Crust of a Gold’n Morn

Scum Suck, orphan of the Low Plains, sees the bauble fall and bounce and fall some more, down into the shit and filth of the gutter and he waits for the Fancy Man to pause in his saunter, take from his soft, white hand his walking glove and dip his shiny fingers in the muck to retrieve the golden trinket. But the Fancy Man continues on and talks and twirls without a care, though he must have seen it fall. He had been holding it but moments ago. Yet there he goes, into a solid house of brick and wood and out of the windy streets.

Scum Suck dodges dogs and dangerous dandies, kicks and chiding and spittle, until the bauble lies before him, twinkling beneath the gray water and floating excrement. His hands were created dirty and down they go, unperturbed. But he is not strong, not strong enough indeed to lift the weight of the bauble dropped by the Fancy Man, and there he is now as he has been forever, leaning over the gutter, staring into the sloshing refuse, refusing to let go of the shiny Shiny until his teeth fall out and his eyes blind over and his back locks up like a wooden doll.

Better that a dog chew off your arm at the elbow, little Scum Suck. There is freedom in a bleeding stump.

Goodbye, Roy

Roy looks down the graying street, unable now to look away. His blood feels heavy and slow compared to the crisp air moving about his face and lungs. 32 meters away, his ear picks up the beginning of the caw of a crow, a sound so irritating to Roy that he would normally have stuck his fingers in his ears to damn the vibrations from the black beak of that filth-winged devil.

However, his arms hadn’t worked since they fell off and rolled down the streets as if they were long bags of nothing, frolicking about in the errant breeze. One was stuck in the sewer grate in which he pissed the other night, stumbling home drunk, full of sloshing brains and weak morals. Roy didn’t like to think of himself like that, not now, not at the end of his time on the planet. He liked to think of happy things, like the fact that the neighbor lady was using his other arm to scratch her ass and finger herself with. That must feel nice. His fingers were nice and clean today.

It was everything else that was dripping with dirt and blood.


my god what is that sound
we’re being bombed!
by whom?
no time, no time! to the guns!
where should I point?
up up up at the moon for all I care just point and
fire and fire and fire and fire
until the stars themselves regret casting their light so forcefully upon our freedom!
i don’t see any flashes of light.
but don’t you hear the roaring of death? don’t you hear the screams of all of your friends? don’t you hear the grinding of the enemy?
oh I hear some things i suppose but see nothing but the quiet wind.
what are you, eyes? fire fire fire!
feel the flame and smell the track of the bullets
as they whiz by the clouds.

I believe I will just sit quietly until your tongue dries up.


The sign screamed HOGWASH with the voice of a child denied chocolate Santas on Christmas morn and the line forming on the highway caused concerned police helicopters to slice the air above the intersection and the more of a spectacle was made, the more the line grew. Having given up travelling at more than 3 miles an hour, I had been walking my steady pace down a minor road (leading to Somewhere, but not quickly, and Everywhere eventually, but only if you saw the long game) when I came upon the mess of metal and sweat and curses and noxious fumes.

One at a time, a car would enter the back gravel of a Denny’s parking lot, a place kept clear through sheer boredom, right back by the dumpster and the hobo fire. A large man, strength constantly blasting from beneath his ruby-red robes, would hoist a squealing hog onto a meat hook and crank a winch until the hog’s belly lined up with the front windshield of the vehicle. From his side he would unsheath a long blade emblazoned with a sneering sun and cut from the hog its life-blood, which would flow down the front of the car, into the hood. The humans inside would scream and vomit and tear each others’ hairs and the hierophant would laugh and toss the hog into the ditch on the side of the road.

I stood and watched and understood nothing of these modern religions.

Meditation : Preparation

For me, the water dripping from the rocks after a morning mist has risen over the ridge, warmed by the Sun as he awakens Earth with a radiated roar, feels like drugs to the head every time I crawl and lick around. I feel it first in the back of my throat, the breath of gods gathering in my lungs. My eyes will not open to profane this moment. My tongues goes numb with the deep coldness of the granite from which I cannot peel away. Not yet. Not until my legs fill with blood-fire. Not until I can summit the Throne of the Old One and knock to see if I might borrow a cup of sugar to bake a cake for the celebration of the crumbling of consensual reality.

But no one will come.

The Touch in the Teeth

I want to reach through this screen and pull out your teeth. Don’t you see it? The bulge of the pixels right about here. One finger popping through, transparent but of a form that tells an eye “finger”. Then you might see a few knuckle hairs waving as they spring back to complacency. You might notice as I part your lips, but would you care so much as to stop me? I know the last time a man came through your screen and touched you. It’s been too long. You were but a child and it was only your hair he played with.

I mean to rip incisors. Everybody knows that fairy pays double if the teeth aren’t yours.

An Erotic

“I can’t take you home with me.”
“No. I have a condition.”
“What do you mean?”
“I have a condition. And that’s all I can say. It was very nice meeting you.”
“Wait, don’t go. I happen to be a doctor of sorts. I’m not one to come out and say that to a stranger. You never know how they’ll react. But…I might be able to help you.”
Jeff smiled and laughed, then tugged off his belt and let her peek inside where something resembling a leech, but many times larger and covered in a thick, translucent film undulated against the inside of his shorts.
“My god.”
“So, doc, ever seen one of these?”
“Yes. Like I said before: my god. We have worshiped the Old Worm since time began. I have prepared myself.”
Before Jeff could say anything, she got a hold of her lips and ripped backwards, tearing open her mouth. As the blood welled up and spilled into her throat, a blackness rose, the same blackness of the starless night in the depths of Hell, and she took his cursed member into her mouth and when she began to suckle, the Old Worm detached from his spine, leaving him on the floor, bleeding from the hole where his leech cock had been. As he faded, he saw the Old Worm crawl into the woman’s mouth, back towards home.

Horoscopes: II

Scorpio, you will be called up to defend the Earth from strange, marshmallow, mushroom men from beyond the moon. Don’t fuck it up. Those things are really gross.

Sagittarius, remember: if you had three hands,¬†you could mediate your own arm wrestling matches. Then you’d be doing something.

Capricorn, I can only assume that you were behind the invention of candy corn. Goddamn you to hell.

Aquarius, the velvet cape you recently purchased was stolen from a dead man and will allow you to enter the Underworld, where everyone will snicker at what a dandy you’ve become.

Pisces, your muscles bulge with the power of many oxen and yet you remain standing there, waiting for me to take out the trash.

Aries, the trees have been whispering against you. Luckily, they’re just fucking trees. Go about your business.

Taurus, a man in a beige overcoat will ask you for a piece of chewing gum. Run away screaming about bloodless eyes and webbed fingers. This will alarm him and help cull his nasty habit of spitting gum on the sidewalk.

Gemini, today you are a man. Sorry about that, ladies. It will be weird at first. Try not to pee everywhere.

Cancer, there is no excuse for your behavior. Return the gorilla to the zoo and return the cowboy hat to the country-western boot store.

Leo, your skeleton will begin to dream its own dreams. Do not be alarmed. They will mostly be about driving race cars and drinking martinis in Italy.

Virgo, you will finally invent a thinking-feeling robot. Thanks for dooming us all, asshole.

Libra, you will begin to disappear. First your fingers. Then your toes. That’s really it. You will be completely functional. Just wear some shoes and a light liner glove and no one will ever know.