Category:
Crime
Type: Fiction
TAPTAPTAP on the door after the teen homo crack sex dismemberment murder police tape came down.
Excerpt
Do You
Old uneven cracked weathered bricks of the neighboring wall, seen by him through his window, affords no view and no need for drapes other than interior decoration but he cares not for that. This song about my baby don’t mess around keeps banging repetitively in his head. The family is long behind him in his life. The three daughters are the subconscious’s hidden leaving of nothing, at all, of his whole world. The wife has become his vexation of abuse for the other many women who he uses singularly or collectively for his perversions that he knows that they will tolerate because they want his crack. When they have their own crack he will not see them, as they do not come around. Then, in pussy dry spells, he entices others with the little pieces displayed between his thumb and index finger of his right hand when he would cruise the streets and bars. He calls for the condition that he is in. He will not admit to losing or winning in his social realms, in his occupational realms, or in his own singing interior head. He is day to day cracked the fuck up and he has no choice but to like it, accept it and die it. And he does.
The skids is a good ratio of kooks to cooking young professionals for him. He is in the majority of the former. The latter come around for the crack too but not for the women here. They have their own. Users from both different social classes may come to him when their need always momentarily arises. Some people do not want to hear about people like him and they may run from the thoughts associated as if they are running from the hounds of hell; yet deep down in their own bleeding daughters’ subconscious thoughts the all stone-ballot-casters know that it is not only these archetypes that are entangled deep in the crack; the richest spend the most and make the most to spend. Love is on the back seat away from the cracked-up crashing driver.
The downstairs interior of bar and stage is painted black and it is after midnight when the Traveler enters to ask the young leathery bartender “got a room”. The automatic “no” is spoken. Then he, Coca Cola crack dude, moves in as a shark before a crack feeding frenzy of hatred of self.
The Traveler has come too very far and further travel is too much annoyance for him for now and for the next few months. The response of: no room in the inn is not accepted by the Traveler and the shark senses an opening for his scamming circling. He says he is the owner’s son. He says he may have someone kicked-out thereby leaving a vacancy for the Traveler. The first night must be a casualty in his room until his father may accommodate. The owner is not his father. The Traveler gives the shark eighty dollars and he disappears promptly and he returns in minutes with a rock of crack. The money is spent.
Slavery is the lifeblood of the crack dude. He works at Coca Cola and he is always more than a pay check behind his payday crack bill. And then he borrows on “tTtab” from the owner. There is a hopeless spiral of degeneration: of character, of health, of cash supply, of dignity and of all virtues in general. Slaves to crack are in constant intense anxiety and fear of their not securing the next pipe-puff. The master is the crack, and crack masters, and master is never the self or the guest. Law is reputed to treat the “users” as criminal and prostitutes or something lower than lowest people. The slaves behave the way the individuals under control by society and its killing (od’s, suicides, crack murders, accidental poisoning and so on including execution) engenders them to deal. The sub-social group of fellow crack dudes are no longer slaves amongst slaves; they are in nevie-nevie-land-you-for-eeeee-ah!
On The Way
Down here shoot I’m coming
Hang on stir a turkey soup
Raft a bed flat concrete river
Fuck a Huck and a Wit man
Heart of Congo Ivory marrow
Spirit flows a bloody course
He is old and she was never
Best for both in snap of bra
Ah Ah and Ow Ow roll of drum
Look Kook Look Kooking at you
Stand my walking ground passing
Body parted with back down
Had a name floating brain
Fortune ate resist all forms
Arm in arm clap over head
Snip and see night spin spin
Plan scheme speak love purpose
Maid is merry will deliver
Child birth a rude lesson
Guess who says not mine
Cavity needs complete a filling
Black carpet I wanted red
Found out lose all having
I
am
Blind
ButTt some thing can excuse me
Trust a fool fool is trusting
Pride given perfect leave
Wise enlightening of a pocket
Bugger me letTt me speak
Finish starting pace a run
Lie in ruin ruin a life
Stay with us have a brother
Fluff flexible fibers
I
want
a
rebate
Orgasm she said I faked
One white pearl from squeezed
DICK
Persistent Streetwalking Dreams
Dream different different people different dreams
Does dream cause the dreamery
I and eye the scene’s view
Fortitude the more honest vision image real
Flattered Sun diminished spot within closed eyes
Delight decay need for body
Got a dollar friend
Customer satisfied all less than proud
Enemy sister bothers brother’s peace
Compliments consequently enlightened
Undergone distress over able profitTt
up write pencil my you and you and you
Conjugal love enemy me
$lave of mind devil body Beast
Hunger for a wife free of binding hobbles
$he be comes astonished taste of $pitTt
TanXs God pursued in Darkness
Oooo and Ahahhhh Ooooo we Oooooo
My sweet you mine
DICK
Tear Warmed Cheeks
Did not know I would cry when I read
Can not hear me no more no laughing
Drying eyes typing now taking turns
Sucking air from slot in jailhouse door
Seventeen mother married she will cheat
Taste so sweet as judge says six months
Booby trap traps dummy object of death
Sick fat fuck says I love it
Man’s many eternities run amid hot tears
No eyes pledge that agonized look
Tears tear luxuriance of often torn heart
Waste cooling damp with fresh flood
Without terrible knowing not knowing
Sick fat fuck shouts stop stop
She runs faltering with his wallet
End is near she suspects he loves her
Shriveled silence becomes void of jeer
Intended crime his strange pain
Her waiting for him is not a right
Jailed lover steals another breath
My God my God kneeling at the slot
They changed the locks on all surrounding neighbors’ doors. They said the pieces were starting to stink. “That” is those that they could find. They did look everywhere they told the people that they interviewed about it. He was not joking when he walked-in and told them: “I have most of a dismembered body in my room.” Cops laughed until they saw.
The “sexpot” server of suds and panty-peek tells her writer-friend he probably “flushed” them but she heard that the room had no bathroom. “He got the minor boy up there with the promise of sex. Can never leave. Some others left now he’ll be there, still, now, as a ghost, some think. Do you? Do you care? You are there now where no one wants to be there where it happened. I’d care. Don’t you?” He thinks with his nod of discernable hint that he does care that less about chronology of life, his or anyone’s life: all just one day long anyway. This side or that side of what life is is what is the difference.
‘Sleeping, am I dreaming that I slept? The curtain is half-opened, dark and darker. Maybe dead, unborn or am I waking to night? Feeling what? Lost and warm without moving, squeeze of blind black eyes without the burst of stars dying, sink floating into predawn of eXsistence of maker. No in no out no up no down is and not is. Shadows of hiding time everlasting expire of new old day with no sun missing purity of number. The slug of outline of gray crawling imperceptibly in the growing of grayer and grayer with germs of things changing into not being in defiance of not being until I become me. Meaning before I form a thought for word without creative imagination to poem. Poor deep silence of motionless wind across towers rising as thrashing claws toiling to cling to pain of no memory and knowledge forsaking peace. Try in vain for beauty of start a life. Ravage love’s stone core of heavy hollow. Sleep with my screams streaming fair to my place’s waking death’s sight of circle holes deepening to the depth of cosmic womb barren and waiting to crust. First growing snowflake falling is kissed with thaw leaving moist ocean of cellular ooze yet unused for my body’s composing and decomposing.’
Everyone wants to go to heaven butTt no one wants to die. Murder suspects are not wanted to be “tipped-off” that they are murder suspects at least until soon after the arrest. Killers know that they are killers, do they not know? Ask a war vet. Ask a mass killer. Ask a national leader. Ask a propositioned drunken pregnant crack ho. Ask the angry poet. Most all of those mentioned will say: “yes, they do know what they do”; that is except for the leader who kills to save lives. Is it that simple? Yes, it is that simple; the leader is most washed at the Laundromat for the Mind; the leader is the anus most publicly licked just to keep it clean. Judas hung himself and retired leaders get paid millions of dollars for publishing rights for potential future books that will probably be written by a ghost writer or writers. Most killers most want someone to love them; leaders want votes or support.
The large silver chain with the giant tiger’s fang attached on it around his neck has left a spied by him in the mirror’s illusion of self a red skin impression of chain pattern and fang pattern on his throat. He has just gotten up. Sleep is deprived and depraved due to many disturbing frequent all night long awakenings of him by crack hoes banging on ran doom doors of questioned offerings of need some lovin’. He turns his electric frying pan on 350 and he pisses in the sink while flushing it with some spilled water from the pot that he fills the pan with for the submersion of long spaghettini called Lancia. It is three in the after of the noontime. Opening a large tin of diced tomatoes and a small tin of mushrooms cut in stems and pieces he then sits to type black squiggles on a white background of electronic screen that he hopes will compute while he waits for the spaghettini to soften up into edible for him quality of teXture. He is nude. He tries to live as close to and as similar as Christ as he can as long as can with out of himself noticing.
Who Wants to be Jesus Today
Lay down his sweet head
Consecrate bread and wine
Everybody in their time
Drink life water bled
Merrily we go along
Who can He be now
Infinite parts of the Hole
We are all of one Soul
Be careful what is said and done
Just may be God in Son
(or Daughter)
Then again may be Nottt
Incest Adam and Eve seed
Fall began the navel need
Even He declined the choice
Take the gift live in peace
|
