Monumental failure

the monumental failure of all things sacred . . . scared to take a shower at moms . . . drinking till the break of a broken dawn in birmingham. . . i've died inside my skin so many nights writing you this plebian spital floating out of thy swollen hammer head . . . i am a shark american. i am a great black shark floating between gigs in atlanta like white ghosts fluttering between abodes, yours and mine own . . . Oh you dirty mind boggling bastards leaning against thy sputtering soul . . . Ok, enough is enough. no more vacations to thy hometown where the once beautiful skinnies are now fat slut buckets sitting at the bar in the worst kind of abomination. wait! this abomination is my hometown . . . why so bleak? my cousin calls it the SYL, i call it the 'City of Shit' some might agree, others may not, either way it's my hometown and i'm sticking with the 'City of Shit.' that is why i am bleak. if my mother hadn't phoned a couple nights ago. wait. if my 6 year niece hadn't phone, i would have stayed in atlanta holding my black metal, nine millimeter pistol to my head with my right hand and juggling a bottle of Vodka in my left hand, daring myself not to turn this filthy smelly carpet into a scene from 'The Departed.' the note next to my brain skittles would have read: 'it's just too hard to spell' . . . and nobody would have known what the hell that means . . . which brings me back to the SYL . . .you don't have to spell to live there. "why do cities like this even exist," i say. for 30 years i've asked myself that. why not New York, why not LA, why not chicago, miami, england, paris, ireland, shit anywhere - the butt fucking congo! but the SYL, of all the wonderful places on earth to be from. Dad must have been a lousy, retarded, idiotic, bull fucking devil bastard! what a whore fucking complex to pass on to your offspring. thanks alot mr. fate. Mothernature. god. all you holy swill alike. mom isn't so great either, you fucking bitch. you put a prodigy in the pen with the wolves and what you have on your hands now is one mean spirited son of a bitch from hell's sweaty balls . . . a true offspring of pure black magic and uninspired evil . . . or just some stupid motherfucker who calls himself deka for his own wisecracking entertainment . . . do i hate where i was born - you bet your cock and balls i do. try telling somebody you're from a place that you can't even pronouce. you think you've got issues. try this line of thought: where's the short bus at? my brother needs a lift back to the jailhouse. jail made him dumb, dumb, & dumber. i'd go deeper but why bother. i sleep on the couch now, whenever i visit mom because he's home without a clue how to avoid the clink again. but at least he is a free man. free but otherwise not free in the mind. i think it's the hyperignorance you learn in prison walls: and who let the dog sized roaches out all over my mothers kitchen. . . did my extra ignorant brother bring those hell hounds all the way back from jail - with those semen stains he leaves on his bed sheets that i accidentally ironed my shirt on because there's no functioning irioning board at mom's house. holy shit, i've gone off the deep end and in doing so irioned my shirt on this soiled bed spread . . . what a nightmare this life is. but fuck it! filth is a virtue in most families. i realize that, but i'm not even from a middleclass family so why even bother caring about it now since i've seen a glimpse of the glittery light . . . call it acquired pride or whatever . . . call it civility . . . oh my fellow denizens has your zeitgeist brethren seen all the available light . . . and the light says this: 'don't ever breath again unless you breath life into something you've created all of your own accord . . . i'll see you at the cutting and chopping block my denizens and brethren . . . i don't know where all of this is going . . . so i'll stop . . . hmmmmmm . . . right here . . . seems to be a good place to just shut the hell up because it really doesn't get any better . . .

. . . let us see today my denizens. what is the mode of your polyglot narrator today . . . hmmm . . . how does vampire III feel this early morn? rather moody, a little georgia, a little alabama in the viens, more alabama than gorgia thank god. somebody just told me something i'll never forget . . . that i, your handsome narrator was strange, strange, strange man. imagine me, deka, the invincible illuminated illusion - iii, a strange wanka. no! i refuse to believe that i . . . 'i am legend' . . . am any more strange & stranger than the black fella on the east bound heading to decatur early in the hokey pokey morn, talking to himself about gorillas, zues, god, heaven, and fighting white romans on ivisible battlefields - he was crazy strange . . . the homeless lady walking barefoot talking to herself, pointing in all different direction is strange . . . the man standing next to her staring at me for no reason . . . he was strange . . . the old drunk who likes to fight is strange . . . those fools i see standing around the bus station . . . those stripper girls i see walking in high heels up the steps of magic city, thier strange. me, i'm just foolish fire is all, a brand new type of neo country man. a bit bloated and obtuse is all, maybe even a sciolist but i'll never admit to being so strange that i wouldn't admit to painting my face black and green and snapping nude pictures of myself and my girlfriend only to chicken shit out of putting them all over the internet to get your hodgepodge attention. i'm no good german either . . . i don't even like hitler. . . but i'd love to sit down and have a cup of black bean coffee with the old crazy boy, but that's besides the point. i'm a rather lanky street person yeah, yeah, yeah, blah, blah, blah. i'm this i'm that. so what. i'm a lot of things you'll never know. here's a inkling. i have no ties. i'm loose. i'm brown. i'm lost and not found. i'm eager. malnurished. but strange. noway hoziah williams . . . you can can ask the girl who put the paint on me that.

listen up my brothers

hello my denizens, my fellow coke line sniffers, beer bottle guzzulers, lady panty gatherers and earring stealers, and license thieves; oh the day is joyous my dear brothers . . . your magnetic boy poet has finally figured out what color his rukers are gleaming atop many ablaze oceans of sweet treats and dandy cakes my brothers. . . for starters i've had nothing special to brag about to happen to me in the past day since i made my last post . . . oh wait - i took a drug test the other morning . . . i stopped to have breakfast at an allnight diner before the exam. as i noticed the cakes in the diner: the blueberry muffins, strawberry lemon, chocolate desserts, all cozily snuggle for your dear poet; i noticed how polite and itty bitty nice the desserts seemed to be . . . winking at me even, giggling little cake laughters! inside thier glass warbly jar world, i gazed on a world of sweet offerings; tarts who get along so much better than the humans ever imagined possible. . . tv news blasted in the background (cnn) something about marching for injustices, hoards of black darkies, white spectators, but i stared at the deserts. . . i thought hmmm, three choc's, four lemons, two strawberry, choice, choice, choice, "what if the strawberry cake told the chocolate cakes to fuck off!" or what if the lemon politely asked the blueberry muffins to "go giggle his dingle berries & suck his slimy blueberry balls," but oh no no no my brothers! the cake world is far more sophisticated than us humanoids and arcane insult gluttons and ragamuffians . . . i realised right there. there will always be different flavors in life. . .my brothers, some may take chocolate, some strawberry, still some take lemon cake with thier coffee; eventually someone comes along and chooses you for dessert & eats you; i asked for the blueberry and had two cups of coffee brothers, two coffees of hot blackie licky! i felt like a wondrous deity harmonizing over a nice brew of black bean breakfast early in the morn, before the grey concreate stumping must continue silently, solemn . . . my brothers. . . staring at those desserts in that glass jar world, me the god Adonis, able to choose as he pleases, to put three creamers in my coffee as i please, me the jammy poet boy from your hard morning walky talky streets brothers, waiting to go pee in a plastic cup for jammy ladies . . . oh how i, your lovely narrator has felt so merry on so many occasions such as thus; to know and choose my brothers, i have no appologies whatsoever sharing with you my grand morn . . .

writing in the dark

i write in the dark these days. i seen a bloodsucker in my dreams reading a kalvin butts article while taking a shit on the shitter too, just thought i'd let you know. my own toilet went haywire this afternoon just before i took a humongous leak and crawled my narrow ass back in the old broken bed. it must suck being a toilet, everybody shits on you, even people who just come over to visit. but lets not digress shall we. the reason i'm really here is to rid myself of the intrinsically insane traits that keep my huddled around a beer these nights . . . i'm not complaining. i like beer. i like to huge a nice cold one quite often. i just wish i didn't have those quite often wierd dreams. you know the ones: the pregnant chick with your baby, and you swore you didn't even have sex with her, but she's having your baby anyway, and when the baby comes, the poor bastard has blond hair-imagine a black kid with blond-hair. . . damn-needless to say in this dream i was pissed, especially taking into consideration my stash of poor hasn't even been burned yet and now i got to raise a baby, by a chick that i didn't even sleep with, and she swears from the halls of montazuma that the little shit flying crying bastard is yours! thank god i awoke. that's when i noticed the toilet going haywire and someone was knocking at my door. somewhere deep inside i hoped it wasn't that damn baby come slap out of my dream to take childsupport out my ass holding me at gunpoint. all i could think was wee! thank god it was just my nieghbor asking for ride somewhere . . . she had her baby girl with her and i thought "damn this little girl is cute" thank god i don't have to pay for one of these little buggers. . .

on the pun trail

i've been looking for it for years now. the pun. it started in kindergarden when isha sat next to me and i noticed i made her vomite. i was one of those sickly little pitiful screwballs who peed his pants and crapped in underwear on the yellow bus as soon as the bell rang. free lunch, welfare, cheap sneakers, cheap everything, you name it i had it. good thing the principals paddle made me keep up the good work or who knows? i might have made an ass of myself and become the freakin president of the aspen wolverine club. now i feel fantastic knowing that the pun is always lurking because i got this security job. hell, all i do is watch pun all day long. sometimes it feels like i get paid to watch pun. anyways, if this gay guy didn't fix my lunch everyday i might have quick a long time ago or at least left my wife, and shit i'm not even married. oh screw it. i've lost all my damn sense thinking of this poor pun world and all the whores and dikes that made me feel like romeo sabastin bach over the past 30 years. oh boy the joys of lesbian love. thanks isha for vomiting on me and causing me to hate regular girls. now i can sleep better at night knowing that i can get paid to watch pun, purchase it at the dandy corner insurection, check the back of creative loafing, hit up the strip joints, or fall asleep drunk listening to the buddha chant religious war songs in my eardrum at night. . .

lazy dogs

i hate those silly ants who come to work only to sleep. wtf. i mean really. is that what's it's all about? forget figuring out betters way to expand your career. i work for a major news company where this one lady i know, [during the third shift] sleeps at least five hours of her shift. she's what i call a real loser. . .

American Gangster

i'm sick of gangster movies, can anyone relate? i mean really. guns, drugs, a community on the brink of collapse, if you care for that sort. if you don't oh well, it's your life. one day i expect to wake up and find my legs legs chained, hands bound, mouth gaged, all by who? you guessed it! drug lords, narcissus, evil smellers, herione pushers, crack dealers-you take your pick, forget it! i'm done! i'm roast! i'm the turkey dinner! maybe i'm just paranoid. i mean, i never did drugs, never drink. . . on second thought, let me rephrase that. i never got so twisted that i screwed my sister while she was passed out on mom's old brown wagon ale. ok i lie. i didn't screw my sister but i damn near screwed my aunt in a closet in the eighties. not literally. it was just dark. i felt a part of her body i shouldn't have when the lights went out. does that make me a dirty bastard. fine. i'm dirty. i'm filthy. i should be ashamed of myself. i'm not. but i should. bottom line is gangster movies suck big time. i'd rather watch a nice jewish boy kill a even nicer japanese kid in hong kong. who knows, i might get lucky and isreal will bomb shanghi. nuclear bombs everywhere. i can see now. euphoria. war is grand. ban all gangster flicks. more veitnam movies with charlie sheen, suicidal boot camp flicks, matt damon in peril, etc. . .

HOMELESSSNESS IN AMERICA

i'm sick and tired of student loans. . . i think college should be relatively cheap to. . .[free for veterans] shouldn't it be easier for us as ex-soilders to afford an a better life. . .i mean we only nearly lose our lives-legs, arms, posteriors, etc. why shouldn't the government help us lose our ignorance? i mean, i don't see why state colleges shouldn't be a gateway to a better life for most veterans. it only makes since when the military is in desparate need of new recruits, i'm sure there's plenty of guys willing to put their neck on the line-oh wait, they already do! but for what, VA hospitals and free meals and the golden coral once a year. please tell me this isn't the america that i hear so much about. you know that country that's suppose to be the best in the world or was that canada? at any rate, i'm sick of my student loans pulling me into poverty. . .the way i see it, i'll be homeless in a few years, that's why i'm practicing now by hanging out with the filthest buggers downtown, so when the anvil finally falls on my skull, at least i'll know where to beg, get a free meal, and the best city fountain to bath in when the shit hits the fan.