I been brushing up,
not my teeth but my slang.
Been learning up
all words I can't bring myself to say.
http://www.writeaprisoner.com/prison-slang.aspx
Cos I got your faith
right here, right where you can see it.
I can tear, through the sky
sniffing at ozones like it's petals
And, I've forgotten what it means
to truly enjoy words
humans write.
Need to start enjoying those again.
Sunday, February 26, 2012
Sunday, February 12, 2012
LUST: Season 1, Episode 2
Slowly, the survivors walked by him, heads hung low.
"Here," he said, to the extra-fat one. "Gotta eat for two."
"Hey!" said a guy at the back of the line. "Don't be like that!"
"Bitch is fucking pregnant," said Jack, watching Vincent scoot away with the extra bone he'd thrown, "what the hell you want me to do?"
The lurker advanced through the queue. "Hey!" he said, right into Jack's face.
"Hey," said Jack.
"Hey."
"Your point?"
"Hey. Look, I'm trying to be constructive. After everything I've been through, you should be happy and glad that, at long last, I am at least *trying* to be constructive. I've played this synergist role for a long time, and I think it is time you should use it too, now."
"Hey!"
"Now that's just plain stupid," said Sawyer. "Come on Buddha of Suburbia, let's go wrestle in the sand for a lark while this cheap trick figures himself out."
"Hey." (This was three hours later)
Sawyer picked himself off some woman he only knew as 'Kate', teeth grinding and cheeks pursed. "Yeah," he drawled, "what now?"
Jack was still standing there, at the entrance for the survivors. The sun was setting, so he was now a silhouette, with an orange outline. He was like a man stuck in a shallow repetition of time, somehow magically able to withstand hours of just watching fucking survivors walking through the Gate. "I just wanted you to know," he said.
"Know what?"
"I'm not the plane, stupid."
"Here," he said, to the extra-fat one. "Gotta eat for two."
"Hey!" said a guy at the back of the line. "Don't be like that!"
"Bitch is fucking pregnant," said Jack, watching Vincent scoot away with the extra bone he'd thrown, "what the hell you want me to do?"
The lurker advanced through the queue. "Hey!" he said, right into Jack's face.
"Hey," said Jack.
"Hey."
"Your point?"
"Hey. Look, I'm trying to be constructive. After everything I've been through, you should be happy and glad that, at long last, I am at least *trying* to be constructive. I've played this synergist role for a long time, and I think it is time you should use it too, now."
"Hey!"
"Now that's just plain stupid," said Sawyer. "Come on Buddha of Suburbia, let's go wrestle in the sand for a lark while this cheap trick figures himself out."
"Hey." (This was three hours later)
Sawyer picked himself off some woman he only knew as 'Kate', teeth grinding and cheeks pursed. "Yeah," he drawled, "what now?"
Jack was still standing there, at the entrance for the survivors. The sun was setting, so he was now a silhouette, with an orange outline. He was like a man stuck in a shallow repetition of time, somehow magically able to withstand hours of just watching fucking survivors walking through the Gate. "I just wanted you to know," he said.
"Know what?"
"I'm not the plane, stupid."
LUST: Season 1, Episode 1
The dog ran away from him.
"Bitch!" he called out.
She circled right back and pawed at him. "No," she said. "We're not using those words any more. No more bitches, retards or gays."
"Cunt!" he yelled.
"Right, right," she laughed. "Go for it."
He grabbed one of her legs. As she jumped, excited by this infraction, he moderated the force of her struggle against his palm to minimize the pain (on his palm).
She cackled at him. "This is totally a guy thing, isn't it?"
He got up and tried to whistle at some of the bamboo shoots. Finally, he found his tongue. He grinned back at her: "At least I'm in that little gene-pool that can roll its tongue."
"That's a myth you idiot," she said. "That's just a lie you tell brains so that they feel you are special."
He rolled his tongue at her, and walked into a clear opening.
"Does it distress you," said the dog, "to see such a landscape of suffering?"
"I think you should go and give that person a nudge," he commanded.
"Why don't *you* go give that person a nudge?"
"I have to stay here, make sure I am watching the whole scene. Noticing everything."
Vincent, the dog, began attacking Jack. "That's just fucking nuts, ok," she said. "First of all, that your response to a *fucking disaster* is that you're just going to stand there and 'watch', is horrible. You should be going out there, helping Boone!"
"Boone," laughed Jack.
"Okay, point taken," said Vincent. "Nobody wants to end up entertaining a bunch of people who think a plastic straw will save them in the end.
But consider this: What if you were the one who is choking, and you were in the middle of that plane crash? Wouldn't you be *moved* to go rescue the survivors?"
Jack turned at the dog and said, "Stop barking and go and save those people!"
Behind him, a tree began to take its roots.
"Bitch!" he called out.
She circled right back and pawed at him. "No," she said. "We're not using those words any more. No more bitches, retards or gays."
"Cunt!" he yelled.
"Right, right," she laughed. "Go for it."
He grabbed one of her legs. As she jumped, excited by this infraction, he moderated the force of her struggle against his palm to minimize the pain (on his palm).
She cackled at him. "This is totally a guy thing, isn't it?"
He got up and tried to whistle at some of the bamboo shoots. Finally, he found his tongue. He grinned back at her: "At least I'm in that little gene-pool that can roll its tongue."
"That's a myth you idiot," she said. "That's just a lie you tell brains so that they feel you are special."
He rolled his tongue at her, and walked into a clear opening.
"Does it distress you," said the dog, "to see such a landscape of suffering?"
"I think you should go and give that person a nudge," he commanded.
"Why don't *you* go give that person a nudge?"
"I have to stay here, make sure I am watching the whole scene. Noticing everything."
Vincent, the dog, began attacking Jack. "That's just fucking nuts, ok," she said. "First of all, that your response to a *fucking disaster* is that you're just going to stand there and 'watch', is horrible. You should be going out there, helping Boone!"
"Boone," laughed Jack.
"Okay, point taken," said Vincent. "Nobody wants to end up entertaining a bunch of people who think a plastic straw will save them in the end.
But consider this: What if you were the one who is choking, and you were in the middle of that plane crash? Wouldn't you be *moved* to go rescue the survivors?"
Jack turned at the dog and said, "Stop barking and go and save those people!"
Behind him, a tree began to take its roots.
Crying Dude in Computer Lab
"*Invents amazing new tech where, if you scan a dvd you own into the camera, the movie suddenly starts to begin.* #wastingtimewithdiscs"
I then added, "If you scan a dvd you don't own, it plays a recording of your birth"
Satisfied, I rose and scanned the computer lab. There he was again. This guy that spent way too much time there. But this time, he was crying. He was staring into the monitor, and tears were coming from his face.
Being an investigator of all things, I approached this human, and asked, "You ok, man?"
I mean, something must have happened, right? "Did your gf just break up with you, online?" I asked. I tried to apply humor: "Heh. Maybe she faxed it to you, eh?"
He didn't even seem to see me. Something had happened that was visually depicted to him on the monitor that I was not privy to. A new set of tears drained down his rosy cheeks, and now, he even sniffled a little.
"What? Did you just learn your mother died, or something?" I touched him with my left boot. "You alright?," I asked. "What are you fucking crying about?"
No response.
"Just, cause, like, I have to spend a lot of time in this computer lab. I don't want your tears gradually causing a biological hazard that could injure my person."
Nothing. No response.
"Can I do something for you, to make you stop the crying?" I asked. Incentives are always motivational.
Then something unexpected happened. Something unforseen. The man turned his head to me, and, with a little sniff, asked, "Yes. Can you get me a cola?" Then he turned his head back to the monitor, and continued with his weeping.
Right. Sure. I had been meaning to go to the vending machine anyway.
I then added, "If you scan a dvd you don't own, it plays a recording of your birth"
Satisfied, I rose and scanned the computer lab. There he was again. This guy that spent way too much time there. But this time, he was crying. He was staring into the monitor, and tears were coming from his face.
Being an investigator of all things, I approached this human, and asked, "You ok, man?"
I mean, something must have happened, right? "Did your gf just break up with you, online?" I asked. I tried to apply humor: "Heh. Maybe she faxed it to you, eh?"
He didn't even seem to see me. Something had happened that was visually depicted to him on the monitor that I was not privy to. A new set of tears drained down his rosy cheeks, and now, he even sniffled a little.
"What? Did you just learn your mother died, or something?" I touched him with my left boot. "You alright?," I asked. "What are you fucking crying about?"
No response.
"Just, cause, like, I have to spend a lot of time in this computer lab. I don't want your tears gradually causing a biological hazard that could injure my person."
Nothing. No response.
"Can I do something for you, to make you stop the crying?" I asked. Incentives are always motivational.
Then something unexpected happened. Something unforseen. The man turned his head to me, and, with a little sniff, asked, "Yes. Can you get me a cola?" Then he turned his head back to the monitor, and continued with his weeping.
Right. Sure. I had been meaning to go to the vending machine anyway.
Heart Feel
Bad things happened last night. I issue, now, a public apology, which can be only so heartfelt.
My hope in doing this is that this will be the end of it.
What is "it", you ask?
I don't know whether to tell you plainly, or to somehow butter you up first. Or to just lie. An event of such magnitude could only be felt in the bone, not in flesh or the vagaries of little neurons travelling in such mushy topic as the biological brain.
But know that it was felt through these pathways too. And after we switched off all the lasers, the quantum drives and all the special-eject-seats, we experienced a short moment of it.
That is all I will say. Good morning.
My hope in doing this is that this will be the end of it.
What is "it", you ask?
I don't know whether to tell you plainly, or to somehow butter you up first. Or to just lie. An event of such magnitude could only be felt in the bone, not in flesh or the vagaries of little neurons travelling in such mushy topic as the biological brain.
But know that it was felt through these pathways too. And after we switched off all the lasers, the quantum drives and all the special-eject-seats, we experienced a short moment of it.
That is all I will say. Good morning.
Saturday, February 11, 2012
Petrol Breath
Had the nozzle in fuel tank
to sink a few timezones.
Would take a little time so
lit a cigarette up.
Plastic melted onto scalp,
gashes round the elbows,
I asked the little store ma'am
where the vaseline was.
She didn't say, but was staring at me in a way that guaranteed we had communicated.
This was when I began believing in telepathy, as the explosion had blown my lips clear off.
"Where's the damn vaseline,
little gas station store ma'am?"
My pants were lighting on fire,
my nipples dripping petrol on it.
If you saw the CCTV footage of that afternoon, you'd see my apparition jogging
haphazardly around the chips and candy aisle, searching wildly for any sign of pharmaceuticals or skin care.
She reached under the register
pulled out her eight-gauge.
Pointed at me, then pulled,
blowing my brains out.
Sticky gobs of burning napalm
with tiny splinters of my skull
flew as my body did a little dance,
all over the back wall.
Suddenly the store was all explosions. Little ma'am ran out, screaming.
A jar of vaseline rolled uselessly to my foot, and from above, a stray tic-tac landed into my torn open throat.
It didn't help much with the petrol breath.
to sink a few timezones.
Would take a little time so
lit a cigarette up.
Plastic melted onto scalp,
gashes round the elbows,
I asked the little store ma'am
where the vaseline was.
She didn't say, but was staring at me in a way that guaranteed we had communicated.
This was when I began believing in telepathy, as the explosion had blown my lips clear off.
"Where's the damn vaseline,
little gas station store ma'am?"
My pants were lighting on fire,
my nipples dripping petrol on it.
If you saw the CCTV footage of that afternoon, you'd see my apparition jogging
haphazardly around the chips and candy aisle, searching wildly for any sign of pharmaceuticals or skin care.
She reached under the register
pulled out her eight-gauge.
Pointed at me, then pulled,
blowing my brains out.
Sticky gobs of burning napalm
with tiny splinters of my skull
flew as my body did a little dance,
all over the back wall.
Suddenly the store was all explosions. Little ma'am ran out, screaming.
A jar of vaseline rolled uselessly to my foot, and from above, a stray tic-tac landed into my torn open throat.
It didn't help much with the petrol breath.
Clear The Years
Can't hear anything.
My years are full up.
34 years not a bad amount.
My mother used to poke sharp instruments,
say, a hairpin or (during daring missions) a wood toothpick
to tickle my auditory canal
and 'clean' me.
This has become only a most obvious message
about how I am supposed to exist and operate.
There is something deep in there.
Thank you, mother. What else was there before?
My years are full up.
34 years not a bad amount.
My mother used to poke sharp instruments,
say, a hairpin or (during daring missions) a wood toothpick
to tickle my auditory canal
and 'clean' me.
This has become only a most obvious message
about how I am supposed to exist and operate.
There is something deep in there.
Thank you, mother. What else was there before?
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