three packs of cigarettes tossed carelessly on a linoleum floor.run by strange creatures carrying epic poems in their pockets with their penknives and carefully taken pictures of their children. i slept for most of the way, i hated seeing that shit. it made all the meat in my stomach turn and wretch like a skinned possom trying to fall asleep in a litterbox full of roadsalt.this goes on, five days a week, im worked in ohio like an illegal alien, and i blow my 100$ weekly paycheck on videogames, comic books, and overpriced shit and drugs i get from my friends, thinking themselves con artists or some bullshit, ripping some demented horny overweight overworked child labor fourteen year old out of his wallet for a used videogame or a dime bag so that he might have one evening of peace before hes run slowly through the thousand needled paper shredder time and time again. my friends noticed the change in me. i would often break into cackles of laughter for no reason, do obscene dances that would never fit into any music other than the noise of a tower of pots and pans colapsing down a flight of stairs, acting like a drag queen, my horniness was maddening, and my heavy metal cds made my friends eyes glow with wonder. they had spent their days dancing in fields you see, while had been shredding thousands of classical novels into confetti, in a dark, stinking, garish, moist, prison cell basement. their eyes glowed, oh, how their eyes glowed.

 

horseshit

transubtantiating with flourscent trickling lights into cracked concrete shower prison house stalls naked coal dust black eyelids pinned covering luminous white and blue star glistening eyeballs the inmate stepped into the steam collecting the blackened eyes of half a dozen showermates transubstantiating into the spray of willow bristle scalding water hosing off some of the crimson saphire blood and hackneyed flesh and mud that stuck to his skin like particles of peanut butter and school paste
reaching to his face with a bar of soap, he washes bits of blood and flesh and road puke off his misshapen skull with broken fingers dotted with scars and tears and blackened torn fingernails
reaching to his mouth he scrubs out bone spliters and flesh hairs and blood clots off his teeth that sluice down his jaw amoung rivulets of blood and water
running the bar of soap over his blood caked skull clouded blood puddles drain from in between his stony protuberating toes on enournous stony feet capable of walking ten miles on a highway without shoes on
raising a comb to his blackened matted he drags it disagreeable through the tufts clotted with blood and bits of torn flesh hardened to jerky in his twisted knotted main of horsehair monkey with some trouble tears the comb through ripping out bits of coiling hair tiny shreds of flesh drop and plop to the cracked concrete floor blood draining out of his hair as he takes some time cleaning it, then pouring shampoo in it adding white to the blackened saccharine steak blood red color white foam dilating with a pink tincture
filling his mouth with water he spits blood colored saliva and water to the floor insiting other inmates to leap backwards
taking the soap to his broken maligned hands he begins to scrub them
dilligently dun drippings clotted blood and mud fall in strings water splash to concrete flesh and blood scrubbed out from beneath the two of his fingernails remaining that hadnt been ripped off and lost in the junkheaps taking the soap to his torso a piece of flesh the size of a tortilla chip falls off and plops messily to the hair clotted drain exposing a less burnt patch of flesh on the slightly overweight torso clotted blood washes of in moist chips and disolved red down his swollen left leg and shriveled right leg
half of his body now exposed behind his suit of skin shreds clotted blood oil and mud he moves to his bloody genitals washing them to a keen peach color, and onto his legs, more clotted with dirt than blood
had he been wearing pants?
and down to his bare feet, painted with blood, films of filth and scars. it takes some scrubbing before they appear a pasty white
transubtantiating into the dressing room and hanging an orange jump suit on his frame
into the arms of captors, his pale eyelids slowly part like yawning mouths and limps down the cold hallway

 

octabios suicide

he worked at a grocery store and was silent most of the time
he wasnt ostentatious or gaudy and wore weathered tired beaten clothes
that might be considered rags by the arm in arm couples
that frivilously taper away their money on style and leather
there was nothing truly noticable about him other than his inevitability
disappeared into the somethings life with boxes and shortcomings and angry
jarrings
stocked shelves hidden behind earphones and was often tormented by one of
his coworkers
a three hundred plus pounds pile of horseshit named dade
who would call him cocksucker and queer
in between stocking objects
octabio left work one day with a six pack of beer and some pork ribs
which he cooked and ate that morning
before getting drunk and sharpening a steak knife into a fakir
on a piece of limestone he had picked up on the roadside
and the blade was as jagged as a wolfs broken tooth
at work the next day he brought the blade and when he was harrased
drew the weapon studiously and plunged it into the seething gut of dade
pushing his arm deep after the blade into his bulk through his intestines
dade grabbed octabios shoulders and octabio reached deeper into the shit and
the slime
let go of the knife and began to slither his arm around in the fat creatures
intestines
searching for something
farts and belches fluted the fat creatures ass and mouth as shit and blood
poured out
of his ass in between hoots
finally octabios searching hand discovered what it was
looking for and the fingers latched around it and dragged it out of the
wound
it was a black marble with a tiny babies arm reaching from it, living,
gyrating three fingers, moving languidly, about the size of an egg
octabio examined the object, then set about escaping from the police.

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