Wednesday, July 15, 2009

oh momma

your momma's cast iron skillet right off the burner fresh from flipping flapjacks and frying pre-dawn bacon sliding beneath the dripping faucet the lowland valley fog sizzles burns dissipates with the break of day with the break of god's loving glance her knowing wink that welcoming grin


sitting back in the town car speeding down the beautiful highway coming over the ridge relaxing in my post-sleep pre-consciousness looking out the window the morning sun rising over the east bay over san bruno mountain red orange yellow tequila sunrise goddamn don't you know i need a long slow seventies eagle's song fuck

down down down

looking out the window down upon the bay below airplanes skirt skip and soar up up up and away my driver big al he drones on he tells me that he couldn't live out near the beach where i park my sorry ass he couldn't exist survive thrive flourish he needs sunshine he needs warmth he misses san diego the outsidelands are too harsh on the flesh too hard on the soul

drones on and on like a see eye a robot jet sailing over the pakistani plains

al's a pussy he has more hair on his back than he does on his head he don't have the balls to face ocean beach much less embrace it i'm gonna buy me a gross or two of drab grey sweatshirts i'm gonna grab some crayolas draw me some cartoony curly cues looking like the foamy spray of breaking waves i'm gonna become the hippie with a silk screen in my garage gonna come up with a snappy caption or maybe just steal it from cleveland i ain't proud

the outsidelands
you gotta be tough

i'm gonna print 'em up i'm gonna sell a million of 'em to the tourists the ones who look at the travel brochures of sunny california the land of milk and honey blondes and bikinis and booty calls who come bouncing into san francisco in their bermuda shorts and gold's gym tank tops flip flops

the outsidelands
you gotta be tough

they learn oh so quickly survival being such a lovely human attribute the things we'll wear the things we'll eat the things we'll do

just to make it to another day

earlier this morning in the pale darkness of no longer night i walk up the hill gaze out over the water out onto kelly's cove i am a big ass baby seal moaning on the big seal rock can you hear me moan can you hear me do like i do when i do looking out over the water the pelicans diving diving splash no fucking jonathan livingston seagulls they no sirree

today we must eat tomorrow we sleep

perhaps for eternity

sliding into sutro baths dark dark pools of pigeon and gull guano while out on the big rock connected to the outsideland via a little spit of sand big old rock sitting out in the churning water

six rubber boot clad asian fishermen long poles aloft lines hanging hanging floating bouncing flouncing flitting in on above the surf oh the frying fish sizzle the fresh fish fly high

i feel the earth give way to water and the morning i give up

fuck me

i don't care i don't give a good goddamn i'm past it i've shat shaved showered scrubbed i'm preparing myself for the fondling fingers of our nation's best the bright eyed bushy tailed front line of defense protecting me from myself protecting me from others protecting others from me

i'm so dangerous
i'm so fucking covert
you better make a fuss
best know yo' worth

homeland security takes dey little penlights shines 'em down my throat looks in my ears tussles my hair frisks me lets their parts slither up and down and around my parts lets their latex covered hands cup my balls slide a finger up my ass wiggle it around make sure i got no explosives tucked up there


just be careful baby let me tell you don't you know i'm about to explode i'm about to make jism jihad all over your smooth skinned alabaster ass

fatboy slim is fucking in heaven


i had never seen a purple cow
i had hoped to never see one
til i sucked on that pipe
and that goddamned purple cow
came traipsing through my living room

because i just cannot get onto a plane these days without getting totally stoned out of my gourd its my own personal tea ess ay i mean there's fucking terrorists out there even brother orpheus can't decide whether or not to get rid of the color coded system

we're still in fucking orange for crissake

and the doors closed anyway wheels up in the event of a water landing the seat will serve as a floatation device some fat not phat man a distant cousin to jabba the hut he's in the aisle seat he smells like a french engineer i'm trapped in this sardine can but he's got a very nice coat nice blue silk lining too bad it won't fit me

i won't pummel him and run

until we get to new york

where mister singh drives me into the city under the river through the tunnel to the marriott marquis yeah i know i fucking hate this hotel but i'm a points whore they put me way up high on the forty second floor and they make me feel special call me sir don't yell at me if i taint the sheets and give me privileges that make me feel special

and it's late and i'm up here way way up here hotel room so high off the street that the flushing toilet going kavoosh sends a breeze around my ankles knees and balls kind of tickles i'm way up high purple cow high way up here just below the clouds on the forty second floor overlooking times square

standing in the window wish i had you in front of me i'd take you any way you'd give it

and i wake up to tv news commercials providing masturbatory fodder chic shaper bumpits shaveless razors big tits big hair smooth legs stroke stroke ah

black orpheus he throws out the first pitch for the world series he throws like a fucking girl he goes up and chats with the announcers he laughs he jokes he tells us we should relax enjoy the fucking game he's giving us

i thought you were going to be different i trusted you i thought you were going to come in and show us the other guys were wrong you talked a good game but you now walk like a faggot cruising the trail behind the beach chalet you got no balls you're a switch for any bruce with a buck i thought you were going to be different but you wiretap us you send more soldiers to any fucking place with a few muslim madmen just so you can claim a big swinging dick you give in to the insurance companies the banks the generals

well fuck you too

i switch the channels spongebob is pulling down eight billion clams per annum goddamn i love his square yellow faggot ass let's run off to vermont and marry

it's just another day sun rising in the big city

a walk a cab driven by another mister singh who yells at other cab drivers he honks waves his fist out his window threatening old blind ladies with limping three-legged seeing eye dogs while i sit on on a conference call talking like i'm in my office

there is no normal

we eat lunch a nouveau pork chop sandwich served by a skinny pale skinned goth with heavy hip black glasses black dress boots designed to pinch my balls between brass heel tips and marble floor and a tight grin that suggests she's crushed balls before she'll gladly do it again

i wax poetically about the glorious televised path upon which we traipse and follow hallowed be thy name thy kingdom come thy will be done in the ether as it was formerly done on your father's zenith forgive us this day our daily trespasses as we forgive those by fucking them up the ass with a thousand volts of electricity or worse a hundred fifty years in a north carolina prison

and my associates say amen

at which time i pay the wench sixty five dollars for three sandwiches three ice teas and a healthy dose of attitude i don't care i'm at peace with my time here on earth i would still fuck her simply for the notch on my belt

we are made for each other

and then it's chugga chugga choo choo penn station to thirtieth street philly beautiful summer day cock in hand lust on my mind not a cloud in the sky the trees zip by one after another one two three four more and more until we cross the delaware river like george hisself

i am george you may call me george i will surprise my hessian whore at home when if i ever find her bend her over the row boat in the icy river plant my flag call it glory

but for now i will fuck myself in the privacy of yet another marriott corner room gold elite different city the room is the same i am a creature of habit and comfort

i do the dirty old man's yoga stretch down and touch my toes kiss my own ass suck my own cock i can deep throat my entire ten inches

i run through the streets of philadelphia down the ben franklin parkway up the museum rocky steps i flip off the world continue down the river along the rowing houses young white studly men and women doing pushups on the dock while the river rocks their world i pick it up back round the other side of the museum back toward downtown

run round the love sculpture fountain couples cuddle on the marble benches holding hands doing the deep deep look into each other's eyes some they kiss some they whisper to each other little sweet nothings that i can't hear but i do i hear it all some that just sit smile reminisce about yesterday's fuck but this guy no not this guy he's looking at me or maybe away from her while she cries looking straight ahead long red hair freckles stained by salty streams

i want to offer her the solace she needs take and kiss her hand tell her it will be all right but i won't lie to her i won't try to feed her the pablum of disillusionment

the sky is falling

while the sun sets settles down over william penn the proprietor of pennsylvania he pisses on his city of brotherly love as jesus pisses on the pope


girlfriend she says that cynicism well she says that specifically my cynicism it simply plays into the man's game gives him what he wants says that i'm his bitch with my cynical self

girlfriend she says that optimism is a political statement that optimism is a change agent

well shit

she don't know she can't accept that cynicism is a survival technique i mean fuck don't you know we're all pelicans diving diving splash no fucking jonathan livingston seagulls we no sirree

today we must eat tomorrow we sleep

perhaps for eternity

big bright sun white sky camera obscura closed where ya gonna go where ya gonna go

osama obama oh momma we're still in the midst of the killing fields bang bang i will pray to any god that can stop this shit

and all that

1 comment:

drea said...

osama obama oh momma ...when do we get out of orange and back to green...?