16.8.06

Las Vegan Opus

Entuum
Dry heat,
No fucking dry heat when you get supracento
my familiar friend.

My body crushed into oil slick,
My wet back, not a racist term, but a moist behind-myself,
showed through my white t-shirt but I am fishing for compliments-

My hairline crystallized like an old
salt-scummed ball cap,
a white psoriatic akin to winter piss, drying so fast-

My eyes drag low,
but slyly they will elbow in line and steal water for
a last goozy sheen-

and my organs
my internal
my vital

My organs were the worst, goddamnit,
those waves of refracted light nearer and nearer
as the sun argled and bargled,
dig- He was tired, plodding his overweight, it looks bigger there,
instantly bigger there,
His overweight ass up the sky until the refraction was on top of you-

Listen.
Dry heat,
No fucking dry heat when you get supracento.

Sometimes the Scary White Thing isn't a Rapist
a last goozy sheen over my eyes-
is it alright? -Listen again.
a last goozy sheen over my eyes-
is it alright? -Listen again.
a last goozy sheen over my eyes-
is it alright? No. It isn't.
a last goozy sheen over my eyez-
Crazy eyez killah don't eat pussy, but he certainly knows how to
end a line.
do a line.
Bump bump bump goes cocaine in the night.

---Telephony Conference Minutes (Free Audio Sample Included!)---

Regarding Investigation of Continued Violations of 18 USC 115 § 2385 within certain pseudo-terrorist organizations in the Midwestern United States; The following is a transcript of Subject describing possible locations for fomenting unrest.

---(Start Free Audio Sample Now! Official Transcript and Audio Sample redacted per Executive Order ****/**) ---


From: *********** <”LAST MAN ALIVE”>

To: ************** <”OFFICIOUS KING LEAR”>
Date: **/**/****

Void the Finn: **** feels like she is in a harem sometimes, but I couldn't pay attention to that because the man with the flash photography reminds me of a predictable lightning storm and I'm looking for rain today. He flashes, like an old letch among the bookshelves that **** wants put in jail but I stand up for him, solidarity for the misunderstood-

Unknown respondent (#4.5564): Pedophile?

Void the Finn: No, no, pedophile, no he's not a pedophile. She was of age, he's a flasher. But I also can understand the bookstacks and how lonely and bored they must get without the occasional genital pulled from beneath a long brown coat, I stand for that also, for the pleasure, mixed with fear, aided by violence though it is, but when this nation will cut off your **** for dream fodder, amputated decadence certainly, but at least they'll hang you from the wall after mutilation...I forgot where I was going, I just identify with flashers.

Unknown respondent (#4.5564): Morbid.
--end of Conversation 4/24/99 Vol. ***.**--

Vlad the Finn: I've always wanted to say something got trampled like civil rights, but after thinking of the phrase I've realized that I never refer to something getting trampled like anything so it has fallen into disuse...unuse. Accept that will, my father said, except that will I see a lawn with a path dug from little sneaker heels, they who are so often chided because the grasseeed is laid down perennially, and again and again the little heel's heels make inroads toward a ***** by forty dirt patch and his human sprouts, he doesn't call them that- I shouldn't either, I don't know them well enough –

Unknown respondent (#4.5569): No. They deserve more than that, I've always said so.

Vlad the Finn: Regardless, and let me clear that I don't consider your opinion to be a valid mark of morality, excepting that I reserve the right, but I just can't be bothered with it all the time like I am.

Unknown respondent (#4.5569): Hang ups.

Vlad the Finn: Are you still there?

Unknown respondent (#4.5569): Yes.

Vlad the Finn: Alright, so **** wants a picture of you for internet predators-

Unknown respondent (#4.5569): I said Hang ups. Like. You have some about your phrase.

Vlad the Finn: Are you there?

Unknown respondent (#4.5569): Yes, I'm here.

Vlad the Finn: so **** want-

Unknown respondent (#4.5569: You keep thinking I'm hanging up, but I'm only saying Hang up. Not actually hanging up. Phones don't even say hang up when someone hangs up, it's more a click.

Vlad the Finn: Really?

Unknown respondent (#4.5569): You've never been hung up on?

Vlad the Finn: Ceaselessly interrupted maybe, but no, I guess I haven't. I always assumed they would let you know when someone wasn't on the line anymore. Do people miss the click?

Unknown respondent (#4.5569): Miss? When I'm in my darker places, self-flagellating like, I guess.

Vlad the Finn: So they'll just keep talking? If they're especially riled, they'll just shout for hours unstopped?

Unknown respondent (#4.5569): No, a pulsing tone comes in after a few dozen moments, let's you know the bad news. But for those moments, I guess, you're yelling at the plastic receiver, really giving it hell.

Vlad the Finn: I'll have to think about that. Later though, perhaps you don't grasp what I'm getting at her. Alright, so **** wants a picture of you for internet predators that she exchanges e-mails with, for to give them knowledge of her swarthy brute who will beat off any suitors. That's it, not with anything, just beat off, I said it and I'll stand by it- An aside- a further aside within the aside. I've turned to hyphens over the parentheses lately. I'm not sure why, other than the aesthetic reasons that a swift piratic slash seems so much cooler, but that raises the slash/// I'd use it, honestly, but I'd feel like a poet and people would read my stuff- a further aside within the aside ha. Read. end of aside- incredibly stilted-like and without mumbling, mumbling being my favorite part of a good read. I read like old Marlon Brando, drunk and swinging, with a meat hook in my hand and an honest union on my mind end of aside - whenever I say something wrong, I feel inclined to own it, either by justifying it as right or by accepting it and me were wrong but there isn't anything we can do to change it. It comes from Wheel of Fortune which I think I've mentioned, but I've never given the back-story. When I was a child, I was employed in an accounting firm process receipts and building tax havens but I was found lacking. Tax write-offs meant nothing and I had an ideological bias toward a progressive system, terrible stuff that, so I was sent to the shed where they kept the tools and told to mow the neighborhood. Raised catholic, I knew a penance when I saw one and if I could bullshit my way through hail-mary's and our-father's and acts-o'-contrition in fear of an almighty deity, I could certainly bullshit mowing for these lowly capitalist lapdogs. And so, I was a poor mower, disinterested, lazy, but best of all a peep. Not a pervert kind of peep, but anything to distract me from the mowing, to drag my punishment into an infinite string of miniscule inconveniei. The neighborhood was befouled with decrepit buildings and their similarly upkept inhabitants. Cheap neighborhood rent meant squatting bemidst low-slung apartments for social-security widowees, who were only just above the disease-ridden standards to be generously enhomed. The corner building, the only one besting three stories, echoed fractiliad game shows at high volumes. I could climb into a small calcuttan hole with webs and beetles and prop myself in an unvisioned, no more fake words no more fake words, angle, trying to catch the hints as they reverberated through the thin glass and this one, the only one I remember, the puzzle clearly called for a Y or something like that and the woman said W, oh no, Y, just a slip of the tongue and clearly caught it before anyone told her but Sajak, that cocksucker, he told her he had to take the first thing she said. Why, I thought, I mean you can have some leeway can't you, if it isn't a momentary blanking out of the brain, years later when I found out that Sajak and Merv Griffen were both republicans and fucking capitalists, that moment flashed in my brain and I wonder why I had ever imagined different. But that stuck with me. end of aside - But I just want a picture of **** for my mother to see, something far more wholesome and beautiful. The wholesome and beautiful aspect had me afeared, that used to be a real word, I didn't make it up, like always so we tried to make a hideous one and **** came out looking like one of those obese big-faced girls, foreheads all akimbo and only friends with other fat people so that no matter how charming they were destined to be, the excess weight was encouraged with tales of self-esteem and nature's intended folds and the rights of the superhuman to sit in human sized chairs. Wait a minute. Is that the click–
--end of Conversation 6/16?/04
Vol. ***.**--

Unknown caller (#4.5567): You know I have a weight issue, right?

Vlad the Finn: How big?

Unknown caller (#4.5567): Not huge, but big-ish. I just wondered if you knew, because every once in a while I can hear that you're skinny and you probably want me to be too. But I'm not.

Vlad the Finn: Not relatively, but objectively, using pounds or kilogram or stone, even more exotic, I'll figure it out, but I just want to know.

Unknown caller (#4.5567): ********************************
*******************************

Vlad the Finn: That borders on huge. Certainly past big-ish. But Wow. I didn't mean the self-esteem crack, not toward you and I didn't mean that you were a charmless obese shell of a person. You're not. But then again, you weren't raised fat.

Unknown caller (#4.5567): I was raised fat. Children wouldn't associate with me unless they too were of a "ludicrously inhuman" size, you said that, which was the first time I noticed your bias, and I was friends, well not friends because your assessment that they're the same vapid but a different shade is pretty close, they just spent their junior high talking about candied fruit and processed sugar-cakes instead of ******* someone off or eating some guy's ***************** because his girlfriend wouldn't. But the people I spent my youth around were also large women.

Vlad the Finn: You're not mad that I made large gener- broad generalizations about the obese or drew up sociological implications toward you with little to no factual basis having never actually known an obese up close, using only their physical appearance to judge their intellect?

Unknown caller (#4.5567): I'm deeply hurt, but I love you so I bear it like Christ would have if he was fat and in love with you.
--end of conversation 6/22/04
Vol. ***.**--

aVoid the Finn: Hello?

Unknown respondent (#4.6399a2): Hello. -

aVoid the Finn: wait! this is my list of interjections! (e.g. aj ph, wow, cor (BrE)) Cor! Cor! We've not seen it or sent it, right? Not yet, this year at least.

Unknown respondent (#4.6399a2): I haven't, to my knowledge. Well, perhaps words cut in half by interruption, or stepped over words, or what if I accidentally meant to say apple core marine corps hardcore but unknowingly I really said apple cor marine cor cawcacacawcaw. Nobody noticed, of corss, so I think we’re clean.

aVoid the Finn: I think it's a good thing, because it would have been an awkward conversation, if ever an accidental cor were to accidentally interject itself into conversation. They can tell the difference between corpcorehardcore and an ill-begotten “cor”, well, imagine my mother, already imagining a foreheaded troglodyte coming and squatting on her thanksgiving dinner, hears you shouting, shouting crow noises?

Unknown respondent (#4.6399a2): Cor! Cor! Caw caw caw cor!

aVoid the Finn: My mother doesn’t really like the British. She make late-night television quality jokes about their food and boiling everything, and I say, shut up, Ma, I always say, reiterating that I'm an American, the flag burned into my flesh…

Unknown respondent (#4.6399a2): Burned?

aVoid the Finn: No, not burned, I'm afraid, (VtF, VltF or aVtf [******* is unsure of which is really on the phone at any given time and if they are even different people] is not suggesting in the previous phrase that he is afraid of burning flags, but instead using a colloquial term insinuating apprehension about Unknown respondent [#4.6399a2]'s reaction) I Don't Burn Flags, I Burn Fascists.

Unknown respondent (#4.6399a2): No, you don’t. I’ve seen you burn dozens of flags, little ones too, right in the hands of parade-enjoying little sprouts who just wanted candy not some anti-imperial fireworks show, and yet, yet! Nary a fascist. In all the years I’ve known you, fascist could walk past with impunity that you would not light them ablaze. Maybe some “corcor cacawcaw” but that’s it.

aVoid the Finn: I say nasty things about the Queen.

Unknown respondent (#4.6399a2): Thus a reflection of your low-born class and your giant pussy. An 80 year old woman, an ocean away.

aVoid the Finn: (VtF, VltF or aVtF begins an insulting and poor Cockney accent, slowly moving back to his native tongue.) I'm afraid not but we have a prime minister, we build our constitutions around intentional weakness and *******, a monarch, in fucking twenty-aught-six, and no boiled beef jokes, Ma, why rely on repetition, Ma, I start to get into a bit and then I really cook, Ma, but then, after doing every night I start to get real drug with it man, forget it, Ma, I tell her, the deeper joke, the reason for thinly pasted horse faces and their pre-enlightenment fish brains is the documented and shocking incest of island peoples, those crabby-handed almond-eyed-

Unknown respondent (#4.6399a2): How does one explain the dark smiles and rumbling physiques of the Hawaiians and South Pacifists?

Vlad the Finn: with Lenny Bruce jokes, like Whale Rider, featuring Pablo Escobar! Also starring... don-dondondon wa waaa, like a Harpo marx thing, dig-
--end of conversation 00/00/00 ///transcript from recording in progress///


/// In Las Vegas, the dominant genre o' music is Smooth Jazz. For hours, it sits, unmusically, just around, like a soup. When it comes from the television, it is accompanied by a graphic system that relates blurry pictures of the artist performing this particular piece, but sometimes with a collection of famous (or infamous…are there infamous smooth jazz performers, with pasts and wild tales to relate in their not-wailing guitar solos) smooth jazz artists, I guess implying that it all sounds the same so why not put a bunch of random unrelated heads on the screen. Also, incredibly specific facts, favorite foods, height, birthplace, semi-famous distant relatives and ancestors, etc., flash across the screen so if watch long enough you will become close to these strangers, close enough to recite childhood memories and pet names and the obscure professors that formed them from talented musicians to bland tonalists. It was only my fascination with the psyche of the smooth-jazz-graphic-system-designer that kept me afloat in the swirl, but it was so foreign to me at some points that I actually began to sink into it, or at least a form of it, and my vision would blur for a moment and flash, the screen would change. No longer was it Smooth Jazz, but now it was Smoove Jazz, someone was making Joey Lawrence references inside the Las Vegas cable system but I didn't just giggle, I paid close attention because this smelled of a fish in the ceiling, this was- I giggled to myself, thinking how lucky I was to see the breakdown of something so unmovable as the union of smooth jazz and corporate cable- this was a pissed-off soon-to-be-ex employee fiddling with the minor bits no one would notice, possibly forever, Wikipedia through vandalism.

A few hours later we had a dinner reservation for a nice restaurant and I only had shorts. I grew so angry that I blacked out and had to piece the evening together through surveillance camera footage, witness statements and an extensive but lenient police report. The news of my shorts-coming sent me flanging wildly to the screen which was then turned off. A complex of remotes slowed my berserk'd actions but once I found my way to the station and the bigheaded white man who would appear despite not being the artist of any song I watched in my experiment, perhaps the father of Smooth Jazz? Callers, let me know if you know the answer, after the break.

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So, I nestled my cheek to the static screen, pouring the logo, still Smoove Jazz, into my re----s and refused to be moved. Tables were turned, not metaphor tables but ones holding computers and copies of Jazziz, the official magazine of the Smoove Jazz channel, I'm not fucking kidding you, look it up. Hours later I awoke, still fretting about my inappropriate pant wear but in a more passive way, a usual infantile whininess that I can get about me. I found that it was all a dream, the smoovieness, the fish-smuggling worker, I might as well admit that prior to that I had a full-fledged relationship with him, I knew his favorite foods, height, birthplace, semi-famous distant relatives and ancestors, etc... his childhood memories and pet names and professors who. But he wasn't real and I know that now, and I know that in spite of everything I did, there really isn't anything at all interesting about the Smooth Jazz channel. Or Joey Lawrence Jokes.

This next paragraph should be about the smooth jazz with a reference to Joey Lawrence and his Smoove Groove. This paragraph should after that, to truly document the experience for the reader, while not ruining the surprising juxtaposition.

-In Las Vegas, the dominant genre o' music is Smoove Jazz.

Italic Peninsular-Hyphenate

Ubtro to rid Italicies:
Ubtro, long-doc is too old for the Ubtro to make any difference- font size 10 font size 10 font size 10 the fucking font size is a joke, it ignores me and sits at font size 12 please generous font master why don't you rape me Neo-Roman style, fascist mailmen riding at 10, 8, even 6 hyphenate hyphen don't believe-don't-don't-don't believe the hyphen hyphen like the spelling game but comma but comma but comma but comma period what is the grammatical term for the lesser hyphen misstep than sign comma anyone question mark lesser hyphen misstep than sign sigh sign ed note: sic sic sic-o greater hyphen misstep than sign

This next paragraph should be about the smooth jazz with a reference to Joey Lawrence and his Smoove Groove. This paragraph should appear after, to truly document the experience for the reader.

1 comment:

Justice Rare said...

Hold on, that ain't no elevtor you're stepping onto, that's a ROLLAR COASTER, Just...just drop a train on my head, painting pictures ain't nothing like writing songs, he's cooking now, stand back grab a drink, grab 10, grab your crotch and stuff it in your friends backpack or nap sack or phanny pack or camel toe, whatever the case maybe, they all stared at the screen in absolute wonder, awe, and confusion. Was that retarded or brilliant they whispered to each other, all wanting to be hip. Some bottle neck fairy stood up and started clapping uncontrolablly, and the bull neck drummer threw his tubs on the floor and began chasing the "man" towards the exit. Frantically the bull chased the bottle until the entire gymnasium was lost in utter panic and disillusion. They lived for this moment, no I mean...this moment...yeah THIS moment...no no no...no that, i mean...right,yeah,THIS moment...they lived it for you, now return the favor.