Wednesday, February 29, 2012

The Meaning of Life


Based on a true story

Guy has a really incredible bowel movement, and when I say guy there, it’s just a guy, not the name, and definitely not the French name, like capital-hard-G “Gee”, what is he, a queer or something? So guy, whose name incidentally is actually Guy now that I think about it, but pronounced the English way and earlier clarification still stands, has the kind of magical shit where it’s firm but not to the point where you have to strain, and you basically don’t have to wipe like at all, and the experience of passing this lump of waste is so religious, so profoundly moving, that you practically get post-partum depression, but it gets the rest of your day in order, you know, like you think you’re going to go out and do something great, like you think if everybody could have pooped your poop this morning that maybe Israel and Palestine could even get along or something like that.

Anyway.

Guy (who’s an atheist, by the way, not that it’s particularly relevant to this situation) says: Thank you God for this really incredible bowel movement!

God says: My child, I am gladdened that you were able to enjoy that poop. I myself am too holy to have an asshole, which is a vaguely amusing audible pun, but anyway I’m glad I was able to devise that function in a way you could enjoy.

Guy says: So God, what brings you to my, like, humble commode?

God says: Well, I so enjoyed seeing the positive effects of my works that I’m going to give you the chance to ask me for any one thing you may desire.

So I can already practically hear you whining about how God doesn’t grant wishes, he’s not a genie or something, and I guess you have a point, but like I said, this is based on a true story, and that’s definitely what was said, and since this is like really a third or fourth-hand account at this point, as in guy tells a guy tells a guy tells a guy (oh, and those guys I just mentioned aren’t named Guy, and they’re not the earlier guy from the story either), so maybe it really was a genie and it just got changed along the way, like oral tradition or something. If you can’t get past it, fine, you can think of it as a genie if you want, but that’s exactly how these errors start to pop up in stories that keep getting passed down, you know.

So Guy says: You know what, God? I’m actually all right for the time being. That poop was wonderful, and to ask for anything else would be greedy.

I guess that might seem unrealistically unselfish, but it was a really great turd, see above florid description if you doubt the veracity of the claim. Anyway, I guess that’s the point, is that life really isn’t so bad if you, like, stop to smell the roses, which I realize is an unfortunate choice of sense-based moral given the somewhat malodorous implications of the above, but what can you do? That’s life, I guess.

Tuesday, February 28, 2012

Pica


I wanna mouth fulla smooth river stones
so’s I can chomp up sticks an pine needles
I wanna bowla sweet yeller paint flakes in D fortified milk
I got a oral fixation, Jesus  was a Jujube and I cannibalize
everbody’s worst idears an I think maybe I wanna drink
up the ocean till nothing  but desert’s left
an when my teeth are all fell outta
my head I ain’t gonna worry me none
I’m gonna just keep on eating whatever anbody
put in fronta me, gum it up like a earthworm
like chew up dirt til I make a hole in the ground
what people can squat over the open mouth
an you know what happen next anyway
won’t trouble me none cause I wanna devour
the moon an a planet an some comets
an like little people lemmings to jump
over my throat cliff and go rattlin down below
real loud and maybe they even keep talkin
down there with their “eat this, eat that”
an I guess that’s why I need to like chew
my way through the walls, swallow a escape hole
an maybe the drywall an cement can trickle
down my gullet grave an bury them all
dead or alive til all that tellin finally stops

Monday, February 27, 2012

Cry/Wolf


Hello i am a Nigerian Prince with an endowment well-endowed of United States American Dollars for U!
if you will simply reply to this correspondence
with great vigor + alacrity like mojo jumping
jack flash in the pan just your name, social security number, favorite movie, cup size,
do you like pets and what are your views on love at first sight.

so look I think it sores me just to be breathing this Nigerian Air;
if I breathe; but i Want; if this is a lie;
      no thing 2 U;
if I am real anymore?;
Prince Of Nowhere locked in my oubliette, i only exist as black (scary Black)
man with 11 trillion shekels whistling

“ve are zee foreign element! ve are ze blak of your mind!”
I don’t need nobody needs no thing I need you i need can you

tell me anymore for now i am forgotten
                i have, how you say, moneysexfamepower for U! for U! desperate?
                who is the desperate?
                                who is predator?
                                                                                prey for me?

Sunday, February 26, 2012

Migraine


these ideas are tumors
in my calvaria increasing
the pressure to secrete
weird inky fluid as a defense
mechanism not quite
vestigial but getting there
these frothing visual disturbances
strobe light verbal glaucoma
cna’t qiute gte tihs fgieurd
the fcuk out these rolling
seas all fish tails and no tits
these words are the tingling
peripheral neuropathy
of naïve desperation
of ‘anything but this’
this tortuous gnarled
pubic hair of anyone
in the drain maybe
even me but I still
pluck it out piece by
piece to escape through
the eddy and sigh

Saturday, February 25, 2012

B + E


Three nights after two white males seventeen to twenty,
approximately as tall as my imagination can grow them,
threw a rock through the sliding glass door that mutated
it into a pile of icicles, the shattered termite mound of quartz
has already been replaced by just another new sliding glass door,
and I almost wish that the jagged mouth was still open,
that the too-large piece of plywood could still loom
on my behalf, crude, coffinish, but motherfucker try
to throw a rock through that, just try to violate my living
room again, now smelling oddly like a pine forest.