Crack, We are Rock.
My father was a bootlegger, he owned a STILL
And now I foam to wheat, a glitter of seas. The childs cry Melts in the wall And I am the arrow, the dew the flies Suicidal at one with the drive Into the red Eye, the cauldron of mornining.
-Plath. Sylvia.
Hey, I may not actually leave my house nor neighborhood to go to a "Job" as you mortals call it... and in that sense I may in the classical latin be termed a 'bum' or 'loser' or 'whatshisname' or 'deadbeat', but still I do have a job, I guess, as long as you employ yourself, and I gave myself the title of Jr. Vice President, because it sounded Posh! Oh yeah, I'm writing this because I just talked to my clients in England, and did what I call "work", which ammounts to typing out a few shitty blurbs on a computer older than Methusela, and fixing some shit no one but 1 person cares about.
Yeah, I'm feeling really super spesh right now. Please Kill Me.
Oh yeah, also... I never sleep, so even though I don't have to get up in the morning, it also means I never have the satisfaction of the coma like somnolence of rest that people normally get. In all actuality, try as I may, my bed is always covered with a multitude of things excluding me or my loved one, so no dice there, larry.
Oh yeah, my queeny yet anti-foam party friend broke my last dish in my house which used to be used for huffing up narcotic substances from Bolivia, but now still sits in pieces on my floor...
God, If you look up "Mongo" in the dictionary, you will see a picture of me wearing a hat w/ beer cans attached to it... shit it's just late, I'm sorry, I didn't mean any of that, you're all cool as shit, and I'm Golden, and like, woah, I forgot my filet ming' circle of life-fucker at the restaraunt I dropped a paltry 90 USD at because I was pissed that the sexless manager who took over from my old frien who used to manage the joint agest ago after he got fired (good god knows why!? probably snorting draino off the cook's wang... i dont know....)... yeah, so she made me mad, and I think I left it there, but they gave us some sort of complimentary ravioli + spinach dish, so I guess that's cool... but, damn... anyhow, my last great joy was my visit from miss_lady and my next great joy will be my uber-gay haircut that will probably cost the same ammmount as my bar tab was tonight...
hey i'm living how the other half lives... you know, i'm like the white trash kids in "I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings", I'll tell you why fubar, he's fucking pissed he's in a cage, and doesn't have the vocal chords to say "Hey you fucking mongs, get me the fuck out of this piece, I'm a fucking bird, and I want to fly around and shit.... not just hang out and listen to your DJ Kicks mix cd for the 100th time!!!!"...
I Guess.
We are here for such a very short time in comparison to all other things, and those things are simply stardust... The commonalities point to sixty some odd years, and so--- why are we so attached to finalities. Your best bet for happiness is something that requires little to feel a sense of closeness, and much much less the sense of completion. And then, you die, un-attached, without a sense of remorse, yet still full of love.
Witch Wife
SHE is neither pink nor pale,
And she never will be all mine;
She learned her hands in a fairy-tale,
And her mouth on a valentine.
She has more hair than she needs;
In the sun tis a woe to me!
And her voice is a string of colored beads,
Or steps leading into the sea.
She loves me all that she can,
And her ways to my ways resign;
But she was not made for any man,
And she never will be all mine.
-Millay, Edna St. Vincent.
Teenage sex is best.
Teenage sex is best.
Teenage sex is best.
and then you know the rest,
and then you know the rest,
and then you know the rest,
It only gets worse from here,
Don't Argue.
I envy you all more than you will ever truly know, and yet, I am filled with the dichotomes of wretched ego and a deep and foul feeling of the loss of innocence, the unatainable familiars, and the drowning of men in a quicksand.
Wish you were here.
American Chess Master, Paul Morphy 1837-1884
Subteranian, Homesick, Post-Hurricane, Fuck yr Face Circle of Life Mother Nature, The BITCH is back, Blues.
Heya! And did you miss me?
Whomever the hell gets to name hurricanes, (probably some sexless freak who gets paid to read an Almanac, look out the window and tell us what the weather is like, if there is any thing like "evil" in this world), should be shot in the face repeatedly with an M1 Abrhams tank shell, or if you are some sort of pacifist, a supersoaker water gun filled with molecular acid.
Anyhow, Frances, how quaint... Frances, it's just sort of whisps through the neighborhood like a frat boy drunker than Bacchus riding a Bull post visit to China Shoppe...
I'll gonna dust off and old chesnut, and quote a television show & in so doing, quote my hero, (and life-model), Homer Simpson here in saying that Nobody likes Crab Grass because of the name, everybody would love it if it were called Elf Grass.
In a way, it's the exact opposite with hurricanes, personally you could name them Lightning Struck My Dick and it still would suck. So we get these names that some cute guy (cute as in smartass), ripped out of an Edith Wharton book or something... Fuck that noise... I want to just call it as I see it, when I'm up at night and hear something that sounds like the Waco Complex being shelled by light infantry, or look out and see a tree on either side of my house that would ruin my evening and evening gown if it fell on my house, well fuck you... Let's just put our cards on the table, and start naming these things something that is sensible, like Hurricane Dickface, or Hurricane Fuckhead, or Hurricane Bastard if you don't prefer the whole profane thing... The Dude does not abide this Hurricane shit, this Hurricane shilly will not stand, Man.
I mean, when you see a guy sitting on his couch, where he can see everyone around him, and not because he's looking out his window, that guy is NOT happy, doye!!? Right?
And for damn sure, some mong-heel in a tie and a too perfect haircut who just a few nights previously held up a PALM FROND in Florida, and (I'm taking this on the word of miss_lady, and she should know since she actualy owns a televison set, and displays it as if it were some kind of coelacanth (pronounced Seal-a-canth), and not to derail this train, but WHAT THE FUCK IS UP WITH THAT?, if it's pronounced Seal-a-Canth, just name it Seal'o'Canth or something, why do you need to be all obscure and up in my grill like that mass murder who helped Webster (the Dictionary guy, not the little dude with the failed acting career, post when it was cool to be a minute man of African culture..., seee I can be polite!) over some fish that hasn't existed since the Pilt Down Man... Cheeerist...
So yes, he says, "what I'm holding here is what is known as a palm frond, indigenous to these lands, it derives it's name from the Latin botony term Palmus I'ma Fucking Tool Frondius", or something incredibly Dubya-ish (Who makes under 30k a year is voting for that Snark? Who!!!? That man has more movies made out of him than that Emanuel psudeo-porn entrepenuer) Oh yeah... I'd just like to break off and say right now, that DESPITE the fact that I'm not a porn conoseur, or addict or trench coat wearing upskirt freak, I do in fact like incredibly horrible porn dialogue and OR and if both GREAT! Great porn dialogue is a no brainer, it's like giving Keaunu Reeves the part of Prospero in The Tempest, doye, eyh? But incredibly great porn plotlines always have some sort of similar scene... It really doesn't matter, and frankly I don't know why they bother... I mean, when was the last time you rented "Anal Fucking Dick Party IIIV" and had to pause it to go pee because you wanted to find out how they get rid of the dead guy a'la plotline from Cohen Bro's movie, & Film Geek Subject dujour, Blood Simple just to take notes on the slow camera panning.. jeeeezurz... Yeah, & Ever seen Joel & Ethan Cohen? Dudes, Marc Jacobs called, and said that just because you are indie directors it doesn't mean that you have to dress all Deralict Stee like that guy at the corner of Wabash near the obnoxiously big shopping store w/ the teeny Gucci store in it, and crazy ties that coest $100 dollars, down by the riverside in Chicago, you know who I mean, the guy who violently shouts at you if you don't have any change for him, oh yeah, I forgot, that's everyone down near the river in Chi-Town! Mean Mean homeless people, meaner than Wishkah gutter punks.
Okay yeah, so The one and only plotline that porn with a plot ever has, is that something happens normal, or based on some other movie, somewhere, but yet, the people it happens to consists of derranged nymphatic insates' and dudes who spend way too much time at the gym, and have PENI' the size attributed to an efn horse... dude... it makes me feel insignificant, but I once saw a gay flick where a dude takes this guy's thingy and it's about the size of one of those duro flame logs...? What the hell!? There are two things incredibly crazy about that, and I'll let you deliberate on it, if you so wish... I'm doin' okay... but man, Imagine having to walk around w/ a cack the size of a Fosters beer can stuffed down yr trowsers... It's like the character from UCB, Little Danny... jump in any time kids, these are good topics.
Okay so, Ank Or Boye, you think, yeah, doye--- you can totally tell he's thinking about what is going to happen on CSI, or something other than the storm, either that or he's the biggest culprit of hyperbole on the fucking earth... Damn, Jigga Plezzz... Jigga what?
Anyhow... I'll have a great pictoral journal per normal documenting my huricane year, which seems to be the best way to avoid looking like the unmitigated ad hoc jerk that people think I am, rather than the cuddly snuggle puppy that I fucking and damn it.
So yeah, back to 'dude-in-chair' sitting in his ruined house as if he had a chair in the middle of his lawn, you know that aformentioned jerk anchor jr double cheesedick asked him some assinine question like "What does it feel like to lose all of your posesions and be able to go to the bathroom and wave to your neighboor at the same time?"...
I don't know why, maybe people just don't want to fuck up being on TV, but they always answer kindly, in a sad sort of Oprah confessional way, but I'd just be quiet for about 4 seconds and then introduce his teeth to the Donkey Kick.
Fuck that noise!
Dumb and or random things I thought about, or did during the buzzkill formerly known as Hurricane Smacktard:
01. Why is everyone still saying "best known from Home Alone" when mentioning MacCaully Culkin? No Doye, Encylopedia Brown, we remember those 1hr 30 minute Tales of high improbability...
Mac is now hot, and no longer cute, anyone who hasn't seen the Harmonie Korine video for Sunday by Sonic Youth (which apparently, since Sonic Youth's video buget comes out to be about the cost of a burger and a few fries at White Castle or Jack in the Box, the "Mac", did it for basically nothing...) O! Hot, almost too hot...
And then there is his potrayal of Michael Allig in Party Monster, which any self respecting wigstalker (yeah I know how I spelled it), fag-hag, Cabaret watching, (the movie, which I'll let someone know, is not near as good as "The Damned", which is of the same subject matter, but probbably with less Liza that nutjob!), foam party goer, diva lover, or just general 24 hour party person should have seen by now.
Anyways, after that Cormac McCarthy style rambling run-on sentence (AND that fucker uses my pen name, I've heard All the Pretty Horses is tedious, and the movie worse.... but hey, it's also some obscure New Zealand Glam/Goth band, and hey, it's a pretty good title, I've always liked it... but it's no Patti Smith - Horses.... KISS, keep it simple stoop)...
Anyways, yeah, give the guy some street cred for being the Jeffrey Rush of the Michael Allig scene. I've neither met Michael Allig nor Jean Michelle Baquiat (big surprise, huh!), but yeah, if I didn't know Michael Allig, I would say it was the Mac...
And remembering that Anchor-Dick, introducing the Palm Frond, why does Neneh (cool as fuck) Cherry need to introduce the highhat... Bomb the Bass produced Buffalo Stance, and if you're a DJ and you play this, people will jock your style so hard that they'll need to either pull the E-Brake quick, or strap on a seat belt, they go so wild.
Bomb the bass... Rock this place, fake brit accent: Wot is he like? Wot is he like? Yeah, Tripple Chk in the cool department.
Okay, and then there is all the bullshit about Britney getting married... Is it any surprise to people that celebrities go through relationships the way that Elton John went through Kilos of Cocaine? And who does this interest anyways? There are better things to put in US mag than "WEDDING SHOCKER!", I wanna know what the fuck is up w/ Jude Law or something.... or that girl from W.H.A.L.E., like what is she doing now? Commercials for Steak and Shake, like the girl from the Blair Witch One hit Project? (no shiz!)...
And, then I'm wondering how mean I need to be to the homeless guy in my hood who keeps asking to use my shower or for a can opener, even though I gave him one... And yes, (I can hear people wincing), I let him use my shower once... I mean, damn, a mans gotta get a bath now and then rite? I've given him money, and food and lots of things, and it blows to know that good deeds only wind up sounding like the Clash Album w/ "All the Young Punks", give em enough rope... (music geeks like me will know the subtle differenes between the US and UK pressings... )... I mean, I have two people now who knock on my door for money or whathaveyou...
I'm a nice guy, I don't think I'll earn my wings from giving some spare change or a few bucks to Mr. Wendel, (and I bet that fuck from Arrested Development didn't get hassled by Mr. Wendel as much as I've gotten hassled), hell one guy, who I felt really bad for, because it was obvious he has some sort of beyond your average homeless-person impediment of the cranial area what with the awkward speech and whatnot, show up at my house in a car with a guy to crash at my house because he told this other guy that he had stayed with me before, which he didn't)...
I gave him some advice, just to go down to the hospital and say that you feel like killing yourself (since the shelters were allready closed), and they'd scoot you right in to a bed, this works, the mans who brought him was very nice, and very kind, and I told him that he was a good person for looking out for this other person, simply on the word that he knew me, and wanted to care for him, the way any humane person would for another suffering human being.
So damn, Larry... What do you do? Even if you give money to shelters, the people who would do these things don't go there, and you feel like a heel turning them away, and you think "Hell, if Jesus can chill out w/ Lepers, whores and criples, you sort of come off looking like Morton Downey Jr.)... but, hell... that's what you get for living in 'the city beautiful'...
Oh yeah, Patti Shehan, more like Patti SHE-MAN, am I rite? Jesus, I've seen some hanks at Gay Bars in my life, (and sometimes in the wrong frame of mind, and this has been confirmed by a lot of people I know, Gay Bars are either incredibly fun nights where you're getting kicked off the runway by drag queens because they are 'working', as if being hopped up on Special K and acting like Amanda Lepore is called 'work'... it's either that, or the most depressing display of desperation, worse than the worst 'singles' bar in any city anywhere, I garuntee you... and thats why a good deal of Gay dudes I know avoid them like the plague... eh, the best thing to do is just bring a few co-pilots and just keep drinking... the cause and solution to all the worlds problems, alcohol will save the day, and you're Golden.)
Okay, I'm bored now, and you probably stopped at the first conjunction in whatever sentence started this elephant's dosage size of bullshit... yeah, to the Hurricanes: FUCK-U-DIC HEADS!
I could give a damn about the Miami team who I would like to throw overpriced hotdogs at now just by verbal association, FUCK YOU TOO Miami Hurricanes... Suck it!
Oh, And I love you if you made it this far!
Oh yeah, Listen to Chris And Cosey, "Stolen Kisses", you'll all be like, shit! This sounds like all the popular semi-newish shit that geek DJ's like MOI are playing now... God! It's the biggest con since "The Never Endiing Story"... Never Ending my ass, give me my Eight bucks back squeaky voiced teen, fuck you!
the kiss emote, I rarely pull out that cracker, but hey sometimes you feel like a slut...
ps. Okay, Also if you're into that whole non-shitty brand Clone-Style Electro thing, Listen to Dexter - "No More", or Silicon Scally (oh and cowinky-dink... Scally is a Merseyside slang word, (you know, Mersey where the BeatNULLs are from.... and the Stone Roses too, who also get ps. tripple Chk cool points, yeah oh yeah Larry, it's a slang word for some jobless wank who runs around in trainers gets nearly merked in Jail a lot, and get's Essex girl's Prego)...
Ohey yeah, double ps. Essex girl jokse are the UK equiv of US Blonde jokes... No offence to anyone from Essex, or Croyden for that matter, or Brent Cross! but a mans don't wanna get merked walkin down the street for wearing yr team's jersey... na?mean?...) yeah, just a joke, so lighten the load up Larz.
Oh yeah, and Tripple Chk ps to my one and only miss_lady, who'm I'd merk any man for, even just for a nasty look. Look at me! I'm a big man! But hey, I love her, and you gotta protect what you love.
Innit?
Current Song: ADULT. (always with a period!!!) - w/ Solvent - Don't You Stop.
Oh yeah, if I had an Amazon Wish list, (which I don't nor ever will), but if you feel like it, just buy me the UberBoxSet Gary Numan -Asylum. After all, he started this whole thing anyways, allong with all the German mans...
Oh, and Cheech, TRUE THAT!, Boris Spassky can do a mad Sick Fakie backside air Darkside reverse kickflip to McTwist! Word...
This is a poetry forum, "hunny." If you're not here to post and receive comments on poems, then get lost. There are millions of other places where you can "share" your adolescent ramblings to the support and love of countless others just like you. But here, people are actually intent on writing poems and getting better at it. So leave things vague for whatever little reason you want; continue to write laughably bad verse for whatever reason you want; hell, continue to pretend you've got an inside line on how life really works--that's all fine with me. Just do it somewhere where the grown ups can't see. Okay? -Mike Billard.
HA HA! Okay Doye. Crack, We are Rock. Alsop, Alack A Day, waste your time away...
We got here yesterday, we're here now, and I cant wait to leave tommorow. - John Giorno.
"Who You Staring At?"
(1982), GPS 025
The Shanti Project. Prividing assistance and home care to the victimcs of HIV & Aids.
My father was a bootlegger, he owned a STILL
And now I foam to wheat, a glitter of seas. The childs cry Melts in the wall And I am the arrow, the dew the flies Suicidal at one with the drive Into the red Eye, the cauldron of mornining.
-Plath. Sylvia.
Hey, I may not actually leave my house nor neighborhood to go to a "Job" as you mortals call it... and in that sense I may in the classical latin be termed a 'bum' or 'loser' or 'whatshisname' or 'deadbeat', but still I do have a job, I guess, as long as you employ yourself, and I gave myself the title of Jr. Vice President, because it sounded Posh! Oh yeah, I'm writing this because I just talked to my clients in England, and did what I call "work", which ammounts to typing out a few shitty blurbs on a computer older than Methusela, and fixing some shit no one but 1 person cares about.
Yeah, I'm feeling really super spesh right now. Please Kill Me.
Oh yeah, also... I never sleep, so even though I don't have to get up in the morning, it also means I never have the satisfaction of the coma like somnolence of rest that people normally get. In all actuality, try as I may, my bed is always covered with a multitude of things excluding me or my loved one, so no dice there, larry.
Oh yeah, my queeny yet anti-foam party friend broke my last dish in my house which used to be used for huffing up narcotic substances from Bolivia, but now still sits in pieces on my floor...
God, If you look up "Mongo" in the dictionary, you will see a picture of me wearing a hat w/ beer cans attached to it... shit it's just late, I'm sorry, I didn't mean any of that, you're all cool as shit, and I'm Golden, and like, woah, I forgot my filet ming' circle of life-fucker at the restaraunt I dropped a paltry 90 USD at because I was pissed that the sexless manager who took over from my old frien who used to manage the joint agest ago after he got fired (good god knows why!? probably snorting draino off the cook's wang... i dont know....)... yeah, so she made me mad, and I think I left it there, but they gave us some sort of complimentary ravioli + spinach dish, so I guess that's cool... but, damn... anyhow, my last great joy was my visit from miss_lady and my next great joy will be my uber-gay haircut that will probably cost the same ammmount as my bar tab was tonight...
hey i'm living how the other half lives... you know, i'm like the white trash kids in "I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings", I'll tell you why fubar, he's fucking pissed he's in a cage, and doesn't have the vocal chords to say "Hey you fucking mongs, get me the fuck out of this piece, I'm a fucking bird, and I want to fly around and shit.... not just hang out and listen to your DJ Kicks mix cd for the 100th time!!!!"...
I Guess.
We are here for such a very short time in comparison to all other things, and those things are simply stardust... The commonalities point to sixty some odd years, and so--- why are we so attached to finalities. Your best bet for happiness is something that requires little to feel a sense of closeness, and much much less the sense of completion. And then, you die, un-attached, without a sense of remorse, yet still full of love.
Witch Wife
SHE is neither pink nor pale,
And she never will be all mine;
She learned her hands in a fairy-tale,
And her mouth on a valentine.
She has more hair than she needs;
In the sun tis a woe to me!
And her voice is a string of colored beads,
Or steps leading into the sea.
She loves me all that she can,
And her ways to my ways resign;
But she was not made for any man,
And she never will be all mine.
-Millay, Edna St. Vincent.
Teenage sex is best.
Teenage sex is best.
Teenage sex is best.
and then you know the rest,
and then you know the rest,
and then you know the rest,
It only gets worse from here,
Don't Argue.
I envy you all more than you will ever truly know, and yet, I am filled with the dichotomes of wretched ego and a deep and foul feeling of the loss of innocence, the unatainable familiars, and the drowning of men in a quicksand.
Wish you were here.
American Chess Master, Paul Morphy 1837-1884
Subteranian, Homesick, Post-Hurricane, Fuck yr Face Circle of Life Mother Nature, The BITCH is back, Blues.
Heya! And did you miss me?
Whomever the hell gets to name hurricanes, (probably some sexless freak who gets paid to read an Almanac, look out the window and tell us what the weather is like, if there is any thing like "evil" in this world), should be shot in the face repeatedly with an M1 Abrhams tank shell, or if you are some sort of pacifist, a supersoaker water gun filled with molecular acid.
Anyhow, Frances, how quaint... Frances, it's just sort of whisps through the neighborhood like a frat boy drunker than Bacchus riding a Bull post visit to China Shoppe...
I'll gonna dust off and old chesnut, and quote a television show & in so doing, quote my hero, (and life-model), Homer Simpson here in saying that Nobody likes Crab Grass because of the name, everybody would love it if it were called Elf Grass.
In a way, it's the exact opposite with hurricanes, personally you could name them Lightning Struck My Dick and it still would suck. So we get these names that some cute guy (cute as in smartass), ripped out of an Edith Wharton book or something... Fuck that noise... I want to just call it as I see it, when I'm up at night and hear something that sounds like the Waco Complex being shelled by light infantry, or look out and see a tree on either side of my house that would ruin my evening and evening gown if it fell on my house, well fuck you... Let's just put our cards on the table, and start naming these things something that is sensible, like Hurricane Dickface, or Hurricane Fuckhead, or Hurricane Bastard if you don't prefer the whole profane thing... The Dude does not abide this Hurricane shit, this Hurricane shilly will not stand, Man.
I mean, when you see a guy sitting on his couch, where he can see everyone around him, and not because he's looking out his window, that guy is NOT happy, doye!!? Right?
And for damn sure, some mong-heel in a tie and a too perfect haircut who just a few nights previously held up a PALM FROND in Florida, and (I'm taking this on the word of miss_lady, and she should know since she actualy owns a televison set, and displays it as if it were some kind of coelacanth (pronounced Seal-a-canth), and not to derail this train, but WHAT THE FUCK IS UP WITH THAT?, if it's pronounced Seal-a-Canth, just name it Seal'o'Canth or something, why do you need to be all obscure and up in my grill like that mass murder who helped Webster (the Dictionary guy, not the little dude with the failed acting career, post when it was cool to be a minute man of African culture..., seee I can be polite!) over some fish that hasn't existed since the Pilt Down Man... Cheeerist...
So yes, he says, "what I'm holding here is what is known as a palm frond, indigenous to these lands, it derives it's name from the Latin botony term Palmus I'ma Fucking Tool Frondius", or something incredibly Dubya-ish (Who makes under 30k a year is voting for that Snark? Who!!!? That man has more movies made out of him than that Emanuel psudeo-porn entrepenuer) Oh yeah... I'd just like to break off and say right now, that DESPITE the fact that I'm not a porn conoseur, or addict or trench coat wearing upskirt freak, I do in fact like incredibly horrible porn dialogue and OR and if both GREAT! Great porn dialogue is a no brainer, it's like giving Keaunu Reeves the part of Prospero in The Tempest, doye, eyh? But incredibly great porn plotlines always have some sort of similar scene... It really doesn't matter, and frankly I don't know why they bother... I mean, when was the last time you rented "Anal Fucking Dick Party IIIV" and had to pause it to go pee because you wanted to find out how they get rid of the dead guy a'la plotline from Cohen Bro's movie, & Film Geek Subject dujour, Blood Simple just to take notes on the slow camera panning.. jeeeezurz... Yeah, & Ever seen Joel & Ethan Cohen? Dudes, Marc Jacobs called, and said that just because you are indie directors it doesn't mean that you have to dress all Deralict Stee like that guy at the corner of Wabash near the obnoxiously big shopping store w/ the teeny Gucci store in it, and crazy ties that coest $100 dollars, down by the riverside in Chicago, you know who I mean, the guy who violently shouts at you if you don't have any change for him, oh yeah, I forgot, that's everyone down near the river in Chi-Town! Mean Mean homeless people, meaner than Wishkah gutter punks.
Okay yeah, so The one and only plotline that porn with a plot ever has, is that something happens normal, or based on some other movie, somewhere, but yet, the people it happens to consists of derranged nymphatic insates' and dudes who spend way too much time at the gym, and have PENI' the size attributed to an efn horse... dude... it makes me feel insignificant, but I once saw a gay flick where a dude takes this guy's thingy and it's about the size of one of those duro flame logs...? What the hell!? There are two things incredibly crazy about that, and I'll let you deliberate on it, if you so wish... I'm doin' okay... but man, Imagine having to walk around w/ a cack the size of a Fosters beer can stuffed down yr trowsers... It's like the character from UCB, Little Danny... jump in any time kids, these are good topics.
Okay so, Ank Or Boye, you think, yeah, doye--- you can totally tell he's thinking about what is going to happen on CSI, or something other than the storm, either that or he's the biggest culprit of hyperbole on the fucking earth... Damn, Jigga Plezzz... Jigga what?
Anyhow... I'll have a great pictoral journal per normal documenting my huricane year, which seems to be the best way to avoid looking like the unmitigated ad hoc jerk that people think I am, rather than the cuddly snuggle puppy that I fucking and damn it.
So yeah, back to 'dude-in-chair' sitting in his ruined house as if he had a chair in the middle of his lawn, you know that aformentioned jerk anchor jr double cheesedick asked him some assinine question like "What does it feel like to lose all of your posesions and be able to go to the bathroom and wave to your neighboor at the same time?"...
I don't know why, maybe people just don't want to fuck up being on TV, but they always answer kindly, in a sad sort of Oprah confessional way, but I'd just be quiet for about 4 seconds and then introduce his teeth to the Donkey Kick.
Fuck that noise!
Dumb and or random things I thought about, or did during the buzzkill formerly known as Hurricane Smacktard:
01. Why is everyone still saying "best known from Home Alone" when mentioning MacCaully Culkin? No Doye, Encylopedia Brown, we remember those 1hr 30 minute Tales of high improbability...
Mac is now hot, and no longer cute, anyone who hasn't seen the Harmonie Korine video for Sunday by Sonic Youth (which apparently, since Sonic Youth's video buget comes out to be about the cost of a burger and a few fries at White Castle or Jack in the Box, the "Mac", did it for basically nothing...) O! Hot, almost too hot...
And then there is his potrayal of Michael Allig in Party Monster, which any self respecting wigstalker (yeah I know how I spelled it), fag-hag, Cabaret watching, (the movie, which I'll let someone know, is not near as good as "The Damned", which is of the same subject matter, but probbably with less Liza that nutjob!), foam party goer, diva lover, or just general 24 hour party person should have seen by now.
Anyways, after that Cormac McCarthy style rambling run-on sentence (AND that fucker uses my pen name, I've heard All the Pretty Horses is tedious, and the movie worse.... but hey, it's also some obscure New Zealand Glam/Goth band, and hey, it's a pretty good title, I've always liked it... but it's no Patti Smith - Horses.... KISS, keep it simple stoop)...
Anyways, yeah, give the guy some street cred for being the Jeffrey Rush of the Michael Allig scene. I've neither met Michael Allig nor Jean Michelle Baquiat (big surprise, huh!), but yeah, if I didn't know Michael Allig, I would say it was the Mac...
And remembering that Anchor-Dick, introducing the Palm Frond, why does Neneh (cool as fuck) Cherry need to introduce the highhat... Bomb the Bass produced Buffalo Stance, and if you're a DJ and you play this, people will jock your style so hard that they'll need to either pull the E-Brake quick, or strap on a seat belt, they go so wild.
Bomb the bass... Rock this place, fake brit accent: Wot is he like? Wot is he like? Yeah, Tripple Chk in the cool department.
Okay, and then there is all the bullshit about Britney getting married... Is it any surprise to people that celebrities go through relationships the way that Elton John went through Kilos of Cocaine? And who does this interest anyways? There are better things to put in US mag than "WEDDING SHOCKER!", I wanna know what the fuck is up w/ Jude Law or something.... or that girl from W.H.A.L.E., like what is she doing now? Commercials for Steak and Shake, like the girl from the Blair Witch One hit Project? (no shiz!)...
And, then I'm wondering how mean I need to be to the homeless guy in my hood who keeps asking to use my shower or for a can opener, even though I gave him one... And yes, (I can hear people wincing), I let him use my shower once... I mean, damn, a mans gotta get a bath now and then rite? I've given him money, and food and lots of things, and it blows to know that good deeds only wind up sounding like the Clash Album w/ "All the Young Punks", give em enough rope... (music geeks like me will know the subtle differenes between the US and UK pressings... )... I mean, I have two people now who knock on my door for money or whathaveyou...
I'm a nice guy, I don't think I'll earn my wings from giving some spare change or a few bucks to Mr. Wendel, (and I bet that fuck from Arrested Development didn't get hassled by Mr. Wendel as much as I've gotten hassled), hell one guy, who I felt really bad for, because it was obvious he has some sort of beyond your average homeless-person impediment of the cranial area what with the awkward speech and whatnot, show up at my house in a car with a guy to crash at my house because he told this other guy that he had stayed with me before, which he didn't)...
I gave him some advice, just to go down to the hospital and say that you feel like killing yourself (since the shelters were allready closed), and they'd scoot you right in to a bed, this works, the mans who brought him was very nice, and very kind, and I told him that he was a good person for looking out for this other person, simply on the word that he knew me, and wanted to care for him, the way any humane person would for another suffering human being.
So damn, Larry... What do you do? Even if you give money to shelters, the people who would do these things don't go there, and you feel like a heel turning them away, and you think "Hell, if Jesus can chill out w/ Lepers, whores and criples, you sort of come off looking like Morton Downey Jr.)... but, hell... that's what you get for living in 'the city beautiful'...
Oh yeah, Patti Shehan, more like Patti SHE-MAN, am I rite? Jesus, I've seen some hanks at Gay Bars in my life, (and sometimes in the wrong frame of mind, and this has been confirmed by a lot of people I know, Gay Bars are either incredibly fun nights where you're getting kicked off the runway by drag queens because they are 'working', as if being hopped up on Special K and acting like Amanda Lepore is called 'work'... it's either that, or the most depressing display of desperation, worse than the worst 'singles' bar in any city anywhere, I garuntee you... and thats why a good deal of Gay dudes I know avoid them like the plague... eh, the best thing to do is just bring a few co-pilots and just keep drinking... the cause and solution to all the worlds problems, alcohol will save the day, and you're Golden.)
Okay, I'm bored now, and you probably stopped at the first conjunction in whatever sentence started this elephant's dosage size of bullshit... yeah, to the Hurricanes: FUCK-U-DIC HEADS!
I could give a damn about the Miami team who I would like to throw overpriced hotdogs at now just by verbal association, FUCK YOU TOO Miami Hurricanes... Suck it!
Oh, And I love you if you made it this far!
Oh yeah, Listen to Chris And Cosey, "Stolen Kisses", you'll all be like, shit! This sounds like all the popular semi-newish shit that geek DJ's like MOI are playing now... God! It's the biggest con since "The Never Endiing Story"... Never Ending my ass, give me my Eight bucks back squeaky voiced teen, fuck you!
the kiss emote, I rarely pull out that cracker, but hey sometimes you feel like a slut...
ps. Okay, Also if you're into that whole non-shitty brand Clone-Style Electro thing, Listen to Dexter - "No More", or Silicon Scally (oh and cowinky-dink... Scally is a Merseyside slang word, (you know, Mersey where the BeatNULLs are from.... and the Stone Roses too, who also get ps. tripple Chk cool points, yeah oh yeah Larry, it's a slang word for some jobless wank who runs around in trainers gets nearly merked in Jail a lot, and get's Essex girl's Prego)...
Ohey yeah, double ps. Essex girl jokse are the UK equiv of US Blonde jokes... No offence to anyone from Essex, or Croyden for that matter, or Brent Cross! but a mans don't wanna get merked walkin down the street for wearing yr team's jersey... na?mean?...) yeah, just a joke, so lighten the load up Larz.
Oh yeah, and Tripple Chk ps to my one and only miss_lady, who'm I'd merk any man for, even just for a nasty look. Look at me! I'm a big man! But hey, I love her, and you gotta protect what you love.
Innit?
Current Song: ADULT. (always with a period!!!) - w/ Solvent - Don't You Stop.
Oh yeah, if I had an Amazon Wish list, (which I don't nor ever will), but if you feel like it, just buy me the UberBoxSet Gary Numan -Asylum. After all, he started this whole thing anyways, allong with all the German mans...
Oh, and Cheech, TRUE THAT!, Boris Spassky can do a mad Sick Fakie backside air Darkside reverse kickflip to McTwist! Word...
This is a poetry forum, "hunny." If you're not here to post and receive comments on poems, then get lost. There are millions of other places where you can "share" your adolescent ramblings to the support and love of countless others just like you. But here, people are actually intent on writing poems and getting better at it. So leave things vague for whatever little reason you want; continue to write laughably bad verse for whatever reason you want; hell, continue to pretend you've got an inside line on how life really works--that's all fine with me. Just do it somewhere where the grown ups can't see. Okay? -Mike Billard.
HA HA! Okay Doye. Crack, We are Rock. Alsop, Alack A Day, waste your time away...
We got here yesterday, we're here now, and I cant wait to leave tommorow. - John Giorno.
"Who You Staring At?"
(1982), GPS 025
Glenn Branca - Bad Smells
John Giorno - Stretching It Wider
John Giorno - We Got Here Yesterday, We're Here Now,
and I Can't Wait to Leave Tomorrow
The Shanti Project. Prividing assistance and home care to the victimcs of HIV & Aids.
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It's full of Clarts.