Saturday, October 01, 2005

New Born Off Hell

new born off hell

#1
Cry from the womb:
Fuck dammit apocalypse!
Stuptified way to begin
solid statement
not hidden in some
chamber of dark brass,
romance words or gloss.
Grit, dank, siren of shit!
no good feelin' shakes,
my dreams are t.v. style,
but too much to remember
in the morning.
Every step can be gruesome.
Clutch on to different takes
to accept the realization
that I will have the same eyes.
Life taker, faith healer,
bib maker, truth stealer,
comes in my mouth
and tells me to swallow
tomorrow.

#2
things are different now.
and i wondered
if i needed to change things
up
even more.

6p til 2a
and that energy was not needed.
keep on forgetting what
she told me in that office,
if caffeine was a good idea
if my sleeping patterns would change
if i could reach ejaculation as quickly
if i would feel nausea
if i would use the bathroom more often
or less
if the whole idea behind this was even
going to amount to anything
real at all.

i want to scratch my skull
with my own nails but i don't
think i can do it right now.

i'm in a car and entitled to
drive


but i don't know how.

a friend bummed on me
when i told her,
i knew i shouldn't have.

the plan was to not tell anyone,
but it seemed such a huge ordeal
that i should share.

but didn't i make a promise once
to not go out this far and nude?

is this still not me
did i not make this decision
on my very own
am i aware that one day i will leave it
behind
when i am able to sit still
and open the door alone
for
what goes through me

was it better to calm with devils
or gods or whatever the fuck people
choose to call being controlled?
these lines could turn into a trilogy of awful
coffee talk and ritual condolences
but i didn't take it there
i am not taking it there
because it is here
with me.

i never threw myself into a doctors arms
and begged.

i believe in
science and make up
and cranks and bolts
and bones and veins
and blood and memory
and spirits and visions
and living and dying
and picutres and black
covering light
and being left alone
then picked up to be
thrown down again and again and again.
no one has done this to me now
so why should i do this to them?

what i have inside
that science and make up
those cranks and bolts
those bones and veins
that blood and memory
those spirits and visions
those living and dying
and pictures and black
covering light
taught me to drop silent
and destroy.

i will do what i will to do to break this in half
and then that half in half
and then that half in half
and so on

#3
Knife Chase

"eat my shit and die
you piece of worthless fuck,
bought come product, give me attention
and stop tugging on your mother so much.
you're taking her away from me
and im too fat to get off my ass
to stop you.
the war fucked me up and so
did my father.
beat me straight into how
i'm killing you."
telephone down stairs
trunk through bathroom door
knife chase in Ashland district
hand on chil'd breast (switch to)
child's hand on man's back
nasty, oily, sweaty skin
don't know whether it was my
hand or hers
did he/me?
i'm blank
roll my head at night to find out

#4
Your mother's funeral
Remember we played hide and seek
1983 I think.
State St. haunted house.
Couldn't sleep with my legs
stretched out. Screamed into the dark.
Scared the demon would eat them.
I saw it a year earlier
in Louisville
Town house
big room
half tiger
half devil
blue
yellow
red
orange
vapor trail
floated around the bed
then I screamed for my mother
slept with her
then on her floor
until I was sixteen
years old.
afraid of satan
afraid of my father
Michael Jackson poster
on fire
in the pastor's attic.
work of natas
Natas
Eater of souls:
Soul eater.
i spent the 1980s
drawing pentagrams
and thinking of the
movie Witchboard
then blinking,
apologizing,
hoping it wouldn't come
to bite me back.
Your mother's funeral,
I told you god had a reason
but I was lying
because I don't know that.
Inside I believe you don't
know either.
The talk of the savior
was appealing for like a second.
Our old pastor
standing by the coffin.
Don't want to think abot
fucking christian bullshit.
Instead, us running around
in the yard that connected
ours and C's.
C and I fighting over who was your best
friend.
Me
best friend.
I won god dammit.
C's family was fucking nuts.
Jesus, they freaked me out.
He was at the funeral
and I handed him the crown
because C's dad didn't pull
some creepy shit on you.
Your mother's funeral.
Rode in the procession
with my mom nad her mom.
Daydream went through fifty-thousand
nightmares
as I pictured that fucking bitch
telling the other pricks during
easter play paractice that my
dad fucked around with you.
What
in
the
world
?
I
was
only
a
child.
Why
this
?
Why now and how am I
supposed to take this and make
it okay again> Fucking take it
and erase it all. What am I even
talking to?
Clear void
no angel/demon chaser
no screams or waster
no chairs toegether crying
just my hands clutching the birdneck
and demanding to be flown
back full circle. Won't take
no for an answer. Let tears
come and accept it. Know I am
of pure birth. feel that I must
forge a different kingdom.

Don't die from this
Leave the world by Living.

I will.

#5
blue/green friend

come out with
electric guitars
and tell me
to get this out
forget translation
get it out
throw corpses
into the crowd
no...
throw a crowd
into the corpse
bring life
into the fucking dead
whether
they know it
or
not

#6
trying to come
to grips with
everyone being
into various ways
of handling themselves.
does that shit you do
help you live better?
was i just a weakling
or are you hiding from something?
maybe it's just me

#7

back on raw.
thrift eraser,
poor scum:
never fixing
what i've spent.
same ol'
demon jaw
and an old
sack
of tears

3 Comments:

At 2:09 AM, Blogger stark pimp said...

FUCK IT UP MIKE T. NAT SACK 4 EV.

 
At 2:22 AM, Blogger stark pimp said...

So choice:

the war fucked me up and so
did my father.

telephone down stairs
trunk through bathroom door
knife chase in Ashland district

Michael Jackson poster
on fire
in the pastor's attic.


And now I'm going to have nightmares about Natas Kaupas. Fucking Thrasher magazine.

 
At 5:38 PM, Blogger wasabiwolf said...

Good style, Stark. 1982-1990-the best yet worse years of my life. When I write, it always comes from that time. Things have been good, at least since I got all that shit off my back.

slates,
personal guy

 

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