Friday, December 28, 2012

Mr. Marshpants and the capitalist vacuum(V)

As Elda Joyance Merange Stuffings worked the counter in Embollism, it was clear for any to see that she was just as humble as an old dog and bland as tap water. Her life had been a succession of indistinguished experiences, none of which marked her. The whole voyage, with it's lack of seasonings-its want of joys and hatreds, had twisted her face into an aching posture, as if she were always expecting some sudden jolt that never arrived, and every dull moment through which she passed compounded her silent agony-an agony of want, like that of a plant in a desert. She was a stone or block of wood or lump of iron that sat ignored year after year, and her homogenous material was dense such that nothing gave effect to the tight bundle of molecules in the center, no heat or cold, no emotion. Her one positive light was that of Grandpa Frank, from when she was a small child. He had been her source for love, support and protection. His memory was a spector that remained near her, breathing a comfortable warm air about her. It was a feeling that defined his presence, that friendly face that had been with her at birth and would be there, diffused, about the soil of her grave.

Tuesday, December 25, 2012

mrs. grymgorge(3rd stanza)

gotta put her off/of that husband/that Scottie
Grymgorge/friendenemy/shaving accident?/chainsaw himself in
two?/fortune smiles/on those with initiative/creeps always find a
way/to gets what they wishes/should do something to sell her/act like
one them losers in the movies?/one a them character actor
singers?/would take my shirt off for her/bet she'd bleed from her
ears/can't do that/maybe show her/my bird/put it on a website/if she
see it/she gotta think of it/for a sec, leastways/that's all the break
i need/to weasel in like a chicken thief

Monday, December 24, 2012

look behind you, Daisy!/waiting...

that lurking menace/crouched and waited/breathed hard and thunk/evil
poured off it/when Daisy came along, what was she/but a light, sweet
morsel?/she was busy sorting her flowers and/from the gloom "light,
sweet morsel"/the air got so warm/it stank as if burned/it's evil
teeth glowed/malignant saliva bubbled in it's maw/as in a
cauldron/it's appendages extended as a trap, expectant/her feet softly
carried her away/and it followed,/that hellish stormcloud

Sunday, December 23, 2012

Mr. Marshpants and the capitalist vacuum(IV)

Outside of Pungent Hold sat the sprawling Chicken Place(and Gooey
Donut Mill) corporate complex. Within it's confines was a jetport, a
plethora of restaurants, apartments, assorted amusements, and the
offices of the hierarchy. Chemists developed recipes for products
that were to be described as "old-fashioned" or "home-style". Rows of
offices watched sales numbers obsessively. Teams of ill-shod wretches
conceived advertisements. Accountants, like the eyes of a deity,
watched it all.

Saturday, December 22, 2012

Mr. Marshpants and the capitalist vacuum(III)

Elda toiled-away during her shifts at the cash register, and Dewey's
fortune grew by the second. He had always been eccentric, but by the
time he hired his first district manager, Dewey was only partly
recognizable as a human. While Elda worked, Dewey lived in a blank
skeleton of a mansion, abused his neighbors and hunting dogs, and made
his mailman's life a living hell by subjecting him to incomprehensible
verbal tirades.

Friday, December 21, 2012

my holiday, dec. 7: "day of wrath"

december 7, 10:00 AM. There I was. Reading a book and thinking about
a special lady(she with the "flames dancing in her eyes"). I'm sure,
twixt she and me, one of us, just as in the film Day of Wrath, wished
the other dead. I didn't want hear to slap me, so instead of making
some overture, i begin poetricizing in poetrifications of my readings
and my romantic intent. Bad science; mad invention.

Mrs. grymgorge(2nd stanza)

she distracts me so/while we tile her kitchen/i look up/and there went
my mind/it is thirsty work/tiling her kitchen/and her softly floating
about/like she slid out God's a**hole/an impure angel/down here with
the rest of us/in the filth, the dust/so He made her/then the devil
put me in her path/or is it the reverse?/makes some good daydreams/get
her in the bathroom/surprise her?/(wash her hair..)

Thursday, December 20, 2012

"Opus" Intro 0.1

Hello. I am still bad all day, and even when sleeping, but my voice changed recently. I developed a voice that was clinical, lecturing, on deviance, and then yet another that was crude and direct and very much deviant. In the Opus, there will be blissful, ecstatic deviance with some of the characters. This might not seem a rosy picture of people, but I am working a theory about how people form associations in their brains. I feel that if you peel back the skull of most persons, you would find quite a mess(a brain!), and in that mess there are all sorts of cognitive conjunctions between everyday things. And I find it interesting. And I'm going to write about it. I also intend to do a few things with symbolism that are new. This is inspired by the recent unpleasantness. I will demonstrate that there are several verbs which-in my mind only-mean something completely different than common usage. It will get interesting and it may be misunderstood. But do I care? No, because I am only here to amuse myself. Don't worry, though. You know "how I do". I do what makes me feel good here and then move along.

Tuesday, December 18, 2012

Conspiracy: Turning the Screw

At the most recent anti-Mike Morris league meeting, i was so enamored
with their jabbering that i did something that was counterintuitive.
I volunteered. I empty the spitoons, i fetch fruit juice, but i
flatly refuse to "service the leader". Unless he needs some form of

Monday, December 17, 2012

Mrs. grymgorge, again

i learned/when i was young/to tell a woman/what she wants to hear/and
mumble the rest/i talk to her as if/i have the moon/tucked away in my
back pocket/maybe she don't believe it/but she sure wants to/and thats
how we/build our relationship/that weird sand castle/meanwhile, they
tell me/"that's you, dog"/or "that'd look good on you"/my distress, my
tension, my torment/devils poking me in the rear/urging me onward/i

Saturday, December 15, 2012

kites in the storm.

yesterday was nauseating. I plop open the book of Ecclesiastes, in
the hope of some comfort. All dust, each of us.

Friday, December 14, 2012

s. grymgorge expounded

what's a bad cop to do/'gainst my verbage?/'cept keep that mouth
shut/and bring more wings for me/(and let me share your wife, too)/you
are the worst cop/can't even trust you/to hose off the prisoners/shoot
the victim first/blame the glaring sunlight/or your barrel is bent/i
know you and Hook Carlyle/got something/on the side/besides shooting
guns/the thought sickens me

Wednesday, December 12, 2012

mr. Marshpants and the capitalist vacuum(II)

Elda Joyance Merange Stuffings was special. While Frank Purple
Stuffings lived, Elda was her grandpa's girl, but after, she struggled
to coexisted with housemate grandma Madeline Stuffings. Soon Elda
became one of pharoah Dewey's workers, at Chicken Place 817 in
Embollism, Mississippi.

mr. Marshpants and the capitalist vacuum

Dewey Stewpot Marshpants rose from perfect obscurity in the town of
Cornhole in rural Tennessee to open a quaint restaurant in nearby
Pungent Hold. This fledgling enterprise was called Chicken Place with
Gooey Donut Mill. This was his dream-the small, dirty restaurant, but
there was more. In his ghostwritten autobiography, "Conquest, for a
lark", he described building his restaurant empire as "continually
defeating a fu**ing giant angry cyclops".

happy mayan doomsday, losers.

The end of the mayan calendar is the final bit of the epitaph of the
mayans. Otherwise, the mass anxiety exhibited these past few years
has been amusing(to me). I love it!

Sunday, December 9, 2012

scottie grymgorge(III)

I keeps it in the road/personal luxury: soft?/like a milkshake/fits
lots of garbage in the trunk/unlike that Matador(a tractorbeast) of
yours/which needs the paint shop/and hunts the ditch like a
feind/trade my car for your lady?/i'll need a couple thousand, too/you
think about it/one day you'll find her and me/with our feet in my
ornamental pond/and refreshing adult beverages/me and her will
multiply/not like they taught in school

scottie grymgore(II)

-gets my gravy simmering/pickles boiling in the jar/knock your wedding
picture off the dresser/without using my hands/don't try and get mad
with me now/she's certainly yours and all/what i gotta do to get a
sandwich from her?/stop laughing, asshole/gonna put the four hunnert
backin the Mark Series/long duration cam, supercar rubber/rip through
the lights on Main-

Thursday, December 6, 2012

lines to scottie grymgorge

how you, old hat?/you still take the photos/of your wife
sleeping?/gives me that good dark feeling/we need to get in that tool
shed again/and tear up shit/i put a drill bit through my hand/you get
metal shavings in your eyes/that woman bring us iced drinks/with her
high hem line/i need a moment here/she makes me want to chase kittens
with the lawnmower-

Monday, December 3, 2012

conspiracy: the chickening

I attended a meeting of the anti-Mike Morris League, under an assumed name. They are an enthusiastic, focused bunch, and for a moment, I almost became one of them. The leader-I don't know-never met the feller. He is like a young Hitler, fierce, dedicated. A young man should have nicer things to worry about, like sports, alcohol, fast cars and faster women. When I was young, I found myself worrying about television, more than anything else. Now, that's a wonder. But here was a feller all nerved-up about old Mike Morris. Did I rape him at some time and then forget? I don't know, just don't, because I'm Holden Caufield without the education, but with a sense of humor. I tend to forget my sins, and I don't know if that's indifference. Stupidity? Apathy? No. I don't know, again, but the anti-Mike Morris League is out there, cheesed-off, and wanting to run their fingers through my stuffings. Fifty Shades of Grae was generated as a first draft by a computer program(that was constructed and perfected by a college student). I have no evidence: who needs evidence? I don't know. I feel like Larry Silvershorkle, on Monday, September 10, 2001, saying, "It sure would be a shame if anything bad were to happen to my buildings. Heh, heh." And then, kerplunk. Anti-Mike Morris League, take that.

Sunday, December 2, 2012

to get a good shine(four)

Under the mobile home, Roy dozed. A vision came to him of his old
life, and he was seeing the old show. It was in a big room next to
that old gas station on the state highway. There had been cheap
fireworks, burnt popcorn, religious trinkets, and other such wonders.
His companions had been a bird that hated him enormously and a snake.
He fancied himself a good performer. He remembered all the happy
faces, those with sparkler stick, and their foolish delight. This
excited him so that he awoke, only to be greeted by the blackness. He
began to move, in the old routine, back and forth in slow rhythm. He
raised his left leg and it made a slow arch through space. The he
repeated this with his right rear leg. He went on and on, his mouth
opening further each time, until there appeared on his face a stupid
grin. Behind those jagged, razor teeth and yellow eyes was a beast
too old to be sane.

Saturday, December 1, 2012

to get a good shine(three)

When night finally comes, Marcus steals into the dim moonlight for the
little green house down the way that belongs to his lover, cora. Cora
would give him a good shine. After he finds her, he announces himself
and approaches on her good, living side, that which still functions.
She sits all day and waits for him. She is old, fat and black as
coal, but she is sweet and willing. Her kisses taste of vinegar and
rotten fish. When she recognizes him, she stirs from a slumber and
reaches with her good hand. He helps her to her tiny bedroom and
raises her ruddy dress tail. She trembles, but not for him. The
source of his longing is a torrent of thought in his mind. Far away,
he is revisiting the scene of an automobile accident that killed
three. The blood and smashed glass were nearly enough to give him a
good shine, but he had caught a brief glimpse of a mangled body! It
had excited his senses as nothing else could.

to get a good shine(two)

Marcus took three hitchhikers in the afternoon swelter, stabbing the
life from each in the rear compartment of his four-wheel-drive,
watching it ooze out quickly at first, then trickling as the life
energy ebbed. One by one, he delivered them to the space underneath
his mobile home and fed them to Roy the gator. They were eaten in
several mighty bites. Afterward, he and Roy embrace-the huge gator
and the little man. Marcus beckons Roy: "tell once more that heroic
epic-the tale of they life after you departed your mother's loving
busom." Roy belches. Marcus thinks this was the remnant of the
second hitcher, the faggot actor. That one had shifty eyes, smoked,
and said he would be famous someday. Marcus had made him cry before
he succumbed to his fate.

Friday, November 30, 2012

to get a good shine

summertime: when satan's fiery breath holds the land and that burning
orb hangs on the horizon too long a time. The seemingly endless dusk
denies the promise of a sweet cool night. Leaves hang on the trees
limp, curled, depleted. The grass is fading from green to sickly
yellow. The flowers are suffocating. The petals are wilters. It the
heat lasts much longer, it will destroy everything.

Wednesday, November 28, 2012

indifference, second

blue green world/puts a chill in my spirit/impress me with
wonders?/not hardly, brother/blue green world/dust and water that it
is/universe/neath the swaying pines/think i got it all in my
head/makes it none more sensible/universe/got no answers for me....

indifference, a lyric

Damn flea/nip me again/i'll track down/your kin/damn flea/make me so
angry/dirty hyena/i see you circling/takes a pack/to make me
fall/dirty hyena/t'ain't scared at all/big ass bear/nosing round my
camp/thousand pounds rotten fish/wrapped in a dirty carpet/make me
hide in my tent/big ass bear/don't eat all my trail mix

Monday, November 26, 2012

today is another day

Grab some tequila and blue pills, then hit me in the face as hard as you can. This is gonna be...... good. I think of jesus. After his death the romans came to his tomb and moved the boulder in front of the door. As they entered they were saying to themselves "where is that insecure motherfu**er?!" The perplexity only lasted a moment, for Jesus was standing above them on the rocks with an assault rifle and big bucket of ammunition. As he unloading on the romans he shouted "and take that you roman honkey sissies." Then he proceeded to find Paul and hit him in the face with his belt buckle. I'm still trying to piece together my old discount store Easter tale. It will be good. It expressed the old rage, in a subdued manner. To Danica: You know you need to let me service your chassis. Wine country. Bath tub. Thank you and good night.