ABOUT THE AUTHOR: KU SHI My 10 Fav Defintions (and a context of my framework) by official ku shi's cult of personality love :affection, attraction, passion, sex,attachment, enthusiasm, needing attitude, :a position, a manner, a posture, a feeling, a disposition, or hostility, and arrogance responsibility, :ability or authority to act on one’s own without supervision commitment, : a pledge, engagement, obligation, promise, involvement, confinement discipline, :self control, systematic method, state of order, set of rules, branch of knowledge focus, :clarity, main interest or activity, narrow attention, concentration, clear perception decision making, :controlling an outcome, doing what is best, discouraging creativity or individual responsibility, closure, resolution, settlement, judgment, change of mind, choice, pick, selection, rejection, accepting alternatives, declining options compassion, :awareness of and the relieving of suffering generosity, :liberality or fairness in giving, nobility or humanist in thought and behavior, amplitude or making one full, abundance or overflowing wealth and affluence/a great amount of materials, freedom from pettiness in character and mind respect, :relativity, and appreciativeness The name of Darion gives you a clever, quick, analytical mind, but you suffer with a great deal of selfconsciousness, lack of confidence, and much aloneness because of misunderstandings. :Original, Bright, Genius, Proving truth by reason, Socially ill Your idealistic and sensitive nature gives you a deep appreciation for the finer things of life and a strong desire to be of service to humanity. :Noble, Starry-eyed, Visionary, Romantic, Rarefied There are times when you experience inner turbulence at your inability to say what you mean. :Violent, Disorganized, Restless, Agitated, Sadistic
It is far easier for you to express your deeper thoughts and feelings through writing than verbally. :Significant, Poker-faced, Suggestive, Allusive, Forcible You find pleasure in literature, in poetry, and in your ideals and will turn to them when you feel you have been misunderstood. :Well-read, Scholarly, Intellectual, Formal, Learned You are deeply moved by the beauties of life, especially nature. :Impressive, Dazzling, Stunning, Excellent, Beneficial Because your feelings run deep, you must guard against the ups and downs, being very inspired one minute, then moody, reserved, and depressed the next. :Gloomy, Dark, Saturnine, Angry, Down in the mouth Your reactions to people vary according to how you feel. :Non-participating, Apathetic, Inactive, Slow-moving, Lazy You tend to be secretive and noncommittal about private matters, yet at times you will talk effusively in order to hide your self-consciousness or to lead others away from personal subjects. :Closemouthed, Tightlipped, Cryptic, Deep, Reserved You are inspired by encouragement from others, yet suspicious of their intent. :Glorious, Elysian, Divine, Brilliant, Enthralling You crave affection but seldom find anyone who understands your nature. :Poor, Demanding, Deprived, Penniless, Destitute Physical weaknesses would show in your heart, lungs, or bronchial organs. :Tear-jerking, Delicate, Weak, Unhealthy, Bloodless
otsefinaM by official ku shi's law -
To the Semi-intellectual (on Need, Motives, and Losing Face) “One body of order, one end of time.” Paragraph (PG) 1: Earth is where people kill to make a living. And some people think they are better than other people. But I’m not like them. PG2: No I’m nothing like these characters i see today, selling booze to drunken drivers, selling drugs to teenagers, sharing H.I.V. with sexual partners. No, I’m nothing like those characters. But those are just the people i see in my life everyday. Who i don’t see are worse. The military, police, criminals, rapists, and murderers. For me, those guys are the scum of the earth. Without military, there might not be world peace but there’d certainly be more peace. Criminals and police go together like peanut butter and jelly, so both sides need to put their guns away. Rapists and murderers are both the loneliest of men, and they should’ve been aborted. So, i’d say lack of birth control is to blame for society’s greatest ills. PG3: For those whom hate to bite their tongue and love to argue, what could be greater: poverty? I have never, i repeat, never heard someone in poverty complain about their welfare-they may complain about violence, racial profiling, and family dysfunction-but i never heard otherwise. The ones complaining about
someone else’s’ poverty are the guys in suits i see on television, saying they need this and that but those ghetto or white trash people can speak for themselves. Personally, i’d be more satisfied in a trailer park then i am in my current situation in a twin home in the suburbs. PG4: In Chicago, i can’t speak on what it’s like to be a scholar, a doctor, a lawyer, or a politician, but i know first-hand that there’s lack of trust for these self-proclaimed leaders. When murderers are in my neighborhood, a scholar can’t console me. When a family member is shot, a doctor can’t calm me. When i’m jumped by a gang of men, a lawyer can’t save me. And when i retaliate with anger, a politician can’t blame me. PG5: I think people need enough rope to hang themselves. Increasing food stamps to include clothing, home, and utilities with a separate debit card for enjoyment will naturally eliminate the weaker of the species. Those who love drugs, won’t be stealing from their employers. Those who seem addicted to sex won’t need to sell their bodies to survive. A society such as this, will provide everyone the truth by seeing who the real criminals are, out in the open and free. Instead, of picking up a history book at the library which is dated and false, kids will see, parents will see the effects of absolute freedom on those who don’t deserve it. i am against jails. i think its a way to hide someone that i am scared of. i am not scared of no man but i think when a criminal is outcast, the effects are always adverse. Whether its incarceration or social exclusion, criminals act out then hide out. its hard to admit to my fragile human mind, but more criminals than we know , get away. Saying to them, that smoking pot is like cigarettes, or shooting heroin is like a daily beer, it trains them to believe that what they are doing is right, they don’t need to hide, and they can come out of the closet. i frankly think the rise of homosexuality is nature’s way of dealing with overpopulation. Long term, their homosexual behaviour will not last, nor will it help the human species in whole. But to me, a drug user, a drug pusher, a LGBT member, a drug addict, a killer, a domestic and sexually abusive man are all in the same group because they are destructive to an equal culture, i believe in universal direction and if the lifestyle can’t work totally then by reason, it is dysfunctional. One man, one woman, sober, is my definition of a long term romantic relationship; anything else one is doing is just showing off and attention-seeking. So, i am against suicide with a gun or any other deadly weapon, but if these attention-junkies, dope-junkies, and secretly lonely people want to kill themselves, sooner or later, then let them do it naturally and in public for all to see. This way, doesn’t require authority, only a change of mood toward fruits (marijuana, heroin) and plants (ecstasy, cocaine). PG6: I know i don’t need school because it’s expensive (20,000 a year). i know i don’t need a car because it’s expensive (20,000 total), and my corner store sells hot-dogs. Working for a living never appealed to me. i think men, should live for a function. And a good function. I think selling drugs, whether legal or illegal by current standards, to provide for my family is not a good function. Nothing should be sold anyway, but given. In this day and age, there is enough financial abundance and historical pleasure to start giving more with no strings attached. Today, divorces are statistically high because individuals change on a daily basis. i have to deal with that. Instead of having so many reasons to break up, take religion out of the marriage, and make jealousy the only reason to break up over. If your main-squeeze, not your husband, is jealous of seeing you eat food with another man, dump him or change him. Say it with me, dump him or change him. This doesn’t mean love less, or be two-faced, it means i have boundaries, i don’t need a priest or parent to help me with this, and i’m serious. When guys come to expect this kind of treatment throughout a romantic relationship he’ll always be on his toes, buying flowers , and remembering every anniversary because he knows his main-squeeze is not taken for granted and he is not the king of attractive , well-mannered men. The main point, is to keep him feeling challenged, and to keep you interested in the here-and-now. In this world, men will bring in the open their mistresses and side-hustles with no shame. Women can speak openly about traditionally hidden feelings about ex’s, boyfriends, and prospects with honesty (not pride) leading all the way to the bedroom. Personally, i think the bed is overrated. i think the more sex had in foreign places, the better and more satisfying the relationship, but that’s me.
Part Two: “Man domesticated and institutionalised for the sake of his inferior sex is a travesty of justice.”
PG7: Everyday, men are turning 18 and 21 and they don’t realise that all you ingest circulates and even mutates your semen. Yes, the alcoholic’s cum is more acrid and sour to the Steve Jobsian fruitarian. So, the sweeter the better. But that, might be a lesser problem to the age of majority. 18 is far too high for certain allowances. It makes no sense at all from an anti-school standpoint. When someone wants to have sex, and their mate agrees, they shouldn’t be held accountable to a third-party called assholes. If i’m past puberty, or before puberty, it’s my body, not yours. i repeat, it’s my body, not yours. If a baby is born and its first words are, “Tobacco,” give that baby a cigarette! Same stance, for drinking. My first experience with liquor was dry gin before i reached age 13. It was so hot, unquenching, and bothersome, i didn’t drink liquor again until a few years in high-school. My point is the drinking of it may cause the effect many parents want anyway. i’m aged 23 now, and i drink a 6 pack of american beer a month and a hard drink once or twice a year, so i turned out splendid. PG8: Kids don’t need school. Everything the teacher has read, the kid could read, if they want to. that’s one of the hugest problems parents need to face today. If the child says no, to force them is the raping of their personality and individuality. If the parent cares so much about what strangers think, to the child’s detriment, what confidence will the child have? The child will be less creative, less satisfied, and obnoxiously self-conscious, and with self-consciousness comes anxiety, obsessions, fidgeting, and shortened breathing. In this way, looking at traditional development strategies, parents are smothering their children to death. Sad, but true. I’m surprised more parents of teenagers don’t get in fights with police. Parents are all ready to take the side of the random guy who says that he’s authority than they are to take sides with their own children! This is outrageous to me. PG9: Whats authority, anyway? Tabula Rasa. Authority is nature to me. To you, it might be doctors, police, politicians, etc. These guys dont owe you anything, but do you owe them after seeing them? Seems like an unfair relationship. What are you paying for? Maybe you went to school for not quite as long as them, so maybe its education. So they bought more books and took more debt. Thanks to services like Amazon.com, those books are available to you and debt is for losers. Police yourself. Doctor yourself, when you can. But most certainly, govern yourself. If i give my freedom away to a guy in a suit on television begging for votes, then i didnt deserve freedom or life because my life is my freedom. i repeat , my life is my freedom. A candidate would have a better chance getting my vote if he were wearing american blue jeans, american t shirt, and american trainers which he would even be more comfortable in. In comparison to the last 44 presidents of the U.S., when i go out in public wearing sweatpants, a hoodie, and flips flips, i represent humanity, equality, and honesty better than them. As a poor man, watching television, why would i vote between two millionaires which i would like to cut my paycheck? Instead, i say fuck the candidates asking for money and fuck the businesses offering to buy my leisure time especially when the owners of said businesses are already rich, wealthy, and better off. PG10: Being reasonable, when an owner gets progressively richer, the prices of his products should repeatedly drop lower, That is equality. Inflation makes no sense, socially. And credit makes no sense, racially. A bank is the kryptonite to society’s superman. Charging an interest rate on a fictional or symbolic currency is one of the worst crimes known to man. The worst crime as the creation of a gun with the intention of killing a human being. Who do you trust? I HAVE NO NAME I HAVE NO BIRTHDATE I AM WHAT I AM BEFORE TIME AND AFTER TIME THERE IS ME.
I AND I. ONLY.
My New World Order by official ku shi's economy -
Me Party Manifesto For: Employment Conscription/job draft, based on need Constitution: needs radical editing and deleting of extensive legislation records to make laws kid-friendly and simple ( representing equality) Legislating free money: takes away corruption like bribes, extortion, embezzlement, patronage, nepotism, cronyism, and criminal enterprise like drug trafficking, money laundering, kickbacks, and unholy alliance. Universal: social security, new energy/oil, renewable energy, medicare/aid, welfare, medical marijuana, and healthcare, poverty protection, and unemployment rights Debt/deficit is eliminated by freeing money Affirmative action should be detached from race issues and attached to instate job draft (with republican overwatch) Budget/taxes will become revolutionised: free money (anarchist overwatch) Campaign/Reform: All prescription drugs become over-the-counter drugs by mandate or petition, religions become illegal (atheism provides more mental health benefits), legislation should always be consensusbased (sociocracy) Labor unions/businesses/jobs: partners for job conscription Economy: freeing money will be permanent stimulus Education: students should choose their classes, high schools should provide campuses and housing, students should get free stuff, making no babies/antinatalism should be encouraged during enrollment, grants should be approved for everyone and homeschooling rights will not be stigmatised the pre 2010′s system of non-free money: causes racism, human trafficking, and class struggle free insurance brings everyone peace of mind, and alcohol should be subsidized by government somehow, NASA should be privatized to make the program a non-government problem free money: eliminates rape and crime homeland security, courts, police, prisons, war and debt are a waste of human life and should be of man’s utmost concerns marriage should be illegal open trade, open-trade is fair
Healthcare: self education should be expected, self medication shouldn’t be ridiculed, and help of friends should be idealised Immigration: if the shoe fits, wear it, or, eliminate border security freeing food stamps gives everyone food security and trust in authority free money: takes away profiling free press: takes away discrimination and stigma, guilt, and shame on permanent government shutdown: we don’t need federal congress and employees, only computer programmers, technical designers, and paper-money printers no U.N. is necessary if every nation doesn’t meet consensus work on peace, and eliminating borders everywhere should be public sector except authorized bedrooms the individual should be seen and considered as sovereign property ownership is risking violence to protect supposed property the state should continue to be authoritarian under competent executives abandon historical treaties, agreements, wars, and conflicts to look forward instead of enforcing contracting science (natural) and technology (coding) may need to be compulsory school education abortion: do it yourself or have friends do it (with democrat oversight) crime/death/drugs: refer to nokilling.org euthanasia: refer to nokilling.org, and familiarize yourself with consistent life ethic Pro first amendment, free speech, internet (open) On discrimination: Gay rights/human rights should be secured and free lawyers should be provided talking to god, and prayer should be illegal Int’l trade: freeing import/export increases peace guns: throw them all away and manufacture no more environment: manson, and Jackson worried about this but I don’t (with schizophrenic oversight) foreign relations: one language consensus is best even if it’s new/original pro int’l aid Guantanamo like situations: talk to terrorists to see how’d they like domestic and foreign matters to be settled Cuba: help if we can
China: arrange import-workers program because many Americans won’t work Syria: we’re here when it’s over with Iran: war or peace should be decided swiftly to hurry this post-capitalism revolution Israel: we should initiate a last historical war if they don’t stop religiosity, but political leaders should actually lead their troops like George Washington Life will be as if everyone has won the lottery collectively under this new system
MNWO2 by official ku shi's Law If I were president, anyone could call me. I’d answer my phone for a living with no brand loyalty. A blackberry, an iphone, an android, an ipad, a google nexus and chromebook would be all mine at the least and I’d have assistants with their phones and mine to never miss one call. Voice-mails would be acceptable anyway. The youth today lack luster because they can’t see the way for all the lies, half-lies, and mystification in the way. The befuddlement of us (as in all whom are not them) is in the worst of times since all the time that I have seen. I wouldn’t go overseas, I’d go to the ghetto and diffuse the crime with political excellence. In ten thousand years, there hasn’t been social inventiveness the likes of mine. Human rights is off to sluggish crawl of a start. LGBT will do anything but fight for freedom. Anarchists are divided. And atheists risk being hung like that jesus-character if they push that anti-christ gab to the wrong faith-junky. The white house would be everyone’s house like the mall. There would be weekly movie-nights for lotterywinners. Lottery would determine the next president, and congressional members. I’d take the securitygates away and neutralise wealth, privilege, and sainthood if everyone of us cannot have it. Now, that’s my definition of peace! Women would be respected by men or have the free ability to leave. There won’t be any divorces because there won’t be any (hopeless) marriages. Children would be properly planned for but rare to have a family of four with each member sharing a slammed-close biological proximity because orphans and fosterchildren need homes right now. Homeless children are starving while King Obama is eating freshly-hunted pheasant and purple potatoes. Families need shaking up. It wouldn’t be rare to see families taking care of families. That’s impossible now with budget cuts, unemployment, downsizing, and money hoarding. Out of any million workers, a midget is a trillionaire. He’s a secretive dwarf and it’s almost mythological that he even exists. Whites are going to church looking for escape, dreaming of a snow white paradise. Blacks are smoking pot feeling like Cinderella in the wrong city. Mexicans have never felt welcomed and their Catholic version of culture is not understood by most of us. Asians are forced into ghettoes to try to thrive, but unsuccessfully so, and they wish for their rapunzel-esque castle. It’s not going to happen. You know why? It’s because “working” has been designed to be your culture. It’s what all american races have in common. And the outcasts are outcasts either because they don’t work, or they don’t have enough savings to socialise. This is most people. Inequality exists because the rich can only see their (Ferragamo) shoes. To walk in ours takes strength, courage, endurance, consideration, and enough hope to break the camels back. They give us T.V. then charge us to watch it. They make us food, but we have to indirectly attain it. Cars, homes, planes, trains, and doctors are all around, yet we are the unhealthiest, laziest, most submissive national culture that exists. It’s probably worldwide but I can only speak from this New French soil. We cannot trust police because they arrest and imprison us. We sit around as protests, wars, and declarations of wars take place. It’s not enough! Making anti-racism the law does not stop prejudice. Legilising gay rights doesn’t prevent hate-crimes. Kids are killing parents and overcrowding has men clucking wild like chickens too many in a coop. We need
space like they think they need space. They squeeze us financially, academically, socially, leisurely, militarily, politically, privately, and mentally and the worst off are not in an asylum under code fifty one fifty for clinical insanity, no, they are the kind, churchgoing folks on your block that live in their pink-cloud like this is the best we can do. This is not even close to the best we can do! We can run the government. The ultimatum is that or end the government. The secret crimes the government commits are unthought of, why? Because they control our thoughts. Poverty is the number one cause of death (not heart-disease), why? Because they control the wealth. The government’s creation of debt places the workers in a hungry, emotionally unstable, untrustworthy attitude. Haven’t you heard, “Desperate times call for desperate measures.”? I know for a fact (without researching) that someones were killed, robbed, and raped today. It doesn’t have to be this way. Blame your government. Take control of yourself. Manage yourself. Do it yourself. Be Me if it helps but being you is whats helps a movement! A labor-unions in connection to taxes are traitors. Trade needs to open up. Bans on food-access and stigmas on the poor are unacceptable. The individual is God: Sovereign, Perfect, and Brilliant. Have you heard of conspiracy theories? War, and violence feed “the beast.” The government is hungry (some say greedy); they want your taxes, income, energy, work, leisure, privacy, and self-governing abilities! If someone hurts you, then you gain revenge, you could be heard by anarchists with political expertise and readiness, in a world without a federal/state stronghold. You could be sent packing, mobbed, or whatever but you won’t be jailed and there won’t be silly little mind-games like those played today, subliminally orchestrating racism, sexism, and inequality. Have you seen the eye on top of the trapezoid on the back of your paper-money? That eye which completes the pyramid/triangle represents the anarchists and we’re watching christians harder than their fabulous god. And we are on every governor like (mandated) tattoos. If you’re on our side, give up your property rights! We want land too! We want privilege too! We want time! We want fun! We want to play like kids again! We hate stress! We hate dependence! We hate work! Boss, I hate you! President, I hate you! Bankers, I hate you! Industrialists, I hate you! Aristocrats, I hate you! Intelligentsia, I hate you! Advertisers, I hate you! Upper-class: don’t bring it down a notch; take the elevator to floor-one and parlay with us. Lawyers and CEO’s: I wouldn’t spit on you all if y’all were thirsty. Do what’s needed and spread your version of this word. I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to own wages. I want to own production-means like my mirror-images in the upper-class. With their surplus, and their materialistic worldview, we can comfortably enjoy leisure, and with basic, free, guaranteed income we can be fanciful designers, legendary writers, illustrious painters, and even remarkable, and distinguished ordinary men and women. Today, money is really what makes a big name. Today’s paper-money has no standard, the markets are fixed, and the possessions are concentrated. We want more! We need more! The (mathematical) system set up for the low-class is illogical. And economics is not a science at all. Every political economy tried has failed, and if not, it’s corrupt and only appears to be succeeding. The government likes to distribute. So, distribute (absolutely) free fiscal policy and (absolutely) free monetary policy. The HollywoodWashington-Cartel believe in monopoly. We trust in egalitarianism. I once heard that intellectuals are only trying to protect beauty that they’ve grown to love and hold. I’d love to see them drowned along side their yachts and trampled by their horses, but if they don’t let up, and they mandate self-destruction, then bloody dictators sprawled about and stinking will be the most beautiful tableau I’ve ever laid my eyes on. Ask yourself, did Socrates deserve to die? P.S. Welfare is well-being, and social security is paramount. A government that is ineffective with this is a failed government.
The Perfect brain-Storm by official ku shi's third way DEMANDS
#move the homeless off street, in to homes (this is one mandatory, and godly motion) #give homes free utility (habitat for humanity-esque worldwide motives should proceed) #give food free (do you make the earth? well make another one and live there, because humans are dying for hunger here) #give clothing free (bodies need clothing or-big or-nudism needs universal positivism, favoritism, and promotion) #no stigmatization (stigma, that little six letter word has ruined lives, and made indentured servants out of billions) #give free help with above (everyone needs a hand to pull them up, but pushing down should be grounds for radical dismissal) RIGHT/LEFT @painfully strive for expensive homes -or- adopt the lifestyle of sharing/dorming (this is a loaded question so watch out: the latter is anti-ego-centrism. which is right when there are homeless?) @painfully strive for expensive cars -or- adopt the lifestyle of walking/biking (the cars are doing what to the economy?) @painfully strive for expensive schools -or- use library/free books (knowledge is free, and help should also be, along with teaching, and proper assistance) @painfully strive for expensive clothes -or- adopt lifestyle of thrifting/borrowing (if class and money had a copatriot it’d be fashion, dividing us all into pretentious jerks) @painfully strive for expensive families -or- have trust in dhs/ebt (everyone has to eat, and this should be seen as standard, nonstigmatized, nonpersonalised) @painfully strive for expensive friends -or- choose wisely by internet/blog (some people with their friend count on their one hand, are portraying awfulness online) @painfully strive for expensive lifestyles -or- value the homebody/liberal (society costs so much, but gives so little outside of luck and privilege, causing people to become shut-ins) GOVERNMENT $citizens get money from work -or- from selling drugs (those who don’t work are marginalized by workers/workaholics/owners, so this needs ending) $citizens get money from (harmless) theft -or- from violent robbery (those who aren’t stealing for fun, are stealing for hunger/anger/poverty, so this needs ending) $citizens get money from bank/interest -or- from begging (some are born in the former, but those of the latter are ghosts in the system, so this needs ending) $citizens get money from investment/privilege -or- commit suicide (some are so lucky, they couldn’t even imagine the opposite, so this needs ending) $citizens get money from socialism -or- get exploited from capitalism (one or the other, is how it seems, so there needs to find a halfway) $there will be a money hacker/revolution -or- nothing (it’s going to happen, or we all as humans will lose everything as we know it) HOLISM %everyone needs sex/love (everyone can relate, no language) %everyone needs music/dancing (blacks may relate more impressively but, no language is necessary to have a good time) %everyone needs writing/storytelling (whites have this down pat, so they’d be the leaders of recreational thought) %everyone needs sleeping/drugging (precolombians are all over this one, but we can all use less stigma) %everyone needs hugging/touching (intimacy, kindness, and tolerance could all use proper boosting to increase humanistic trust) %everyone needs nudity/high energy
(nudists have high morals, and environmental responsibilities deserving a looksee) WHY ABUFV WERX !we have homely comforts (we are not living under trees, in caves, or large bullock-naked groups anymore) !there is easy food gain ( we don’t have to kill too much, other than cultural staples, to eat heartily; no hunting necessary) !we have safe transportation (we aren’t in poorly made buggies, on horses, or rhinos or whatever historians rode in on) !we can have LDR (long distance relationships have the ability to be successfully pleasing with an open world) !there are far-out travel capabilities (ending any traveling bias, intolerance, and petty discrimination will ease overcrowding) !we have high intelligence (we are far too smart to allow depression, stress, and unhappiness to attach to our name)
Last WordPress by official ku shi's rap lyrics My piss: it stinks of vodka now, i pineapple pop up i’m booked until forever and i never been fake and i’m the realest that means: the most real i’m powerful enough to have a ghost killed you boys are unskilled i’m nonprofit but your bitch, belongs to the world, for real and gaia’ll take her back just before you take your dirtnap your first will be your last one you blast faker than a cap-gun watching Mash don’t prepare you for action i don’t move with tact tact does it for me strategy strategizes only the bull is horny you boys are corny; animal feed so i sell you like livestock the devil works for me i’m God.
The Hospital Cafeteria by official ku shi's sex THE HOSPITAL CAFETERIA Jennifer joins Helen and Linda in a booth after paying for her lunch at the hospital cafeteria. She takes a seat and says, “Have you ever realised how similar this is to high school lunch?” Linda says, “And college
lunch?” Helen says, “Don’t get ahead of yourself honey, you’re still as old as us.” Jennifer says, “Hey I have options plus I dated my teacher once.” Helen says, “Oh, Jen the Catholic on Hooking Up 101!” Linda says, “Any juicy stories?” Jennifer says, “I can’t. I’m a catholic.” Linda says, “You can. You’re a Catholic.” They all laugh then Jennifer says, “I can say this-it’s PG-before we hooked up, his name was Bill Schneider- he says ‘it’s very unbelievably small so please hold all comments till the end’-I almost couldn’t go through with it.” They all laugh at Bill’s shortcomings then Linda says, “I like a small one besides it doesn’t have to be huge to get the job done.” Helen says, “I like ‘em big. Like black big.” Linda says, “Oh my God, Helen? You know we’re not supposed to mix races!” Helen says, “Who says?” Linda says, “God!” Jennifer says, “I’m so glad I’m not you guys.” Linda says, “Just because you’re Catholic doesn’t mean you’re not Christian, Jennifer.” Jennifer says, “Well, I think any race shall be punished and put on the death penalty for war crimes.” Helen says,” What the hell is a war crime?” Linda says,”Oh, no! Don’t try to change the subject to something less important!” She adds, “Whose black cock was in your mouth!,” loud enough for all the cafeteria to hear. After they take a moment of silence, Helen says, “I love god, and I hate violence so God will forgive me.” Linda asks, “Have you forgiven yourself?” Helen answers, “I’ve fucked three married men since then! What do you you think?” Jennifer gives her a high five, and Linda pulls her own hair with both hands on both sides of her head. Linda in an attempt to pull it together says, “What about fidelity in marriage and renunciation of worldly pleasures?” Jennifer cuts in, “What do you want us to do, suffer our whole lives?” Linda snaps, “I’ll get to you later Jennifer, but as for you Helen…?” Helen says, “I believe in unconditional love. If a black hates me at the beginning of the day, I want him to be shouting my name by the end of it.” Jennifer says, “Amen,” and Helen and her break out into a choreographed dance for all the cafeteria to see. Linda tries to hide her face, then says ,”Would you please sit down. You all are embarrassing me.” Jennifer takes a seat with Helen then says, “God, you really need to lighten up.” Linda looking frustrated says, “Like masturbate everynight lighten up!?” Jennifer laughs, “Is that what you do everynight?” Helen says, “You must not climax because three sixty five orgasms a year would do miracles for my mental health.” Linda stares at Helen and says, “You support abortion, sexual content, and premarital sex.”-and-”You,” staring at Jennifer, “support the hatred of gays, and your family values discrimination, taxes, war, and capitalism.” Both Jennifer and Helen look shocked. Linda objects the silence, “But on the other hand, perhaps we could focus on welfare, diplomacy, and common interests which would lead to an ultimate separation of church and state.” Jennifer asks, “What would Jesus do?” Linda says, “He wouldn’t trust a Roman Catholic.” Helen asks, “Who would Jesus trust?” Linda says, “Those with universal tolerance for all personalities and cultures but zero tolerance for hunger, poverty, and homelessness.” Jennifer says, “Linda for president.” Helen says, “Amen.” -To be continuedJennifer stands facing Helen and Linda in their booth, and says “Today is as good as any day for what I am about to say-Guys, I’m gay. Yes I’m a carpet crunching lesbiano, and proud of it-Not proud enough to make god hate me, but I mean I don’t regret my decision. Linda, Helen, will you date me in a menage a trois?”
God?
by official ku shi's wordplay don't suffocate on the shopping bags ur buying i meditate because the other options dying and set ya straight, so you'd take a vow of silence any other way, is motherhopping lying and those words are false, like it aint true and you wear a disguise like this aint u and theres no casulaties when i make a way thru but you're on tv tryin to sell your costume we aint bying, with a million more and i might have to bomb a million stores and i'm strapped with 9s like last century and my stable is dimes, i keep a pimp with me. so where the hoes at? don't ask when you know that juice drippin from my bozack and the bitches really love that, they're lovin that before my sweat hit the floor, they lick it off of me and i'm destined for more so i cost money but these niggas wont buy, and these bitches on fye somebody put 'em out after the wild fire and i blaze trees like no tomorrow the o zone is 28 grams, your blunts hollow i got a stoned face like i blew an elbow and ash the spliff on top of those shell toes believe, like christ was in your backyard or in boston settin bombs off to test y’all
put 'm on the cover, bet i’m a rolling stone but i’m mossy right now, cuz i'm still at home in my dreams where i roam, my imagination you're thinkin of dome, but that’s your fabrication the wheels out of chrome, for a nomination but the hood cant stand you, they’re in arms waiting come on thru, it just might be your lat day i want to, to be alive thru this friday and if you want to, muscle thru like my way 30 sets, 10 reps like the ambassador of the state the soul penetrates, that aint the minds eye the folks imitate, I make a new drive by i’m on a two wheeler, like a drug dealer i blast like nasa, and laugh like ha ha i tease like na na, then erase your pa pa and delete your ma ma, i smirk at dra ma now, the comedic essence of frankness youd think i was french, i got bacon with champagne i’m a champion like put my gold on the news makes sure my enemies see it, like it's true don't get it confused, the facts are true statements and the numbers won't lie, well, they dont talk and the money aint got no particular walk but confidence does, and i'm ten toes in the mud and my water is clear, where your beer got suds and i been a true thug, like pass some blue bud i'd smoke that shit up like lets get fucked up lets get passed out about friends not doubt
which you full of, and fuck all the fooled ones and i bring a new tongue, belief in voice like students and i got answers for cancer, and dancers for jaspers and last words for the jealous, so overzealous the envious are excluded, embarrassed like ashes i see your asses, no doubt its nonsense squared and more to come for this is middle of year here ye, where in middle earth you fear me like a king that i am, and royal i may be and the soil grows weed, and i’m smokin hopefully and those who are unnecessary don’t even know me but it will stay that way, to i end your days and what could have been, aint, it stay that way so the truth i speak, like shot to me but if you miss then whooo that beats beats me, but never will it defeat me in the cause of effect, and my paws on your neck if a dog would you expect, and the charge you neglect and the violence unperceived and the crimes are in the trees and the carbon that’s dioxide and the rain comes down to lend you another and the biological proximity of the sister and the brother and the full faith of family without fate to challenge without chemicals to dismantle me but you're true strength is dismembering but you no fit in this group so depart and the unpopular is forever the spark of the art
Open Letter to Doctors by official ku shi's psychiatry In response to your letter, I had a negative experience during and after Thursday’s visit. You didn’t improve my quality of life. I was given no freedom and no choice with your authoritarian approach. Both medicines were irresponsible and unsafe selections. Depression of any type and degree, and dyspepsia or simply gas, is common for those with poor diet. By poor, I mean irregular and uncertain eating times. I’m sure you don’t have this problem, with five thousand dollars to play with at anytime. Sure, you’re probably middle class, I give you that, but I, like anyone with reason, doesn’t like being taken advantage of, and toyed with to my detriment. I wasn’t seen as a equal, and I know that it is usual in the U.S. for Black Indians like myself to be treated as second class citizens, but I can do without further rejection and discrimination. I came you your office, reminded you of continually untreated insomnia, due to chronic back pain, but complained about nausea and dizziness. I understand you’ve always had a busy life and I have philosophies you don’t quite agree with. So, you diagnosed me with dyspepsia and depression and gave me a life and diet plan. All ten food-stuffs listed have positive health effects and have nourished my generations hundreds of years. You listed, my family’s favorite foods may trigger acid, but hydrochloric acid and salt are critical components of healthy digestion. You tell me to change my way of life and prescribe me Ambien and Pepcid which out of every adverse effect, hallucinations and amnesia was the worst. Now, if this alternative life wasn’t temporary, you wouldn’t be receiving this letter. By luck, or fate or whatever you believe in, justice, you are reading this. And I thank you, more or less, for that, but I’ll be refusing medical treatment from you, from this day forward. I’ll be alerting social security of my medical changes from this month and I’ll be storing this letter for my records. You were great till you abandoned freedom of privacy, consent, and social equality. Darion Brunston Martin P.S. My mother still love you. And my brother is scheduled to see you. My opinions do not reflect theirs. Day 1 Oct 17th took ambien before bed experience headaches, backaches ambien didn’t help sleep, didn’t help creativity five hours into treatment, i forgot where i was i was at home ambien didn’t help sleep, five hours thirty minutes into treatment, my vision was dancing, jumping, throbbing, not blurry experience nightmares slept nine hours pepcid worded for one hour, didn’t help digestion ambien was carelessly selected relative to my depression, fragility, and chemical sensitivities Day 2 Oct 18th woke up at five am felt creative to free write not interested in exercise raised to never volunteer ate breakfast with pepcid
wrote for two hours back pain severe, prescriptions caused depression, confusion, clumsiness, anger, personality changes, strange mental sensations pepcid was carelessly selected relative to my depression, fragility, and chemical sensitivities
Calling it Jehovah, Doesn’t make it God by official ku shi's Education To the witnesses of whatever,
Blacks have no culture. Success is not universal. These are not aphorisms. These are truths and so is the following sentence. I sympathise with the devil. Am I a bad person? Let’s see. The worst that I’ve done is plotted to murder four family members, one a nuclear member who I’m not very close with. I used to love smoking marijuana and I don’t have a heart condition. It’s just that Heroin has my heart. But let’s not get off topic. I eat food, sleep, watch T.V., and read just like you. What I eat, When I sleep, and Where I read doesn’t concern you. Pick ‘em out, Point ‘em out! On any given day, how many fools can you be sure of that are possessed by the devil? My cousin’s sick, blame the devil. My grandmas’s dead, blame the devil. My trust was killed, blame the devil. I never lost a fistfight, blame the devil. Look, if I lie to you, it’s my fault and more ultimately, my choice. How does man have dominion over animals without his dependence on man made buildings and homes? Let’s wonder what’ll become of man in the jungles. Leave man in the many miles of purely wild jungles, and without guided survival training, man loses. Leave man in the ocean, even with acquire ability to swim, he loses. The homeless are found dead all the time. And with man being a hairless animal, he can’t survive long in extremes of temperature for too long. One year without food, man will lose. One month without water, man will lose. A religious type might say they fear god, but I’d agree if that god is AKA death or violence. To summarise my paragraph, you could know that man is a loser. Allow me to go further. So we’ve come as far as to know that man is a loser. The great loser of the animal kingdom. Socials constructs like capitalism, industry, and imperialism lead one to believe that he’s healthy, happy, and powerful. Truth is, he’s not. Being in a religious group does not insure one’s expected life span and does not rebirth the mind of man after chemical, physical, and literal death. If there was no death, the end of things to come, then we wouldn’t need a word to describe this. I don’t believe you. Show me a deathless man, and I’ll believe him. And for the record, when I’m constipated, I don’t call Jesus, I call Prune Juice. Thank you.
Handwriting on the Wall
by official ku shi's semi autobiography -
Handwriting on the wall “Cheers to abuse!” Mark declares as he takes one too many sips of his bourbon. If his Alcoholics Anonymous groups knew how he was drinking at this public park, they’d have him deracinated. Mark hardly cares because he doesn’t approve of humans anyway. He didn’t assimilate this trait from his father, but his father Thomas is also a misanthropist. It’s tiring to disclose which of the two of them hides this peculiarity better, but they both are bloody hateful. Mark is nearing the last half of drinkable liquor, and he imagines nothing fallacious with being off-to-theside on a bench, getting high from a naked glass bottle as small children run gaily, slide, jump, and swing about. Mark is sitting next to the sand-pit and this makes the mothers of the children uncomfortable with letting them build sand-castles. Mark may notice that he’s deterring the childrens’ play-efforts, but he appears to not mind this. Mark’s mother periphrastically raised him to not apotheosize what people think. This life-lesson goes for friends and strangers alike. To Mark, friends are strangers, and strangers won’t become friends if they are at any bothered by his frowning at them for no apparent reasons. Mark reckons that one cannot entirely know a person until one can hear all of a person’s thoughts. This revelation alone is probably what provides Mark his quirks. Any good doctor would say that Mark is a problem-drinker or an alcoholic flat-out, and Mark lives just ten miles outside of Sunrise, Illinois, the major city of the Midwest, so he’s heard this noteworthy conclusion more than fifteen times from some of the best medical doctors. They warn him of his liver levels, ex girlfriends warn him of his lack of style, family warns him of his drug relapses, but Mark will be Mark, and that means that he will act as if you’re influential all the while knowing that he only respects a man with a past. And everyone knows, to have a past, you have to make mistakes, over, and, over again. Mark is the type of guy who considers the mistake before making one, but does it anyway. To elucidate, Mark would go to a bar, premeditatedly to get pissy-drunk then swerve his car home. Then, he uses an exemplification of said episode to filter through good girls to the bad girls. Mark always thought that he was a bad boy before he started drinking, drugging, and dressing down in public, but after he was introduced to booze and pills and pot, the bottles started drinking him, the ecstasy began popping him, and the gage succeeded in smoking him. Mark isn’t very good at being bad, but he reads teachers’ editions of forensic science to become better, and he was bad enough to be imprisoned in Pan County Jail once for thirty five days.
Chapter 2: Mark’s Diary Day 1 Behind Bars So, prisoners are hassled to wake up at 6:30 AM to exercise, shower, and make our beds. Now, my cellmate by the name of Nicholas doesn’t exercise, shower, or make his bed without excessive fuss and extreme effort, but he has good reason. Nicholas isn’t eating and he’s on a hunger-strike because of improper living conditions and cruel treatment. I ask him what is someone like me supposed to take from his exorbitant actions? He sighed, Abstain and enjoy. I requested to be transferred before sunup. Day 2: It helps to be eating with someone at breakfast today. That someone goes by the name of Jacob. Jacob was
found guilty of homelessness, but he stressed that he was unhoused because his family didn’t agree with his homosexualness. I asked why would he expect culture to change? He hissed, Equals make the best friends. I called to be relocated by the sun’s up. Day 3: Morning roll call at 8 AM went swimmingly, but my new cellmate Martin has insomnia or something. Anyway, we’re served lunch at 12:30 PM, mashed potatoes and chicken parmesan. It looks like a TV dinner. Martin and I prearranged to take leisure time together from 1 to 4 PM. During this time, he found out enough about me, and I, too much about him. On the outside, Martin was turned down by a street hooker who later dialed 9.1.1., and after the police officers arrived, he was arrested for jerking off in public. I asked, what does he expect society to think of him? He snickered, Self-help is the best help. I applied for transfer that night. Day 4: I had a quiet night with my new cellmate, Sam. I know his name only because the guard told me. All that I know about Sam until showers was that he was a mute. In the showers, I realised that Sam had a tattoo that read, “Death before Dishonor.” This tattoo is standard among career-criminals who’d rather serve life in prison before ratting on their partners. In between showers and breakfast, I told Sam, The greatest kindness will not bind the ungrateful. Sam didn’t return to my cell after breakfast. Day 5: My new cellmate Dwayne must’ve been transferred in while I was sleeping. He woke me up by searching under my pillow, and bedspread, as I lay in bed. I tell him that I can assist him if he’d just annunciate what it is that he’s looking for. He boasted, “Not snitching is what got him here, but snitching was going to get him out.” I told him, that he didn’t know me. He laughed, Fair weather friends are not worth much. I was relocated by lunch. Day 6: My new cellmate John didn’t have enough strength to get to know me, until after lunch today. At leisure time, I discovered that he’s a bloody drug-addict! I asked him, what he thought of the healthcare system, and of using doctors the right way. He theorised, Those who suffer most cry out the least. I almost cried.. Still, I requested to be transferred. Day 7: Matthew is my cellmate and to be honest, he gives me butterflies. He doesn’t sleep. I’m sure because he looks it. And he has loads of gambling-winnings under his bunk. At supper, he tells me that he could share his winnings if I’d keep his secret from other prisoners. I demand his secret. He says he’s a psychic and he got busted outside for winning multiple lottery jackpots. I sneeringly ask if that is it. He predicted, He is wise who is warned by the misfortunes of others. I requested to be relocated. Day 8: Alexander, my new cellmate was busted unfortunately for male prostitution on the outside. I have never heard of such a profession. He seemed like such a providential bloke. I asked, what is his secret? He drawled, The value is in the worth, not in the number. I regarded this as a threat. I needed to be transferred. Day 9: My new cellmate Albert is tough to pin down as a single personality. And most of the fellows in here kinda detach their selves from who they were on the outside-I understand-so I try not to jimmy. Albert was found guilty for tax evasion. I said, “I thought that everyone paid taxes!” He equivocated, It sometimes happens
that one man has all the toil, and another all the profit. Day 10: My new cellmate Carl was quite an imponderable gentleman who I’m pretty sure was dealing drugs. To save myself from an ass-whooping, I never confronted him about his strange habits with other inmates on the ward, but then again we only knew one another for a day. I discovered that he forged checks, and counterfeited bills on the outside. I must’ve done a poor job with my poker face because he supervened with telling me that, Every men should be content to mind his own business. Day 11: Daniel was an older guy with wrinkles in his skin, he could hardly move around, he got about slowly, and he appeared to be any minute from a wheelchair, or good behavior release. I said that he may be one of the few who actually didn’t do their crime. He croaked, Necessity knows no law. He was busted for disability fraud. He had me fooled! The private humiliation was enough motivation to transfer. Day 12: Jericho might be the only inmate made for jail. He doesn’t seem to mind at all. He makes friends easily with the prisoners and the guards. I said that he reminded me of loss prevention at leisure time. He said that he would think about suicide if not for his unceasing interactions. He volunteered that he was caught after a high speed chase left his car without fuel. The car turned out to be stolen. I asked if he expected to get away. He replied, Do nothing without regard to the consequences. This character made me apprehensive. I must be transferred. Day 13: Vincent didn’t like to shower, make his bed, and I think that he enjoyed bare knuckle fighting for exercise. By lunch, he had already beat thirty guys to a pulp. I wondered what would become of me with a cellmate like him. By gossip, I found out before supper that he killed his boss and he tells everyone this same recording, In a change of government the poor change nothing beyond the name of their master. I thought that I was middle-class. I call to be transferred. Day 14: Roman, the church vandal had no remorse and he was very proud of his crime. I’m not religious, but without a god wouldn’t he kill me for nothing? I already knew that I wanted to be transferred before he told me at supper that The hero is brave in deeds as well as words.. I was transferred. Day 15: I wanted to celebrate! I’m nearly at halftime of my sentence for robbing Coca-Cola vending machines! It’s just my luck that my new cellmate Lee is an anarchist with a toilet full of booze. We got so drunk at lunch that we didn’t wake up till evening roll call at 10 PM. That’s nearly twelve hours! The C.O. (Corrections Officer) could tell that we were not steady on our feet. To make a short story out of the anti-pole, I took the blame and was relocated for Lee’s protection, but not before Lee told me, Union is strength. Day 16: Today is unbelievable! I’m literally sharing my cell with a writer named Bill, and he promises that he was locked up for self publishing criminal works of fiction and non fiction. I didn’t know what this meant, and Bill didn’t annotate. He only said Every tale is not to be believed, before I applied to relocate. Day 17:
Joseph is his name and it seems that there is nothing that he wouldn’t steal. I could actually picture him flying over to Afghanistan only to return in an authentic american tank. Or maybe I’d visualise him smuggling an alien home from area 51. Joseph was pinched for selling goods that he had nicked. I told him that I could’ve accurately prognosticated such. He kibitzed, Stoop to conquer. I transferred. Day 18: Raymond was arrested for abuse or battery. I never found out who he battered or abused. He’s so sedate, I couldn’t think of him leashing a dog. He just sits and reads Tolstoy’s War and Peace. I told him that he seems the most content with life out of all the people I have ever met. He droned, In quarreling about the shadow we often lose the substance. Day 19: I almost could not believe that kindhearted Henry would cause the death of a teenaged son by driving drunk. I was mostly aphonic around him, but I muscled up the courage to ask him what does he see in his future. Henry sympathised, Our mere anticipations of life outrun its realities. I needed relocation. Day 20: Calvin was nabbed for petty drug possession. I think it was weed, or PCP, or maybe even oregano! He still smoked weed during his Narcotics Anonymous breaks, he said. That doesn’t surprise me because anger management didn’t work for Vincent either. I told him that I could go to a religious service everyday of the week, and I’d still walk out of the church, agnostic. Calvin hinted that I should transfer, but not before praying, Every man for himself. I agreed and I did relocate to another dorm. Day 21: Adolf was not a closeted-racist. He was a dining-room, buffet-line racist. He had swastikas in his tattooed arm sleeves and a mugshot of Thee Hitler that covered his whole back. I was already uncomfortable by morning roll call at 8 AM. I didn’t even tell him that I was transferring, but before my meeting after lunch, Adolf lamented, Time and place often give the advantage to the weak over the strong. Day 22: Joshua the conman is not the type you can even hope to make friends with. Every joke he tells is to disarm you. Every sob story told is to slight you. He deals underhand. I asked if he’d ever come clean? Joshua jeered, There is no believing a liar, even when he speaks the truth. Day 23: Michael was interesting. He was a world famous boxer who cheated in his last ten fights for paying off his opponents! I commented that he must’ve felt on top of the world before landing in here. Michael surmised, If words suffice not, blows must follow. I didn’t know if he liked or didn’t like what I said, but I requested to be transferred. Day 24: Larry was a top tier gangbanger. When we first met, I was already terrified of him. He assured me that being his friend here or outside, would be the best decision I made in twenty four days. He said if I paid him, he’d protect me. I asked him, what would all the other gangs think? Larry confirmed, Birds of a feather flock together. I was out of there, no time wasted. Day 25: I was so happy to get away from Larry and meet Antonio! Antonio turned out to be as unstable as Raymond
was stable. He would pace back and forth in the dorm and he was always extending a pocket mirror through the bars to check the guards’ locations. He made me uneasy until I had to ask him if he was OK. He echoed, Don’t make much ado about nothing, then, he sliced his own neck with the mirror he held. I left him as he was and promptly called the guard. Favorably, I wasn’t suspected, but I was moved out of that musty, lugubrious dorm. Day 26: I wish I could go on vacation right now. I’m so pensive. effete. and flummoxed. I need a drink. The mob boss I share my cell with by the name of Salvador doesn’t make these emotions of mind feel realistic. Salvador has a better breakfast. lunch. and supper, compared to mine. Well, this is unfair I thought. The best thing on my dinner tray is cookies and here he is. eating porterhouse steaks three times a day. My jealousy had me relocated, but after he crowed, If men had all they wished, they would be often ruined. Day 27: Randy is a congressman. With all of the insanity going on everyday, he shouldn’t be here. I don’t know what he did and when I asked about his situation, he cursed, Pleasure bought with pain, hurts. I felt tough as Vincent, sharing a cell with Randy. I called to be transferred for my sake. Day 28: The last five days have been shit. My new cellie Patrick is a dirty cop. I really wanted to know how a cop, clean or dirty, ever gets busted. When Patrick gets freed, he’ll probably do the same crimes again, whatever they were. I was forthright when I told him that he must feel like a jackass in here. He criticized, One story is good until another is told. I prefer to do my time serious and not laughing at my cellmate so I re-lo’. Day 29: Just when I thought it couldn’t get worse, I met a convicted rapist. It was bound to happen sometime. He is as unapologetic as Cassius Clay. He has the attitude of Donald Trump yet he’s in here. Since he only rapes girls, I felt no fear when I told him that he must feel like an asshole on the outside. He instructed, Do not attempt to hide things which cannot be hid. I relocated. Day 30: Needing to have a past, is kicking my ass. Today, I meet a hit-man for pete’s sake. There are some former friends that I’d want injured but instead I ask of how he’d got into that line of work. Rufus the hit-man stated, Old friends cannot with impunity be sacrificed for nu ones. I start to wonder if the warden is matching me to these men on purpose since I transfer so often, but I leave Rufus in the dust anyway. Day 31: Charles the serial killer everyone! Step right up and shake hands with the hands that have took the lives of numerous men! If I wasn’t leaving in five days, I’d let Kurt, the warden endure my wrath. Speaking of endurance, I haven’t seen Charles blink in six hours! I demand a transfer at supper. During supper, over our spaghetti, he extolled, Pride goes before destruction. Day 32: I couldn’t see my last days here getting any better, but Jason the drug dealer has so many connections on the outside that he’s positive that they ell keep him from the hands of the law next time around. I think he’s mentally defective. I asked him if that same posture got him here in the first place. Jason nagged, Harm hatch, harm catch. I transfer. Day 33:
I’m sharing my cell with a bank robber now. Clyde seems to believe that he’s done nothing wrong. Not only that, he thinks he’s done right by all. I ask if he’s seen the prison’s shrink. He guessed, The memory of a good dead lives. I transfer. Day 34: Out of all my matchups so far, I think this one takes the cake. Adam murdered both of his children. A boy aged seven. And a girl aged ten. He gives me no reason as to why in leisure time. He only foretold, Children are not to be blamed for the faults of their parents. I transfer as soon as possible. Day 35: My final cellie before fresh air is Thomas. Thomas is doing life. To be honest, he could be the most interesting with the most pansophy, but I don’t want to get to know him. All he keeps confessing is Slow but steady wins the race. Day 36: Early before official morning wake up at 4 o’ clock AM, the warden is getting me out of bed, helping me gather my things, and escorting me out side-by-side. He doesn’t express much orally, but he embraces me at the reception and he parts with, Example is more powerful than precept. Kurt possibly knows that without him, I probably wouldn’t have made it through.
Chapter 3: Flash-forward to the Park Mark finishes his favorite liquid and he’s unsteadily on to his feet. He’s making too much noise to only be breathing and this makes his neighbors nervous with demiurgic anticipation. He takes a shortcut through the playthings instead of around the main play-area. He pets a little girls head as he makes his way through. The mother of said little girl, screams, “You ugly bum, don’t stipple another digit on my Becky! I’ll call the cops, you pig!” Mark flips her the bird and continues ahead. Mark gets home, and greets his middle-aged mother on the sofa in the common area. His teenaged brother must be to work at the local college or the hospital. Mark’s not sure where but he knows that his kid brother works somewhere. Mark doesn’t retire yet, instead he goes to the kitchen to make a meal for his self only. He eats corn out of the can, seven slices of bacon from the microwave, and finishes with a triple scoop of Ben & Jerry’s Vanilla Caramel Fudge Ice Cream. He keeps it down, but he isn’t sure of himself, so, he lights up a cigarette that he rolled, and smokes it. One cigarette shortly makes two and two finally makes twenty. The dining area is so cloudy, that he’s aroused his mother’s attention. His mother, Julia, doesn’t spare him any words of disbelief and disappointment. She snaps, “Going to smoke outside is the kindest option when everyone in this house doesn’t smoke, Mark!” She always gives orders after the damage has been done. Mark’s concentration is at a minimum, but since he does acknowledge his mother’s presence, he asks, “What’s new?” Julia quips, “You tell me, Mark! All you do is drink and smoke and jail or doctors couldn’t change you. You said you wanted to write but you haven’t been to the local college to enroll or even stepped foot in a library since you barely graduated high school. By the way, did you know who I seen at church yesterday?” Mark asserts, “Of course not mother, I didn’t know you went to church yesterday.” Julia admits, “Well I did go, and I seen your old best-friend’s mother, Olivia there!” Mark interjects, Cato’s mother was at yore church?!” Julia answers, “Yes, she’s a new member.” Mark interrupts, “Excuse me, while I do like Antonio.” Julia faltered, “What?” Mark scolds, “Nevermind,” and goes on to sleep.
Chapter 4: Mark’s Dreams I’m in what feels like Colorado. I’m flying but not in a plane, in my body… but without wings. I feel like green lantern, or the silver surfer, high above everything. I feel liberated above the buildings.. exhilarated
above the valleys..and wonderful above the mountains. I feel totally in control.. and powerful… and that I’ve exceeded my ambitions with ease. I”m being chaysed and I feel frightened. I’m running through a cemetery in what feels like Massachusetts and it’s pitchblack in the middle of the darkest night. I feel threatened by this horrible monster who appears to not be tiring, I feel I am losing my breath like from smoking too many cigarettes, he’s just in reach to grab my armm… I’m lost in what appears to be a maze. I feel like I am in Texas. I cannot find my way out. I’m in a building that is larger than the earth itself. I’m desperately looking for a door, a window, a vent, I’m in the middle of the city of Houston..I’m underwater…I’m trapped in a web…I’m paralysed in my bed…I’m awake… No, I’m not… Cato is dying…. I’m at the hospital on his bedside…. His family, Olivia, Julia, everyone’s here, crying. He’s been ill for months. The doctor complains, his cancer has migrated and it won’t be long. Everyone sobs goodbye, as Cato breathes his last breath. I’m at high school. Cato is in my creative writing class. I feel like my essay won’t be finished at the deadline. Cato asks to go to the toilet. He must already be finished with his essay. I’m nowhere near done. There’s ten minutes left and I’ve only written two of the required five paragraphs. I feel distressed and frustrated, I look around for a classmate to help me, The classroom is empty, I can’t find the teacher, I’m in the janitor’s closet. I’m running late for a job interview. I don’t think I’ll make it. I feel frustrated. I’m on foot and ten blocks away in Los Angeles. Cato is parked at a stoplight. He offers me a ride. I get in. He crashes into the building of my interview. I’m allright, I didn’t die, I feel no pain. I check Cato’s neck… He has no pulse.. I wake up.
Chapter 5: Once Best Friends I knew Cato for most of my life. We were best friends for the first half of my life. I met him in kindergarten. We were in separate homerooms, but in the same grade. At recess we were on the same team in basketball. Sometimes I would ride in the radio-flyer and he would pull, and other times we would switch, and I would pull him. Our relationship was similar to this mutual concession all the way up to the sixth grade. Cato emerged to become wary of my girlfriends, my popularity from basketball, and football. He began crying a lot, complaining to his, and my family, and he even tried making me envious of his securing new friendships every month. I thought that he was acting like a girlfriend would act in a romantic situation, so I started befriending more cool kids, who cared about their looks and tried hard at sports. I stopped seeing Cato in the seventh and eighth grade. I guess he was staying mostly with cousins and uncles nearby. In high school, freshman year, I heard Cato was smoking pot, and trying out for wrestling. I don’t know if he ever made the team, but there was a rumor that he was good enough to play at the local college. I seen him only at a few house-parties during our high-school years, but he’d always leave before saying anything to me. After high school, out of the blue, he was trying to be my friend again. He would come to my house and smoke pot with me. He tried setting me up with an insider traders. After three months of meetings, I decided it wasn’t for me, besides my pot dealing and ecstasy trafficking was paying very well at the time. He began to take notice that I wasn’t cramped for cash at all. I had three cupboards full of habiliments, and he barely had one. I stockpiled footwear, and he compiled toys, but he was nineteen summers. Maybe he thought that thirteen and nineteen sounded the same and that he would mature at twenty. So one day, he calls me and divulges that his cousin, whose name I’m familiar with, was interested in
buying a pound of grade-A pot. I suggested, If he had the twenty thousand dollars, I’d sell it to him in quarters, to minify the risk. Cato insists, that he wants it all at once because he’s going out of town with his cohorts whom, suposably are a rap group. I utter, Fine, and consider loading up my boot of my american muscle car. Before I could hang up the phone, he avows that he’ll pick me up in thirty sixties. I customarily don’t do business-deals in such a hurried fashion, but I trust Cato’s reasons and his cousin hasn’t caused any vexation for me reversely with past deals. Sure enough, Cato is outside my family’s house in twenty five minutes, but in a convertible sports-car I’ve never seen him in before. The top is down and he’s showing me at least a stack of forty thousand dollars outside of his car window. He speeds off and leaves me standing in the driveway. I dream he went around the block because he’s back in front of me in a minute. He tells me, get in. I do. As we bend the first corner, he initiates throwing ten thousand dollars out of the auto, and the bills are fluttering all over the street. I tell him there’s no way I’m making this deal with his temerarious behavior and speeding. He’s magnifying too much attention. He tells me, ” fuck off!,” and slams my forehead into the panel in front of me. “[Speech Muffled] I must’ve blacked-out because I gain consciousness in a factory district that appears to be abandoned or closed or something. I’m in the passenger seat of the same car, but my pot is no longer between my legs. After my vision clears, I see Cato promenading towards me from about sixty feet away with uniformed and undercover street officers! They arrive at the car, and they all have grins on their faces, one who looks unambiguously smug swears, You’re not getting your weight (drugs) back. And Cato emphasized, Your life is cheap when I’m chummy with cops. The self-proclaimed Sherriff lectures, If I’m caught selling a little dime (half a gram) bag, I’ll go to jail with felony charges and will be hidden from my family and friends for a very long time.”
Chapter 6: The Calm after Cato’s Storm I had to purge my phonebook of fellow drug-dealers, and three years worth of prostitutes. I was bled for my safe’s contents ($100,000 dollars) the week after Cato set me up, by the same gentlemen. I had to dump my apparel, my shoes, and my four muscle cars on ignominious people who wouldn’t spark dubiosity. I began looking like a human-throwaway over time, and it’s been like that up to the last year. He tried to ruin me. Billions of people in a position like mine, would’ve probably took the easy way out like Antonio, but I didn’t. I’m still here. I’m here, to get a call from Cato, after years of silence. And, I’m drunk of the silence between us. In this phone call, he describes how life’s been great since we last parted, and, that’s he open to letting bygones be bygones, and, there’s an opportunity to clean his new gym every night, if, I’d like to do that. I think fast, so I said, “Yes, I would.”
Chapter 7: Working for Cato I showed up the very next day to work for Cato, hungover from booze and loneliness. He didn’t acknowledge me, which was odd for anyone’s first day, even mine. So, I had no orientation or training, but I imagined, I could handle that. I made friends with the mop, bucket, rags, sprays, and brushes, which, were set to the side. It shouldn’t take long for me to clean all of this, and, I’ll probably be gone before he leaves his office once. I start with cleaning the machines and end with the barbell racks and benchpress beds. It was like this for six months. Cato never said Hi, never said Bye. I was also never paid once. The next six months, I would work overtime, outside of his house on offdays, trailing his car by taxi on dates, and designing a calendar based on his schedule. I found that the gym is as empty in the morning as it is when I arrive there. After a year of volunteering, no one would suspect me of doing what I’m about to do. Today, Thursday, the slowest day, I will arrive by taxi, and open the backdoor with a key that I copied. I have with me, a disposable, and biodegradable duffel bag incapable of collecting fingerprints, but to be safest I’ve worn gloves. I unlock his office with a master key that I copied. I unload my duffel of a large roll of plastic which I will use to drape all of the furniture, and cover all the walls. I have a yoga mat with no fingerprints on it because it’s brand-new, bought with cash, stolen cash. I have ducttape, but I can set that to the side. All that’s next is to load my six-inch syringe with the horse-tranquiliser I stole from a veterinarian, then wait an hour for Cato to arrive. He gets to the gym late today, because I’ve been waiting for two hours. He unlocks the door, and turns the knob, to enter, one foot in, and I jab the boss with an injection strong
enough to knock out ten men. His eyes roll to the back of his neck, and I rush to the front and back doors because I want no variables. After I lock both entrances, I notice that I’m calm like I’ve done this before, as I walk back towards the office. I use all of the roll of ducttape to secure Cato to the yoga mat. This wasn’t difficult because he’s probably fifty pounds smaller than I. No need to gag him because he’s paralysed and will be for hours. I chop his body into thirteen pieces, then chop those pieces in half. It’s possible to stuff him in my duffel bag now, along with the plastic. I can leave the yoga mat and little insignificants like the syringe and tape-roll behind. After the gym officially closes, I lift and carry the duffel bag on my shoulders to a location behind the building to a man-sized hole that I carved into the earth last weekend. I drop the duffel into it. I stitch the earth back up with Cato lovingly secured underneath the sutures. He along with the evidential bag will biodegrade within two weeks. As I evaginate, I think up a contingency. There’s enough fresh blood on my left hand to leave a reputable signature! To the left of the backdoor, I maneuver the symbols: K.A.L.I. on the wall. Then, to retrace my footsteps, I return into the gym, into the office, and with my cleaning supplies, I wash everything professional-like with chlorine bleach and hydrogen peroxide solutions. I lock the gym down. And I travel north to never be seen by friends, and family, again.
Chapter 8: Luke Luke left his family three years ago. He never looked back. With an alcoholic father, and a mother addicted to pain-pills, it probably best that he left. Now Luke lives alone, and when alone he sleeps, programs his computer and runs his treadmill. Everything in need of electricity is powered by the sun, with solar-gadgets that Luke designed himself. Luke makes most of his social-contact through the deepweb. The deepweb is an anonymous alternative of using the internet to link with friends, make new friends, video-chat like facebook, or one can buy military commodities like guns, binoculars, bombs, and fatigues without leaving a papertrail. Some surf the deepweb to find prostitutes safely, buy drugs without risk, and watch illegal porn videos. There are options there from hiring hitmen, to operating a secret email address untraceable by hackers and regulators alike. If Luke isn’t plugged in, he’s peregrinated out to meet up with his anarchist group called the Green Devils. Typically, the Green Devils recruit. They recruit at skateparks, mall foodcourts, raves, and just about anywhere one can find misfits these days. Official members are already stable in jobs like any squares (conformists), but they’re mentality is anarchistic. For instance, at the drive-thru at Wendy’s, Tim may say Welcome, how can I help you, but only the Green Devils know that he is working for anarchy. Tim’s boss could be a Green Devil. At Chase Bank, the teller James who cashes your check could be a Green Devil and so could the bank’s administrator. Luke or people with skills like Luke’s could be watching the deposits and withdrawals everyday. At the grocery stores of the country here and that country there could be completely run by anarchists called the Green Devils. Everyone has to eat. At your favorite malls and favorite movie theatres, you might buy your clothes from Green Devils and purchase your movie ticket from a Green Devil. When watching the movie you paid for, the main character, and supporting-actors could be Green Devils. So could the director and the screenwriter. You might go to the library, order on nook, or search on amazon to find New York Times best sellers, never to find out that the authors, and the characters are Green Devils or based on Green Devils. Your postman, your landlord, your farmer, your gas-station clerk, your mayor, your governor, your president even. The point is, that anybody could be. When Luke leaves his dungeon of a home, he looks like someone who just got done working at the footlocker. He could be walking alone, clearing his head after a family dinner at the red lobster. He could be homeless or he could be rich. He could be straight or he could be butch. No one can really know for sure and since Luke doesn’t put his self out there for the wrong types, he keeps his self safe, whole, alive and to see another day as a Green Devil. When touring past a basketball-court not too far from his domicile, Luke notices someone walking towards him like he might have a confrontation in mind. Luke knows more than a couple of the martial-arts so he’s not worried about personal-injury, but he doesn’t want to bring unnecessary attention to his self and potentially slow the achievement of his groups’ agenda. The person is ten feet away, but he waits till he is
pointblank before telling Luke, quietly, that he knows that he’s a Green Devil. Luke, for the first time since his father hit him, is dumbfounded. The suspicious guy tells Luke to walk with him. Luke doesn’t have much choice, but to be curious so he walks along side the fellow. After a block down, the guy opens up a bit about his background. He says that he created an app linked to his custom iphone that can only be downloaded with his approval, and that, what it does is alert him to nearby iphone and android users who carry a faint deepweb signal that’s associated with an IP address that he has coded into the Green Devils’ Headquarter website so that his alerts are never faulty. Luke acknowledged, I don’t have much choice, do I? The guy answers, No, you don’t. Luke agrees, Welcome to the Green Devils…The guy announces, my name is Lee, Union is strength, my friend.
Chapter 9: Phil No one really knows anything personal about Phil. Or more accurately, maybe everyone knows everything personal about Phil. Phil keeps his affections close to him. His mother is a drug addict that lives with him. He sometimes rents out a room to drug-addict friends. There are always drug addicts around because there are always drugs around. Phil is a drug dealer, but he isn’t like a drug dealer you heard about, or seen in a movie. Phil watches the black market like CNBC watches the stock market. One week he has pain-pills, the next week only high-grade pot. The most peculiar thing about Phil is that he never leaves his house. He doesn’t have to. He literally has a slave, who he treats like a slave, his kid sister is his number one prostitute, and he throws drug parties every week. The local police are paid off and his security system is top notch and state-of-the-art. If there is one person on earth that has no worries, it’s Phil. Today, Phil has sold one hundred pills, and one hundred bags of weed, but it’s only a light day. A slow day generally means a competitor is picking weight up in his neighborhood and that he should expect new customers. Sure enough, new people are at his door within five minutes of the thought. Phil knows his business. This group of three aren’t drug addicts though, they’re tricks here to pay for sex. Phil has three separate whores, but they all want his sister Delilah. Three johns which could get out of control will be triple single price, and triple that price. The three gentlemen agree to the settings, circumstances, and conditions and make their way to the last room on the right. Even on a busy day, selling drugs can get pretty lonely if the addicts have no pleonastic interest or there’s too many people at the parties. A loyal customer calls Phil’s main phone-line, to ask if he could swing a busload of people over to buy shit (drugs). He OK’s it and the drug-bus is on it’s way. The bus arrives in less than ten minutes which makes Phil wonder if they were on their way before he OK’d it. Anyway, he thinks this should be interesting. Person number one named Chris orders a gram of mid-grade pot and one ecstasy pill for fifty dollars. Person number two named Bruce orders ten amphetamine pills and ten codeine pills for one hundred fifty dollars. Person number three named Marco orders twenty five X pills and three pints of cough-syrup for fifteen hundred dollars. Person number four named George orders one gram of high-grade and one morphine for fifty dollars. Person number five named Aaron orders an ounce and five X’s for five hundred dollars. Person number six named Sara orders twenty X’s and twenty morphines for five hundred dollars. Person number seven named Lisa orders a quarter ounce of mid-grade for fifty dollars. Person number eight named Nicole orders twenty morphines and an ounce for five hundred dollars. Person number nine named Melissa orders one thousand pills for five thousand dollars. Person number ten named Michelle orders fifteen pills for one hundred fifty dollars. Person number eleven named Brian orders ten ecstasy pills for one hundred dollars. Person number twelve named Denise orders two hundred Xanax bars for five hundred dollars. Person number thirteen named Megan orders five ecstasy pills and a pound of high-grade pot for ten thousand dollars. Person number fourteen named Cassandra orders a half-pound of high-grade pot and a bundle (ten grams) of powder-cocaine for six thousand dollars. Person number fifteen named Robert orders a half-gram of mid-grade pot for ten dollars. They all leave jubilant and this experience reminds Phil of why he does his job. He feels like he just made a million dollars, but it’s not about the tax-free profit, it’s about, the people. When Phil checks his camera-monitor to see the bus drive away, he notices two new people at his door. As long as he has their faces recorded on camera, he feels comfortable buzzing them in. One of the guys is named Sam and the other reveals he’s an undercover cop. The cop pledges, “You’re in big trouble, Phil.” Phil exaggerates, “Two minutes after you leave here, you’re in big trouble with a gang of dealers, a gang of militia, and a gang of official protection.” The cop explains, “It won’t last Phil, we’re
here for taxes.” Phil starts daydreaming of his former suppliers who are locked-up now because of years worth of unpaid millions in taxes. Sam taunts, with a smug look on his face, “When’s the last time Phil’s paid taxes, Sherriff?”
Chapter 10: Kate Kate really is a simple woman. Or more authentically, she isn’t complicated at all. You pay to play, that’s it. If you like her smile, and you want to see it for fifty nine more minutes, it’ll cost you only two thousand dollars an hour. Whether Kate has sex with you or not, her time costs something. Her friendship, her romance, her kisses, are all valuable. Kate checks her email and sees she has a hotel-date request with thirty minutes remaining before the offer expires. She clicks, “Yes, let’s meet!” and the response is sent directly to the clients android. It’s just dinner for two hours, so Kate can cheat with the undergarments. She could wear plain-old cotton panties and a two-year old bra, so she does. The clients going to pay for the meal along with swiping four thousand dollars to her Square account, on her android, for time served. She meets him within the next two hours. She shows up in a Prada one-piece, Alexander McQueen pumps, and Louis Vuitton jewelry draped on her wrists and neck. Her date, Jack Smithe is wearing Gucci Loafers, and a full suit by Hugo, with sunglasses by Michael Kors. She kisses his right cheek and says, “I must admit, we do look good together.” He says, “[His] sense of fashion has never served him wrong.” Kate says, “It’s all about culture in [her] business.,” then they walk in the bistro. He orders a salad for his self and a steak for the lady. They eat, talk, laugh, smile, have their glass of wine at the bar, then they part ways. E-Z money. Kate leaves the Westin to head back to her room at the W. She’s checking her email again, but nothing has updated. She goes to her personal website and sees that a client wishes to take her on a shopping-spree at the highest-class mall in town. Not only does he pay for gifts, but for her precious time as well. You can’t beat it. What Kate usually does, is, she orders whatever she likes at the stores and has the items shipped to one of her numerous PO Boxes across the globe. Her date, Lou Chase, picks her up in a stretch MercedesLimousine-Benz and then they are off. They’re drinking Champagne for all of the twenty five minutes before arriving at their destination. Kate isn’t shy at all once it’s game-on. She orders three leather purses by Dior, a suit by Calvin Klein, a purse by Gucci, leggings by DKNY, a ring by David Yurman, a watch by Chanel, mascara by Dolce & Gabbana, a leather coat by Burberry, six rings by Bulgari, three outfits by Michael Kors, a bracelet by Tiffany, sunglasses by Armani, a suitcase by Louis Vuitton, a sweater by Coach, flats by Kenneth Cole, a Rolex, boots by Jimmy Choo, perfume by Yves Saint Laurent, a polo by Ralph Lauren, jeans by Guess, and earrings by Fendi. They eat at the food-court, then he takes her home by limo, six thousand dollars richer, not including the accouterments… At her hotel, Kate’s second to last place to look for clients is the deepweb. She goes to the high-class prostitute section and sees someone has requested her. His name is Paul Ernest and he can take her by helicopter from the roof of her hotel to his island off the coast and back before last call. She sends him an instant message, leaves a number for him to text, and tells him that she can be ready in half an hour. Paul responds in five minutes and says to be on the roof in twenty. Paul lands, head to toe in Tommy Bahama. Kate is in a basic-bikini, silk and all white, under an all black trenchcoat from the thriftshop and heels she bought on ninety percent discount. She’s set in probably a hundred dollars worth of garb, but she makes one hundred dollars in less than five sixties hanging out with Paul. They land at his island in under an hour and they have a blast, walking the beaches, exploring the forest, receiving massages on tree top, and drinking mohitos next to pet monkies, and tropical birds. After a few hours of deep relaxation, they’re on their way back to town. Ten thousand dollars comes easy to Kate and she doesn’t even have to see Paul again. Riding the elevator down from the roof, Kate decides to walk a few blocks from the hotel, half to think abut her day-and half to see if she catches the eye of any tricks. Less than one block out, she meets a man named
Carl. Carl is spick-and-span in one Ermenegildo Zegna suit and paired Ferragamo shoes, and here’s Kate looking like her pimp just dumped her. When Kate realises her mistake, she precipitously loses confidence. Carl sizes her up and probably sees a college student who’s returning from a pool party. Carl asks her to accompany him a block up to a bar. Carl tells her things like, “[She's] the most beautiful woman [he's] seen after [he's] been walking for hours.” He proposes, “There is no wife living right now, that could be better taken care of than you by me.” He added, “If I was in jail for the last five years, meeting you would make it seem worth it.” Carl really puts his charm on her and he builds in her, all of the confidence that she thought lost from being clothed so tatterdemalion. Leaving the bar, Kate obliges Carl with the truth, by telling him, that, she’s actually a high-class prostitute, but after speaking with him, she, would sacrifice the planes, the luxury, and the high cuisine all for him. She corrects, that you’re such a gentleman that I just know that you’ll appropriate everything that I could ever want anyway. Carl concurs, “you’re right, actually I can!”
Chapter 10+1: Anne’s Breaking of the Wall Have you ever seen The Social Network? Anne is foxier than that guy. Have you ever seen The Matrix? Anne is deeper than those guys. Creating a new world isn’t easy to do, but Anne does that, and does it again. Anne doesn’t have friends, she has associates. She knows that capitalism makes an honest friend as rare as unobtanium on earth, but in her new world, authentic friends are as common as french-fries in New Amsterdam. Anne sees a world where individuals don’t take advantage of one another, instead they love each other exactly how they’d want to be loved. Each individual-lover studies how to love his/her beloved like scholars study computer science and mathematics today. She sees a world where help is free, the disabled are cared for without interview, and wars, violence, and carelessness are unwritten social rules commonly understood to be detrimental to the individual’s health on all soils. Anne isn’t religious. Religion is divisive. Anne doesn’t believe. Belief is uncertain. Anne knows her new world is as close as your senses, but you haven’t yet felt it. The prisons, the police stations, the hospitals, the churches, the businesses, the fast food restaurants, the car dealerships, and the internet porn make it exhausting for you to feel it, but it’s there. To realise that help is free, you must acknowledge it, you must live it. Stop counting change, and start being change. We’re already all in this together because we all need help, and money isn’t enough, ownership is stressful, marriage is frustrating, laws are insensitive, stigmas are world-wide, and news is pessimistic and redundant. If that child’s bicycle was manufactured with a price-tag in mind, it was made from hate (malice) and causes much pain (work) to get it. Sacrifice is a repellant, inimical, unprepossessing word, and if a god is greater than man, that god would never support sacrifice. That god would support no excuses. Businesses charge prices that everyone can’t afford. This is unfair. This is universally wrong. This is racism, racism against the human race. Individuals are valued by the work (pain) that they’ve put in for disability cases. This is racism against the human race. In order to survive, individuals must work, sustain pain, endure stress, detach frustration, and displace spontaneity. This is racism against the human race. Have you heard of the Green Devils? We are here, and we are not turning away from justice for the poor, and mercy for the rich. My name is Anne and I am a Green Devil. My name is Lee and I am a Green Devil. My name is Carl and I am a Green Devil. My name is Mark and I am a Green Devil. My name is Sam and I am a Green Devil. My name is Luke and I’m a Green Devil. Anne asks Mark, “do you think those capitalists didn’t know we were coming?” Mark answers, “False confidence often leads into danger, and capitalists and misguided workers are suffering from public drunkenness. We as Green Devils only hope to give them baths, cheese and crackers, and coffee so that they sober up for everyone’s sake.” Lee asks Luke, “did they think that we didn’t have a plan all along?” Luke answers, “They’ve been living our plan all along! The whole time that they thought they were leading and starving their adversaries, we
were actually growing stronger and innovating society beyond their beliefs.” Sam asks Carl, “did they think that the most downtrodden could not be saved for better use?” Carl answers, “Negativity is death within. That’s why our eyes open to see positivity around us. I soak up the light eat nutrition because I know my life puts the fruit in fruition. The origin of my life is the origin of your life. We are all offspring.” Anne, the world’s most infamous hacker could put Julian Assange to shame, but Green Devils have no guilt, and we plan out mistakes and Anne’s next mistake is her largest yet. Anne hacks every bank account, fatally disrupting all banking procedures, ruining economical science as we know it, to, under her and Carl’s leadership, distribute equal riches to every man, woman, and child in every city.center.across.theworld. If you haven’t received your free money yet… the Green Devils …are looking for you. The End.
The Wall Subjunction by official ku shi's autocritique -
Subjunction From first word to last word I completed this novella under one sun and one moon. My proofreading was done over the curse of one week. What is it about? It’s mostly about wordplay, as a writer. The Wall, is about people and the varieties, and differences you could discover in similar forms. It’s about bankrupting expectations, and mutilating traditions. I heard some speculate it’s surreptitiously about overthrowing the governments, but if anything close to that, it’s about brazenly pauperizing the cultivation we’re menaced, and bulldozed, and pressurized to accept. Mark starts off abnormal, absent-minded, and artistic. But swiftly into the story progressively he’s shown to be numb, ridiculous, and thoughtless. Not long after, he becomes discreet, orderly, and sober. He’s ever evolving and by the end, he’s maternal, mild, and generous, but always and throughout he was mercurial, angelic, and deft. If he seems cold, it’s because he’s stoic. He’s a steadyhand when he’s miserable and he’s frank when he’s blue. He is ultimately naively supercilious. Luke to me, seemed weak, ugly, and unhelpful. He was resourceful, revered, and imperturbable, but on him it was average, dull, and cold. From the outside looking in, he looks lazy, lame, and fussy, but he’s most beautiful mentally. He’s prudent, punctual, and hypercritical. By the end, I can see that his fastidiousness makes him fabulous. His indefatigability makes him inspiring. And his attentiveness makes him amazing. He was crucial in pivoting the story. Phil starts out glutinous, hearty, and cordial. But how long can that last for anyone? And that is what his bit zeroed in on. Towards the middle he seems moronic, sulky, and soulless, but that changes, but only a bit. Phil doesn’t have much leeway. His idealism is lean and everyone around him seems to be clever. Phil is as slothful as his products are volcanic. He’s self-assured, but he’s so unguarded that it seems ostentatious. His demonic business of making everyone who frequents his home drunk is immodest and impressive. His intentions are nasty and sour, and I think his short-streak was long-winded. On Kate. Who didn’t like Kate? Kate was the only major character that didn’t seem to have major growth till the end. Kate was brave, bright, and brilliant throughout. At the beginning, when getting to know her, I
could see straightaway that she was powerful, practical, and proficient. She was always keen, warm, and willing. She was effortlessly respectful, responsible, and reassuring. Her independence made her sexy. Her spirit made men touchy. Finally, her egotism made her vulnerable. Anne was the anticlimax. With so much going on in the story, one reader would imagine at the conclusion a huge spectacle. Well, it seems camaraderie is the only extravaganza the reader can get. Anne is meddlesome, competent, and conscientious. Her sophistication is musical. And her charm is ferocious. Anne strikes me with serene dreaminess. She’s benevolent enough to see what most are too drowsy to see. She opens ones eyes to her lovelornness. She challenges the hateful, while making alert the groggy. Anne is the world, delicate, tranquil, unemotional. By the end of the story, we see that it truly is about man’s wrongs, and that all that we need to place everyone in the best possible positions was invented along with our beating hearts. One can be mean and crabby or kind and eager. Be peaceful and positive or disagreeable and distrustful. It’s about choices, but over all it’s about tolerance. To High Tolerance, The Author.
Unregulated Thrillseeking (The Best Questions Part 2) by official ku shi's mystery White Man: Why don’t you want me to have welfare, ease of living, and a social advantage? Fox news: Why must I be a couch potato, slouched forward to listen to criminal bystanders? Parents: Why does my nihilism and denial of lies make you fear lawlessness? NY Times: Criticism is an observation so why is my opinion not counted? Teenagers: Suicide is self murder so why must you self destruct? Alcoholics: Is your dependence an obsession or a habit? Self: Is your isolation valuable when hiding alone? Governments: Privacy is secrecy but is it worth the solitude? Artists: Creativity is a vision of originality, is it not? Anarchists: Does your rebellion require the disobedience and dissent of the U.S. forefathers, for they were dissenters as well? Criminal: Must your anger and displeasure make everyone unhappy? Homophobics: Is it your disgust and nauseation that is generating your loathing? Women: Is imagination and insight a requirement of wit?
Authors: Is novelty truly a surprise without dernier cri? Magicians: Does randomness and unpredictability trump your volatility? Royals: Do you prefer altruism or kindness? Scholars: Is being new money of the self made or the profiteers? Businessmen: Does the elite and high society have to be upper class? Christians: If capitalism is competition, does the poor man stand a chance in democracy? Humans: Parenthood is inestimable so shouldn’t motherhood and fatherhood be nonmonogamous?
The Russian And The Arkansan by official ku shi's classic The South. Colored People Time. White Couple. Empty life but with alternative possibilities. Now let us begin. “[Baby,] I can’t stand to see you looking like that. In all of Little Rock, you are the most pitiful, tired, and defenseless peace of rabbit shit.” says Tom bitterly. “Tom, why must you speak to me like i am the japanese, I am your wife, yet I feel like a dog with no kennel.” says Mary. Mary thinks, if i wasn’t defenseless, i’d cause myself more harm than luck, with him drunk of anger if not moonshine and the evil eye he borrows just might have a real home in hell. Tom says, “Moll, if I suspect you thinking something wrong about me, i will whip the truth out of you.” Mary says, “Darling, I only was thinking that I should be more appreciative of your kindness to me, your caring of my wellbeing, and the thoughtfulness of your deeds.” Tom says, “Do I look like some junky at the food and liquor drivethru? You hit me with another faggot’s word like coddlingness, and I’ll just have to get even, now won’t i? And you know how..” Mary interrupts, “you get even.” Tom lowers his voice even deeper, “Bimbo, if you cut me off, i’ll cut you off, with a knife! Play with me again Bimbo, and you’ll be wishing that you could mail for doctors.” In Tom’s words, “You know we live in the anti-nigger backwoods, Moll!” All alone no one to call on, and no working phones, cooking is done outside in a cauldron the size of a modern day washer or dryer machine, and hunting is done by Bimbo as Tom likes to call her, but she (Mary) also has every domestic task and chore to attend to under Tom’s frequently drunken penetrating eye. It’s possible a shoulder-angel whispered the situation of Sophia (Mary’s real name) to Tom when she crashed her car-lost-leaving her stranded. This was about twenty six years ago. She was eighteen and him fourty four years strong. We can say that she was adopted at a young age, but Tom would say at a ripe age for his growing, nurturing, and harvesting. Thomas Jenkins sickningly raped and mass murdered his family for his fortieth birthday, after wishing for their death by birthday cake candlelight. His former wife Rebecca was three years younger than him; she was stabbed in the heart, dissected, molested after death, and her eyes are pickled still in the tool shed. His first born was eighteen by the name of Coby and he was beheaded, butchered and ate in sections like livestock. His second born, Valerie was aged fourteen; she had her neck snapped, tongue removed, and face peeled off for Thomas to wear as a mask for his Hallow’s Eve parodies. His third born, aged ten, by the name of Chad was drowned by river’s side, then boiled to vapors in the cauldron. His youngest, aged nine, named Nancy was suffocated in ash, and burned while crucified. Sophia has no family and if they’d be clueless enough to show up, Thomas Jenkins would probably see to it
that there was no sign of their visit having them craved by crows, rats, or coyotes. She knows what he did to his family because he reminds her anytimes that she as he puts it, “Steps out of line.” Sophia after becoming Mary in her first week in captivity and once about every year since, a baby has been born and resultingly drowned and left to be animal-feed. This is the Man, the Myth, the Husband that is King Tom. “Your charming king’s hungry, Bimbo, don’t you know I gotta eat!?,” Tom complains. “Yes, lover, I’ll whip up something straightaway.,” Mary submits. Tom adds, “What is your highness having? You know, if it’s not enough, i’m locking you Below for hours at a time.” Mary says, “Is that necessary? All that I do is serve you, hunt for you, clean for you, and care for all of your wardrobe.” Tom says, “Moll, you’re talking like you deserve something. Must I remind you, that I took you in and that a jungle-cat would’ve had your arse for supper, if it wasn’t for my godliness to stoop to your cocksucking level.” Mary says, “So, that’s it, I’m just a pair of lips to you?!?” Tom says, “A pair of lips? Bimbo, you’re more like four lips, two tits, and a bum wide enough to please jesus’s mule!” Mary attempts to cool the flame, “To this day, I can’t see why someone as magical as the messiah didn’t go along and ride a unicorn.” Tom says, “What is that! You know what I said about your little fantasies. You were supposed to contain that in your numbskull, and what’s that you say about our lord and saver!? I’m going to kill you Bimbo!” Mary demonically screams, “My name is Sophiaaaaaaaaa!!!” She with a running headstart, jumps, straightens plank-like in mid-air, going fast as shooting stars, headbutts his sternum (dead center), he ricochets back quick as a bullet, and speaking of ammunition, she uplifts the Smith and Wesson 8-shot revolver he treasures on his hip at all times, empties all bullets, but leaving one, she roll-spins the cylinder with a strong wheel-of-fortune momentum, looks off to the side like she heard the door, stops the cylinder rotation randomly, turns her head back around, locks in on Tom’s neck-lump, not even seeing the gun, while knowing the power, she pulls the trigger, and the .357 caliber pierces and impales Thomas Jenkins third eye, making certain he sees no more. Since the comedic-tragedy that is the ending of King Jenkins’s life, Sophia (not mary) has started a new life, absolutely denouncing marriage, and all things degrading by society, like regional religion, anti-selfgovernment, and false authority. She’s a feminist-purist like the earth which some call gaia. She works at the Hilton company until the revolution. Author’s note (Tom died at a dorian grayish age 70. And word is, Sophia has gotten a tattoo that reads, “To Roulette with Russia”)
Below by official ku shi's fiction -
Below (TRTA Prequel) Personal Dedication: To my lover-puppy G.Q. Still Southern Thomas Jenkins is a young man in age “I don’t have to worry one bit about anything, Jamal,” says Thomas. Jamal says, “I don’t see why you would, with everyone thinking you’re some kind of savant.” Tom, “That’s a fancy word, Jamal, you twotiming me with another master?” Jamal pauses. Tom says, “That-there is a rhetorical question, so, there’s no need of your answering it.” He continues, “If I even had the slightest thought of your disloyalty, I’d have you fed to the wolfpack of my good friend, Dave.” Jamal hunches over, like a submissive Yorkie.” Thomas thinking to himself, “That’s right, as long as I stay ahead of these niggers, these jewish
communists and keep my family pure and rich. I’ll be one bad son of a gun. Now, where did that eggplant learn that word, savant? Makes me think that he’s been in my study. I oughta whip.him ten lashes for even giving rise to my doubts. He steps on his front porch, soaking in the scenery. Thomas Jenkins, says, “I’ve got all this land and not a parent in sight.” FLASHBACK 4 YEARS: THOMAS IS 18 “I do what I want, when I want, how I want,” says Tom. Tom’s Father Mr Jenkins says, “If that’s so, it’s only because you were meant to be male, since you were only a dripsquirt. We as men are superior unquestionably, and these halfbreeds we call women, must obey us..right hooker!? Tom’s mother Mrs Jenkins says, “Yes, of course sir.” Mr Jenkins says, “Yes, sir, will do just fine.” Mrs Jenkins: “Yes sir.” Tom’s, “Say J., you’ve surely got her trained.” Mr Jenkins: “Ever since we were around your age, young one, we would set out to have three hundred-sixty five new members shined and polished (licked and sucked) year by year till we had you. Those were the days huh Bimbo!?” Mrs Jenkins: Yes, sir. At high school, in Reagan Secondary, Thomas Jenkins-top student-grade A honor roll-of the nerd disposition, sits front row and center of Mr Kyle’s Methamphetamine Chemistry course. Today, Tom doesn’t have the best of mindsets, as he sits, daydreaming of his father-Pastor Jim’s last sermon about seeing only one woman, not thinking dirty thoughts, and not taking the lord’s name in vain…Mr Kyle calls on Tom, “And what does the original Sudafed metabolize into when consumed?” Tom guesses, “Methamphetamine?” Mr Kyle says, “Right, now you see class…As Mr Kyle fades into the background, Tom deeply feels that he wants more for his life like killing a runaway slave for selfdefense, or murdering a renegade prostitute for the greater good, or stuffing his Chemistry teacher in the school’s basement incinerator because he talks too much. Tom murmers out loud, “Under the law, every crime is justified.” A student left of him named Ruth looks at him with raised eyebrows, then slants her flat thin lips. It’s the second month into the last school year for him, but Tom- has had enough so he-stands up, says, “Look Mr K, I see you want us all to be successful, I know the principal wants me to master the graduation ceremonies, and we all heard that I had unprotected premarital sex with the superintendant’s eight year old daughter, so let’s stop kidding ourselves, K, release me or I will eat you.” Mr Kyle with clear astonisment written all over his face, says, “Um…so…look…Tom is his name, he is a student, he sits in the front of the class–his robo-technics pauses finally for him to faint, break his neck on his desk, and head facing the same direction as his tail (like an owl), lies in his leak of blood. The whole class gasps at once, silence follows and inundates what seems like the whole world. Tom declares, “I have four brand-new yearbooks, all from this school. If I find anyone of you said that I had anything to do with occult-CNS-dopaminergicpsychokinetic-selfprophetic-manipulation, then you will suffer Mr K’s fate.” Each of the children in assembly line fashion, rise up from their chairs and march slowly to the principal’s office like braindead zombies on heroin overdoses. ABOUT 2 MONTHS LATER Mr Jenkins (44): “Congratulations son, you’ve officially graduated with honors and a gifted outlook. It says so right here in today’s letter from your school. Out of respect for manhood alone is why I have manufactured silence between us the last couple of months, but I never doubted you. Yes, I..” Tom says, “Enough Pa, I’m not going to be calling your bets anymore. I’m calling you whatever I want, like any old whore, and as for Mrs Jenkins, she’s going to be owned and controlled by me if you aren’t man enough to possess her. Got it?” He looks at his father without blinking… “Got it,” Jim Jenkins ashamedly returns. Tom says, “And I’ve been seeing Dave’s daughter-you know, the Dave you didn’t want me seeing…” Mrs J. says, “Well it’s because he’s so old and…” Mr J.: “Shut up, hag! Tom do what you want but I heard that rebecca-girl is known as Blowjob Champion by the football squad.” With a running headstart, Tom sprints at his father like a linebacker full speed, hydraulic-pumps his right shoulder into Jim’s gut, leaning him back, and as Jim falls under Tom’s weight, Tom lifts from under the body Jim’s legs causing Jim to bellyflop as he lands but on his back. This “human-spear” that Tom performed has knocked Jim out cold. With tools and equipment of all kinds in this hell-hole, Tom from out the shed, brings into the scene handcuffsone pair for his mother and one pair for his father. Since his mother is the mobile one he locks her up first, onto the hallway’s furnace-her, on her knees, with her arms-extended in front of her. Then, Tom locks Jim at the wrists with both Jim’s arms uncomfortably surrounding an eight inch thick painted steel architectural
stability pole that is impossible to break in half if you’re not The Hulk. Tom steps out of his homemade jeans, leaves his shirt on, walks over towards his mother Pam to kneel down and comb her long silky brown locks with his hyperextended fingers. His bloodpressure is building, his innerwolf is howling, his phallus is swelling, he shifts her pelvis to be latin-american custom-close, his sex-symbol points at her soaky, slobbering pink cove of his origin, and he flies into the no-go-zone, stroking her cleavage, and beating her cheeks with his hardened thighs in the Stairway to Heaven position. Dave’s walking in the wide-open frontdoor accompanys Pam’s climaxing. Tom whips his head around, and without pause, barks, “Dave, I seen you fucking your goats, if I hear one word of this, you’re pig shit!” Dave runs off like anyone with a brain. THE NEXT DAY AT CHURCH One might crave to see “Child rapes 41 year old Mother,” in the papers, but it’s business as usual as Jim gives his sermon, on pride. “The devil wants you to obey him, and to love him and trust him, but that will lead you wrong. It says, right here in Mark 35:29: Man came out of the waters so that he wouldn’t have to fight sharks anymore, and here in Lee 22:31 Women came from the heavens on UFO’s to give up to men thy fanny.” We must follow this law, we must play the gospel to our heartbeats, and we must hang more niggers. Say it with me”-the entire congress-”Hang more niggers! Hang more niggers! Hang more niggers!” Jim: “And that’s what God wants from us. We get bacon and eggs in heaven with jesus later.” Everyone cheers, except Thomas. AT SUPPER No one’s talking-in ten minutes-so Tom breaks the ice. “I heard TMI at today’s sermon that could affect all of us, negatively.” Pam: “TMI?” Jim: “What is it?” Tom: “It’s too much information, you rednecks!” Pam: “Was that a joke?” Jim:”No where near as funny as Larry the Cable Guy’s one-liners.” Tom:”you know, I think it’s unfortunate that you all are holy pantsed.” Pam: “Huh?” Jim: “Huh?” Tom:”That’s a joke! Now listen, I overheard Susan and Ricky in church today, talking about a rumor of The Jenkins’s-us-as being the masterminds and operators behind religious-fraud and financial-scamming.” Pam:”Now, how could…” Tom:”I don’t wanna hear anything but an explanation, and may I remind you all that I just graduated from Reagan Secondary as a gifted litterateur, so I know how rumors work.” Pam looks at Jim. Jim says, “Look…” Tom says, “Don’t lie to me.” Jim clears his throat, “I never thought it’d get this far…” Tom corrects, “You mean, you didn’t think anyone would find out.” Jim: “Yes…” Tom: “Wasn’t a question.” Pam: “Please tell him,” not wanting to see Tom upset. Jim: “Don’t get your panties in a bunch, Pamela, so, my blood, my flesh…” Tom becoming impatient says, “Just say it!” Jim nods, “We steal. We overcharge them before, during, and after service. We charge them for things we don’t deliver and charge for their seats even,-in the records-as reservations. We use nonprofit and charity names to promote donations publically but privately we profit from embezzlement and larceny. Some of the older churchmembers can be exploited to “donating” more than the others by telling them that the profit margins on their investments are widening…Tom says,”It helps when they’re in a good mood, doesn’t it?” Jim nods. Pam cries. Tom says, “I’ll get to the bottom of this.” 2 WEEKS LATER At breakfast, Sunday, before Church, Tom says, “Good news.” Pam says, “Oh, are you and Becca back together?” Tom says, “No, Bimbo!” Jim laughs generously. Tom smirks, “The rooster doesn’t lie about the sunrise, the spread of the rumor began with Ricky and Susan.” Pam says. “I knew it!” Tom backhands her, Jim backhands him. Everyone is stunned. Tom says, “If I wasn’t 22, I’d kill you.” Jim and Pam look at each other in a state of emerging confusion. Pam says, “Sometimes I lie about my age.” Jim tells her she’s fat. Tom says, he won’t be going to morning-service; he has hunting to do. 2 WEEKS LATER At supper, again and again and again, Jim and Pam nervously look up at Tom then look away as he’s eating. Tom substitutes the silence, “Speak now or be hacked to pieces.” They both say, “Well…” Jim says, “You go.” Pam: “No you.” Tom says, “I’m daydreaming of a cleaver.” Jim says, “Word is that couple that started that ugly, untrue, and incredible rumor have gone missing.” Jim and Pam look at Tom in want of an
explanation. Tom shrugs and says, “I’m going to the drive-in with Rebecca.” He says adios wetbacks and thoughtlessly slams the front-door. Pam looks at Jim, Jim at Pam, and they both shrug. THOMAS JENKINS TURNS 20 Sunday at breakfast, Jim says, “I’m so enthused to have you co-minister with me in a couple hours!” Tom says, sardonically, “Me..too..” Pam smiles and rubs her tummy. (Jim looks at her with The-You-Best-NotBe-Pregnant-Bitch-Look.) Jim: “Today we have a special guest tonight, my son. Thomas Jenkins, but if he’s gracious enough to mingle with you afterward, you can just call him Tom. Tom?” Tom: “Today I want to talk about peccadillo. I live, you live, we all live. We shouldn’t have to need to put up with or be scared of petty crimes. And i’m not talking about the slave nigger that breaks his leg, or the baby that fell forgetting to protect his head, no, I’m talking about us. We need to know that to wank with an image of our bosses in our head is admissible. Killing our sisters-for God-because she slapped-uglies once, or she has copious amounts of booty-sex, with niggers is eternally relevant. There’s nothing more warranted than fucking the brains out of an afro-wearing gutter-slut (for white power) when you’re out there slumming it, as long as you double bag your hard three inches of bone. At this point, Jim snatches the microphone and says, “O-K,”with a look of bewilderment. Thomas thinks I was done anyway. Jim wraps up with, “…and you heard my son, in the name of god, fuck prostitutes-generally speaking-and fuck nigger-girls in the ass, in the headstand position, got it?” Everyone in unison says, “Got it!” A WEEK GOES BY Breakfast on this special Sunday tastes unbelievably sweet, but it’s the same old bacon, grits, sausage, and eggs. Tom says, “I know I haven’t expressed appreciation in exactly fifteen years, ten months, three weeks, two days, seventeen hours, nine minutes, and fourty-two seconds, but I am extremely thankful for today’s dish. Pam throws her dish at the wall, shattering it. Jim upturns the table. Tom push-slides back in his seat. Pam begins to cry. Jim says, “I’m going to the church.” Tom says, “The church is closed, remember?” Jim says, “You must’ve not gotten the memorandum, it was only to be closed for a week’s worth of renovation and repairs.” Tom: “Oh, for a minute I thought my father was Rob Ford.” Jim: “Never heard of him.” Tom: “The year twenty-thirteen did.” (The writer pauses for the reader.) … Pam is crying. Jim says, “If I wasn’t scared of you, I’d be scared for you.” Tom says, “And for that, I’m not attending church this blessed morning.” Jim leaves. Pam is crying. Jim returns home in less than half an hour. Thomas is fucking Rebecca-Tower of Pisa position in the bathroom. Pam got to see Rebecca striptease. Jim hovers pass Pam in a blur. He opens the door of the bathroom late enough for Tom to luckily climax, but early enough to unluckily catch the cumshot in the eye. Tom says, “Sorry but i’m not sorry.” Rebecca says, “You forgot the hashtag.” Jim says, “Hashtag, get the fuck out!” Tom says, “That’s what she said.” The writer thought, “My arm hurts.” The reader doesn’t care. Rebecca, Pam, Thomas, and Jim meet together in the lounge to play verbal-tag. Jim says, “I don’t wanna speak with Rebecca here.” Rebecca says, “My father says, that anything new that reaches my ears directs me to a window of opportunity.” Jim says, “You must’ve not received the news.” Rebecca questions, “is that slang Mr Jenkins? I know Dave is at jury duty for his runaway brother’s trial…I didn’t think anyone else knew though.” Rebecca has The-Am-I-Stupid?-Face. (Jim looks like he knows the answer.) Jim says, ” I spoke to seven police officers at the church this morning…” Tom asks, “And?” Jim: “Well, they were confused, the government’s getting involved, and…” “And”- Rebecca cuts in-”my father said that in his dream, a double agent told him that capitalism is getting overturned in fifty years time.” Jim says, “anyway, all of the congregation is dead.” Pam with a wow-face says, “All of them?” Jim: “All two hundred of our bread and butter.” Rebecca: “Bread and butter?” Tom: “Who do you think did it, Aliens or Jesus?” Pam laughs to her death. Rebecca: “I’m hungry.” Jim screams to Saturn, “Call an ambulance!” Rebecca says, “I’m going to McDonalds.” Tom follows her
like twitter. On the way to the hospital one hundred miles away on a nine speed mountain bike, Pam on his shoulders like olympic barbells, in blood colored rain, gazillion locusts flipping-n-flying about, and a one thousand eyed beast wearing Oxfords in the middle of the road, Jim meets a pothole, the bike does a vertical three sixty-lands on wheels and, ghostrides down the street pushed unarguably straight and steady by the western wind-Jim’s leg broken, and Pam still dead, but Jim can’t spell quit so he hopalong cassidy but he can’t decipher the saviour’s code so in excuse he screams to neptune, “I’m ungovernable, bitch!” Lightning blazes down from the heavens, leaving Jim with just enough air to breathe. As quick as Jim thinks to say, I’m alive, another lightning bolt ends his love. Rebecca and Thomas return from McDonald’s and the Walgreens Pharmacy to a home full of detectives, police, forensics, clowns, monkies, doctors, and a ghost. The moral of this groups’ story is his parents died on the same day, Acts of God on the death certificates. The ghost whispers into Rebecca’s ear, Rebecca into Thomas’ ear like Telephone, that he should expect a lump-sum of two million dollars within a months time. …So Thomas runs out of the estate heading away from Dave’s plantation grounds, him, and one million slaves-behind them the booby trapped mansion explodes in a mushroom cloud of smoky fire…Thomas returns home hoodrich but not hoodwinked. His wife Becca says, “So how’d it go down?” Tom cups his scrotum through his jeans with one hand, and says, “Dave always said that he was a jock so I beat his face in till it looked like a rotting football.” Becca cheers, “Hooray! Now I’m free!” Jamal-a runaway, suffering from drapetomania- says, “Will y’all name the baby after me?” They both shout, “Shut up Jamal!” Jamal mumbles under his breath, “Bitch-ass bitch.” Tom spread a rumor that he killed everyone within a five hundred mile radius of his plantation. Becca spreads rumor that he did it for no reason. -To be continuedTom admits, “I’m going to need more slaves to build an all black militia.” EXTRAS Rumor number 2: He had sex with each congregational member after he killed them. Rumor 3: He ate his parents. Rumor 4: He isn’t human. Rumor 5: He’s a god.
The Russian And The Arkansan by official ku shi's classic The South. Colored People Time. White Couple. Empty life but with alternative possibilities. Now let us begin. “[Baby,] I can’t stand to see you looking like that. In all of Little Rock, you are the most pitiful, tired, and
defenseless peace of rabbit shit.” says Tom bitterly. “Tom, why must you speak to me like i am the japanese, I am your wife, yet I feel like a dog with no kennel.” says Mary. Mary thinks, if i wasn’t defenseless, i’d cause myself more harm than luck, with him drunk of anger if not moonshine and the evil eye he borrows just might have a real home in hell. Tom says, “Moll, if I suspect you thinking something wrong about me, i will whip the truth out of you.” Mary says, “Darling, I only was thinking that I should be more appreciative of your kindness to me, your caring of my wellbeing, and the thoughtfulness of your deeds.” Tom says, “Do I look like some junky at the food and liquor drivethru? You hit me with another faggot’s word like coddlingness, and I’ll just have to get even, now won’t i? And you know how..” Mary interrupts, “you get even.” Tom lowers his voice even deeper, “Bimbo, if you cut me off, i’ll cut you off, with a knife! Play with me again Bimbo, and you’ll be wishing that you could mail for doctors.” In Tom’s words, “You know we live in the anti-nigger backwoods, Moll!” All alone no one to call on, and no working phones, cooking is done outside in a cauldron the size of a modern day washer or dryer machine, and hunting is done by Bimbo as Tom likes to call her, but she (Mary) also has every domestic task and chore to attend to under Tom’s frequently drunken penetrating eye. It’s possible a shoulder-angel whispered the situation of Sophia (Mary’s real name) to Tom when she crashed her car-lost-leaving her stranded. This was about twenty six years ago. She was eighteen and him fourty four years strong. We can say that she was adopted at a young age, but Tom would say at a ripe age for his growing, nurturing, and harvesting. Thomas Jenkins sickningly raped and mass murdered his family for his fortieth birthday, after wishing for their death by birthday cake candlelight. His former wife Rebecca was three years younger than him; she was stabbed in the heart, dissected, molested after death, and her eyes are pickled still in the tool shed. His first born was eighteen by the name of Coby and he was beheaded, butchered and ate in sections like livestock. His second born, Valerie was aged fourteen; she had her neck snapped, tongue removed, and face peeled off for Thomas to wear as a mask for his Hallow’s Eve parodies. His third born, aged ten, by the name of Chad was drowned by river’s side, then boiled to vapors in the cauldron. His youngest, aged nine, named Nancy was suffocated in ash, and burned while crucified. Sophia has no family and if they’d be clueless enough to show up, Thomas Jenkins would probably see to it that there was no sign of their visit having them craved by crows, rats, or coyotes. She knows what he did to his family because he reminds her anytimes that she as he puts it, “Steps out of line.” Sophia after becoming Mary in her first week in captivity and once about every year since, a baby has been born and resultingly drowned and left to be animal-feed. This is the Man, the Myth, the Husband that is King Tom. “Your charming king’s hungry, Bimbo, don’t you know I gotta eat!?,” Tom complains. “Yes, lover, I’ll whip up something straightaway.,” Mary submits. Tom adds, “What is your highness having? You know, if it’s not enough, i’m locking you Below for hours at a time.” Mary says, “Is that necessary? All that I do is serve you, hunt for you, clean for you, and care for all of your wardrobe.” Tom says, “Moll, you’re talking like you deserve something. Must I remind you, that I took you in and that a jungle-cat would’ve had your arse for supper, if it wasn’t for my godliness to stoop to your cocksucking level.” Mary says, “So, that’s it, I’m just a pair of lips to you?!?” Tom says, “A pair of lips? Bimbo, you’re more like four lips, two tits, and a bum wide enough to please jesus’s mule!” Mary attempts to cool the flame, “To this day, I can’t see why someone as magical as the messiah didn’t go along and ride a unicorn.” Tom says, “What is that! You know what I said about your little fantasies. You were supposed to contain that in your numbskull, and what’s that you say about our lord and saver!? I’m going to kill you Bimbo!” Mary demonically screams, “My name is Sophiaaaaaaaaa!!!” She with a running headstart, jumps, straightens plank-like in mid-air, going fast as shooting stars, headbutts his sternum (dead center), he ricochets back quick as a bullet, and speaking of ammunition, she uplifts the Smith and Wesson 8-shot revolver he treasures on his hip at all times, empties all bullets, but leaving one, she roll-spins the cylinder with a strong wheel-of-fortune momentum, looks off to the side like she heard the door, stops the cylinder rotation randomly, turns her head back around, locks in on Tom’s neck-lump, not even seeing the gun, while knowing the power, she pulls the trigger, and the .357 caliber pierces and impales Thomas Jenkins third eye, making certain he sees no more. Since the comedic-tragedy that is the ending of King Jenkins’s life, Sophia (not mary) has started a new life, absolutely denouncing marriage, and all things degrading by society, like regional religion, anti-selfgovernment, and false authority. She’s a feminist-purist like the earth which some call gaia.
She works at the Hilton company until the revolution. Author’s note (Tom died at a dorian grayish age 70. And word is, Sophia has gotten a tattoo that reads, “To Roulette with Russia”)
B3low by official ku shi's trilogy B3low Civil War Thomas Jenkins & Friends Three days behind being shot in his mask between his eyebrows, Thomas Jenkins has risen from the dead being the resulting action of Jamal’s expressing, “How is I gonna give out masser’s dollars and cents and things?” Like the whisper of material wealth’s spellbinding as a necromancer, electrical impulses, adrenaline’s spontaneous production, and a bit of cocaine dropped into his nasal passages follicles by Jamal, Thomas Jenkins has become alive again. Well, undead, but moving about quite well in absence of pain-and, well, pleasure too. Jamal bucks his eyes surprised, and sasy, “Masser, I was juss givin the heavens a long prayer, lettin them know what I think uh them tryin to take my masser away too early.” Tom says, “That’s prematurely Jamal,” as he picks up the revolver used on him, reloading it with five bullets, then telling Jamal, “Could you side-step about five feet to the left?,” being a bit stiff in his shoulders, then before you know it, he shoots Jamal in the same head-spot which was susposably fatal to Thomas-right between his eyebrows. Tom yawns, “What a release! Now to get back to being me.” Tom rings his slave-bell, motivating five slaves to come running into his quarters to a scene of too much blood, a dead slave by the name of Jamal, and a master with a head transparently holy. One Zone says, “God is Good, Master.” Thomas says, “All the time, now clean up this waste of space from my floor, Royal, and Essex, help him with his burial out back.” On goes Royal and Essex to finish the master’s dirtywork. After licking his lips with an improper salivary response, Key-low asks, “Uh, Thomas, what is the matter with your head?” Tom says, “Boy, I think that’s the first question you’ve asked me outside of ‘can I have a private stash of cocaine’ every week.” Oxford, says,”So are you dead, master?” Thomas says, “Yes. I am zombie, niggers-officially one animated corpse raised by magical means.” Zone shows off his idea of zombie walk with the accompanying long and low moans, and the drawn out groans to match along then says, “Self loathing comes seperately.” Thomas says “Zone, although I am dead, I will still break my foot off in your ass, literally.” Zone wipes the stupid look from his face like Mary Todd Lincoln then Royal and Essex return looking undeniably more filthier than when they had left. Tom says, “Good, you two are back in time to hear this. Listen up, niggers, there’s two things which I must tell you- one- I am in no way fictional, and two-that which is already dead cannot be killed any further.” Key-low laughs then stops when Thomas shoots him a look. Thomas adds, “I have been dead all the while you slave-niggers were in the fields working sky-high on cocaine.” Key-low says, “I’m the highest boss.” Thomas says, “Well good, but you are still a lowly nigger to me.” Oxford asks, “What would like us to do Thomas?” Tom: Well I’m glad you asked Oxford. Being at ten
million niggers strong and countless deaths deep, I see us winning this here Civil War. Zone: How so? Tom: We will storm the union at Hollywood California, Chicago Illinois, and New York City New York taking over every hostile region as we spread out from center. Royal: I think that’ll work! Tom: I know it’ll work-mars told me, then hades, then poseidon. Four slaves, besides, Oxford, looks at each other in awe, who says, “What else did death give you before returning to us?” Tom: Well after I was shot between my eyes by that no good bitch, I knew that I was dead and I was pissed off. But then there was an onslaught of light which gave me my life review, and in exchange for my chronic sleep apnea I got a life preview. And instead of stopping there being the entrepreneur that I am, I traded my lung and heart disease for military expertise and the securing of victory. Zone asks, “So you’re saying that we’ve already won?” Tom says, “It’s already written.” Essex: This sounds like fun! Zone: I’ll be your frontline! Royal: I’ll take care of the pep-talking. Key-low: I’m gonna need more coke! Oxford: I’ll be responsible for improving the slave-militia’s competency, literacy, and military ability. Essex: I’m gonna go crazy! 3 MONTHS LATER Royal: Alright it’s half time. We know that you all are slaves (like he isn’t) but Oxford has prepared, cultivated, and enlightened you all to not think like slaves anymore. The future rests in all of our hands. Our administrator has defied death in light of joining us in this celebration, a graduation of impoverished communities to high culture, more food, more liberty, and more economic stimulus. The North cannot see us coming like the nocturnal in day. We are the Southern unit, unified in mission, dignity, power, and prophecies. As they read from German or French literature, we train and try ourselves till no error. As they hang their heads over coffee tables, we extend with might, enforce with audacity, and rise with Chaos! Today you all become men! You all become one! You all become me, Thomas, Oxford, Zone, Essex, and Key-low. We have the tools and so now we will fashion the architecture which will draw attention from afar and encouraging embrace from anear. Our families will show praise to us and our masters would award us in this and the successive life. Do you feel me!? Do you feel it!? Can you take it!? Will you take them!? Key-low faints of an overdose but everyone else chants, chatters, cheers, and waves in recognition and perceiving of the most glorious of private rallies in all of history. DAY BEFORE WAR Oxford: We don’t hold the missing piece to our puzzle and in less than a day is our deadline. Key-low: We aren’t low on coke…Essex: I haven’t ejaculated since Royal’s monologue. Zone: I couldn’t be anymore ready than now. Royal: Yes you would if you had ever fought a war before. Zone: Word? Royal: We have no pragmatic guidance outside of you-Zone amidst our running act of defending. Zone: Word? Royal: The defense of our principles… Just then, Thomas walks to the boys’ circle and says, “You’ve probably been wondering how methodically are we pulling this fixed battle off…it’s really easy, and that’s why i’ve waited for this long. We will use a Guerilla Blitzkrieg strategy which is like having no strategy, but to win. Oxford guesses, “This will never work out in favor of us.” Thomas executes him dead. Key-low estimates, “There isn’t enough coke in columbia for that.” Thomas gasses him dead, then asks, “Anybody else?” Zone shakes his head, “no.” Royal: I’m still as ready as I had been at the immaculate conception of this grand event of the millennium. Essex says: “I’m gonna go crazy.” WARCRY After landsliding at Hollywood California, and New York City, the men are flooding both sides of Chicago, surprising the enemy and leaving them no time to reconsider. Zone charges ahead, no clothing, no armor, painted face, and submachine guns. He hasn’t took a bullet yet and neither has Essex and Royal. As they kill off the last of the bunch of about a half million, the boys are starting to realise they have made history forever. Zone takes his last single competitor out before he looks to his right seeing Royal engrave his
signature of eating 11 hearts of men, and 1 eyeball. Every enemy has been slaughtered coldly like by savages. All but Essex looks about the battlefield in pride, who is raping the moderate amount of 24 dead men. Zone-from one of the bodies Royal already defiled-saws off a head at its neck. He peels the coverage of skin away from its bone, like an orange fruit. He then, sculpts and hammers away till he has only the brain carriage of the skull remaining. He pours in it Californian Orange Muskato from his wineskin then toasts his comrades, “to us.” After the confederacy’s win of the war, they not only banned feminism, but femininity, and female. The New Southern Patriot Equality Act jailed any and all humanoids with female sex organs, only temporarily bailing them out for need of birth and end of life companionship of the elderly. Thomas lives peacefully, nonbreathing in a cave nowhere near our universe.
(I)n by official ku shi's astrology this house i live in can be taken at anytime the wheels under car would stop spinnin anytime these clothes on my back aren’t really mine these shoes on my feet are above nines the member in my knickers is above nine cloud 9: drugs are antibiotics that’s anti-life, not anti-problem i’m anti you, because you anti solve ‘em i’m solvent, solved, the solution, you’re salty i’m virgo, leo, scorpio, Capricorn-bossy you wished you could make love like my taurus you wished you could have sex on film like my aries you wished you could build a world like this pisces you wished for you to be loved for you like my aquarius gemini twins on the libra scales are struck like sagittarius cancer takes all, like the shadow of barnabas insecurity.
Ku Shi’s Rebirth: About Jane by official ku shi's science Beginning: After Jane had her sex change, she ‘s having a hard time adjusting to wearing a penis. End: Jane was found, starved to death, in one apartment she couldn’t find her way out of; compliments to a LSD binge and crash.
The H4ndling by official ku shi's superlife
No, call Mono, he has better greens, says David to Allen. Ring Ring, Mono picks up, “What’s up?” Allen says, “Yeah, I wanted some herb man, you holding any?” Mono: Of course, man, how many’d you need? Allen: Just like 3 or 4 grams. Mono: Have that bill ($100) ready and I’ll be on my way. I’m on bike. Allen: Alright dude, no prob, take your time but not too long. Mono: I got you. Mono shows up packing at least 30 or 40 grams of White Widow marijuana strain-kind bud. He knocks on Allen’s door in Brooktown. Knock knock, Allen opens up. Allen: Come in man, no time to waste. Mono laughs and enters. Allen: we’re in the basement. Mono: Down we go to get high, that’s ironic. Mono laughs. Allen: Oh, we can roll it here but I thought we’d smoke outside like at the park probably. Mono: Sounds good. Allen: You got something to roll in right? Mono: I got one bowl, one chillum, and like 5 Phillies blunts. Allen: Awesome! In the basement, David says, “Glad you’re here man!” Mono: Awesome. Allen says, “Well I got 40$ right here and David has 40$ and are you matching us with 2 grams or what?” Mono says, “I can do that for now. That’s fine.” Mono proceeds to roll two blunts of stuffed proportion. David: I can’t believe you fit 3 grams in each blunt. That’s fucking insane. Allen: I know right, let’s go toke! Mono: I’m right behind y’all. Everyone hops on bikes. It’s just before twilight, and Mono is wondering if the party ends after the smoking session, but he has to live to find out. Everyone makes it to the park in about fifteen minutes flat. Mono says,”Wow, dude, I won’t even act like I’m nervous about this spot. David: Why, cuz it’s a children’s park? Mono: Pretty much, but isn’t that an undercover’s car right there? David: I don’t think so. Allen: Let’s smoke! Fuck them. Mono says, “Alright since you’re so thirsty if you’ll take the blame I’ll spark one now , but I’ll also save you a sack for when we get back to your crib.” David: Whoa! Allen: That’s a bet, man. Mono: Alright, bet. David finishes our first blunt then says, “That shit’s so strong man, I know my eyes are red.” “Hell yeah they are, ” says Allen. David: Mono, are they? Mono: Yeah, he’s not lying to you, and they’re low as fuck. David: Oh, fuck! Allen: Can I spark the last one, Mono? Mono: Here. Click click, Allen sparks and pulls the psychedelian fog in. Allen passes it, then says, “That’s like the best stuff I’ve ever smoked.” Mono: It’s white widow. That’s why. Some of the best stuff there is. David passes it, then says, “I love you Mono man, you’re the best. No one else would’ve rode over on a bike, smoked us out, hooked us up, and then promised us some more later. Thank you man really. Mono: You’re welcome. I’m glad I could help. After Allen snuffs the roach, we’re back on bikes and riding back pass that undercover car to head back to Allen’s. We get there and it’s dark. We go to the kitchen of course. We all grab tall glasses of kool aid cherry flavored and some graham crackers to share. We go to the basement to watch some music videosNelly, Fat Joe and Twista-but that doesn’t keeps us entertained as it might so we start to brainstorm. David’s like, “I don’t care what else we do. I’m so high.” Allen says, “I remember Kelly and Rula were talking about joining me for a smoke at school.” David says, “Call ‘em up.” Allen is going to the door to let in his arrangements. He says, “David and Mono are down here.” The girls touch down and they’re all, “Hey everybody!” Mono: What’s up? David: Yo. Rula says, “Shit, David, you looked blitzed!” David: I am. Mono: He is. Everyone laughs. Kelly says, “What do you guys wanna do?” Mono looks confused and taken aback by the question. David says, “I don’t know. What can I do?” Allen laughs, “We could put on a scary movie.” Everyone agrees. David falls asleep. Mono goes out to smoke a cigar. Allen is entertaining the young women. Mono lets himself back in to David’s waking up, and the girls saying they have to leave. We hug, and Allen sees them out. David says, “Did anything happen?” Mono: Yeah I fucked one, and Allen the other. David: Really? Allen: Hell yeah , man and she sucked me off. Then Allen moons both of us. Mono: Ill, man that’s horrific. David: You need to shave that werewolf package mate. Allen: The honies love that. David: “Y’all wanna smoke more?” Mono laughs.
Allen opens the door for more girls to come down leading some guys too. There’s Molly, Ginger, Sally, Janice, then Richard, Timmy, and Billy. Mono hug the girls and dap the guys. David is being really lazy. Timmy says, “Let’s Drink! And when we’re done with this Rum and Beer, i’ll make a run for more.” Mono is very pleased, and sees the night becoming interesting. Allen chugs a good amount of Rum. Richard takes a shot, then says, “one and done.” He goes and spoons with Janice. I think he was there most of the night actually. Anyway, Billy takes a shot then sits next to the television. Molly, Ginger, and Sally are all drinking beers, as Timmy is doing away with his gallon of Rum. I really don’t know how he’s standing. Timmy asks, “You want any, Mono?” Mono says, “I’ll wait.” The three girls are caught staring at me. I think whatever and ask Timmy if he’s ready for more. Allen screams, “Yeah!” And Sally says she’ll join us. We all hop on bikes, except Sally riding on the handle bars of Allen’s bike. We make it the corner store/gas station in less than ten minutes and Timmy and Sarah go in to shop. Allen and I wait outside until it’s been too long, so we go in too. We ask them what’s the hold up. Sally says, that she just came out of the bathroom, and Timmy isn’t looking so fresh. Allen asks, if he’s alright. Timmy says, “No way, man, I don’t even know what I’m doing in here, and it’s bright as fuck.” Allen says, “There’s nothing I can do about the lighting man.” Timmy catches the clerk’s eyes and yells, “Turn down the fucking lights you prick!” The clerk-we can call him Bobby says-if he’s going to be a problem I’ll be calling the police. Mono says, “No problem man he only came here for one or two things.” Timmy gets his act together and along with Allen’s help get two more bottles of liquor-Rum and Vodka-and a caseload of energy drinks. We cheers Bobby then we’re all peddles to Allen’s. We make it back, to Janice and Richard’s continued cuddling and Billy’s intense concentration on the television. Molly and Ginger appeared to be tipsy, and probably on their third and fourth beers. Ginger is loud at our entrance, “Fucking took you losers long enough!” Allen says, “Shut up whore!” Ginger says, “Fuck you Allen.” Molly seconds, “Yeah, fuck you Allen.” Mono says, “Yeah fuck you,” then laughs. Sally mans up and says, “Crack open one of those bottles.” Timmy calls on Allen-too drunk to hear anything after ‘open.’ Allen grabs one and gives Mono the other. (oh, boy). Allen chugs away. Mono matches him chug for chug. Sally says, “Now me.” Allen says, “Here.” She says, “I want mine in a cup.” Molly and Ginger says, “Us too!” Allen goes up to get a few cups, and Mono sits the Vodka down. Molly is giving Mono the googly-eyes. I have no idea what they mean. Ginger whispers something into her ear, and she giggles. Allen returns and distributes cups where needed. Sally takes her share and takes a seat in a room off to the side to be alone. I think whatever, and say, “I’m going for a smoke.” David says out of nowhere, “That reminds me, do you guys wanna smoke a blunt. Mono owes me and Allen but we’ll share it.” Molly says, “Cool, how much do you owe them?” Mono says, “Only a gram but I’m willing to roll up double.” Ginger says, “I don’t smoke but I will tonight.” Mono, Allen, David, Ginger, and Molly go out in the alley linked to Allen’s garage to smoke. It seems like it’s taking too long to finish-even though we’re getting high-and Molly and Ginger run in leaving the boys to finish up in half time. At re-entrance to the basement, there’s a scene. Timmy has stripped the walls bare of all artwork, he’s knocked over the billiards table, and he’s trashed the room Sally was having private time in. Sally looks like she wants to go home now. Richard is still cuddled, and Billy is still focused. Timmy says, “I’m gonna use the toilet now.” Allen’s had enough in two minutes and he says, “The hell you are! You’re gonna get the fuck out of my basement and my house!” Timmy doesn’t hear any of this and tries to blind-find the toilet anyway. Just before he’s about to urinate with his exposed self in a wastebasket, Allen tackles him, socks him in the jaw, and starts a drunken-fight. Timmy only knows how to receive blows though so he takes a few, before Allen’s mother of-say-mid 40′s comes downstairs and says, “Allen can I speak to you.” He says, “Not now Ma, I gotta get this faggot outta the house!” She helps lift Timmy outside. I guess he rode his bike home. Everyone’s noticeably quieter downstairs while Allen and his mother talk upstairs. It seems like half an hour before Allen returns and says, “Everyone has to get the fuck out.” Mono says, “Serious?” Allen says, ” Hell fucking no! But seriously, we have to act better and not get as drunk as Timmy did.” Everyone agrees and acknowledges Timmy an asshole.
Timmy left his two bottles-naturally, and Sally no longer wants to go home because she’s getting wasted. David helped her. Allen is disappointed and cleaning the room Sally was in. No one is cleaning the main area, in fact, Ginger and Molly are making their way over to me, as I stand over the mess like some sort of king of the ruins. Ginger says within my listening distance to Molly, “Doesn’t Mono have great lips.” Mono says, “What the fuck’s that mean?” Molly says,” They’re like so good , for like sucking, and like… can i just suck on your lips?” Mono: What!? Ginger says, “Me too! Can i suck on your lips too?” Mono says, “Um yeah then, I guess.” Molly, then Ginger, then Molly again suck away. Ginger says, “You’re drunk Molly.” Mono says, ” You’re both horny.” Ginger says, “I am.” Richard out of no where says, “You’re drunk Ginger. Why the fuck are you guys sucking on that man’s lips?” Billy adds, “And he let them.” Ginger goes to defend herself from the supposed hypermasculine onslaught, and i make my way with Molly to the toilet Timmy was desperately trying to find. I shut the door behind us and try to lock up but the knob falls off on our side so I just let it sit, not secure but blocking view of us. She says, “I want you so bad. I’m so horny.” I tell her to take a seat and she does. I turn the lights off, and unzip my jeans. I lower them to my knees and direct her to feel for me. She leads me on the same, lifting her top for me to feel her breasts. She jerks back with sensitivity at my touch, probably cold. She pulls down my briefs, and places me inside her face pocket. She pulls, and sucks, and twirls her tongue in a way sufficient enough for me to request of the procedure over and over. I caress her silky smooth latin american hair, and I’m feeling like the envy from my phallus of my lips has been satisfied, then knocking at the door. I full-palm it with one hand, the other wrapped around her skull. Now, there’s two knocking. I hear, “Hey what’s going on in there!?” I say, “Hey just a minute.” Allen says, “It’s me dude open up.” I remind you, under the possession of fantastic oral sex, I am holding off now three young men at the door pressing in as i continue to receive oral to phallic sensations. Molly says, “That’s enough. I should stop.” Mono says, “No, keep going.” She says, “They’re right there. We’re through.” I submit to their coercive curiosities and release my hold. Allen says, to everyone when I come out, “Mono was getting head in the toilet!” Everyone ooohs and aaahs. Richard runs up to my face, and says, “Is it true mate, is it true!?” I don’t say anything. I look and see Ginger jealous. Janice looks like she’s ready to go home. Sally’s too drunk to stand steadily. Allen is smiling bigger than cheese. Billy has managed to sit back down after pounding at the door like a drug bust and go back to watching television like he wasn’t just up. I shake my head at this. Molly comes out wiping her mouth and says she wants to go. Janice runs to her and says, “let’s go. Sally-let’s go!” Sally goes-arunning like Janice’s lapdog and Richard readies his self too. Allen says, “Party’s over.” David say’s “Aw, boo.” Billy says, “I’m staying right here.” I’m thinking what the fuck. I float for a bit so that I can leave alone and not the same time as 5 people. I tell Allen, I’ll see him at school tomorrow. I’m not even friends with Billy. At school, all dynamics have changed. I get there early today oddly enough because I always come late, but even before all the kids have arrived already, everyone knows what happened to Mono at Allen’s toilet. That week, I made ten new friends a day-all male. That week, I got five new numbers a day-all female. Some girls thought they were hotter than my spicy latina, and they promised they could suck the color from me. The fraternity was impressed and as usual wanted to know if she was worth pursuance. Then, there was Molly, walking by me in the hallway, speechless, looking like she lost both parents in the same night, dried hair, pale face, clashing clothes, and as shrunken and shriveled as a raisin in the hardened cold winter snow. She never spoke to me the same after that. Before, we were best friends. I guess she thought that I’d bragged, but I was discreet from a step outside of the crime-scene. The last times I heard from her, was (1) her asking me to sell her MDMA, and (2) her asking me if I’d want to be in a hip hop group that she hadn’t yet started. Overall, Molly’s tongue did the yin yang symbol when i didn’t think it logical and I witnessed the yin yang of instrumental action in relation to oral sex while having too many heads (or variables) around. Oral to
phallic stimulation ruined my friendship and sabotaged my nihilism. Tongues slithering in the mud. Of hell. To roots. Till end.
Urinalphobia :trapped in toilet by official ku shi's horror I might as well not scream ‘help’ yet another time. I have become sure of my being in another dimension. No one knows I’m here. No one knows me. No one… There is no one. I’m no one. Who was I anyway? I knew to eat prey. I enjoyed the track laid for me. I had no work… No real work to do. This planet was spinning before me and probably after me. If this isn’t death this surely oblivion. I thought it’d be darker. I feel darker. I feel worthless. What are eyes that cannot see? What are ears that cannot hear? What’s a problem without solution? What darkness where there is no such thing as light? What’s food to the tasteless? What’s fragrance to the unacquired nose? What’s tactile sensation with nothing to feel? I feel like screaming. I feel like hunting. I feel like banging. I feel like making noise, breaking toys, eating boys, and raping children. I want to live again. I want to die again. I want to see the cycle. I need to be apart. I hate togetherness. Is this why I am here? Am I here to learn? I’m talking to myself? There is no one else. Where to go? I walk in circles in a toilet large enough to fit 8 standing me’s side by side. I wish there were 8 of me’s standing here now alive. I love me. I wish there were enough light to see me in this mirror. I wish there were more mirrors to see more me’s. I wish all could be me. And I could be all. Why? Who said that? Me. But I am me. Are you me too. If you like. I, me too, why-you ask me, and I shall tell you. I wish all could be me and i could be all because-listen closely-I know that I am right, and I am perfect. I am secure and I am one. I am single and I am unified. United, whole, collective, incorporated, undivided, unanimous, integrated, linked, homogenous, pooled, banded, associated, of the same opinion and federal mind. I am concerted and in agreement. All as me would have no need to be plugged in. I, me, that wish is unreasonable, for one you needs no reason. One you would only see no meaning, no argument, and no dissent. Would you miss this? I wouldn’t. And I&I wouldn’t leave you now.
Hello?! Hello!!?? Are you there!!! Where did you go? (Lion eats his self, paw by paw, foreleg by hindleg, organ, muscle, and bone. All that is left is the head, the think tank, cranium, and gray matter; the basilica of the mind, aptitude, and capacity; the height of the apex, the summit, the vertex; the rise of the vanguard, origin, and source. So, now, we must only begin at the conclusion.) Life asks only this: Can you manage your habits?
The Round Tabl3 Meeting by official ku shi's thriller When nearing the abandoned building, where we’ve set up a high class dining area, in a lower classed situation. I can’t help, but feel elated, at the anticipation of chatting with some of my favorite missionaries of various works of propaganda. Roughly, 300 miles outside of Kansas Metro, in the backwoods, this mansion we (me, cameraman, + driver) arrived to is horrible. There is vine crawling upside the building, the once lush green perimeter has been degraded to black-brown-grey nothing. On and around a barn are weeds growing, rampantly. I feel, I have just entered a horror movie set of the 1950′s, but i pull myself together because i’m the micromanager of this. If I fail, my manager: fails, my company tonight: fails, and the regard: readers like yourselves: have, becomes long gone, leaving me: helpless in the deeper depths of solitude, loathing my self for having been so naïve. As I ready myself, nervous and apprehensive – the camera lights: too bright, all of the house, except the dining room: too dark, except for me and my cameraman’s: light attempts at small talk, there’s total silence. Then there’s a knock. The cameraman-Joe-has already been working since last week, but my role in this didn’t really pick up until now. I answer the door-double my height-to a stranger, whom I greet, with a smile. I ask, “Who are you?” The dapper fellow says, “I am Burton Coca, and it is nice to meet you.” I say, that I am pleased, then shuffle aside to let him enter. A Burton Coca looks all about, soaking in his environment, and describes it ‘awe-inspiring.’ I argue, “I find it, to be morbid?” Burton Coca asks, “How so?” I say, “Well, whomever left this property in such bad shape must have been some kind of asshole.” Burton Coca says, “It has a shitload of potential and to the right challenger, it’s a real fixer-upper.” I nod then we proceed to the dusty, dingy living room to our right on the east side of the foyer. Burton Coca takes a seat on the sofa and I on the loveseat across from himboth couches draped in cobwebs and-with a coffee table separating us. Burton Coca says suddenly with tension, “That loveseat is made of rosewood-I can tell from its rich hue, and dark veining.” I say, “Yeah, and that couch you’re sitting on is a Kubus sofa-who cares!?” Burton Coca says, “I’m allergic-it’s possible my chest could tighten till I faint of exhaustion.” I say, “Don’t worry Mr Coca, we won’t be here long.” He says, “Uh, you can call me Burt.” I say, “I’ll call you Dr Dolittle if i want-I run this show,” with intensity. He looks reprimanded. I say with compassion, “Of course I’m kidding, Burt-” then the door bell rings-to my surprise, Burt says, “I didn’t know that doorbell worked.” I say without suspense, “Neither did I.”-then I head to answer-Burt looking red of histamine.
I turn the knob and open the giant door-to a tomboy who looks no more than 17 years old. This creature with high feminist vibes, says, “How do you do?-I’m-who are you?” I asked, “Are you Dr Seuss?” She asks, “What?” We both laugh.-then she wraps me in a bear hug. I tell her, “You are a friendly one.” She says, “This friendly one-is Jane-Jane Bingham.” I say, “Well, Jane Bingham-I’d be pleased if you’d enter softly and make a hard right to join company.” Jane Bingham curtsies then follows instructions. I stand outside for 10 minutes smoking a cigarette and keeping an eye out for the next guests but there are none so I return to Burt and nem. I revisit the seat i previously left warm to Janes’s telling me excitedly-”This man is just wonderful!” I-’Oh yeah, did he tell you-that he’s a gay?” Jane looks dumb, forgetting of her joy. I look at Burt-”You’re bisexual, right, Burt?” Burt pauses then-”Well, yes, sorta, actually I’m intersex-” I-”Yep, Burt had his breasts removed-but he still has a dick though.” Jane asks Burt-curiously-”Why’d you get fake tits just to cut ‘em off?” Burt answers hesitantly-”Actually, I was born half of each gender-they were natural breasts which i removed.” Jane admits to Burt, “You sound prepubescent.” Burt begins to cough violently. I tell him, “Nothing in the kitchen works but you can pull yourself together in the toilet-just above the winding stairwell (of roughly 50 steps).” He nods-and I’m left w/ Jane. I stare at Jane like Michael Myers for a long minute then submit, “Don’t worry Jane (like hannibal lecter) I won’t rape you.” She says flippantly “I’m going for a smoke-don’t join me.”-then stands, and walks out. I hear Burt coughing like a ghost with lung cancer but I don’t want to check on him-I instead scrape off some rosewood from under the loveseat-with my swiss army pocketknife-to later use on Burton in a state of sabotage-unless he dies in the toiletMidthought, Jane returns with a Sophia-who after I’ve seen in the scattered twilight, makes Jane appear not feminist at all. I curtsy-Sophia laughs-then entitles Jane – “You’re an asshole.” Jane bewildered, says, “What’s that for?!” Sophia says to me, “may I sit?” I gesture “Please.” We all return to the living room – including Burt who doesn’t speak to Sophia – and remains silent. Sophia says, “Jane – tried to slander you when i’d arrived.” I command, “Tell me more.” Jane starts to sob. Burt assists her to the basement I wouldn’t touch with a long stick. Alone, Sophia seems to fade into a new personality – taking on gracefuller motions, an erecter posture, and an acquired seductive talent of drawing my attention to her tongue especially during her showboating – of forcing the overuse of ‘S’ and ‘L’ in placements to heighten my attraction-for example she says gently, “Seduction. is just. a tool. used to. sustain. fools. pulling. their pupils. against them. satisfyingly. percolating. one peculiar. set. of circumstances.” Oh dear god, I imagined her muscular hydrostat animating such tricks I could hardly dream of. (pun intended) Midconversation-or Mid snake charming – I forgot what we were supposed to be talking about. I didn’t know if this was god’s plan or not. In this case, Sophia is my god. She says, “You stay here – I’m going to check on the boys.” I sit like an obedient puppy till there’s a quick three repetitive knocks at the front door. I open the door and answer to a Tony clothed in a grey sweatsuit and snow white gymshoes. I say gleefully – “Hey! Now that you’ve arrived, we can begin to prepare, since half of us are already here!” Tony says surprised, “Really!?” I thought I was the first.” I add, “Oh, sorry, the groups downstairs-” before I can say more, he’s shifting his attention to critical thinking and seeking the basement-but predictably-he’s back upstairs sooner then it took him to go down-in fear of scuffing his clean new Nike’s on a filthy recently flooded basement floor. I smile bigger on his return back up to from the basement than when we first met. Tony asks me, “We aren’t sitting in that room are we?”-pointing to the living room. I answer-”No of course not, by george!we’re in this room-c’mon I’ll show you – it’s good you came when you did-any earlier and you might’ve become upset.” Tony avows, “I love my shoes, Ku.” I lie, “I know-now let’s sit here.” Joe the cameraman orders a cook whom should arrive within the hour with catered hors d’oeuvre (caviar, bruschetta, spanakopita) and fresh food service: cooked to order with two choices of: steak dinner or vegetarian gourmet.
Tony and I are dallying with talk of fashion, art, and film prior to being saved by the bell. I rise to the obligation of accommodating the next guest who is Thomas Jenkins-who looks no older than 24 summers. He’s all smiles and ready to meet the group. I intuitively wonder if Thomas is only acting a role – flirting with pleasantries and playing the fool. Thomas and Tony hit it off instantly like they’ve been best friends for eternity. Speaking of eternity, it’s about time I check on the brood of the underfoot. I descend to discover to my amazement Burt lying on his back on the floor-Jane sitting her vagina on his mouth, Burt’s chin being the back of her seat – Jane bending completely backward to fit his penis in her mouth-her knees straddling Burt’s head, forming the golden gate position, pressing the floor with her hands to support her with Burt clasping his arms around her waist and Sophia between Burt’s spread legs on her knees in the basset hound sex position licking/orally probing his anus. It’s quite beautiful – I’ve never seen nothing like it – Jane curved like the rainbow and Sophia the pot of gold. Me: like a man catching his beloved of one open-marriage: “The 3 of you:put some clothes on – I have people to entertain!” Jane lifts up from her core -like doing sit-ups and turns to face me, speechless. Sophia slides back like a toy car – and wipes her mouth with Jane’s shirt before handing it to her. Jane lifts up backing herself into a corner – putting her clothes back on. Sophia just sits on the floor – in a kneeling pose like the japanese. Burt ignores me (Ku Shi) – still being sexually aroused to one erection – he lifts himself up to his feet, takes 3 steps towards Sophia, and, without pause, begins masturbating to climactically finish on Sophia’s face, which she tilts up – like rinsing her hair in the shower – to receive his spunk in a consecutive collection of 3 splashes, and instead of letting Burt’s penis spatter -Sophia orally vacuums the residuum with her pursed lips. Burt sits back down, next to Sophia who is wiping her face, with Burt’s boxer briefs. “Ku Shi: Jane said she thought about performing the YMCA sex position with you on the loveseat.” I say “Oh, I guess that means you’d do the choreography while you ride me-cowgirl, huh?” She says, looking away from me, “Actually, I’d be inverted.” I begin to rub my penis through my trousers. Burt asks, “So, if we’re having another go I’m ready.” Sophia says, “I’m dressing and joining the party above.” Jane says weakly, “I’ll go up too.” Burt looks at me suggestively, but I say, “Not a chance-”my cock: spontaneously flaccid. I lead. The feminists follow me. And Burt comes up after we’ve let in the cook and his team of 4. When we make it back in the dining room-I learn that Veronica Jethro and William DoBad arrived together from the airport. She says, “…Call me V-J…” He says, “…Call me Billy…” So, as soon as I acknowledge that i am becoming exhausted from the formalities – a Natalie walks in from an alternative entrance from everyone else. I’m too depleted to care-and she doesn’t help my situation none because she burns a ton of groupenergy, draining me to a low battery. I sense my inevitable blacking out, then like a cold reading saviourthe cook-Dan-brings me a cold glass of ice water which i chug like a Taliban, in the Californian desert. He takes my cup-refills it – and brings me a second glass which after drinking -I am quenched. Shortly, thereafter – Milky Tits flies in through the window like a skydiver off his course – breaking the window – damaging architecture, and causing great commotion. He lands on his feet and I land in his bear hug -He says, “Call me Milky – I’ve heard enough about you.” I say, “Thanks I guess – would you like to have a seat?” Milky says, “It’s my show now! I only have a half hour so make this fast.” I ask sarcastically “Does Milky have planets to save?” Everyone laughs, someone Bronx-cheers. Milky looks challenged a bit then he says, “Actually, I do- 3 of them.” Everyone takes their seats. And I submit. The cook serves Milky first-He orders the vegetables. Natalie has the steak. V-J goes for the vegetables and Billy gets a steak. Thomas and Tony both get steaks. Sophia and Jane get vegetables. Burton eats with the servers in the kitchen. (I thought: maybe he’s feeling guilty.) I start: “so we all know why we’re here…” Milky cuts me off, “So then get to the point!” I say, “I was…” Milky: “Interview us!” I’m becoming frustrated. Billy says, “Do me first,” with a suggestive smirk. I say, “Actually I’ll do ladies first as a type of counterphobic experiment.” Tony and Thomas give one another dap-loud enough to echo in the whole building. Milky crosses his arms, defensively. Sophia and V-J look pleased; Jane and Natalie look baffled. Billy snaps, “Well, go on then!”
I say, “Ok Good. So Jane: Have you accepted yourself for who you are, yet?” Jane jumps to conclude: “I will never be a religious freak!” Everyone agrees with her judgment except Thomas who raises his hand to speak -Thomas says, “Look dear, I’ve been through more in the last 3 years than you’ll probably go through in your entire life + two more.” Tony nods and says, “Could you expound on that?” Thomas: “Sure – what I mean is she is just a small rat in a trap trying to be free only to break into another house she don’t belong in.” Milky says, “I can relate.” Everyone laughs. Thomas announces, “I’m serious! She aint gonna never learn because she’s running away from all knowledge, advice, and friendship but crashing into bad boys, pedophiles, and dirtballs.” Jane cries, “You’re right – I can’t change.” V-J says – “I changed from a poor slut to a rich porn star.” Burt enters the room and takes a seat in the last available chair. (that’s some timing, Burt) Jane still sobbing says, “Do you like it better?” V-J says, “I don’t know what Tom was getting at, but I think you want freedom, but you only see it through another’s eyes. or through another’s affections.” I say “But aren’t you the one giving affection, Jane?” Natalie says, “She is; I can relate.” Tony asks, “How so?” Natalie says, “I conned the homeless after possibly killing my child.” Billy says, “Ooh, juicy! Let’s hear it.” Natalie screams, “I will not spill the beans!” Billy says, “That can of worms is already open, honey.” Natalie says bluntly, “Fuck you.” I say, “Let’s move on. V-J, have you found that you don’t have to deal with your stress alone -that you can ask for help?” V-J says, “I have everything I could want and more.” Jane says, “You sound rich.” Tony says, “Maybe that’s just a front.” Sophia confirms, “It is a front.” V-J snaps, “How do you know, bitch!?” Sophia crosses her arms in sobering silence. Billy instigates, “Well, obviously she doesn’t know.” Sophia looks smug. V-J says, “She’s a bitch!” Sophia says nothing. Thomas says, “I like her, so what you said isn’t true, V-J.” Tony asks, “What are you all’s definitions?” V-J contemplates. Thomas says, “a bitch is unpleasant and insatiable.” V-J says, “That’s me.” Sophia tells V-J calmly, “You’re a bitch.” After an awkward silence, I ask Natalie, “Have you noticed how avoiding: demanding and unreliable people, makes your life’s transitions much smoother?” Natalie says, “Look, if I’m gonna shoot you, I’m gonna do it when you’re not looking.” I say, “I don’t know how to respond to that.” Jane says, “I think she threatened to kill you.” Billy confirms, “She did.” Tony says, “I disagree; I think she’s saying that the way you see things will never be authentic to her experience.” Thomas says, “I disagree; I think she means, to protect what is hers, you can’t know what she loves.” Burt says, “you know I ‘ve been listening for awhile, and most of you are dumb, but Tom + Tony -you make strong points -and so do i, with my point being -she has primal urges – but maybe she’s more sensitive to them, because all of us: animals: have instincts. Natalie nods thrice. I say, “Our last lady, Sophia – have you found all that can become of staying grounded with a mindfulness through crises?” Sophia says, “Just because I’m a feminist, I have to be in crisis?” Jane says, “She answered you’re question with a question.” V-J tells Jane, “Shut up, bitch.” Jane says, “I’m not the bitch, you are.” Tony and Tom dap another echo. Sophia says, “See how I mean?: men will do that, and women will do that.” Jane asks, “What!? I thought you liked me.” Sophia says, “Wake up; you’re a tool.” I say, “Really?,” to Sophia. Jane says, “Yeah, she’s right – I am.” I ask Sophia, “Are you gonna answer the question or play mindgames?” She asks, “Why couldn’t I do both?” I’m getting frustrated then Tony cuts in. Tony says, “She’s either stuck up or she’s gotten fucked so many times by the system that she’s scarred for good.” Sophia asks, “Do you mean systematic sexism which you love?, or do you mean systematic racism which Tom loves?, how about systematic ableism which V-J loves?” Tony looks at me. I ask her, “So you’re saying that the only good people here are You, Natalie, Billy, and Burt.” She says, “Milky’s okay but I hate Jane.” Jane smiles. Thomas says, “Bitch, I could turn you out.” Sophia says, “I’d kill you.” Thomas smiles. I say, “I guess that’s where that is ending; so Milky my lord – are you available for interpellation?” Milky nods thrice. I say, “So, if your life were considered a catastrophe, in what ways would it inconvenience you?” Jane says, “What!? We get all these personal questions, and he gets this star trekkian bullshit?!” I answer, “Yes.” Milky says, “I really don’t mind and my life is a catastrophe but you aint seen nothing yet.” Billy asks, “Ooh, what haven’t we seen?” Milky says, “It’s an expression, and I’m the climax.” Billy says, “I don’t care much for the climax.” Natalie says, “Don’t swallow.” Tony asks, “Are we done here?” Thomas says, “We’re a house divided.”
Ku Shi says, “We can wrap this up – I’m sure you all would pass on dessert.” Milky Tits, with a running start towards the foyer, jumps then flies away, blasting a full woman sized opening in the roof of the mansion, sending debris thundering down, while everyone else leaves neatly in single file. … Everyone except Sophia and Jane, who were hidden in one common cupboard, towards the front of the house. Ku Shi having believed everyone was gone, without counting for sure, didn’t expect to find people in the cupboard, where Burt insisted, he’d find a housewarming gift-unwrapped. Ku Shi turns the knob and opens the door to an ambush from the two feminist guerillas. Sophia breaks his legs with two tae kwon do kicks. Jane following Sophia’s directions, breaks both his arm. The two drag Ku Shi to the porch, so that he’s visible to the first of whomever happens to be driving by. In two weeks time, Ku Shi was found where Jane and Sophia left him, by a realtor. All the guests of the dinner, were arrested; all except Milky and the perpetrators. As the story goes, When the detectives spotted Tony leaving the park, he took off running, influencing them to shoot him down, in his back. All over, gossipers are still buzzing about the man who died, wearing the cleanest pair of snow white shoes, with not a single mark, on them. The Round Tabl3 Meeting *.Exclusive.*
Druggd Up by official ku shi's nonsense Brad says, “Lemon Absolut is the best.” Keith says, “Nuh uh. Orange Absolut is better.” Ben says, “Neither one of those can compare to Peach Absolut, so good that Ciroc copied it.” Brad says, “When life gives you lemonade, make Lemon Absolut.” Keith says, “O-K.” Ben says, “Everyone like peaches.” Brad says, “King Edward didn’t.” Keith asks, “Which one?” Brad says, “King Edward VI of England. If it wasn’t for the peach, he’d have lived a longer legacy.” Ben says,”it could’ve been apples, plums, or cherries.” Brad says,”It wasn’t.” Keith says, “Peaches suck. They kill people.” Ben agrees. Brad says, “lemon it is!” Keith repeats, “Nuh uh. Orange Absolut is better.” Brad says, “I thought we just agreed.” Keith says, “Ben agreed. I just listened. I still like orange.” Brad says, “Orange is just old and aged lemon. Don’t you like virgins?” Keith says, “How old?” Brad asks, “How old what?” Keith says, “Are the virgins?” Brad: Oh, she’s-say-19. Ben says, “Nice age.” Keith says, “Younger.” Brad says, “Um, O-K, 17 or 18.” Ben says, “Good picks.” Keith says, “Which one?” Brad says, “Fuck man! 17-alright-fucking 17 years a virgin!” Ben says, “I’d do her.” Keith says, “Now we’re talking. Do you have her cell phone number?” Ben says, “I can’t wait to get on some Orange Absolut.” Brad says, “Wait, I thought we were going for lemon.” Ben says, “I thought Keith won.” Keith says, “Yeah, first to get laid is the last to be spayed!” Brad says, “You mean neutered. Females are spayed. But both submit to forms of fixing.” Ben says, “You’re stupid, Brad.” Keith says, “Yeah.” Brad says, “I’m smarter than both you combined.” Ben says to Keith, “You wanna go get some pussy Keith?” Keith answers, “You know it.” Ben says, “Let’s roll. And we can pick up some Orange Absolut on the way.” Brad says, “Fuck you guys.” Together Ben and Keith say, “Fuck yourself!,” then split from Brad. Brad-alone-thinks, I don’t need friends to be a junky alcoholic. If I can watch TV alone, or imagine myself skiing alone, then i damn well can drink Absolut alone! I hate those two guys anyway. I’m starting to
wonder how, why, when, where, and what made me friends with them in the first place. I didn’t even like them and it appears they didn’t like me. Brad cozies up horizontally on a bench outside of his second favorite liquor store with only enough change to buy a third of a fifth of Absolut Lemon. It’s just ten minutes that go by before he hears honking and screaming, “We got this Absolut Peach at your favorite liquor store! Have at it!,” says, Ben in the passengar seat of a stolen vehicle as he chucks the full unopened glass bottle through the air, with NFL quarterback precision targeting his wide receiver for a touchdownBrad lifting onto his buttocks to sit correctly on the bench-and the bottle slamming and breaking against his skull, knocking out Brad with a fatal blow. The homies drive on not knowing-or much caring about-what just happened. But the liquor keeps pouring and the drunks keep snoring. Am I right?
My Laptop is Black,(Color)-(ism) My iPod is White by official ku shi's literalism i’m bathing in the sun closing my eyes and seeing the orange i feel so warm a sunray swarm
Fiction bu official ku shi's politics What exactly is ‘historical deletion,’ Socrates?,” asks Cherokee. Socrates says, “Historical deletion is a collection-of the purging of the historically and politically best and brightest by monopolizers, prior review of written work by monopolizers, and the demoting of humans to a nonperson status which takes away legal, social, and basic rights. A closed city like America keeps mexicans out, and censorship denies American citizens the right and ability and trust of them thinking for their selves. Historical deletion is antiself government. It’s a crime against humanity.” Socrates adds, ” If someone burns my book, that someone has the deadliest of enemies.” Cherokee says, “I thought The Purge was just a movie.” Socrates says, “Forced disappearance is real, and even Jesus was persecuted.” Cherokee asks, Thee Jesus, that I heard about?” Socrates: Yes. That’s Him. Guantanamo Bay was the capital of torture hosted by the U.S. And discrimination, surveillance abuse, and police brutality is occurring on the front street each and every day.” Cherokee wonders, “If the citizen can’t trust his police force, who can he?” Socrates says, “In a police state which supports punishment, execution, and imprisonment-you, Cherokee-shouldn’t even trust me.”
…And I am… by official ku shi's rhyming Dedicated to One, But with imagination of others *This may require an urban dictionary -
…And I am… The black ‘George Clooney’ In ‘The Town’ like toonies On i’tunes’ like i’m ‘looney’ But i’m not for buffoonery So, call me: tom foolery The sparkle in my eye is my jewelry And this Grey Goose: I abuse like cruelty Now let me descend to lunacy This was unexpected I was unprotected to be uninfected Allah: why did you forsake me!? Now I’m reconnected No way you can disrespect it To Art: I’m subjected That’s what you suspected The criminality: reflected Illuminati’s elected I project it Like heroin, you inject it Your goose-bumps are erected Mine are too, but I neglect it Impossible to be unaffected My worldview is hectic Unanticipated creativity… point-press-selected The universe: i nicked it Even ‘the quick’ couldn’t fix it
I’m word-proof… WordPress-encrypted Your mentality has been flipped, dipped, and tipped Get a grip; I’m wicked So I’m the conductor of this ‘gravy train’ And the manufacturer You can try to ‘grill’ me But that’s like ‘gift card laundering’, I got ya I had a ‘ghetto upgrade’ And my calendar’s ‘girlfriend-proof’ That’s 2014′s I’m the ‘gift parasite’, ‘googly eyes’ can’t see ‘Get real’ On this ‘grape drink’, ‘I’m gettin yucky’ ‘Good lookin’ out’, ‘government’ of ‘gangsters’ I’d hit the ‘girl next door’ like a ‘g-spot’ Trust me, I’m ‘gully’ From the ‘gitgo’, I’ve been ‘gank’ing ‘Going ham’ on this ‘ganja’ like Jason Voorhees These whores need more knees I’m vaporizing ‘G-13′ – it’s grown by the government I have ‘game’ like G4TV Maybe call the Marley’s – I need more weed I break a ‘blunt’ down – the color of ‘gabrielle union’ I have private rights – you need a worker’s union Ahead of the communion I bombed my high school reunion
If you don’t see the apostrophe’s, ‘gag me with a spoon, bitch’ I met a bitch today, she was ‘gagging for it’ The ‘gag factor’ didn’t matter because her ‘gag reflex’ was unimportant My ‘game face’ on, but this is the ‘gamebreaker’ Are you ‘game or lame’? – norm or strange? I’m a ‘gameophile’ – these ‘gamer chicks’ bow to my ‘game of thrones’ I’m a ‘gamer’ and if ‘game recognize game’, it’s ‘game over’ ‘Geah’ – I’m ‘g’d up from the feet up’ I’m ‘pimped out’ and dressed to kill And the dead are ‘geeked up’! They’re ‘geekin’ so hard, I said ‘geez louise’ We don’t really ‘gel’ so you should just ‘chill’ on your knees I’m ‘genderless’ but my ‘gentleman’s bet’ was won-thanks to ‘Genevieve’ I’m picking up where she left off, but i ‘go apeshit’ And the ‘guerillas’ ‘go bananas’ ‘Go big or go home’! I just ‘go commando’ Goddess of Sex looked at me and said ‘God bless you’ I say ‘goddammit’ – I have a ‘God is dead’ complex ‘Go die in a hole’ My ‘swagger’ is ‘godzilla’ ‘Go fuck yourself’ I ‘go for broke’ or ‘go full retard’ I’m a ‘go getta’, you’re just ‘go-go’ ‘goggles’ I ‘go hard’ pimp You only go ‘guacamole’ ‘Guala guala’ told me long ago I aint from ‘Guadalajara’
L-o-l, I’m ‘Guapo’ So i speak “Guaponese’ Like I’m not from ‘ Guatemala’ But i’m ‘gucci’ Your ‘gucci’ aint my gucci One slut said ‘Guess What’s In My Pants’? I said You’re ‘coochie’ aint my ‘coochy’ Now let me pause for this ‘selfie’ … … … … … Some said I’m too long like Lord of the Rings I said ‘your mum’ My ‘comeback’s are princess to castle ‘Face’ So I got off base Rhymes are a chase I then won the race Call me Ace I spray: like a multiorgasmic libra full of grace, wearing lace, or maybe just mace I debase then displace the human races’ attention Illumination is an obstacle race Education is deception And depression is the acknowledgment of tension What a session of perfection! I’m bigger than the Geneva Convention
I’m multifariously intricate – compounding The Illinois-American Green Gentian ;)
Kick Foot: Dumb Woman by official ku shi's zeitgeist Dedicated to My Aunt (whom i have no proof to be my aunt) Lucky is a female She lives in our world She’s hated by atheists for the following reason Why not be a red letter christian? says Tony, Lucky’s nephew. Lucky says, “You shall love the Lord your God with all of your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your might. It says so, in Matthew 22:37.” Tony says, “I love myself and myself only if i’d be perfectly honest with you, and you think the same way when you’re perfectly honest with your self.” Lucky says, “Your heart, your soul, your strength belong to god and god only.” Tony says, “Sure, if this god of yours is titled biology, evolution, and physical fitness.” Lucky says,”what is this atheism that you speak of?” Tony says, “I’ll tell ya. Dignity is my own. Justice is my not killing you. I’m married to whichever chick I’m fucking at the time. And if you hit me I’ll probably hit you back, at the least.” Lucky responds in fear, “You speak the tongue of the killers!” Tony: I didn’t know Killers had a nation. Lucky: They do, and I set out to save you from jumping bad with them. Tony: Jumping bad? I thought it was breaking bad. Lucky: How so? Tony: The movie, breaking bad… Lucky: This is serious Tony, I won’t see you like these homosexuals, transsexuals, and sex addicts. Tony: Wait a second Lucky, who said that I had a sex problem? Lucky: If you speak to me from atheism, you don’t know my god. Tony: You mean jesus? Lucky: Yes. Tony: And what did jesus say in declination of sexuality? Lucky: We christians are against abortion, casual sex, and same sex marriage. Tony: So jesus did not decline sexual persons. Now let me move along. From abortion let’s scale back. Is masterbation a sin? Lucky: Well, not flat out… Tony: Stop there. Would you as a christian rather see to it that young men not masterbate? Lucky: Yes, I would… Tony: Even if their sexual repressions cause indirect effects-say-like murder, rape, and various acts of mischief? Lucky: No, not in that sense, No. Tony: So, masterbation wins. Lucky says, “Tony you tricked me! But that’s expected because you’re anti creationist, anti corporation, and anti law.” Tony says, “I’ll shoot those one at a time if I may. Creationism is false if it leads to something as trivial as censorship. That’s the soft atheist way to look at intelligent design, but to an hard atheist, chaos was and still is. Hate it or love it, but thinking of it, makes you smarter, or of a more intelligent design. Lucky says, “Don’t take the lord’s name in vain.” Tony says smugly, “Who? Jesus? I didn’t even say his name. I only made fun of you. I said you’re stupid with a silver tongue, and I add now that you’re thinking style or lack of philosophy is pulling people back past the stone ages.” Lucky says,” I will only talk about my religion, not any dinosaurs.” Tony: Who said anything about birds and lizards? See, this is why, I’m anti theist, because all that you see is theism. We can’t have a conversation because of your lack of holistic knowledge. Lucky: My knowledge is holy and my faith is holy too. Tony: What faith? Or a better query is why faith? Faith is lack of reason. Lucky: I have no reason… Tony: You’ve proven that time and time again. You’re nonsense in the flesh. And you can’t prove the life of jesus. He wasn’t the only man named jesus during his lifetime either by the way. Lucky says,” Because you don’t want to work, you want to read science books, write stories that make
people do bad things and… Tony: Stop! I didn’t say I didn’t want to work. I don’t read only science, and you haven’t even read any of my work. Lucky: So, you want to work? Tony: Yes, but not under current conditions. Lucky: What conditions suit you? Tony: A moneyless condition… Lucky says, “You can’t work and be poor. It’s…” Tony: I know and if you’d let me finish, I mean a taxless system, a system where I know my energy doesn’t pay for the death of a stranger overseas in a war, a system where I know every living human has a home, and a system where the wages are equal to the advertisements i see on my family’s television. Lucky: So, that’s it? You want to buy everything? Tony: No, I don’t want it all. I just want everyone to want for nothing at all. Lucky: Who said that? Tony: I did! Lucky asks, “So, that’s your quote? Tony answers, Yes! It’s my quote! Lucky asks,”Why must you be so proud, arrogant, and disobedient to the law? You only live for yourself and you don’t see family, and you think that your way of life is the highest road, over god, and religion? Tony says, “Wait, I did not put your religion in the same barrel as all religions for most of the issues we’ve spoken of today. And yes, I agree that I am selfish. And I would accept family if they’d accept me. In fact, I am more tolerant of everyone than most christians are of me.” Lucky: I love you Tony, but it seems to me that you don’t love yourself. Tony: If I’m selfish-which we both agreed on-then I love myself too much if anything. Lucky: O-K fine. But why did you say that you hated my religion? Tony: I didn’t say that. I never said that. Why would you put words in my mouth? Lucky: Fine, maybe you didn’t say you hated christianity but that’s what atheism is, isn’t it? Tony: I can’t speak for this group you put me into but it’s not what it means for me. I’m anti theist, and in particular anti christianity because on a whole, your group has no tolerance, you press your beliefs on strangers, and you’re compulsive to the point of thinking that christianity is the only way to live. Lucky: It is! Tony, that is what I’m trying to tell you! Tony says, “No, you’re trying to recruit me for some covert evangelical reason.” Lucky: “You hate the law and it will turn you into a homosexual transsexual.” Tony: No, atheism is secular, and what does my individualism have to do with sexuality? Lucky: Everything. I’ve seen young men in your same position Tony, reading the books, thinking the thoughts, and seeing only the mirror, until it’s far too late, and they’re under some older man’s arm, and he’s getting salad-tossed in the dark. Tony: What the fuck are you on? Now atheism is the same as gay and guilty and immoral? Lucky: Yes, what do you think of my commandments? Squat! Tony: Wait, the ten commandments? Lucky: Yes! Tony: I think the commandments are moral but to be moral doesn’t take religion. I’m not killing and stealing and I’m atheist. Lucky: But you don’t have or know god! Tony thinks if I’m above the bible thumping lawmakers, I am god. He instead, says, “I’m more godly than you’ll ever be, walking around thinking that you’re a perfected human with divine psychology, and that only you can save mankind.” Lucky: I have compassion for you, and love. Tony: Well, love me for who I am, and not for who you’d want me to be. -To be continuedAt heaven’s gate, Michael says, “Send Lucky to Melech; He’ll know what to do with her. She’s guilty of dramatizing crocodile tears, fetishizing celebrity culture, and dumbing down the impressionable local youth.”
Tamed Uselessness by official ku shi's haiku Who are you? Who are you, young boy? You think you know yourself? You’re just a little girl.
The Best Questions? by official ku shi's questions *The Best Questions? Now why would I…? Why would I go back to the ghetto to sell drugs? Why would I work at Target to smoke drugs? Why would I leave my room to talk to biologically familiar people? Why would I eat three meals a day? Why would I answer when someone calls my name? Why would I turn off the lights and be scared of the darkness? Why would I share love while knowing I’m heartless? Why would I expect good memory when I’m old? Why would I stare at you when I know I must blink? Why would I ask questions when I don’t care that you think? Why would I expect to have your trust? Why would I waste energy chasing a bus? Why would I buy a depreciative car? Why would I even try to understand the stars? Why would I act like I know accurate definitions? Why would I try to explain the large picture? Why would I not daydream when I’m living in outer space? Why would I make eye contact when I don’t like the look of your face? Why would I have sex with one person for my whole life? Why would I dedicate my life to a book called the bible? Why would I let anyone control me? Why would I let a pet console me? Why would I go to the zoo when I’m an animal trapped? Why would I go out to eat when I could bite your neck? Why would I fear disease when bacteria was here before me? And monkeys were here before me. And reptiles were here before me. And trees, plants, and ocean was here before me. Biology is biology but you disagree. Chemistry is chemistry. A chemical action every time you eat. We’re all mutant, logically we’re not the same. I still don’t know my authentic name. That’s the only shame. And I’m allergic to guilt so stay away.
I have a story idea, but not a story. How does one sue god when god never existed? Christians live their whole lives trying to sue god for freedom, and well-being. It was going to be titled BLOOD FLOOD: MASS MURDER OF ANGELS
Single and Alcoholic in Suburbia by official ku shi's absurdity *Single and Alcoholic in Suburbia Fresh outta bed I just masturbated in. I feel refreshed and renewed. I get up to wash my acne and prepare for an unconventional breakfast of losers. A day leftover Wendys’ cheeseburger with a hard bun and spoiled tomato. I chase the junk-food with root-beer and the gas-pill my doctor prescribed to me. Asshole didn’t prescribe anything I could sell on the street to fellow-losers. I might dump him on my next appointment. Life is too short to be unsatisfied. So I greet the day as the sun comes up with a frown. This planet is obnoxious with its seasons, temperatures, weather, day, night, day, night, day, night, day, night, day, night; for man’s sake, choose one already. As I hate on the sun with half my might, I use my other half of might to walk my tired mass to the convenience store which is inconveniently placed too far for my liking. I walk in, don’t greet the manager, and suspiciously throw my hood on. I browse in aisles I have no interest in, and walk two times slower than my normal pace, I pour a soda from the machine, and drink all of it without paying, then toss the cup. I finally confiscate a bottle of red wine, two bottles of white wine, a bottle of Jim Beam’s bourbon, and a twelve pack of Corona mexican beer. This is a light day for me but I plan to pick some weight up on the weekend. It’s Thursday. And it smells like shit on my side of town but some leftover heroin in my sweater pocket stuffs my nasal passages just fine. I manage to walk my cart to the back of the local police station to get my kicks. Beer first, wine second, then I finish myself off walking down the street with the bottle of Beam Incorporated in my hand. Staggering is my favorite way to walk, and salurring my wuhords is my fadavorite way to um talk. I spend most of my days alone. Life isn’t too exciting to me, so I must drink the pain and loneliness away. -To be continued-
“Pick yourself up before I call the police, the doctor, your parents, and a priest!”
*Man-Wife-Mutual Suicide by official ku shi's free knowledge *Man-Wife-Mutual Suicide I shot him at the stop sign. My gangsters don’t waste respect in Chicago. Selling dope on my block is a privilege, a privilege that doesn’t come cheap. He fell where he stood, and I let him lay, like the ambulance probably would. There isn’t too many guys in uniforms showing up around my crib (home). It’s ironic a bit, because nearly all the drug dealers wear the white t’s, and baggy jeans with Air Jordans, real and knockoff (counterfeit). I didn’t like him anyway. Anytime I seen him, he would frown at me like I raped his sister. If I knew his sister, I would rape his sister. Then, I would date his sister. How?, you might ask. Because I’d threaten to kill her if she didn’t feed me McDonalds on a weekly basis. That’s how it is. Life is cheap. Doctors are expensive. Drugs are everywhere and experts don’t like my kind. Whites call me black, but blacks call me nigga (nigger). I never looked into what “nigger” means. I don’t even know what “violence” means, but I robbed someone’s grandmother last night. Sometimes it’s like the moon effects me. I see it full in the sky, and I feels like a baboon that’s broken out of the local zoo. -To be continued“What do you mean?! He was begging me to kill him!”
What Year is it? by official ku shi's life *What year is it? After about three gifts in, I finally realised it was my birthday. Next year, I’ll kill my entire family on my birthday; let’s see them sing happy birthday to me then. I can’t wait to grab a drink at the bar after this horror movie of a dinner. No one here knows me and I like no one here. Whoever invented family, did not understand human nature. Parents have sex and give birth to a brand new stranger then they get the nerve to tell the children: don’t speak to strangers. That seems like something to tell someone after puberty anyway, but before these teen moms turn thirteen. If I hear one more toast to many more years or to a faithful girlfriend, I’m going to slit my throat with this plastic knife right here in my mother’s half-kitchen. When you’re poor, everything is split in half, including parents, before divorce and out of wedlock. Around the table we go, birthday wishes for me, and more non-alcoholic champagne spilled on the floor for me to clean. Out of a random ten people in my family, I’m the only one who drinks, more about that later. In my family, testosterone gets tired at thirty-five, so at that age, the men either marry or have children, or new strangers. I mean, seriously, parents don’t know who these little jerks are gonna be. They can be giving life to Charles Manson again, or Shaquille O’neal; that would hurt. My mother tells me not to drink, but she goes along and has a baby. Talk about playing god. All I do is get drunk. If I didn’t like sleeping so much, I’d get drunk for a living. -To be continued“Don’t you like that golden ring for your future wife?"
"Bitch, I don’t even have a fiancé yet!”
Child vs Sperm-donor by official ku shi's history Child vs Sperm donor Who needs parents anyway? I decided sometime before age ten that it probably best that I not even bring my parents out in public. My mother always putting on her second face for my friends. She just physically abused me the day before, but she’s telling them how proud she is of her son. She’s allways been like that, and my father is no better. Everyweek he steals a new car from his dealership in place of the last one when he’s supposed to be selling the damned things. My friends thought I lied whenever I spoke about him like they knew that my skincolor was too dark to have a father present. Maybe they were my friends for a reason. I was always attracted to the weird and strange. Maybe they could tell the future because by age eleven I was a smoking, drinking, fool. If the herb was rolled up, I’d smoke it. If the drink was poured, I’d swallow it. I’d come to be known as the class-clown you couldn’t pick on. The class-bully with a true sense of humor. I chose the identity that best fit any given situation. You know, sometimes my fist had to kiss a classmates cheek, and other times making fun of a teacher until she cries is the best way to a victory. Teachers liked me because I got A’s, but hated me because I picked fights. To me, everyday was a talent show, and everyone had hobbies. Some painted, others played instruments; I beat up my peers in the hallways and on the basketball court, in the locker room and in gym class, in spanish, and after english class. Control was what I was mostly against. With me, my victim never seen it coming. Hell, I didn’t see it coming. One minute, I’m cool; The next, someone’s been abused. So slapping little girls’ asses and smacking little boys’ faces was my childhood, parenting-free. My high school years are a step closer to who I’ll become. -To be continued“Bathrooms were not designed for snorting Xanax , young man!”
Trickology by official ku shi's antithesis i know nothing about poetry i’m outside even when i’m in the house they asked are you black?, or are you white? i said being both is what i’m talking about so call me presidential but the gods know that i’m higher working is prostitution nigger, your arse is for hire
now, whose really so black?, when all the town is enslaved? all the city low wage all the state is unpaid and my family: they deserve more and i don’t score, i make them score and then i pinch pennies but if you aint rollin with me, it’s the truth: you’re rollin against me now, see the sky: is it blue or black? do you trust the moon?, does the sun react? are you in the way?, or do you make a way? i: am the only way; follow me like dorsey j now, who do you think you can kill?, when i’m already undead? i rebirth as a maggot, just to fly over your head and i’m the blue mold on the bread the red mold in your shower stalls and i’m underground, so it doesn’t matter if you meet a higher god i’m disbelievable, because i’m so convincing but convicted, and you lie if you don’t attract my communication so what’s the syndication? communist/socialist nation i produce a production duh i refuse the confucksion yes, that’s fuck-shit: translation: anything i don’t like but i don’t need an urban dictionary to tell you how I grew up, right?
i boiled in the life, now i’m spoiled in the light i heard that royals, i was feeling like: that team is on my side and the rest of you are losers i’m livin a dream, you all are snoozers in the supreme set coordination i redeem my insubordination of anyone that once held me and i am just so hellweek and huffy, but to ride you need two wheels, extra i’m so conceited but it’s only because you need it the revolution: i already seen it and the news is slow to meet it and the groups wonder what it’ll be lik e, probably that’s ecstasy , but the drug is nameless without definition who are you?, but a lie write down your name, now despise all i hear is cries, but they only get from me: sighs i'm god
Virtuous Sinners by official ku shi's interview Are you a russell brand fan? Do I wave good vibes his way? Yeah. Am I his adversary? No. Does he provoke me? No, but he grounds me in knowing that I’m not the only revolutionary thinker. I mean, seriously, he’s popular because he’s an actor that thrives on screen spectacularly, his personality has flamboyance, and he’s boastfully ethical. Perhaps, guiltlessly godlike. I’ve seen his work; they’re good. But his off screen opinions are great!
Would he work as a political figure? He is already working as a political figure. He is not opposite of Obama in America, but he’s actually Obama if Barack Obama were married to himself. Barack has gone on record saying, that he’s fearful of his wife’s presence. Russell Brand embraces, ignites, and casts a woman’s spirit to another realm! A realm of equal account, lavish love, and openhanded goodness and kindness. Do you think celebrities should get involved in politics? You’d have to be more specific. You must take me as an ignorant! I’m Atheist so I’m at the top of the top without much effort at sunrise. You should know that all celebrities are not equally opinionated and all do not have the same interests, and I’d be willing to bet you that most aren’t atheist and some don’t have a political opinion. What do you think of Russell Brand on Newsnight? I thought he was brilliant! His words used were precise. The vocal delivery was passionate, and his firmness in righteousness was beatific. Hasn’t he succeeded in starting this anti-government dialogue? I disagree. I don’t think that he prompted an anti-government discourse but his rhetoric, to me, was bellyfull of revolution. You could talk to any random ten people on any random sunday and they’d tell you how they’re unhappy with politics today. Journalists are recording the agony. Authors are publishing the apathy. The government is in grand disorder, and some publically, but many privately want a coup d’tat. With so much turmoil and debacle, overturning the political criminals whom are subversive to the underground activity of the guerillas would bring calm, peace, and long overdue political, social, and economic stagnation. Isn’t it funny, how Anarchy is the final harbinger of order? Hail, Lucifer!
One Lie by official ku shi's truth My most forgotten memories Dippy doesn’t but Dodgy does. Dippy thinks but Dodgy doesn’t. Dippy is everywhere. Dodgy is in one place at one time. Dippy stays still. Dodgy dances. Dippy’s dark. Dodgy is exhibited. Dippy never comes out to play. Dodgy is outgoing. Dippy has never been seen. Dodgy is famously known by all. Dippy hates attention. Dodgy indebtedly pays attention. Dippy keeps to himself. Dodgy must seek everyone else. Dippy is one. Dodgy is all. Dippy is refined. Dodgy is ugly. Dippy is misunderstood. Dodgy is understood. Dippy is unbelievable. Dodgey is trustworthy. Dippy is intangible. Dodgy is insatiable. Dippy is tolerant. Dodgy is prejudice. Dippy is loving. Dodgy is vengeful. Dippy doesn’t follow through. Dodgy is determined. Dippy is the definition. Dodgy is moved by the times. Dippy is raw beauty. Dodgy is bought beauty. Dippy is memory. Dodgy is amnesia. Dippy is timeless. Dodgy is shackled to hours. Dippy is above. Dodgy is below. Dippy is high. Dodgy is low. Dippy is in. Dodgy is encasing. Dippy is feeling. Dodgy is sensing. Dippy is dirt. Dodgy is plant. Dippy is first. Dodgy is clueless. Dippy is natural. Dodgy is manmade. Dippy is us, we, I&I. Dodgy is them, you, me, and I.
Dippy is water. Dodgy is fire. Dippy is subtle. Dodgy is obnoxious. Dippy is feminine. Dodgy is masculine. Dippy is wished for, longed for. Dodgy pokes and prods. Dippy is flats. Dodgy is heels. Dippy is innocence. Dodgy will squeal. Dippy is unknown. Dodgy is vain. Dippy doesn’t care. Dodgy cares. Dippy doesn’t help. Dodgy helps. Dippy doesn’t see. Dodgy sees. Dippy doesn’t hear. Dodgy hears. Dippy doesn’t taste, smell, talk. Dodgy tastes, smells, talks. Dippy is fantastic. Dodgy is fantasy. Dippy is orgasm. Dodgy is death. Dippy is intimacy. Dodgy is violence. Dippy is response. Dodgy is ignorance. Dippy is the urge to kiss. Dodgy is the kiss. Dippy has no bounds. Dodgy is out of bounds. Dippy is truth. Dodgy is lies. Dippy is old. Dodgy is new. Dippy is tried. Dodgy is erroneous. Dippy is done. Dodgy is doing. Dippy is walked. Dodgy is walking. Dippy is laidback. Dodgy is leanforward. Dippy is then and now. Dodgy is never and again. Dippy is undefeated. Dodgy is cancer. Dippy is immortality. Dodgy is bacteria. Dippy is silent. Dodgy is music. Dippy is full. Dodgy is empty. Dippy hasn’t begun and won’t end. Dodgy starts and finishes. Dippy is hands off. Dodgy is impulsive. Dippy can wait. Dodgy is greedy. Dippy is tolerant. Dodgy is indignant. Dippy is nonexistent. Dodgy is living. Dippy is query. Dodgy is answer. Dippy is none. Dodgy is more. Dippy doesn’t but Dodgy does. Dippy thinks but Dodgy doesn’t. Dippy is none. Dodgy is more. Dippy is undefeated. Dodgy is cancer. Dippy is immortality. Dodgy is bacteria. Dippy is silent. Dodgy is music. Dippy is full. Dodgy is empty. Dippy hasn’t begun and won’t end. Dodgy starts and finishes. Dippy is hands off. Dodgy is impulsive. Dippy can wait. Dodgy is greedy. Dippy is tolerant. Dodgy is indignant. Dippy is nonexistent. Dodgy is living. Dippy is query. Dodgy is answer. Dippy has no bounds. Dodgy is out of bounds. Dippy is truth. Dodgy is lies. Dippy is old. Dodgy is new. Dippy is tried. Dodgy is erroneous. Dippy is done. Dodgy is doing. Dippy is walked. Dodgy is walking. Dippy is laidback. Dodgy is leanforward. Dippy is then and now. Dodgy is never and again. Dippy doesn’t care. Dodgy cares. Dippy doesn’t help. Dodgy helps. Dippy doesn’t see. Dodgy sees. Dippy doesn’t hear. Dodgy hears. Dippy doesn’t taste, smell, talk. Dodgy tastes, smells, talks. Dippy is fantastic. Dodgy is fantasy. Dippy is orgasm. Dodgy is death. Dippy is intimacy. Dodgy is violence. Dippy is response. Dodgy is ignorance. Dippy is the urge to kiss. Dodgy is the kiss. Dippy is raw beauty. Dodgy is bought beauty. Dippy is memory. Dodgy is amnesia. Dippy is timeless. Dodgy is shackled to hours. Dippy is above. Dodgy is below. Dippy is high. Dodgy is low. Dippy is in. Dodgy is encasing. Dippy is feeling. Dodgy is sensing. Dippy is dirt. Dodgy is plant. Dippy is first. Dodgy is clueless. Dippy is natural. Dodgy is manmade. Dippy is us, we, I&I. Dodgy is them, you, me, and I. Dippy is water. Dodgy is fire. Dippy is subtle. Dodgy is obnoxious. Dippy is feminine. Dodgy is masculine. Dippy is wished for, longed for. Dodgy pokes and prods. Dippy is flats. Dodgy is heels. Dippy is innocence. Dodgy will squeal. Dippy is unknown. Dodgy is vain. Dippy is everywhere. Dodgy is in one place at one time. Dippy stays still. Dodgy dances. Dippy’s dark. Dodgy is exhibited. Dippy never comes out to play. Dodgy is outgoing. Dippy has never been seen. Dodgy is famously known by all. Dippy hates attention. Dodgy indebtedly pays attention. Dippy keeps to himself. Dodgy must seek everyone else. Dippy is one. Dodgy is all. Dippy is refined. Dodgy is ugly. Dippy is misunderstood. Dodgy is understood. Dippy is unbelievable. Dodgey is trustworthy. Dippy is intangible. Dodgy is insatiable. Dippy is tolerant. Dodgy is prejudice. Dippy is loving. Dodgy is vengeful. Dippy doesn’t follow through. Dodgy is determined. Dippy is the definition. Dodgy is moved by the times. Dippy doesn’t but Dodgy does. Dippy thinks but Dodgy doesn’t.
My most forgotten memories which never lived
Holiday Truffles by official ku shi's remake I’m on that green tea and mushrooms I’m gonna live forever too The eastern races have it figured out y’all Dying is against my law I’m eating pussy but I’m a vegan Sushi on my plate and my bitch wetter than the ocean man I only care about me but all of you need some help so my pride just R.I.P. I give it up free of charge They call me back like T-Mob Saving the world is my day job And I spend it all before they rob man I heard, “Give to the poor, make them rich Don’t lose sight of your goal A giant couldn’t make me flinch I’m like this till I’m vampire-old I don’t have to stop this train You could hop along this with me On the side: the haters hang All the lovers ride with me I’m on that green tea and mushrooms I’m gonna live forever too The eastern races have it figured out y’all Dying is against my law I love life so I won’t die The beginning wants me back And I know stars in the sky man I don’t even need to get high I’m already up there And I speak truth when the official language is lies
My neighbors are speaking spanish The pride is of the english I get up, everyday I manage And ‘me first’ is how I finish man While y’all die, I’m still living I’m not braggin, it is what it is A is A is what I heard from him And he authorized the truth like a sentence This life wasn’t made for y’all And not for y’alls imagination If pride comes before the fall I’m underground like vegetation I’m on that green tea and mushrooms I’m gonna live forever too The eastern races have it figured out y’all Dying is against my law
I saw Lightning but There Wasn’t a StormPlagiarised Part 3 Laws and systems of polity always begin by recognising the relations they find already existing between individuals. They convert what has a mere physical fact into a legal right, give it the sanction of society, and principally aim at the substitution of public and organized means of asserting and protecting these rights, instead of the irregular and lawless conflict of physical strength … If people are mostly so little aware how completely, during the greater part of the duration of our species, the law of force was the avowed rule of general conduct, any other being only a special and exceptional consequence of peculiar ties – and from how very recent a date it is that the affairs of society in general have been pretended to be regulated according to any moral law; as little do people remember or consider, how institutions and customs which never had any ground out the law of force, last on into ages and states of general opinion which never would have permitted their first establishment.
Flashblood by official ku shi's journalism “Drug naïveté is delaying our universal reward system’s golden era. Mix drugs or you’ll miss it!”
FLASHBLOOD I know a man who bit into an apple and lost all of his front teeth. I knew a woman who choked to death on a donut. But this isn’t about death, disaster, or dentition at all. This is about drugs! As I place my bucket-bong down and evoke my inner-hippie, we’ll prepare ourselves for the rush! It won’t be as vulgar as free-base, but will be more cerebral than ethylphenidate. Tweak with me.
As we chase the dragon into popular-culture, we can as easily see that heroin, morphine, and oxycontin come from opium. This golden-standard of a depressiogenic was used by Angelina Jolie in Gia and was featured on MTV specials on cable television. From opium dens to opium lamps, on every continent, this mutual-jackpot has conspired to enlighten all cultures. This divine substance, exalted and revered by holy men and spiritualists alike is still proving Andy Warhol wrong by not having fifteen minutes of fame, but fifteen centuries! Adored, and saved, and consecrated, these tears of poppy have the endowment to make the cursed unprofaned and to lift the persona non grata among the angels. Opium has many imitators and types of extracts, but only the opium poppy can be used primarily as food. With an abundance of magnesium and calcium, it makes bones strong and mind tranquil. In the eighteenth century, women would use opium for the same reasons Xanax is used for today, like pain, anxiety, insomnia, anger, depression, psychosis, and hysterical menstruations. In the fourteenth century, connoisseurs would order opium-tea like you order a Starbucks, black. The few sips desired would make one euphoric, cool, and fearless. “God’s Own Medicine” was coined the Stones of Immortality. If you were looking for the fountain of eternal youth, by me, you’ve found it! Opiates (opium derivatives) are the leading medical tablets in the world, and americans are the number-one consumers. And we know why. For Dorian Gray may have strayed from personal authenticity, but the foxiest of the clever could not fool an American. Continue on in the paradise of opium, and all misery, and sadness, and sorrow be gone! As we forge ahead, try not to catch a contact-high from my cold-water-extract of poetical codeine. Did you know that drug tourism is an industry, and drug fraud is the principal cause of preventable death when consuming the exhilarating fruits of cultural history? Let’s journey downward into the k-hole with our steamy ewer of mushroom tea, and our sex and drugs to repel our parents. My name is Steven McHenry, and I will be your cordial trip-sitter as we “tune in, turn on, [and] drop out.” -To be continued“Fuck that heroin. I got my purple-drank ready. Now, where’s the pill-party?”
Crippler)-(nephiliM by official ku shi's panpsychism pisces: my soul still smells like flames satan: all the demons revere my name azazel: the scapegoat of this physical plane baal: the prince of the hell you call place beezelbub: the catholics blame me for sickness and sin belial: the idol of those whom need redemption molech: give me your kids, and i’ll give you mine leviathin: will you stand the envy of mine? succubus: i will haunt your dreams tonight incubus: likewise, ladies, sleep tight daemons of fate,
mammon of greed asmodeus of lust, lucifer of gluttony twisted with envy, coiled with wrath 666, i wish you well the pride where st. francis dwells the lies st. peter tells the desire of st. john the baptist the satisfaction of st. barnabas to the chaos keepers, the impatiently lazy, to impure and hateful temptations, to st. bernard and st. stephen to st. bartholemew and st. dominic to hardness of heart, and shamelessness, to st basil and st martin, to the rich, the vain, the arrogant to virtue, cruelty, and disobedience, to revenge, lies, and inventions, to wars and devestations, to inquisitors, and accusations to satan’s witches and warlocks who march! to asmodeus’ eternity in the dark to molech’s sacrificial christmas lambs to the confusion of baal by ten to astarot, and his serpentine feminine crown to the permanence of berith to belphegor, with the beauty and strength by five to our lack of jobs by two to worthless men, the opposers and the insolent to the deserving of jealousy and the envious by seven to seven with a reign so heavily,
and heavenly, praise the food like the flood deity wipe out, with religious and astrological implications, and mysticism, pay allegiance to these descriptions
Liars Paradox by official ku shi's experimental The lottery representative says, “Walk this way, Mr Kellin.” Mr Kellin says,” Talk this way, Mr Simmons.” The rep says, “Excuse me.” Kouger Kellin says, “Nevermind.” The rep says, “We’re going to have you pose for the cameras with the giant check then we’ll get you back to your family in no time.” Mr Kellin says, “Well your no-time is some time for me.” The rep says, “You know what Mr Kellin? I don’t like you. You’ve been on and on with these sharp remarks all while I’ve been escorting you, and I frankly think that you’re an ass-wipe.” Mr Kellin: Not an asshole? The rep: Fuck you; hair and make up is to your left. As Kouger Kellin walks into cosmetology heaven, he thinks “I wish that I could’ve killed that representative prick. Gouged his eyes out, stuck a billiards-stick through both ears, and shoved an ice pick up his right nostril through his brain to make a cross with the billiards-stick in his skull. If he only knew that he cursed out a highly skilled serial killer. A makeup artist says, “Right this way Mr Kellin and we’ll have you in front of the cameras in no time.” After walking off stage, away from cameras and reporters, Kouger Kellin feels an honest sense of relief. It lasts no time before the Chief of Lottery asks to speak with Kouger in private. In Ryan’s Office of C.O.L., Ryan asks Kouger-cutting to the chase-what’s this I hear about you being a serial killer? Kouger in a genuine state of disbelief says, “Has the government created thought-recorders so soon?” Ryan says, “What the fuck! So it’s true?” Kouger says, “I didn’t say that. And if I did I meant that you’ll never take me alive.” Ryan says, “Play dumb, but we have manuscripts with a tweet of yours on one which reads: tweet: A serial killer would win the lotto. :End tweet. Could you explain this to me? Kouger says, “I didn’t kill anybody yesterday.” Ryan says, “So today then?” Kouger says, “Probably tomorrow.” Ryan says, “Are you joking?” Kouger says, “Maybe, but I’m sure that I don’t know.” Ryan says, “That’s enough for me. I’m going to be putting an investigator on your case so that I’m not involved in giving a serial killer $10 million dollars of more power to prey on the weak.” Kouger pleads, “I am so weak.” Ryan says, “Get the fuck out of my office and out of the building.” Kouger leaves for home with his single mother and his ex girlfriend, both wanting their piece of his pie, and he knows it. Watching the Andy Griffith show, Kouger can’t think of anything but his missed opportunity of killing Ryan earlier that day, and he would probably never see him again. Kouger looks to his left at his ex, Lucy on the loveseat, and asks, “Would you assist me in choosing a bottle of wine from the basement?” She agrees and stands up. He says, “I’m right behind you.” She walks about ten yards to the door atop the basement stairs, then opens it revealing total darkness. Kouger says, “Let me get that light for ya.” He flips the switch up, and trips the bitch up. Down she goes like a bear market, tumbling, zig zagging, and breaking enough bones to put the bone collector out of commission. Kouger looks behind him in both directions , aware of his mother’s inquisitiveness. He walks down the fifteen stairs, procures the nearest clothesline, spirals it around Lucy’s throat, and strangles her to death. He leaves her there then returns upstairs to Andy Griffith. Within five minutes, his mother, Betty appears and says,”Did I hear you getting wine from the cellars?” Kouger being a pathological liar says, “Yeah ma, but the cellars are empty.” She asks, “All of them?” He says, “All four.” She-even with having problems with her memory-isn’t buying it and says, “I’ll see for myself.” Kouger says, “Suit yourself,” and turns the volume up on Andy Griffith, then lifts from his feet. He hunches and lurks behind his dear old mother till she reaches for the basement door knob, which is
locked. Then, he takes her like holding her hostage with a gun to her head-but instead just a remote controller-and he kicks the basement door off the hinges like a police raid-not having the key-and with his forward momentum, they both fall down the flight of stairs into the basement, dying in one anothers arms. What’s the value of 3 million dollars to the dead? Mr Kouger Kellin’s Tombstone reads: Lived like Scarface, Died a A Made Man
Intuitive Morbid Jealousy ofYour Own Deception by official ku shi's psychophysics i tried to call yesterday but it’s only today i tried to plan for tomorrow but it’s only today they said it’s 12 months but there’s only today they said everyone dies but i’m only alive today P.S. I never seen a crab born in human form Talent: Hitting the target Genius: Only the genius can see the target Your grasping-limitations were expectedly calculated.
I beat-drown-killed him becausehis alzeimers made me anxious-tense-mean by official ku shi's aphorism see i live with degenerates, but that’s their preference see me, i am treacherous, and irreverent but i am not at all, murderous before i’d sink there, we’d see an exodus i wear pride as a necklace carrying the strength of ten elephants but there’s more… my recklessness knows restlessness do we know any references of the genesis of pegasus? the governments benevolence is directionless
leviticus is incredulous have you once questioned the intelligence of blessedness? decadence is the catalyst of universal elegance megabucks pays for the messages of exorcists but my demons seek unpleasantness with direct evidence the preeminence of pink elephants is nebulous with emphasis on the gentleness and not effortless eloquence the prevalence is negligence to the sensuous specialist my tetanus is excellence the sickness in my membranous elements my tree of life has no pendulous the methodist worships helplessness so i won’t help them i’ll just surgically infiltrate cancerous morphogenesis but i psychically administrate like a super-stalin or like hitler i imitate but i permeate what i implicate so why intimidate when i can precipitate? and facilitate the infiltrated? what i’ve dictated is penetrated to your unconscious-shadow self-which is unsophisticated so what i blaze like bacon and behold satan as sacred it just means, the iron maiden that is this nation, is awaiting vacant taking every mason haven and station then breaking the situation you can’t fade a pagan my awareness is blatant i tie on to my waist the apron those whom have been faking will be aching souls will be baking and i and the legion will be eating fresh-fried raven you can straighten your gayness but my hate weighs tons and gravity is on my side, you’ve been forsaken
the mistakes you’ve made have added up to the weight you will carry under the billion laws buried and sugar has no sweeter tongue i sleep on the lawn of love the bums deceive the cons the johns are dumb give man rum and sin and it’s tough not to win i’m up you’re down the once yours is my town take it on the chin you are not my kin from the loony bin it seems an original sin through your animal skin you could swim but in a whim the fun ends take another vicodin plan a another trip and vacation go on and dance with the women long ago my neck had been bitten ever since i’ve been driven by omen like a criminal from prison my vision is that of the villain but i describe it soft as linen your decisions won’t be forgiven your ability to listen has its limit with a million timid the slimming of the population and the dimming of inoculation requires no translation but the temptation is in numerous quotations the fixation to its flirtation the gyration of its gradation is well worth the notation of its vocation for the acclimation is deserving of adoration and your dislocation mutes disputation so all hopes of dissertation are degraded to contemplation your conversations have been confiscated under this coronation this is deviated divination any news channels defamation exclamating the escalation of evocation more than mexicans face deportation no blood relations the calculation is culmination of stern concentration elevated education and illustrated jubilation lubricated machination
places syndication in a position to cause suffocation and strangulation your recitation causes ulceration i made milk and honey variations money is monopolization
Jane’s Review by official idee fixe That party was sick huh Janey? says Mary. “Mare let me tell you something, I’m a little bit drunk, but -Mary: you’re way drunk, don’t lie to me bitch!”-Jane: I’m drunk okay? But I was gonna say that I was gonna put out tonight but that fucking guy I was talking to is such a fucking prick! Mary: Which one, Martin? Jane: Hell fucking yes! How’d you know? Mary: I seen you talking to him, as Danny gave me a hicky on my neck. That party was so sick! Jane: Look, so I’m flirting with him and I thought he was flirting back, but out of six times i went to kiss him each time someone would call his name and i’d smooch nothing but air. Mary: Bitch you have the worst luck! Jane: That’s not all, I was trying to open him up to like talk to me you know? And here’s what he does-he goes-so do you live with your parents? I’m like yeah. He’s like, do you have brothers and sisters? I’m like yeah. He goes, do you ever talk on the phone? I’m like yesssssss. He says, give me your number and I’ll give you a call. That’s what he says in the middle of our fucking conversation! Mary: What a loser! He’s hot though! Jane: Hold it, don’t talk like that cuz i still like him and i woulda gave it up but anyway, i give him my number right? Then he’s like cool, I’m uh text you now so that you have mine. He rings me, I enter his number and name. So, I’m like do you party alot, or just sometimes. He says, sometimes, but he mostly parties instead of going to school. So I say, Hold up! I see you in our high school’s hallways, so how are you gonna say you don’t go to our school. He says, so I get really good grades, and i cheat alot. I’m like wait, so you go to school, but you cheat and ditch sometimes. He goes, yeah sometimes i get so bored that i just gotta leave. So i ask if he’s ever gotten caught. He says, not that i know of. I ask, do you run or what? He says, I do enough running in basketball practice when i go. Mary, now I’m just trying to keep up with this virgin. Jane: He’s a virgo? Mary: I think he’s a pisces or a cancer or something watery like that, but anyway-so i say, do you start on the team? He says, when i feel like it? So of course I ask what this means. He says, the coach is a dick so i gotta let him hear who’s boss sometimes you know? I’m like, uhhhhhh i guesssss. I’m like so what else do you do besides be weird? He says fuck you bitch, and storms off from the room we were sitting in. So i’m just standing there alone now for like three minutes, then he fucking returns with four fucking beer bottles! Mary: how was he carrying four of ‘em? Jane: Two in his hands, two in his pockets, I mean this dude is impossible! Mary: What happened next? Jane: So we’re drinking and talking then all the sudden, he starts chugging his last beer before I’ve opened my second. Mary: So what? Jane: Well now he’s like do you smoke pot? I tell him I’m more into xanax and vicodin and stuff like that but i’d smoke only if it was with him. Mary: Why’d you only smoke with him? I’ve asked you hundreds of times, and you’ve rejected me… Jane: I’d smoke with you too but only if he is with us. Mary: What the fuck Jane! You act like you’re fucking married or something! Jane: I wish i fucking was! He’s fucking awesome! Mary: What do you even know about him besides what he told you at this lame assed party we just got back from?! Jane: Well I know what you know, like the mythical stuff about him at the school, the fights he always happens to win no matter how big his opponent is, all the pot he smokes and never dies or even coughs, and i heard he’s been going into the city more hanging out with gangsters and even getting into shootouts and not dying. Mary: Of course he’s isnt dead, you were just fucking talking to him! Are you on anything else but beer? Jane: Hells yeah! I’m on some of his shit, and he had two little sample bottles of rum in his pockets. Mary: How deep are this guys fucking pockets?! And what does ‘some of his shit’ mean!? Jane: Oh, he had like these clear capsules, with i guess five or six different pills mixed up. Mary: What the fuck Jane! We might need to take your goofy self to the hospital!! Jane: Stop overreacting, I trust him…Mary: You don’t even know him Jane! Jane: He said… Mary: I can’t believe i’m being friends with you right now, you’re talking to strangers…Jane: He said….Mary: you’re falling in love with gangsters…Jane: He said it would make me be honest with him when he texts me tonight. Mary: Now he has magic pills that like pull truth out of your vagina! Are you kidding me Jane!? Are you fucking really kidding right now? Jane: He’s the best. I think I love him. I hope he asks me out. I bet he has the cutest dick , but bigger you know? Mary: Bigger
than fucking what?! Your brain!? Jane: Hells yeah. I wanna like choke and gag on it. It’s like such a cult of personality, secret societyish vibe around everything-him you know? Mary: Why, cuz you don’t know shit!? Jane: No, I meant you know he’s getting laid by like anybody he chooses but you never hear shit, like the girls are banned from saying anything. And then his friends-and fuck!-even his enemies never seem to be able to cross him. I heard that he’ll seek out someone who’s started a rumor about him, and he’ll just sock ‘em in the face whenever he sees them without saying one word and even his friends cannot predict his actions. Fuck Mary, even the teachers and security guards label him a public threat. Mary: Why cuz he goes to football games he’s banned from to sell drugs? Or he goes to basketball games he’s supposed to play in, but instead comes high and sits in the bleachers with girls? Why, Jane, because he sends girls home on drugs in a trance so that he fucks you and never calls back? Is that why? “That’s it.” says Jane. Mary says,” I knew i’d guess one of ‘em right.” “No,” Janes says, “I mean that’s it, you’re jealous i got the hook up, and you’re fat and stupid.” Mary says, “Oh, so now I’m fat!?” Janes says, “Yes, you’re a horse.” Mary says,” You know, that’s good seeing as that i heard that Martin likes a rounder ass anyway.” Jane says, ” No he doesn’t, I heard he likes big tits like i got.” Mary says, “call him, bitch.” Martin sends a text like he bugged their shouting match. It says, “Where do you live?” Jane replies “I’m at the park by my house.” Martin says, “You wanna smoke and” Jane texts back, “come and get me-please!-if you can.” Martin texts, “I’m on foot bitch.” Jane says, “No prob, I’ll walk with you.” He text messages, “Come out then, I’m right outside your crib” Out goes Jane running to his arms like star crossed but not crossed anymore lovers. Mary is staring like jason voorhees through the mansions windows. They walk off, and Mary goes home alone.
What they think by official ku shi's negative feedback yes he talks like us but he doesn’t walk like us have you seen his posts yet, his words disgust he must think that stuff, he might be sick we should try to get him help, but he probably wouldn’t take it he thinks he a genius, he believes in high IQ he praises steve jobs, writers, and painters too he think he the new mozart, the new jesus he says he’s better than every writer, poet, and member he hates christians, religions, and sciences too he hates his family, his friends, his neighbors too i don’t really trust him but he always tells the truth he scares me, i think he’s evil or at least demonic to tell the truth i think he runs with demons, and he confirms this too he said he worships the devil and i believe it too anytime i show his work off, it brings bad vibes but he preaches non vibes, his honesty is a good vibe
I Know by official ku shi's opinion Why don’t they like me, or want me? Might it be my personality? My way of seeing things? Is it my face, my skin’s complexion, my dreams behind the scenes? Is it my luck, the taste i had growing up? Is it my past, the violence, the chances to give up? Is it my politics, and how i stand out so much? Is it my religious aversion, and the strength of pure trust? Is it their pain? The name? the fame? Their shame? The guilt of them knowing that i will change us? Could it be their games, their blames, their chains, my strangeness, that nudge them to think of hanging it
up? Could it be their dress, their best, my test of wits? Would it be my knowledge, their honor, their respect to give? Is it because I’m better than college, taller than scholars, sharper than dollars, and larger than manners? Is it because I walk with certainty, live with dignity, die with heroism, reincarnate with enmity?
Humanity Still Unjustified by official ku shi's uncategorized they’re talking spanish next door (south) korean up the street (north) greek on the next block (southeast) italian on the next block (southwest) some arabs are over there (northeast) and some blacks are over there (northwest) that is my town (centered) but i live in the suburbs (removed)
(Non) Human History by official ku shi's poetry i seen a martin flying around in the middle of winter it seems he’s lost his sense of direction his sense of belonging his sense of purpose his sense of life will she find her way? will she live tomorrow?
V-J-Vu by official ku shi's comedy “You like the way I ride that dick,” say’s VJ, “Oooh, yeah, you’re gonna make me cum! uh! uh! uh! aaaaaaaaarhhhhhfghdgdjfgjkghhhh! good job baby.” Her screenmate passes out of exhaustion. VJ pulls her panties up from around her six inch heels and walks off of the set shirtless. As another pornographic actress is walking on to the set, VJ asks to take her tanktop off of her hands, and she gives it away in good faith, but VJ pulls it over her head and shoulders and skips the dressing room to go directly to the parking lot.
She opens the driver door of and sits in her old BMW. She says out loud, “I need a new fucking car, richer fucking dicks, and a cute fucking driver on fucking discount.” One of the managers runs out of the warehouse marked Lot 27, and gets to VJ before she has a chance to pull out of the parking spot, to tell her, “We’ll need you again tomorrow for sucking Barney’s cock for half an hour.” VJ says, “what’s in it for me?” The manager Don says, “one thousand up front, one thousand after.” She asks, “just sucking cock, why so good a check?” Don says, leaning on her driver door, “Well , VJ, you’re gonna do the usual suck and slurp, but we need you to deep throat, and gargle and swallow, and for a bonus-laugh the cum out from your nose, like milk.” VJ: That still only sounds like five hundred dollars max. What’s the catch?” Don, clears his throat and breaks eye contact-looking toward the Lot 27 building, “This guy has HIV, but the two grand will compensate you for anticipation anxiety, on screen denialism, and post traumatic stress.” She says, without question, ” Fine, I’ll do it.” Then drives off, almost running over Don’s right foot. She get’s to her condo-inside-and nervously sparks up a joint. She blazes for 10 minutes. Then turns on Mozart’s Don Giovanni. She twists, and twirls, and tanks about her lounge room, in a state of hopeless amazement. On her glass table in the center of this room is the remaining three lines of 98% pure cocaine she’d used to get going before her shoot earlier. She takes a squat, and her vibrating fingers of friction and active learning molds a one hundred dollar bill to suit her intentions; she places the dollar’s bottom opening to the first white line, and up it shoots through her face, in her nose, and behind her eyes, to her brain cells. She lifts her head, her face north, bucking her eyes to the ceiling, then goes down for seconds and thirds. She looks rabidly throughout the two bedroom apartment for her purse which keeps her baby sized stash of heroin, but she can’t find it, so for substitution she pulls from out her kitchen cabinet, a half full bottle of Remy Martin and a half full bottle of clear Bacardi. She chugs the Bacardi like at a college frat party, then eyes the Remy like an hyena envious of a lion’s feast. She pops the reusable cork off and pours about 25% of it on her head, and the bottle along with the bottom 25%-she throws at her 52 inch television in the lounge room. After it hits her target, knocking over the television, bruising the white wall behind, and causing a racket, she screams to the sun, “I hate my life!” Her Mozart Collection CD she got at The Best Buy, is skipping, so she goes over-mascara running down her face-to turn it off and break it in half. She beats the record player with her fist-imagining herself to be a king kong sized gorilla and breaks that too. Then, the front-door is knocked upon and the door-bell’s rung. She thinks it sounds like an emergency-coming down from her cocaine high-so she upturns her mirror where she sniffed the crystal white powder, and hides it under her sofa, she brushes her glass table with one of the sofa’s 8 pillows, and puts that under the sofa. She doesn’t remember doing heroin or not, so she’s running around like an alligator trying to sniff it out. She can’t find it. She jogs to the kitchen, places the bacardi bottle in the sink, ignores the T.V. situation, and opens her dishwasher randomly. There she finds her purse, with enough bags of heroin to bring back to life: Kurt Cobain. She answers the door, with it on her shoulder, and liquor on her skull-n-bones’ epidermis making her feel dry and itchy. At the door is her neighbor she likes to call Big Redd. Big Redd has red hair, tall height, and his real name is Shane. He asks to come in and she allows that, locking the door after him. He said he was sure that she was being raped so if she didn’t answer the door he would’ve been obligated to call any law enforcement. She said that she was glad he didn’t because he and her would’ve been arrested for conspiracy. He says, that he doesn’t shoot porn movies for drug dealers so how’d he even be in trouble. She says that if she ever got into any kind of trouble she wouldn’t accept being taken down alone. He said, it -virtuous. She asks, if he’d like some wine, he declines. She says, well if that’s all you wanted then…Big Redd says, with his hand on her thigh as they sit in the lounge room, “You know that you don’t have to live any way that you’re not proud of right?” She says, “Excuse me.,” and sends a text. He looks at her eyes in want of an answer. She answers his question with a question, “What do you want from me Big Redd!? I’m out of coke, out of pot, out of booze; where do you get off!?” He says-embarassed for her-”I just think I’d clean you up.” She bats her eyelashes, lifts to her feet and takes him by the hand. Something jogs her memory, and she says, “wait,” so that she can send another text. She throws the phone on the sofa, and the two of them make their way to her bathroom spacious enough to fit two or three sumo wrestlers comfortably. She undressed him, and him her. She turns on the steamy water flow, and they step in. He grips her left breast with his left hand, and with his right he manuevers a come-hither motion just inside her vagina. She gets excited and her helping hand waves back and forth across her clitoris making her pulsate and ooze of orgasmic pleasure. He says, “Would you like me to…” She says, “Be a man. Take me.” He reverses her
body, she facing the wall under the shower head, he takes a obese chunk of hair in his right hand, his left hooking under the showers metallic entrance-structure for balance, as he rams, and thrusts, and pumps in the bodyguard position with a young man’s vitality, sending her into another climax and him falling over in the tub. She hops out like dodging a bullet. She turns the shower off. The front-door has someone knocking outside of it. She dries her hair, and puts on a velour jumpsuit from her dirty laundry pile. On her way to the frontdoor, she stops in the kitchen to pour corn-meal on top of her hair to take the showered look away. She rubs it in generously, replaces the corn-meal to its rightful place, then walks toward the front, with a hospitable, “Just a sec!” She opens up to a detective. She says, “I’m so glad you could make it! There might not have been another chance.” The detective Frank Freeman agrees and lets his self in. She goes on saying, “he’s right there around the corner in the bathroom, unconscious…but i didn’t try to drown him or anything vengeful like that.” Frank says, “So this bloodthirsty prick actually tried to rape you?” VJ says, “Yeah, and he wanted me to sell myself for him, along with a shitload of blow.” Frank raises his eyebrows. VJ says, “He stuffed it in my handbag.” Frank says, “It looks like hell in here!” VJ says, “You can see it started a bit in the kitchen but it was mostly in the lounge room, and here’s where he took me by the hair, and he entered me over my bathroom sink, and that’s when I took to his head a 12 inch can of hairspray knocking him out-but i don’t think i even cut or marked him in anyway, when he fell over into the shower.” Frank says, “That’s not a problem. We’ll get the story straight, but how’d it get so wet in here?” VJ says, “…I started to drown his bitch-ass.” Frank says, “O-K we’ll need to make only a few changes of your story to undermine legal suspicions.” VJ says “Then we’ll be closer to that cross country trip you’ve been telling me about.” Frank says, “Not really.” VJ looks nothing but doubtful. Frank says, “I hate my job, so I’m taking you to Hawaii, where we’ll be able to get away from this nonsense, of inequality, racism, sexism, and overall greed and secret societies of slothfulness.” VJ says, “And I’ll be raped no more!” ,-with one of the largest smiles-;Frank agrees, “Yes.” …VJ: ”…But… if we’re going to Hawaii…I’m gonna want … an… extra …two… thousand dollars.”
A Milky Tits Seduction by official ku shi's automatic writing Sometimes, you just gotta snort meth, says Milky to the stranger in the public bathroom stall beside him. The stranger can hear him sniff, snort, and decorate his drug ingestion with a variety of ooohs, aaaahs, and even oh yeahs like the kool aid man. (to think of it, i think the kool aid man only breaks down the walls of houses containing secret meth labs in the basement, only to increase his total supply)The stranger with no anxiety says, “Only meth huh, none of the other thousand drugs float your boat?” Milky, says I’m Milky Tits; what’s your name chap, you have some interesting conversation? The faceless stranger opens the stall loudly, skips the sinks and mirrors then returns outside of the bathroom to the dance floor, remaining nameless. Milky says to the no one he thinks still there, “O-K, you can play hard to get, but i’m bisexualthe top bisexual-so you can’t run away from me, and if you hide pleasure in your rectum, my stick of love will surely find it.” Milky goes on, “Huh, what’s that you say? Of course, I’ve used cocaine, but I graduated to Meth Grade when i realised that Meth was cocaine’s older brother and cocaine is a minuteman, but the big bro-oh the big bro-is a 24 to 720 hour-man depending on how you pace yourself. So leave that crack alone, and jump on this pogostick!” A police officer, announces his authority, and says, “I think you mean bandwagon. Step on out please.” Out of 6 total stalls, Milky is shuffling underneath partitions back and forth , back and forth until he sees a break, he darts out from under the bottom of stall furthest from the door he entered in. The police man readies himself by crouching in sumo position. Milky runs at the officer full speed, the officer tries to clamp-hug him with his arms, but as he misses, Milky ducks and slides feet first through the space between the officer’s two legs; Milky’s legs contact the wall, he pushes off like an olympic swimmer, rises to his feet, and swings open the door towards him, everything happening so fast, the door swings with potential momentum forceful enough to connect with the side of the officer’s face, sending him clumsily backward into stall 1 in reverse gear, the door busts off the hinges, and the policeman landing on the back of a lonely duchess whom happened to be giving oral sex to a rounder gentleman. The fat man in stall 1, rocket-launches ejaculate right into the policeman’s eyes as he
turns around to quickly-but-politely say sorry; the pearl jam blinds the officer, sending him to frantically hyperextend his arms in front of him around the men’s bathroom like frankenstein in need of a sink’s cleansing abilities, leaving enough spare time for Milky to get away. Outside Milky is pacing as he waits for a cab, sweating, and in a magniloquent hurry. The cab stops at his feet, and Milky whistles for another, being too restless to imagine the reality of having to sit still in a car for anytime over 60 seconds, even if it’s too get away from legal trouble. Milky says “sir could you step out of the cab through the open front passengar window.” The cabbie says, “What for?” Milky says, “I dropped my wallet under your car and i need a second set of eyes before you either damage it with your car, or send it sliding to the sewers.” The cabbie runs over to Milky’s side. Milky does the unthinkable, which is a remarkably splendiferous swan dive into the passengar window, he tumbles into a forward tuck and roll, and gyrates his body right to face the windshield, then he pulls away before the driver realises it happened, and a half second before the police officer breathlessly runs out of the club, to ask the cabbie-which is the first person he sees-if he seen anyone with meth in his nose, onyx for eyes, and a pink thong rising above his skinny jeans’ belt line? The cabbie said, “Hells yes! I seen that pink thonged freak! He just stole my rental!” The officer says, “no worries. We’ll track him down.” On a clear street in Fictional City, during an overcast, with millions of cabbies on the rode and them all driving crazily, this feat seems a tadbit far fetched. The cabbie responds, “You better, and quick; time costs money.” Milky Tits is 33, gray hair, wrinkly skin, white, looks hispanic, short straight buzz, hitler mustache, osama beard, ruler length fingernails, and size 15 shoes, standing at 4 foot tall. In the cab, Milky says, “Money costs time in this dimension. I need to get out.” Milky jumps and rolls out of the moving car, the car rearending a mercedes benz in front of it, the luxury driver getting out pissed and yelling obscenities at Milky. Instead of running from this heinous crime, which could get more wicked, he walks towards the Benz-man eerily slow like michael myers, and with a stone-cold face like him too, causing the driver to return to his vehicle and make an illegal turn left at a red light and to proceed down a one way street to oncoming traffic. Milky thinks “Charles Manson always said: don’t ever underestimate the power of fear.” He realises he needs more meth… Officer to dispatch: we have another meth head, club hopping, stall sniffing, people displeasing, peace disrupting, skinny, bald, some type of aging disorder, extremely flexible. Dispatch: we’ll send backup rightaway. The cabbie is sitting on the curb in a funk, right next to fresh drunk’s piss. The officer says, “C’mon you can ride with me.” The cabbie jumps up, like a child hearing about the planning of his first disneyland visit. The cabbie says, “I’ve always wanted to…” The officer: Save it. The cabbie: O-K. They get in the car, slam their doors, and quickly-naturally the cabbie who’s name is Peta sparks up a bombaclot joint one inch wide, and four inches long. The officer says, “Are you fucking shitting me!?” The cabbie looks dismayed. The officer waiting for something, anything to go on. The cabbie, Peta, says, “I’ve got meth too if you wanna slam.” The police compulsively tries to handcuff and subdue the suspect, taking his hands off the wheel, and forgetting the traffic. Peta is struggling to manually roll down the window, smoke his joint, and lift-pull up out the window at the same time. The officer reciting his miranda: …you have the right to remain silent… Peta says, “Fuck off, prude!” After what seems like at least 30 seconds of ghostriding the reader would assume a crash would happen, so it does, hitting Milky Tits cross-countrying his way back to the club. Milky flies in the air, somersaults, flips, does acrobats, vogues, poses for pictures, pauses, replays, plays again, does some skateboard tricks, someone throws a pen and pad for an autograph, he sends a tweet on his brothers phone that he borrowed, he hits Peta’s joint, gravity returns the joint for him then he flies up and around and away. ………………………………………………………………………………………………………………… ……………………… ………………………………………………………………………………………………………………… ………………………………………………………………………………………………………………… ……………………………………………… The police officer Bob, shoots his brains out with his standard pistol. Peta finishes his joint and goes back into the club to finish selling the rest of the bags of pure methamphetamines.
NonnonInnuendo i have a traveldesk, halfbed, naturally two sets of clothes and a library card, yet i feel rich it hasnt always been like this i used to sell drugs to make a grip (1000$ a day) instead of looking for love, i’d pimp a bitch (100) favorite movie, favorite book? i won’t know until i’ve made my own i know everything but its not enough information i never was the type to sit by the phone waiting for a girlfriend, a teacher, a friend, or relative i’m anti-relative, ask family the last time they got me to give you unappreciating is like me taking my gift back, so, i never even give at all once, i thought i could save the world, but thats old news i did that wearing tube socks and a lucky pair of drawers those are, boxer briefs, my body look supermodely but i value my self more than self proclaimed stars if you’re a sexy, strong, bad bitch, i’m self proclaimed hard
Everything in moving Order by official ku shi's true self and false self The Question: Is there nothing?
Dreamy Mind Bender Truth is water. But Man insists the building of bridge.
Dreamless Mirror Seeker by official ku shi's bigger than life Healing is painful Hating is gainful What is my name fool? How could I change it? How might I change it? How would I change it? I need to change it. Artistic omnipotence. Creative Omnicompetence. Universal Omnipresence.
I never wanted to come back from there and that is why I am here now.
Writers Block (Parts 1-8) +1by official ku shi's automatic writing rap Writers block part 1 : Selfism, Self-worship The world is burning down and i’m burning up Is it me or did somebody turn the furnace up? The hoods bonds are down B.E.T’s stocks are up We live in the ghetto where nobody’s saving us Capitalists are bussing up, clapping and laughing We need a superhero to knock hate on its ass and All I wanted to do was ball out then bring my ass in (ballin) It’d help if strippers said “who that is, bring that cash in?’ (strippers) 51/50 means it doesn’t matter when i’m just spazzing (spaz out) and most of these players don’t ball at all (y’all don’t) I’m living like psy, Like mike i’m off the wall (Michael Jackson) i’m the one behind the scenes that calls the calls (9) My lack of forethought has me making rules as I go along (I make it up) Call T_Mobile and tell them to Hold the phone Nationalists call at&t less than they call the law Lawyers: Re-up on my stax, no! re-up on my stox I call my cash like “hey’ve you got that guap?” (it don’t stop) It never stop, I never stop (it never stop, i never stop) I once heard when you believe in life, you’re living life (that’s life) So look, i Won’t die, I just grow my wings and fly (like angels) They used to call me Jet but I thought we couldn’t be this hi (i’m sober) As men but now I see that i fly like eagles fly (dontgetit) My classic 1990 buick regal, I bucked it so fuck it (i totaled my car) I was Sitting on something plush, it was so lux’ious (luxurious) Now finish the rest of the letters, that are the units Like g unit, I’m extorting banks like Lloyd and the feds move it (the government’s drug dealing) Across the sea Like jesus walks but aint none crossing me I’m in a concubines lap like where ya dog mite be And like a million dogs had to bite me, i’m rabid Like a lucky bunny foot i’m rabid (rabbit) I don’t cut off hookers like the ripper, but I stab ‘em (I poke em) I have more that I must have Press play then i Kill beats like a blood bath Your favorite rapper is fake but I’m real if you must ask in the mob, I’m a made-man so I don’t rush pass I dust pass, and brush pass, waves I kould clear ya dusty ass, hay Like horse feed The rock: pass to me I show you what to do with it I’m so smart with my foolishness Back on my bullshit after forgiveness (i’m not Christian) So wait, like you work at applebee’s
So wait, like jose just serving me I cut off hookers like surgery And still cash-out with virginity! I’m on though Leave your girlfriend with a sore throat (sucky sucky) And I want boats, but i won’t work (government service) Naked teenagers just wanna twerk I wanna flirt so that’s what I do I tell your girlfriend afterwork come thru She and i will be fucking all nite After I’ve had to quit, she sucking all nite Say word Real MC’s in the building like calm your nerves I hit then swerve Bend them curves Bitches served But I get on they nerves On they jaws I bust (i ejaculate!) N I I trust Been hi off dust don’t u lie to us
part 2 : Sefl knowledge I have to ride like six flags One in my pocket so five flags Bopping is walking, so boppers are players too I just dusted like my shoulders is dirty too bad You musty and you aint been smoking (so sad) I’m on cuz being off is darker than who you’re stroking I hate a dark bitch, and a bright bitch Like a light bitch, I have to shade my eyes bitch! Judas aint dead And jesus cant save me Cocaine would tell you I rock since the 80’s Hi class bitches wish that they could taste me Ask diddy these Harlem dealers can’t shake me I might fall but The bones can’t break me Ask JP Morgan What’s a bank to me? I know that Ya money’s fake like wax pastries And I ax crazy, the shining, jack nickelson I do whatever it is, I have to do to get it done Bitches come whether or not I have a mill And if i’m not with your girlfriend i’m with her tongue Like slinkies down stairs I get her sprung And without a doubt she always cums, ca cum, cum No nikes, I run like run, kill beats like redrum I’d Jump on ya bed punk, ya girlfriend’s pussy is ded punk Give some water, And I rap like i’m on a pill And I’m Talking like I designed the bills The bills? The bills you would kill for And I still go, still flow Like who forgot to turn the sink off! And I drink off my flow
No need of a water bill And i’m aquarius with this water skill I’m heated but never TAKEN back like my daughter killed I bought a pill, slaughter kids, brought the crib like trailer park Tattooed, yes I made a mark Now its on you to remove it I’m teaching so how am I a student? I marry the game, i’m prudent I’m winning the game, you’re losing If i’m in the lead, you’re caboosing And i’m aiming for S.U. n C.C.E.S. the next spelled I’m too hot like put me in the next hell I’m in the futures cell like Riddick On a future cell like cricket You can go to hell I’d buy you a ticket Buy the blunt and just split it All the crimes, I did ‘em All the broads, I hit ‘em You’re still fucking with ‘em I never love ‘em, I just flip ‘em You rather fuck a prisoner in prison You barely are getting caught I got caught and still fucked the system I’m still working on my mission Still trapping like buy these prescriptions These rappers are losers And what i’m doing, is raw: no condom In the house is where you find him J.E.T. like a reminder Name myself like a designer Lay z boy, yes i’m reclining I’m making a new game like graphic designer And I fuck you over like vagina I beat ya ass like rihanna I skeet like spiderman But i’m just ya neighborhood grinder
Part 3 :Self exaltation I could ball like lebron pimp But i’d rather chill or have an orgy I have bitches dying to hear my story I grew up in the suburbs With substandard conditions Moms was in the kitchen standing over dishes I was a gangster, shit Beating kids’ asses at the preschool I’m on the playground like What the fuck is a old rule!? Nobody could tell me shit, because i’m so cool Urban Style, My baggy jeans, they hanging Always gangbanging Always drug slanging Overdoses is Nathan (thats nothing)
Greenbacks i’m raking (like leaves) All these whores, i’m draking (i make em sing) All these bens is franklin (benjamin) And I aint never pussy chasing (they chase me) I’m a dog but I chase my tail ( i’m in love with my self) I’m my own competition yeah Like T.I. verse T.I.P. (clifford harris) No gang but still a G.I.B. (gangster) Chief keef like G.B.E.(chicago my city) Corporate thug like C.T.E. (family in ATL) 5 star like N.B.C. (i miss you sara!) Easy as 1.2.3.A.B.C. (MJ RIP) Never die like Jackson B4 that happen i’d jack son Pack son, in the trunk and mash son (Burn out) Read the caption don’t feed wild animals The zoo cant hold me because i’m a cannibal (i’d eat you) The best would know i’m the best And since i’m the best, the best knows (ha!) Hennessey put hair on my chest, and what’s on my chest grows (taco meat) I see a chick with big breasts, so… What, I D C like obama (don’t care) that’s what hooked my papa to my mama (loser) And papas to most mamas like 60’s music (baby boomers) Like m&m I just lose it, then find it (shady) My mind, its on another planet so don’t retry it I mean research it And I don’t get nervous, I just get violent (grrrr) Seeing red not violet If you’re mad, then start a riot shit (go crazy!) I’m live as shit, jump out the commode to kill you I’m the shit like you smell me like diarrhea dude (ill) And i’m kind of near you (i’m close by you) No bible or fear of him in you (you’re doomed) So gaga not ya lady but she’s mine (i got her) Fluid I drink from out ya spine (its spinal) I’m strong and you weak by design (its tribal) I don’t care about ya hips, I just need to see ya eyes to know if you mine (you hear me?) If you’re dying, you did too much lying (you deserved it) I’m too real, but not much trying ( no effort) In the shower, but no crying (pussy is wet enough)
Part 4: Self sustainability No rain needed to hide my tears I’ll Hide ya body if we got beef Cause i’m aiming above ya neck, for your teef (ya teeth) you must Turn a new leaf, and say sorry (right now!) I say why bother? I got problems mr president i’m growling (hungry) I’m living this life no hi fiving (low fiving) I’m big dogging, and styling (no profiling) I’m 21 so I stay driving ( now im 23!)
Keep hating and lose ya eyelids ( don’t play with me!) I’m throwed off, killing the quieted (speak up!) I’m insane, a villain, try it (be bad sometimes) You Pull ya piece, but don’t use it (you’re too scared nigga!) I been a beast, is you stupid? (I’m a bear nigga!) I was ending careers when you’s studying blueprint From K.R.S. to J. (that’s jay z!) I’m marley rolling J’s (lil marley!) I’m on the coast in L.A. (that’s santa monica!) I always have it my way (like burger king!) You could call me Sinatra (that’s franky!) Shout out to my partner (that me!) And that is who I am A business man, not a businessman Nevertheless ‘i’m connected Look up to me, respect it (i’m so high!) My humility, I neglect it (too much pride!) I ben the best but if you check it You’re bound to find I’m selling time and y’all are buying I’m rich like richie Ya money’s skinny like Nicole richie (anorexic!)
Part 5: Self Defeating I’m doing my damn thang You tweaking off mary jane (pot) Put the plant down But alzeimers patients remember my name (what?) I got whores teaching whores the game (pickup arts) T.M.Z. my middle name (i’m unpopular) I’m mad son, like manson, charles here (nazi) Call ya lawyer, b4 you miss a step son (watch me) Non relative like anti Einstein (get it?) I’m God, like anti religion ( believe in Me!) I’m hi, fuck ya law of gravity ( so fuck it) I got ya god looking after me (i made him subject) My comedy is ya tragedy I talk shit like Socrates I’m a boss so bosses flock to me Too much money I need more countries (wow) I need two earthes (wow) I said it wrong on purpose (wow) I’m on two dro’s (hydroponic cannabis) They not young, they old (classic) Old like my x/o (classic) I cross whores like x/o (classy) I tell ya girlfriend let’s go (she listens) She hop in the car like vamanos (i’m speakin spanish) I take leaps of faith like Geronimo Over the top is where i’ma go ( i’m too high!) I put a hump in my back, on hump day like a llama though I put down those camels though (no smoking!) Its all about these commas though (million zeros!)
Money in front of me, B.S. behind ( i cant see ya!) And i’m a king, like royalty is in my spine (i crowned Me!) Read the sign, and stop I got with 911, don’t call a cop Like 9/11 I don’t just drop you I drop ya whole building (ouch!)
Part 6: Self governance The T.V. off, but i’m on I’m jingling baby like jewelry on (jing-a-ling) And I don’t need to buy any jewelry, homes (homie) These bitches give gifts like its xmas bro (it aint christmas!) I don’t miss a whore I have to go Out the door like dominos (like pizza!) i Eat pussy but i’m no piranha though (no blood please) I got game like 2k13 (thats NBA!) You haters would love to hurt me I got 5 bitches squirting (like porn!) On their cum, i’m surfing (like shaun) I’m sipping drink, its purpley (codeine syrup) Ya girlfriend wanna jerk me (she wanna wank me off!) I damned near crashed the whip I got balls hanging lower than depression (thats low) I’m on, no second guessing (no quote) I’m on, its in my gut (like cancer) I’m on, 3 naked sluts (they’re all dancers) I’m on, but off my butt, i’m hi! (too high) No lie, like lie detector ( no police) Any whore could win with my direction (like a pimp!) Winning is my profession I talk shit to prove a lesson Take my advice You don’t want me to show you something I got ya girlfriend str8 crumping (google: krumpin) No goons, I do the dumping (thats shooting!) With my new boots, i’m A-town stomping (i’m jumping!) Like young buck, I stay up in something (crime) Like 50 cent, I double up like 100% (funny) I’m getting my grip like jerk off (masturbate) I jump on some pussy then swerve off it (i’m gone!) I get the purp, roll the purp, hit the purp, cough (that’s weed!)
Part 7 : self creation You know me like bernie madoff ( a scoundrel) I’m off the dope, but I won’t stay off (an addict forever) I can ball just like the playoffs (like the heat!) You aint a star, so stay out my sky! ( you cant compete!) My schoolteacher said “boy you hi!’ I had to reply, I said “I try” In the games window I pried, bruh man
In the game, I’m #1, no hands I can freestyle off the brain Touching on what’s popping and what i see (whats poppin?) No one can clone how I be (no clones) Thru the door i came in, is how I leave (the same doe!) And If I was a leaf in October (its November!) I’d fly up, instead of fall down (thats incredible) I’m so heavy in the game, I could make the tree timber (with no axe?) You fall down, i rack up (that’s wealthy!) Any other nigga get smacked up ( i smacked friends!) You fell, I just laughed-I cracked up (no friends!) Humpty dumpty a wall flower A flower is an egg I’m smoking flowers, it smell like rotten egg ( you don’t get it!) I take ya shit like a pirate, rotten leg (super-duper!) I can’t ride with you like you 4got a peg (on a bike) This life: i don’t have to obey it (i make the rules) I won’t do It cause simon said It ( who is that fool?) Obama could say it (it doesn’t matter!) Damn he glitter but he not gold ( not silver either) So, I’d rather have the gold Taking a bath with an 18 year old (she’s sexy too) She young but her head is an old soul (she gives head good) My exes are old thrills (they don’t matter!) But i don’t date, i just smash, rebuild (that’s a one night stand!) Licking cunts, is custodial (i’m a vaginal janitor) I talk shit from the podium I swish even when i’m floating then (like derek rose) i rose like Derek Dick swoll like parrish I eat you crackers like parrots (that’s racist!) And I impeach presidents, nigga-from paris (illuminatus!) I got some clothes, so I wear ‘em My wardrobe clashing like parents Like ya parents when they had you I smoke good when I got a bad mood (haha) My confidence is tattooed Fuck Cinderella, I sold the glass shoe (nice) And came knocking for the match I’m hot, don’t need no match I’m wearing dress shirts with the sleeves detached ( I cut ‘em off!) None of you niggas is my match (that’s racist) Ya wife would give me her snatch (taming strange!) I’m rich, i’m cool And didn’t even drop hi school ( i graduated 08!) I’m poetic like haiku ( 4 lines) And I got dragonballz like goku ( cartoonz) Acapellas cool, don’t need pro tools ( no beats) I spaz out like a damn fool
Part 8 : Self reliance I’m popping and snapping these rubber bands ooh Bitches’r popping and snapping like 2 live crew
To you dead bitches, i’m too live for you I could fuck all nite, and y’all are 2 minute whores I’m having an orgy, its too many whores My dick done touched a 100, like eenie meenie minie mo Ya boyfriends a rat like Minnie though I slipped my own self, a mickey (thats GHB!) I’m just naturall born and killing (i’m crazy!) I can low blow you like pisces (number 12!) Ya girl show me her tongue ring like 13 I’m on the beach, no surfing Unless swag surfing is a sport, i’m first see I’m never bowing down I am the king, don’t touch my crown When i’m up its going down You hear bands, you hear clouds I mean thunder I’m so genius, I make alice wonder Kurt cobain, i’m grunged up Ya girl laid me down, after we got fucked up We 69, 69 ways (kama sutra) I control criminals cause crime pays My kids misbehaving, they colored ya girl face that’s shock value like y’all tazed Bittersweet is what y’all taste You can’t find me in 4 ways And I don’t run, and I don’t hide So smooth, I don’t walk, I glide Such a gentleman, taking fights outside But i’m no stranger to benihanas stove, standing on the top of it like i’m wyld I son you niggas like my child I bring the tech to you niggas like i’m fouled You better pay the price if you wanna sit in my crowd My bong louder than the crowd I’m black and love to shout Old heads said i’m too proud Yeah! that’s what i’m talking bout Girls’r rolling and they look popeyes (that’s MDMA!) I’m rolling up spinach, that popeye (that’s marijuana!) I kept writing after I got tired (i’m tired now!) It’s a new drug? I’ll try it (M-cat) My bitches got next My bitches got wet I got long but i’m already long ( that’s # inches!) So their mothers got next (Milf) I last long, long like my dick (# inches!) I’m on my job, on my job like a bad bitch (a prostitute) If they’re ratchet, I still smash it (I’m fucking divas!) I do this strictly from passion Save the magic Money coming in like skullcap bitch (that’s craps) So listen up like dre beats (headphones) My mantra is fuck you pay me (yoga: OMMMMMMMMM) Now namastey I always was a thug and I stay that way Its going down like mayday, mayday You’re coming down like kickoff All that glitter make my dick soft (no glitter)
You ever tried to scrub that shit off! That shit hard, that shit stick I-been-in-the-game 4 a min-it You’re driving ya car like its rented I drive my car like its stolen And I hold ya future like remote controlling (sims) When it aint shit to do, I count tokens Call me ford, nigga i’m focus Purple color is the potion Neon color is ya girlfriend after sex, she glowing (afterglow) She bend it, stick it out, buss it open (that’s pussy!) The public bathroom like a strip club In the library trying to get my dick sucked (true story!) Its either fuck college or stay in college don’t vote, I say motherfuck the knowledge And fatherfuck the knowledge New cars where the garage is Got here with no help, just scholarship (ironic) And honoring the ones before me I don’t rap, I M.C. Like macauly When you down and out, don’t call me Hi nigga, I don’t relate I rise and its no time to wait Like the sun at a.m. lift ya face Attack the day, go wild at nite My dick got lightning in it, when I fuck my dicks a nite-lite I leave vanilla babies on girls tongues like ice, ice I cop weed at the next lite I roll and spark with a bitch that sing like jordin sparx I’m holding my own on charts like file cabinet (i’m better than lorde) I’m such a beast that i’m wild stabbing it I’m a rockstar, half naked, jump in the crowd stabbing it I beat the pussy up, for real i’m floyd jabbing it (rough sex!) Crips still crabbing It, bloods still slobbering I’m half gremlin half goblin You are half furby half Donald duck That weed must got you stuck (you cant move!) You aint get the memo, I don’t givva fuck Riding round with Beethoven turnt up (true story!) My collar: its turnt up like my nose (I’m snobby!) You have to pay to like my whores (pay to play!) Grey and black how I ice my toes (pedicures for men!) Dreadlocks how I ice my fro’ (i got long hair!) Rolex how I ice my wrist (no advertisements) Pandora how I ice my neck and ears (that’s jewelry!) God not here so aint shit to fear (no fear!) Got my bitches and family here (but i don’t need ‘em) 100 million dollars blown in one year (i don’t need it) Who is warren buffet? ( i don’t know) don’t that nigga got prostate cancer? (probably so) Turn not to the sky but to me for honest answers (i’m God) I have stripping bitches They say they dancers I’m fly nigga like prancer I’m strapped nigga like jansport
Get bamboozled nigga dance for it (thats spike lee!) I’m dutch, snow, 2pac ( a real gangster) I’m telling you to put down ya 2 glox I’m 21 guns in the trunk Make ya booty bounce like devchump (ooooh) My bed made, my hair did I’m living a life you can’t dream kid My bitch pussy sweet like where the bees live (she taste like honey) Never have a sign that say ‘please give’ I give it all I got You talk a lil shit, I talk a lot ( I mock myself) I’d take the presidents parking spot I’d spit on the pope Tug of war, I own the rope This my new testament, holy flow And my liquid crystals all diamonds (whoa!) -intermissionYou could chime in but I own the bells 5 school teachers, 5 rooms at 5 hotels We’re playing, don’t ask don’t tell No homo like jim and them (they’re gay) Got jewels like Santana and (that’s dipset) I back niggas down like the heat (power forward) I already won, why compete? My fingers starting to hurt, I need ice on me (that’s diamond rings) The lights on me, and that’s when the future hit him Ruths chris pictures for online hypes (i’m balling) I fuck dykes only, online nice (the only lesbian-fucker) And my e bay cost the online price (that’s ecstasy!) So bring it up, when you need that (25 a pill) I have a bitch tattoos where her sleeves at I overdose because I don’t need that (fuck life) don’t need that resuscitation Fuck you and ya visitation Paying no tax would change the nation I’m the best because that spot was vacant If hip hop was lazarus, i’m jesus without hesitation Wipe my feet with your hair don’t you wanna ride in a lac with this young player Player like too short, but the bitch not too short Whores ask what can I do for ya? Tricks eating pussy like good lasagna I’m blasting chronic, passing chronic (like snoop!) My dick is supersonic, my pimping is bionic (i’m incredible) My bitches blow like a trumpet (oral sex) And I beat the beat up like a drum kit (freestyle!) Niggas use to think that I was a dumkid (only bad) Now they don’t even think that fuckshit (proved em wrong) I’m on this show, that show (on the news) Ya money’s skinny like where the fat go? (you lost it) I have money and I blow up like badaboom (kaboom!) My summer home it got alotta room My track record show “pussy” yours show alotta spoon (you cuddle) I’m a goblin, that means i’m alotta goon (id shoot you)
A chi town nigga like a lotta tune (chicago) On itunes i’m killing (buy something) On instrumentals i’m dahmer (murder something) You just dumber (i’m smarter) Losing money like what a bumber (that sux) So I could be a bomber (terrorist) Which ya hurt locker? Put the cash in the first locker (pay first) I was the first clocking (thats getting cash) Call kesha how i’m tik tok-in (thats getting cash) With a big cock in, i’m eating chicken but i’m not chicken ( i aint what i eat) No genie but keep on wishing (rub the bottle) My downfall is weak fiction (its not true) And my hits number one all week (you didn’t know) 52 weeks, that’s all year ( you didn’t know) Ball figure, like sandlot babe ruth (remember him?) Black, brown, blue, or grey suits (i’m classy) Business handled like a gold tooth (i’m shining) I could row thru you and ya whole crew (ooooh) I’m heating up like old stew (you’re leftover) I could kill your style with my old juice (my old swag better than your next swag) I’m getting money like an old jew (they get money) Old money, new money like a family 2 by 2 (i have both) I have girls coming over, 2 by 2 ( i need 4) We minaj like nicki, how bout you? (you do the same?) And i’m still not carey Oops I mean not caring I got a book with photos of me getting face, but no sharing (thats oral sex) I tongue wrestle with virgins (french-kiss) Then I cut them like a surgeon (i fuck ‘em) I’m throwed off like i’m purging (i’m drunk) And only I am certain (i’m right) I’m living this life on purpose (predestined) A hood nigga is worthless ( fuck ‘em) I aint scared of no nigga (no nigga!) I’m ballin, you’re just working ( fuck you!) Pause Pause, like i’m homo ( i’m not gay!) I have whores like the U.S had presidents (thats 44 to 1) I’m hi so I raise precedence (you can’t reach Me!) My house next to the Mexicans ( mexicano) I shoot 8 like 8 Mexicans 8 shots of the lean Make you lean for 64 hours I have 64 powers And I can skeet 64 times In 64 hours No pill included Ya ugly cousin is excluded Ya swag mean, mine the rudest My swag so mean, it bump ya shoulder You look back, you could get shot To deadmen, that’s unheard of Eyes on the money So the money watching me I’m watching it, like B.E.T. M.T.V. I kill ya reserve energy
I’m just an evil entity Fake niggas try to mimic me But real masters roll swisher sweet Then pass ‘em to bitches I’m puffing cohiba myself, like this the bizness I get all my publishing All my royalties Death b4 my dickfail Save your loyalty I know devils wanna boil me Weeds growing where the soil be Somethinn smell fishy don’t get koi with me No bois with me like ms. Hilson Just girls with me like hef mister Twins, i’m fucking whichevers the best sister (true story) My breath hit her, she know i’m drunk I’m so what honey, hop in the truck We’re in the parking lot 3 hours She sucked me dry for the money and the power (poor girl) My life, so many close calls ( near death experiences) My knife, so many closed jaws (i’m strapped) My dicks too big to fit in jaws mouth (open wide) Its my world so its my south My throne with my clout And no doubt with this athiesm Fuck your life and what you’re thinking I’m bourbon drinking, champagne puking I throw up like gang signs, but to me both gangs losing These broads, they keep on choosing I don’t care what they doing I’m doing me as long as i’m aging 2,000, 3,000 like true blood-anna paquin ( i’m a vampire) Realer than you could imagine A stand out like daphne (on scooby doo!) I need good brains like velma (i need head too!) No cruel intentions, no Selma (selma blair!) I would’ve pushed you off the ledge that you fell from (i don’t care!) I was a sinner then the bell rung (saved by the bell!) I’m smoking so yes you smell something (medical marijuana!) I’m staining housekeepers in hotel rooms (i fuck mexicans!) I have so many bars I should open a jail soon ( alcoholic!) I’m so fresh haters wonder how I won’t be getting stale soon (i’m fruity!) And my barley in bails, homemade (beer!) And my marly In bails, homemade (weed!) And that’s hydroponics and beer, well played I told ya bitch that I fuck better, and that’s well said (I’m the best in bed!) And don’t get mad at me that’s what she said No work like the office But my bizness str8 hopping My flow got legs, no stopping No snitching over here, so no copping No calling out, just coming in Your door, your pussy girl Earth translation is pussy world (that’s funny)
I’m getting it till the next land (i sold my soul!) No right then I use my left hand (satanic reference) I’m sharp like unlike butter knife man (cold) And my castle not out of sand Making money out of plan I outplan you I do what you oughta do When I was broke I caught up to you You more poor than the rest In choice, in thought Ya morals can be bought (mine can’t) I’m independent, spontaneous And I get what I want It could be Friday 13th and i’m lucky (true story) I strike rich like ten pens And I been in pussy you aint been in (real talk) Fuck you, along with many men (no homo) Two testicles what my sperm is in (theyre holding) I’m str8 like a perm is in I’m back like two terms look man I’m conceited And my fashion is flagrant My courage is fragrant (you smell me?) My faith-in a way itsAttached to love No go if you knock the glove Gloves on like i’m killing You’d think I work for B.P the way I be drilling My flow like from a stab wound, blood spilling Too many litres, too many litres I write till demons see me And chi folk say ‘ I see you’ And I reply, ‘me too’ The only comp is in the mirror (me versus Me) I couldn’t see it any clearer And if I could have it my way I’d end this with a swear word Goodbye fuckers -intermissionAnd hello again My flow flooding the flo’ again No bank account but the bank brought in Refs wonder will I stay balling Yep don’t blow the whistle I clean my piss with the milk thistle I skeet on cheeks with dimples I skeet on buttcheeks with pimples I make ‘em bounce that cellulite I write so much, the paper hating right My pen like possessed My chicken, it Is fresh Fresh cooked, fresh looks like fashion week in Milan No tattoos on my arm but cuts on hers I run like str8 thru third
Home like I deserve R.B.I, like i’m at R.B hi (riverside brookfield!) This aint even my alumni (no new friends!) Hold your thumbs hi you like (you know this is tight) The new chief, who has and eats his pie ( i defy reality)
2013 Bonus!
Niggaz and Bitches bang bang let [her] hang, dont cut [her] from the tree i got knives, and pistols, revolvers for the cheap all my klan rollin with me, they call us in tennessee its the cool clucks man like the colonel KFC i don’t water whip the chicken up, No! i load up, and threaten you with a sharp throat it aint nowhere i would never go these boys sayin nigga cuz they clever folk they only doin that there to save their arse they know we’ll come for them like cardinal sins, when you win, you must tell nobody my father told me that, and if he lives, you won’t no probably i ran back to the crib, i just caught the wrong body this murder music, get a butterknife is that’s all you got and don’t be scared, don’t slip, never change up, let [her] rip blood drip, don’t trip, life sometimes goes by the instant
Boustrophedon (To You) by official ku shi's experimental example: abc >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> fed <<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<< this mirror style is meant to be read going the direction I am writing in now direction opposite polar the going read be to meant its then amanda seyfried was probably the best cover worst the probably Michele lea take the good with the bad right? life next the until subscription my cancel just this is the style, deal with it bold print is reminder of which side to begin from have fun! : ) passionate provocativeness, presumable practitioner imperialism ignorant, impotence impenetrable secure sex savvy, symbolism sustaining everlasting embers energetic, exterior emblematic broiling barbies, bearing beautiful blemishes fatalities feministic feeble, frugality futile realistically raggedy, royalistically renovated
decorated defiantly, demonstrated demonically victorious ventilation, vengeance verification witnessing air/wind, withering warfare godly goodness, greatly gentrified full-love the of limericks, lustful is lavishness impressively trustful
Taking the Auspices by official ku shi's poetry agile my mind is absent, their body is present i’m brave in anarchy, they’re cowardly in pilgrimage in the windy city, the streets are never calm i’m always cool, because you religious pussies keep me warm
dowdy alienation i salute the land is cruel, so i adore the blue ecstatic euphoria is against nirvana when the quarrelsome rage against my mama (gaia)
sedate only the quiet are pure the wise have great restraint idealism is the source of creativity (and) resourcefulness has no mercy
nerve (the genre-buster) ooooh i like your stomach, your legs and your lungs oooh i like your buttocks, your belly button oooh i love your blood, your feet, your forehead i must have your brain, your nose, your tongue your digestive system turns me on your kidneys are feeling so very strong your ears, your jaws, your hair A-one your heart, your hips, your hands are grade A your pituitary is clear, pancreas is sexy i love each and every one of your cells into your spine, from your vagina, i wish to empty-flat my testes
400 lux you don’t love me unless you cut your wrist i don’t love you if you give another punk a kiss stories told, but sometimes i forget did we start this? did we start all of this? together, we were meant to be, like kibbles n bits we’re never seen together, you’re so secretive the men: they love me, but you give the love of the goddess and i am god, heroic, pure heroine got them nodding like this “(And I like you) I love these roads where the houses don’t change (and I like you) Where we can talk like there’s something to say (and I like you) I’m glad that we stopped kissing the tar on the highway (and I like you) We move in empty streets I’d like it if you stayed“
glory and gore i’m fighting til the end, you think i’m not!? i have violence in my hand, and the other’s not without! i have a shield to cover me from your violence and before you reach my heart, you have to take away my smile, men then, and only then can you say you conquered me i would takeover towns with no fleet, but dominantly one may try to exploit, but there’r some diamonds left if you must trade them for blood, you better call reinforcements cause “Glory and gore go hand in hand That’s why we’re making headlines (Oh! Oh!) You could try and take us (oh-oh) But victory’s contagious“
white teeth teens my white teeth, my black skin my hard bones, soft organs science called me, i didn’t listen art tryed to kill me, i paid no attention i’m a college dropout, a marijuana scholar 100 girls want me, i’m single like a dollar haters dog me, so i went and bought them collars no wisdom, no molars, and my teeth are shining like they’re solar “We got the glow in our mouths… White teeth teens are out…
We got the glow in our mouths… White teeth teens are out“
a worlde alone you won’t change me, I won’t let you! I don’t agree with your mother that you’re special! we had to breakup because I neglect you! and nothing you could do, to make me respect you you speak out of turn, then I check you! I pull your hair like I wanna wreck you! I like it rough but you’re gentle like ducksoup I eat you up to let you down, I could never trust you “Raise a glass, cause I’m not done saying it They all wanna get rough, get away with it Let ‘em talk, cause we’re dancing in this world alone World alone, we’re alone”
still sane you know who i am, you see the chart you know i’m dark, i don’t have a heart if you’re in my way, i won’t run over you i’ll boil you, volcanic oceania over you! i hope you drown, regardless, i hold you down i’m awesome cuz its allowed, i’m awesome cuz its allowed its awful to hear the sounds you make when i’m killin ya i didn’t really need ya, you were just familiar “Riding around on the bikes, we’re still sane I won’t be her, tripping over onstage Hey, it’s all cool, I still like hotels, but I think that’ll change Still like hotels, and my newfound fame Hey, promise I can stay good Everything feels right Chase paper, get it I’m little, but I’m coming for the crown I’m little, but I’m coming for you I’m little but I’m coming for the title Held by everyone who’s up”
Balls Deep Monkey Love by official ku shi's low brow “I’ll flip you a nickel if i could tickle your pickle. (give handjob)” says Veronica Jethro with the utmost chutzpah. But her target isn’t having it, or maybe he just has a girlfriend. Veronica, or VJ as she likes to be called, thinks guys these days are so boring! I mean what’s it take to get injected with the hot beefien
(rhymes with codeine) without the small talk? VJ is so desperate that she’s been working on a new style of pickup coined ninja-pickup, or just stealth pickup. It’s a no-holds-barred approach, holding nothing back, and being as improvisational as possible to ultimately put some bounce to her ounce (achieve multiple orgasms). VJ has no fear. She jumps out of bushes (literally), from off of rooftops (i seen it), curling from around trees (true story), sprinting out of shadows (like the conjuring), and jumprising out of gangway dumpsters (seen oscar?). She hasn’t had much-or any- luck so far, but she remains determined, psyched, and obsessed with her innovative new pickup style. She’s of her twenties-logically-she only pulls on jeans, and t-shirts are her “fave” as she puts it. To be honest she looks like a guy in her lucky Dr Marten boots. VJ lives in her parents’ basement-her parents elderly-but she’s hardly ever home because-see-Veronica has what doctors and healthjunkies call A-D-D. A-D-D. stands for the half-famous/half-made-up Attention Deficit Disorder. Ms Jethro is off. her. set (emotionally unbalanced). Her parents got so accustomed to her being out past-late and forgetting her keys, being grounded and leaping out of windows, having her cellphone confiscated by them, only to always find her using a stranger’s mobile device. An immovable object could not stop VJ’s force of forward momentum (answering the riddle). Bill Gates inhales marijuana, VJ inhales A-D-D (in her lungs). Cory Montieth shoots heroin, VJ shoots AD-D (through her veins). Stephen King sniffs cocaine, VJ sniffs A-D-D (passing blood brain barrier). Then shifts additional lines and sniffs some more (addictive personality?). She doesn’t need alcohol, nor cigarettes, and at the bars she sneaks in, she stands out like jet-black nails because she never drinks. Walking down the mainstreet on her way to the club, she’s whistling dixie, thinking i’m going to get my fire wet tonight! (squirt female-ejaculate)She barely passed a group of three men-apparently all three of them drunk-and one says, “Hey, man-girl, care to get mounted rite-na!?(doggystyle position) I’ve had one too many and i’m feeling naughty (horny).” She turns and says, “I think you’ve had a few too many but anyway my name is VJ but if you aint hitting it raw (without a condom) then i can’t break you off (cowgirl ride him).” He says, “Aw, baby, when i hit skins (play dominant role), i make that jelly roll! (crouching tiger position)” (His two mates laughing.) She says, “One hundred contacts in my phonebook could say that I know how to twerk something (give a gluteal applause) but judging from the way that your wing-men are bawling, I say that I should probably only let you hide the sausage in your strongest hand. (masturbation)” The two friends deeply cheer, “ooooooh!” VJ says, “Ouch,” then licks her right index and impresses her pantyless buttocks, following with a sizzling sound before she says, “Take mental photographs as what you coulda had struts away.” VJ is now half way to the nightclub of her choosing before a flying twelve inch fairy appears out of thin air, and says to her amidst its glittery glow, “that: my tallness, is why ladies get raped (severely roughhoused) in that alley.” VJ says, “Ill, shoo, get away!” The fairy defends, “Law of vibration (law of attraction) Buttercup, you’ve summoned me through the dao of badassery (impressive action).” She says, “Well, three second rule (initiating pickup within first three seconds), I’ve seen you and i’m not interested.” The fairy says, “I don’t want to storm the cotton gin (have rough sex) Honey Bunny.” VJ snaps, “Well what do you want,-” and tosses in a sarcastic-”Casanova?” The fairy says, ” I prefer Dollface, Flame, and I’m here to help you play and win at the game of Hide The Salami!”(vaginal intercourse) She says, “Well, I’ve had a nooner (sex with a worker on his lunch-break) and a quickie (spontaneous sex in a cupboard) before rushhour so I already have given it a go. (successfully came)” The fairy says, “You lie, Schnookums, but I can be your Air Traffic Control. (Wingman-like alarm of intruding variables)” She says, “I’m not for the ball busting (taking the piss). I have bottom bitches (girls she relies on) to help me break in the clouds (to make a way out of no way).” The fairy says, “Fine, try your luck with death row (the alcoholic and probably closeted-homosexual wallflowers at a straight bar) but those fuck me eyes (self explanatory) you’ve been perfecting for two weeks are going to get you hurt.(raped)” All the sudden, VJ enters a state of hyperfocus (tunnel vision). The fairy senses the change in vibration, and says, “Right, Goddess, channel your inner
nympho. (being in agreement with exceptional, extraordinary, immeasurable sexual pleasure)” VJ says, “I’m feeling like I’m going-nearing the club-to get me a zero night stand tonight.(a one night stand but with more nightlife possible afterward)” The fairy (whose real name is Venos) says, “Yes, now thatthat bitch shield ( inhibitions, defenses, tease theory) is down.” -To be continuedVJ parts with the fairy, and enters Club 27 straight after. On the surround stereo speakers, hip hop music blares grandiloquently, “…ride my dick (reverse cowgirl position), I tap that ass like a nail (G-Spot), shine my dick (deepthroat phallic-disappearing-act fellatio style), then my niggas wanna pull a train (consecutive style group sex). (Author’s note: keep your chin up, VJ. You were awesome.)
Dedicated to Us by official ku shi's escapist fiction The zoo Present time Suburbs “All they do is fuck, fight, and play,” says Burt as he watches the baboons in amazement. He adds, “I’d bet they’re not worried about one thing.” Then a zookeeper walks up and says, “Pardon my eavesdropping on your thinking out loud, but if i’d comment, baboons are an aggressive species, the female are mere objects and the male can fight all day-in the wild-so under these overcrowding circumstances, the animal are bound to destroy one another, and probably before the zoo closes down because of lack of economic aid.” As Burt re-zips his fly in the zoo’s public women’s restroom (he, a hermaphrodite) he wonders to himself, what would it be like, could he stand it, would he ever be happy, if he were a baboon held captive. He rinsed his hands then looks up at the egalitarian mirror, and says out loud, “I wish I knew what the baboons-my monkey ancestors-were thinking.” A time-warp starts spiraling before him, instantly he has tunnel vision, he feels the sensation of leaving his body, like death, but it feels good, damn good, and feels sucked into a black hole, deleted, void, in a second that felt like hours, all to be realising he is still in the no mans land restroom. Burt leaves for home to try to sleep it off-without anxiety-without scheduling for doctors. Burt awakens to screams in the morning. It’s Tuesday 7:35 AM around the time, when the most exodustraffic for primary school is passing by the boulevard of his living quarters. Burt looks out his front window of his lounge room and sees no emergency, no urgency, and not even a girl in sight to match the high pitch squeal. He tries his balcony, and there Burt finds Jimmy his neighbor of eleven years old mutilating a fly, pulling off wing by wing, leg by leg, then poking it with a needle. Burt opened the front-door in a furious yank like expecting to catch a pubescent teenager in the act of self sex, and boldly voices, “Scram, you little runt!” Jimmy takes off, shouting, “Good morning Mr. Coca!” Burt thinks to himself in response, yeah, whatever. Then, impossibly, the fly is heard, “you think you’re annoyed? I’m called a fly, but not only am i wingless, i have no legs to even walk.” Burton Coca thinks himself clinically insane but asks anyway, “am i hearing you speak-fly-did you just sympathize with me?” The fly replies telepathically, “No, i only thought about it.” Two hours later at the zoo, Burt is unpredictably in the Hippopotamous exhibit embracing the beauty of the giant pig, the obese horse, the unlucky rhinoceros…A hippo says, “Enough! Are you going to go on like
that all of the rest of your fifty minutes standing there?” Burt thinks surprised, “Well no, I. Just…” The hippo says, “I seen you before stars of times and you do what you’re doing there now, talking shit for an hour before you move on and bad mouth another species.” Burt thinks to apologize…The hippo says, my name is Henry. Burt says, it’s a pleasure to be acquainted, I am…Henry the hippo says, “A jerk.” Burt thinks, granted, then leaves for where he feels more comfortable. Henry shouts, “Sayonara asshole!” Standing before the sacred baboons, Henry thought, well that was embarrassing. I was just humiliated by a hairless formed, stubby legged, barrel-shaped, even-toed, enormous mouthed hippopotamus! A baboon says to Burt while he in deep thought, “It could’ve been worse. You could’ve gotten urinated upon by my father. His urine smells of turpentine.” Burt says, “I’d like those chances. The hippopotamus is arguably the ugliest of all the animal kingdom and…” The baboon says, “I’ve heard enough. If anyone could make anyone feel as bad as i sense you are, this hippopotamus you speak of must be The one, The only, The big black Henry.” “By god,” Burt says, “your guesstimation is correct! I’m instinctually impressed.” The baboon says, “My name is Barbara and you’re welcome. Burt is dreaming, or more like having nightmares, (maybe having something to do with the zoo being closed tomorrow for halloween) of dogs being hung, horses being beheaded, fish being oiled, and goats being molested. The last dream before Burt wakes is a peculiar one; he actually feels to be a part of it. He’s in a junkyard, no an abandoned building, no he’s in a stranger’s backyard, yes, a stranger’s backyard. Burt feels like his name is Kenneth, and he has matches, a liquid spray of flammable solutions and a brown cat in a cloth bag, tied at the top by rope. Burt being a new personality in this dream, cannot even think of stopping this insatiable hunger to destroy that which lives. Burt, or Kenneth sprays the sack, lights the match and… Burt wakes up in a cold sweat. His heart is sped up like jeff gordon and he just wants to feel human again. He presses the buttons on Mr Coffee to get some arabica heating up, then he clicks on the television…The news reporter confirms, “Kenneth Coleman, a boy next door, an honor roll student, a child with many friends, and a family respected by the community, was arrested. Now, Kenneth belongs to the Coleman’s. The Coleman’s donate the only money that keeps the zoo’s gates open today, but Kenneth was troubled, and we all know depression can make people take perverse action. Kenneth is held in custody for setting his neighbors cat on fire and letting it burn to death…” Burt’s mind is a wind instrument. He doesn’t drink coffee, he walks to the zoo. At the zoo today, hundreds of people are on edge. Burt wonders to himself, “Did everyone else get this superpower too?” He asks a red-haired woman in her mid-thirties who just got off the phone, what is going on in here? The woman says, “This is too much for my two children, go to the smelly hippo exhibit if you want answers.” Burt thinks, how these people are acting, maybe i can’t handle the truth. After Burt arrives he notices, the bloodiest of messes since Carrie. Blood has literally hurled into the air to cover and drench a number of tourists. Inside the hippo’s gate, the killer has blood all over the front half of its body, giving the hippopotamus a sagittarius vibe. Burt thinks, “I might have started my Wednesday with a terrible dream, but plenty kids will be ending theirs with some tonight.” Burt takes one last look at the killerpotamous. The half bloody-red hippo winks at Burt, then evaginates to his invisible cave. Burt’s back in his comfort zone, trying to cool off, in the misty baboon exhibit. Barbara swings over and haikus, “Don’t even tell me, because i already know. i’m not saddened because Henry was a fine bloak. He’d take care of distracting night-watchman when I’d try to breakout. He will be remembered like an asshole to a snout.” Burt says, wow! that really cheered me up. Say-you animals… Barbara says, “Wait-are you not an animal now, Burt?” Burt says, “Christianity-i’m sure you’ve heard of it-is the religious thought and dogma of severe and chronic denialism.” Barbara says, “Sounds like you need a (monkey) doctor, or a cherokee.” Burt says, “Say-would you take my ostracized hand in marriage?” That ironic morning before halloween, Barbara ate her last meal as a single monkey. Burt promises to break her out.
She wore a Sox Cap (or, Blind Date)
by official ku shi's poetical freestyle you need a reset, my life’s on preset you wanna bet? i didnt break a sweat, at the presidents threat i’m like a…vet in debt flying in a jet, when its wet outside, and i just got back from annette she blew me like a bad gas jet, i wont forget i’m the jet set, in a drift net …owner of my own gazette, so what’s next? i play with your life like roulette …size you up like a pipette no regret, like i sip anisette, on some new bedroom set or puffing a cigarette, beside my kitchenette i get blown like a clarinet, by bernadette i rank antoinette high like a baronet juliette and nicolette make me hot like tagamet or the back of a TV set… politicians only talk like a telephone set but i write with character sets you’re living in oxygen debt i was told by your radio set your blood is mine, no mosquito net bram stoker is back from recess -readjusti wind by in a gust, this is lust but that i trust, so i keep it on me, like a fan with dust i might spontaneously combust… you fall off like pie crust… your breach of trust wasn’t nonplussed at the thrust little do you know, it reached cosmic-dust god’s shoulder was brushed i mean jupiter was puffed now the tufts-junkies are cuffed i huffed because y’all were stuffed now they’re hushed because… well because they were flushed i’m of the new royals -readaptyou must snap out of that nap a chin strap must’ve been made… to keep your head up as you get penis-slapped that’s… slapped with a penis and… mine is the cleanest and… only what i emit, is this banana split i mean… so sweet what i trasmit and… you’re unfit to make it and…
i remit your throwin a fit your building permit has no mother wit my scrotum holds the brace and bit yes, i said it i spit the mitt, fit the mitt then… lose the mitt if you’re into prostitution, i’m the pimp …little bitch care to recommit (<?/>?)
Snippets of my life by official ku shi's literary collage “Has Ann (Angrily-Emotional, Intolerant-Conservative-Evangelist-Nonjudeo-Christian-Religionist Aunt) always been stupid? [Pause] She wears furs but can’t afford heat. She wears jewelry but can’t afford gas for hyundai? She travels all over the place but can’t find a job. Why is this? She wants you (mother) to help her but wouldn’t help you if vice versa. She wants Jo Ann (mother’s sister) to help her then shits on Jo Ann’s name every chance she gets. She talks about sex, drugs, and rock-n-roll but sits and recruits churchmembers for hours at a time. Who is she? Do you think, she even knows?” “Writing Team Preliminaries: Do you stereotype? Do you summarize mentally? Do you think before speaking? Upon completion or disqualification determines route of succession. [By this measure] I’m disqualified for indifference and she [my mother] is disqualified for inferiority complex towards others. How to write: Character Introduction Exposition Rising Action with needs, conflicts, urgencies, difficulties, and reasons Climax Falling action Denouement Resolution”
“Grocery Shop List: Simple Brand (sensitive skin collection) Phillips Norelco 3in1 kit Phillips Norelco grooming kit Vanilla/Peach body spray by bodycology
Natural Lotion by Burts Bee Body spray (womens) Cetaphil Culturelle CharcoCaps St Ives Oatmeal/Shea butter lotion spray”
“Of Twitter: My brother has an Extended Play worth of songs releasable and I’ve completed my first work of proud literature and working on third manifesto #LifeIsGreat” “Haircare: Proper cornrows (of kinky, coiled, hair of helix type, african descendant type) can last up to eight weeks Sleeping with hairwraps is neatly habit dry shampoo or wet shampoo are prime conditioners antiseptics (like alcohol) are exceptional for itching tea tree oil is used for extreme situations of scalp dryness, itching, allergy spray bottles assist shampoo when traveling by backpack toothbrushes can do no wrong for multiple procedures” “Nonreligionism: Darion Martin (Me) to Cousin Kahlea (F) (Kah-lea) Party follow up a week later by email Me (M): What are your opinions on the Trayvon Martin/George Zimmerman Case? Her (H): Hello Darion, How are you? I’m glad to hear from you. I only saw a couple of trials… …And even if they saw Martin on top of Zimmerman, who can tell what happened before the incident started unless we go back to the starting point. Was Martin trying to defend himself the best that he could? I don’t want to just completely take up for Martin just because his black and was a teenage but the facts about Zimmerman being innocent, do not add up either… Tell what you think. M:I think what you said is fair. Either way, it’s a devil’s case because somebody died… My father said that if Trayvon were me or Deavin (brother), that he would kill Zimmerman. “Hunt him down and kill him.” I said it, “Heroic.”… …I thought me being imaginative-that Zman and his neighbors were having continuing problems (breakins, robberies, thefts) and he-being a part of his neighborhood watch-was fed up, sick, and tired of “gangsters” coming into his neighborhood, causing trouble, then getting away scot-free. My opinion on Martin being a gangster is based on pictures of him hanging out, wearing crooked baseball caps, and not taking advantage of community activities above video games, which apparently he and his friend were playing prior to his departure to the 7/11. I heard he was a talented football player, but also a marijuana user and supplier. The judge didn’t allow this to stronghold the jury. [The lady judge] also steered attention away from Florida’s controversial Stand
Your Ground law. I thought, that fair. Now the fight was the most meaningful event of the trial, if not the cause of the tragedy alone. I understood Trayvon could’ve left the neighborhood while Zman was talking to dispatch on that first 911 call. Martin decided to hide in bushes. Martin approached Z, after seeing him exposed outside of his motor vehicle. Martin began, with “Why are you following me?” or something like that. Now forgive me because I don’t much care what they said. So, their words led to wrestling, and blows with Trayvon gaining an upperhand, threatening Z’s life; he went to reach for Z’s gun, Z intercepted to counter and shot, probably no more than an inch away. Supposedly, there are videos online of Trayvon and his gang fist-fighting homeless men for fun or recreation. And Z, I guess, failed his police exam. I think, prejudice or not, that Z had too much time on his hands, and TM was at the wrong place ,at the right time because now he’s famous. My dad thinks a riot if George Z is let free. H: If they let him off, he’ll reap what he sow. M:Ouch! Harsh last words. Anyway, I’m here for anything you wanna talk about (eg politics, life, saturated fat), but seriously, anything. And sure enough, I’ll reach out to you at any spur of the moment. H: Darion my man, my main man (got it from Wreck it Ralph) (LOL) Likewise. Love talking to you too… So, what’s new? I hope you’re doing well. You’ve always been a thinker and a sweet hearted person. Keep that up. Do you have anyplans to go back to school or just work which is great too? I don’t remember but were you into art? M: Hi Kahlea, I loved Wreck it Ralph by the way, but my fav[orite] character was The Glitch. I feel like I’m her [in real life]. So, in your letter, Pride and Arrogance linked to Wrongdoing and Bad things. But really, what is “wrong?” (Its meaning with examples to the word.) And what is “bad?” (Its meaning and examples). I might be arrogant to nudge an agreement but if it wasn’t for parenting, teachers, and law enforcement, there is really no “Wrong” and there’s no “Bad.” You know, us as so-called “productive” civilians makes us think that because we work, or go to school, or draw/be creative, that we are “decent” and “righteous” and respected/regarded. But I think this attitude is poisonous/toxic. If one doesn’t work, we call him “bum” “Failure” “has-been.” If he isn’t formally schooled/educated, he “dumb” “lazy” “a burden.” But I must say that, student loans are “a burden.” Forced taxing is “a burden.” Conformity is “a burden” when I can study for free at a library and educate myself, or I can avoid work-by that I mean, do what I love-like the people of this state, nation, and world who get by easily, live stress-free, and help abundantly to those who need help, without secondthinking, ulterior motives, or wishes for future returns and advantages. School should be based on what the student wants, not the state, teacher, and president. Work should be our heart’s love and desire…what gets us up in the morning and helps us to sleep easy. We are creative as a people-I think-but not creative enough because say for instance, just because Will Smith finds his so-called “calling” in life and he does whatever to gain [financial] success, that doesn’t mean millions of people from his birthplace, or city have the same opportunity. Many people think that wealth is based on luck. Politicians tell us that that it’s hard work that gets us “to the top” but politicians don’t work at all, and maybe i don’t enjoy climbing ladders : ) I read, I watch, I think, I very rarely feel, because in supercapitalistic state, feeling anything is grounds for dismissal, selfdeception,, and financial misfortune. The richest are the coldest, is how is see it, or they’ve inherited what government down the line “allowed” one to attain. Quite frankly, i’m sick of being governed, so if i can employ myself, teach myself, and live or die by my beliefs then so be it, because out of my religious, spiritual, and sensational experience, I’ve grown to know that with one dollar between us, there can never be one hundred percent trust between us. H:…In the past and now, I had friends who struggled with homosexuality and wanted to serve god and
others who struggled with sexuality as a heterosexual… …Struggling sexually is [sinful.]… Mark 8: 34 M:I believe that god has no personality, gender, opinion, action, or reaction. I think god is faceless, uninformed, nondenominational, noninterventional, more invisible than air. I think god is what lies between good and so-called evil. God’s the line between love and hate. God’s the one between life and death, or not dead and not alive. God is more of a contradiction than a paradox itself. God is like the original thought. It’s like sin was thought of just so we can have the free-will not to be saints but to not believe in sin, and instead live out our lives in this bubble of dignity, power, and understanding. I think christians call this “faith.” But out of faith, love and trust must grow or else that seed of faith and purest hope never blossoms. Without the rain for the soil, we would have never known the beauty of a rose. P.S. John 19:11 Jesus answered, “you would have no authority over me…” James 1:15 Then when lust and desire has conceived… Matt 24:26 “So if someone tells you, “Look the messiah is out in the desert…” H:Hey darion, i read both your letters and i was concerned…. In regards, to your “without the rain for the soil, we would have never known the beauty of a rose.” That’s beautiful. However, why give the creation so much authority or worship the power of the creation when we can worship the Creator of the creation?… M:Kahlea, just to clarify, i don’t give “creation” authority, and i don’t “worship” anything. many words, you credited to me, are yours and not mine. and what one does religiously, is religion. That fact alone has been misunderstood for centuries. And so much talk about this god of yours. Why not add an “O” and believe in good. Good is the natural cause, and purpose. You’d help more people, in my opinion. And you seem to me to be either a saint or just very condescending. Might have been how you were raised, but i try to think for myself as much as possible. i heard there are no more saints, so listening even to Mark or Luke carries no weight in the world today. Preachers are takers just like most everyone else. The churches call on people but they don’t want to [give service] for free. Besides, that suited guy on the podium under the cross behind a microphone, has the same physical body parts as me. We animate ourselves, but with common DNA and roots, regardless of so-called race or culture. So anyway, are you telling me-in short-that one has to be jewish-christian, obsessive-religious, and worldy-recruiting while speaking of unworldly matters to be saved? I thought we all bleed, and if that’s true, the blood is probably the same color. if having an idea or hallucination or delusion of a life after a life, because i don’t believe in death, then so be it; if it works for you, go ahead… H:Hey Darion, You think like the world… I believe in christ because i have personal relations with him…. i have personal [meetings] with him…. so, i’m not only a christian because i was raised that way… i don’t live a christian life, based on a preacher… however, i don’t want this to turn into a debate… M: Hey, I like the meaning of your name. It seems scientological. Yes, scientological. They’re big on people being bright and clear, literally.
To sum up my thoughts, you seem to be: Pagan, pessimistic, and psychotic. But i guess we could agree, post-debate, that my judgment is not supreme. this may seem selfish, and thanks for sharing your experiences, but “am i included with the saved ones, or am i not?” Take your time… H:Sometimes god give sinners [unreal] experiences to draw them to him…. we are all god’s children but some don’t [believe the history of god.]… M:I was telling my mother, i swallow my tears now. i don’t cry anymore. and i like no one…how’s that for favoritism? H: Well, i love you… H:I did want to respond more accurately to your last question, however. You asked, ” am i included with the saved ones or am i not?” well, it’s really, very simple. if you sincerely received jesus as your precious lord and saver and seek to [give this man pleasure] (sounds homosexual afterall) and obey [hidden orders], you are included in the saved bunch!” “Narrative.com Workshop Chicago-Style Hopeful: Darion Martin here. I think your publishing and editing Kurt Vonnegut and Ken Kesey is awesome. I wouldv’e sent this kite if you hadn’t tweaked their work anyway. I’m studying words, learning fiction styles, and i’m a lifelong book-seeker, and ex hip hop MC. This is some transition that i am trying to realise. i went to doctors today, and he said that i’m depressed. this writing is all that i have. i have a slight interest in essay, and short story, but my heart is longing for the big time, the horror or the fantasy. when i’m comfortable to share with anybody and not just a few [lovers], i have real ideas for at least five works of fiction that will either chill the critics or make them hot with intense urgency to pen the unpredictable, culture challenging, time precise, emotional underlook of the psychic wills of postmodern man that is my creations. let me just say, one day, a man will honor the bible with a masterpiece to retire it forever. Could you personally supply me with any fundamental information that i’d need to pursue this may 2014 goal of mine. PS What is your definition of a manuscript. Reception: Admission to the class is based on submission of a manuscript and a brief interview and discussion with you, on the phone. I don’t work with anyone in a class with whom i have not had direct contact and read for in advance of the class… There will be an assigned reading list of fiction and nonfiction, including one book-length work, a novel. in addition, each participant will read one manuscript by each of the other participants, in advance of the class. three of these manuscripts will be discussed each morning in the workshop. in the afternoons, we will discuss the assigned reading by [his favorite] writers. And will read a second manuscript by each participant for a conference with each of participant. The program is [secretive] and [ biased] , which doesn’t mean we can’t have some fun (meaning be a tightwad with money and certainty of humanist discrimination). but it is a lot of work (aka stress). If you are interested in the class , please send a manuscript of any length, representing the kind of work that you would like help with in a class…
The cost of the class is [nearly 3,000$], which includes only the cost of the class itself and does not include travel,lodging, food, or any other costs. I don’t arrange travel or lodging for the participants in the workshop ( repeated like he heard that i’m numb). the class will be held in a hotel meeting room in downtown chicago. if you were to decide to join the class after i have read and we have discussed your work, there will be a [nearly 1,000$] deposit to secure your place, and the balance of the class fee for the may 29 class will be due on march 28, which is also when the manuscripts will be due for the class. if you are interested in other class dates or locations, i can provide the deadline information for those classes as well…. I look forward to reading your work and to [commercialising] your writing and the class. if you have any questions at this point, please email me [again.] kind regards, Tom jenks Co founder and editor of narrative magazine bringing great literature to the world free(?) (sure about that slogan, Tom?)” “Psychiatry: Good reasons why psychiatry must be abolished by don weitz DWEITZ@INTERLOG.COM please snowball copy and publish with no copyright or permission required psychiatrists are fraudulent, falsely claiming, without scientific proof, that these “mental disorders” are caused by a “biochemical imbalance” in the brain, genetic factors, or “genetic predispositions,” despite the fact that there are no genetic factors in “mental illness” psychiatrists are racist in disproportionately incarcerating and drugging afro-descendants, aboriginals, and other colored people, and labeling them “psychotic” and “schizophrenic” psychiatrists violate the hippocratic(the founder of modern medicine) oath which orders all physicians ” first do no harm” psychiatrists don’t give “informed consent” of toxicity, disabling and permanent effects, memory effects, dyskinesia, psychosis, parkinsonism, dementia, brain damage, and death psychiatrist violate civil rights, human rights, constitutional rights, such as imprisoning innocent people without court trial or public hearing (“Involuntary commitment”), and subjecting them to cruel and unusual punishments or tortures such as forced drugging, brainwashing, psychosurgery, solitary confinement, “chemical restraints”, and [strapped down in chairs] psychiatrists deceive, lie, to patients, prisoners, families, and public psychiatrists don’t inform psychiatric inmates, and prisoners about existing safe and humane, non-medical alternatives in the community such as survivor-controlled crisis centres, drop-ins, self-help, or advocacy groups, diet, massage, wholistic medicine, affordable supportive housing, jobs psychiatrists masterminded mass murder of hundreds of thousands of vulnerable people including disabled children, the elderly, and psychiatric patients during the holocaust in nazi germany, and “selected” hundreds of thousands of concentration camp prisoners for death and [deleted historical facts from textbooks and historical journals] psychiatry is not medical science psychiatry is quack science, pseudo science, [depended on fantastic diagnoses] psychiatrists threaten, intimidate, or [force] many patients- particularly women, children, elderly, prisonersinto consenting to health-threatening/brain-damaging “treatment” such as the antidepressants, neuroleptics, brainwashing, and hi-risk experiments [on human persons] psychiatry is based on fraud fear and force
psychiatrists cannot accurately and reliable predict dangerousness, violence, or any other type of human behavior, yet make such claims as “expert witnesses,” and with the media promote the “dangerous mental patient” myth/stereotype psychiatry is a form of social control or punishment- not treatment psychiatry is fascist- a direct threat to democracy, human rights, and life particular white male psychiatrists are homophobic, once labeling in the official psychiatrist journal the APA that homosexual attraction is “mental illness” and “mental disorder” and have tried to brainwash and electric shock lesbians out of their homosexualness may i add my own point here, it being, the author of above psychiatric-points is an anti poverty advocate which i find notable, and that i have myself survived psychiatry and all its faults, fraud, and deception. after about 5 years of constant struggle leading to the present, just last month, my 3rd dose of LSD-a psychedelic drug has ended -i repeat-ended my dependence on heroin, cocaine, marijuana, and various stimulant substances. i am clear of drugs, alcohol, and my life has been saved-no thanks to psychiatry and all thanks to those the likes of timothy leary, steve jobs, francis crick, aldous huxley, and the creators of south park.”
Thanksgiving by official ku shi's open letter To whom it may concern, I’m not going to participate in this holy-day, that you uphold so much. I’m not going to be a resident of this artificial island, requiring to constantly ask myself “what is this?’ You build and they will come, has european evidence. Blacks as a culture, hasn’t really innovated very much outside of dancing and bad music lyrics recently. And christianity which I’m supposing is the basis of this holy-day may be more honest compared to united nations day or presidents day as a holy-day, but nonetheless thanksgiving is predominately unproven as significant, and trivial and unimportant units take part in it’s appraisal. I know that millions do things without thought, contemplation, and historical accuracy, but I won’t be one in a million. Unless, maybe I’m in east asia where there are more than a billion in one geographical location, then I’m as atheist as any of them at random, but until then or if then, I’m managing to practice freedom of nonreligion in a primarily religious state, and freedom of nonassociation in a unwanted, unloved, and lonesome state. Do I have freedom of thought , and freedom of life, and freedom of movement? May I live free from torture and slavery, even if this torture is emotional and this slavery is mental? Could the water I drink be uncontaminated with your poison, may the speech I control be pure in essence, and may the sex I may happen to enjoy be of my own and not your curiosity? I have an individual right to ban groups from my friendship and to choose carefully of my identity politics. I have natural rights to dismiss kings, and disengage from republicanism. As an author, I do not express copyright laws, or property laws on my works, because like the creator, my work is free, viral, and phenomenal. As a disabled person (unofficially), my safety and accessibility is of utmost importance to me, no matter what accommodations this may entail. As a minority, since my sex practices are nonexistant, my religious practices are nonexistant, and my class is nonexistant, I remain sovereign to majority decision and international law. As a native, I reserve the right to fight for integrity and survival. And finally as an animal, I should not suffer nor be researched, and I should be entertained, clothed, and fed according to my will. Out of 7 billion wordly individuals, I presume a minority to disagree, if only as devil’s advocate, but I know well that the rights listed above are universal, inherent, and indispensable, but should be obligatory and compulsory. Unfortunately, I live where common sense is not mandatory, needs are not met regularly, and human-beings are starved habitually. With knowledge of these travesties, and the pseudo-government that is religion, and the sham holy-day that is thanksgiving, I view my nonobservance, noncompliance, and cold detachment to be trifling, and
inconsequential. With affection Darion Brunston
Cosmopolitan by official ku shi's genius Ooh, baby, you’re in St. Petersburg, Russia? I’ll be there tomorrow. I’ve just touched down in Burbank, California but it’ll be dead here in the morning. I’ll catch that flight. But I won’t stay long. I gotta see my two girlfriends in Tokyo. Then, I have to break the last bank in Shanghai. After, I have to break a last great wall down in Delhi. I’m agglomerated in Mexico City. I’m under the finest hat in Danbury, of New York City. There’s three turkish hookah loving women waiting for me in Istanbul. I feel so large in Karachi right now. I’m walking on the once national highway, with three thousand friends in Beijing. I’m in gay fashion at Sao Paulo for the weekend. I’m in Moscow feeling like a twenty-twelve billionaire. I’m in Mumbai. Thirty Portuguese courtesans treat me like the GQ man of the year. I’m at Seoul, swimming in the Han River. I’m Jakarta, the friendly population is the whole city. I’m at Bangalore, innovating like the late Silicon Valley. I land in London just to vomit in a few alleys with the ex mayors. I’m in Tehran, burning down churches and mosques. I’m in Bogota, hanging out with sixty lesbian jobs (addicts). I’m in Lima playing girls like the lost Pan American games. At Hong Kong, they treat me with Opium and Sex. In Dhaka, they learn fast. One hundred sluts in my public palace in Bangladesh. At Cairo, I’m spiritually influenced, but still dream of Paris. Lahore to Rio, I’m partying like a university student. At Baghdad, a special lady shows me the multiculturalism. In Singapore, I fuck four asian tigers like a dominican. At Santiago, the pussy flows free like flooding the central valley. In Johannesburg, I’m with three bad bitches hotter than lightning. At Berlin, I’m drinking thirty ounce beers, and smoking durban poison laced with pills Back to Madrid, I’m thrilleringly/ looking for a plush buttocks. I’m feeling like 08 Obama in Casablanca. Atlanta! you’re calling me home. But I can’t forget about Barcelona. Dallas is dead, but Los Angeles is alive. Paris is fine, and in Toronto 100 fans wait for my invasion outside. We did away with every laws, and forgot about all history. Politics is done, so wars are far-history. Economic warfare has w(run)g its c[o]urse.* Money historically devided** us with punishments and rewards. Now there isn’t a sword, there isn’t a prison warden. There isn’t a killer, there isn’t a rapist.
There is a lover, there are happy-women. There a trillions of men giving, giving, giving. >/< Have you seen michael jackson’s hit video? remember the zombies? I’m possessed by my hands and theyre leading me like a carrot-on-a-stick in front of Mr Ed, (or Whitney Houston carrying crack-on-a-stick in front of Bobby Brown) >*< A reader could say run it’s course, or wrung it’s curse, both are relevant >**< I initiated “divided” with DE instead of DI because in addition to financial theory dividing us, it deceives us, so it’s only a play on syntax (but tax is the true sin, right babies?!.)
(T)2 Crickets (T)2 Crickets by official ku shi's black comedy In their shared one bedroom apartment, Silas (17) asks Natalie (17), “if you could just pass me the sweetener, babe?” Natalie thinks, he never wants to move when I’m around, but let his big buggy eyes land on a trail of me, and he’s all, “give me sweetener,” he’ll probably ask for me to brew another pot of coffee next. Natalie says, “Sure honey, you know I love you, so why’d you need to ask?” Silas says, “Uh, I didn’t know that I didn’t have to.” He continues, “Uh, two thanx then.” Natalie responds, “Oh, two!?, you’re especially generous to day aren’t you?” Silas says, “no not really, I just wanna use you…uh..for….uh…you know…to…so..I.can love you like a husband should.” FLASHBACK Natalie slurs, “poze fa da picturezz, you dicck!” Silas says, “I’ve always wanted to get married!” Silas readies his self for the marriage-officiants camera-lens. Natalie screams, in his ear, “put down the fuccking bottol uh vodka before you say cheez!” Both of them are drunk beyond bloody hell, getting married in Vegas at the Little Chapel off the strip, as brother and sister…twin brother and sister. Ironically, they are gemini’s. Silas bought the ring made-out-of-plastic from a coin-machine for a quarter-of-a-dollar and the celebrant, random wedding-crashers, and even the officiant is stoned-drunk. The marrying-official announces, “you may now smooch the cooch.” Silas lifts up the remaining inch of this sixteen year old’s miniskirt and literally goes to town, downtown, way south, like georgia, or florida, in the rainy season, and Natalie’s disinhibited, moaning, epileptic, and compulsively cusping his skull while forcing forward as much of her lotus befitting to his facial orifice. The official rips the shoulder-strap of her tank-top and corks a double-D tit in his mouth. She’s pregnant with a soon-to-be-aborted-fetus, and she’s supershooting mammal’s milk like Champagne on new year’s. Long-story short, they took this ceremony to Thessaloniki. BACK AT HOME “No regrets.,” Natalie mentions hesitatingly. “Hell, no!,” Silas says, “I love kids.” Natalie asks, “even Eros.” Silas answers, “only Eros. The rest of those dicks are pricks!” Natalie yells, “Eros, wake your punkass up! You’re father has something to tell you.” Within three minutes, Eros wakes off the hardwood, furnitureless living-room floor. He kicks his brother Engel awake as he heads to the kitchen. “What the fuck, Dad?,” says Eros charmingly. Silas says, “I was up, but your mother took care of that like a low paid whore.” (Mind you, these children all of which are half the age of their parents, at eight and a half, are as numb as a bag of stones and they have no idea how to question reality) Eros says, “Maybe I’ll get laid tonight by one of those Catholic-sluts at Matre Christi outside of bible-study.” Silas says, “Boy, you aint gettin no punchy-pufferfruit! Plus, I thought you were banned from all school-grounds in a nine mile radius from this living-room.” Engel replaces his eye-booger back into his eye-corner before he says, “Eros, youze a bitch, I seen you suckin dick.” Natalie admits, “that’s my job,” then she yodels randomly in-to-the-airlike-trying-to-reach-god, “Aster, wake up now, before I get Eros’ carbon-15 automatic power-rifle and end your love!” Eros interjects, “Nice play on words, Ma, but it wouldv’e been perfect to use on me.” “What?,”
she snaps. “My name..is..Eros….the god….of.love!, C’mon ma!, we’ve talked about this!” Natalie like she caught the holy ghost-shouts, “Eros, I hate you!” “All of you, I hate you all!” Silas says affectionately, “I love you too sweetheart.” CONDOM WRAPPER Aster walks into hell’s kitchen and says, “Where’s manhattan? Just kidding.” Silas commands, “Sit down before I make you suck my cock.” Aster sits under the table. (But doesn’t sexualize this scene, there’s just no chairs left) Eros finishes his pop-tart and says, “I’m leaving for Matre Christi,” before Natalie puts him in a Randy Savage chokehold. She clenches tight with the essence of a titanoboa on a house-kitten. He swiftly passes out, landing on head, possibly dead. No one’s took CPR, or had any knowledge, nor curiosity about first-aid. (Not to mention, sympathy) Engel says, “He looks like he is sleeping very deeply. If you’d demonstrate how well your chokehold works, you could save millions from heroin-addiction. I’m not sure what addiction is, but I heard it’s bad. I’m not sure what bad is, but I heard it’s not good. I’m not sure what good is, but I heard: not any of the above, so, good, must be: me-even though you call me Engelbecause I always feel low, and pressed, and intrusively in between you and Silas.” Silas interrupts, “My name is Dad to you, pup.” Engel says, “Alright, big-dog, you got it(respect).” Natalie finishes biting her fingernail before bolting out of the front-door. Aster rises from the ashes like a phoenix and takes Natalie’s seat. 3 WEEKS LATER Silas, Engel, and Aster.are.returning.home.from.Eros’.funeral.concession.and.they.are.collectively.in the best of moods, high off cocaine-laced marijuana-filled cigarettes. Silas says, “I’m euphoric of my-at leastbeing able to abuse drugs with my two illegal sons.” Aster never says anything, so Engel asks, “What is illegal?” Silas understands the semantics of context, and answers sincerely, “You all were stolen, all three of you, well, now, two of you, are still, about nine years stolen. We got you from someone, who got you from someone, who got you from someone, like the stacked turtles that made up the uni-Aster cuts him off, “No fuck that! I’ma kill him, Engel.” Engel corrects, “you aint gonna kill him.” Aster confused, “Why not, did you hear what-Engel stops him, “You’re not gonna kill him because I’m gonna.” Aster agrees, diarrhearocket-shits a 2-foot louisville-slugger all-black with “Capone” plastered in thick-white “Impact” font on its side with nails reversly jammed into the top in a spiraled designation, maliciously forethought of causing catastrophic skull-bashing and puncturing and lacerating. In a wink, Aster lobs the slugger pointy-side north, Engel takes it-righthanded-at the handle-all the while Silas in shock-helicopters it around the crown of his head nine times before… REVERSE/3 WEEKS AFTER CHOKEHOLD At home, after the funeral ceremony, Silas disbelievingly says, “I can’t believe that hardcore bitch really killed him.” Goddamned bloody feminist,” Aster adds. Engel creepily confesses, “He looked comfortable and relaxed in that coffin though; for now on, I’m going to live as deadly as possible to set an example before I’m buried like shit of a Pariah.” Aster calls Engel an asshole before the family’s shared cellphone rings sirenly sounding Britney Spears’ “3.” The song’s chorus loops before Silas submits, “Hello?,” he questions. A brief pause with heavy breathing before Natalie reveals herself. … .Silas ends the call and trails, “Bad news.” Engel says, “What the fuck?” Silas says somberly, “Natalie is dead too.” Aster celebrates, “I’ll never have to eat under the table again!” Engel punches his upper arm like beetle bug. They’re about to fight before Silas hurries, “I’m kidding! But the truth is, Natalie or Your Mom-Bonnie to my Clyde-is staying with the homeless in a skid row-ish commune giving blowjobs and chokeholds for half the price of heroin-a hit.” She claims, “it’s a good living, and that she’s satisfied.” Silas daydreams, “I.think.that’s.oh, no, that’s not it-he says in a hurry-she promises that she isn’t swallowing.” Aster says, “That’s unusual.” Engels says, “She told me she’d gargle then swallow til she dies.” Everyone breaks out in hysterical laughter. They serendipitously say with shrugs, “Fuck her,” synchronistically. Silas says moronically, “She wasn’t that good-a-fit our last months together anyway, (then slips) now let’s get you some pussy, Eros.” Aster at Engel, Engel at Aster turn their neck-lumps towards one another in a moneyshot, but remain silent, with their three eyes (one of Aster’s twitching) glued to one anothers, acknowledging the severity, and whiplash of Eros’ death.
3 MONTHS LATER Silas is overmedicated on his birthday as he and his two sons sing and blow out the candle. The children say “Happy 18 Pa.” Silas’ head throws forward violently by gravity landing in the top-center of the cake’s frosting-him, passed out drunk. Aster looks at Engel and asks, “How is it that they’re twins, but they didn’t share a birthdate.” Engel shrugs, “I don’t know. I asked that same question to Dad once before, but he didn’t know either.” They look at each other in discombobulation and shrug simultaneously. -To be continuedSilas hyper, to the Criminal Justice professor (and periphrastically a classroom of thirty students), “I can’t patiently wait to become a detective. I could use political-power to locate my wife (the class is confused, unknowing he was married, probably because it’s his sister) but fuck that bitch, I just intensely love snooping through strange people’s shit.”
…A fatherless Child Work was and still is my father’s escape. The end.
Caracul by official ku shi's romance you remind me of Olivia but the cooler version you remind me of Sarah J but the homelier version you remind me of Sarah L but the straighter version you remind me of Dana but the darker version you remind me of Gina but the lonelier version you remind me of Krista but the sweeter version you remind me of April but the wittier version you remind me of Nancy but the fresher version you remind me of Melissa but the taller version you remind me of Anjelica but the saner version you remind me of Morgan but richer version you remind me of Jacqueline but the warmer version you remind me of Micaela but the stronger version you remind me of Gabriella but the higher version you remind me of Giselle but the hotter version you remind me of Rachael but the lovelier version you remind me of Anastasia but with a smoother tail you remind me of Brianna but with longer hair you remind me of Chrissy but with model legs you remind me of Elena but with an oval head you remind me of Rebecca but with finer taste you remind me of Blanca but with a thinner waist you remind me of Brielle but lighter colored you remind me of Kelly but better composed you remind me of Meghan but with tighter rhythm
you remind me of Lyndsay but wetter …Lauren but smarter …Heather, my friend …Claire, the end you remind me of Maggie, but I never seen her again Elizabeth, Emily, and Danielle were wrongful and so, Diana was a songful In Natalie’s pad… … … I lost my phonebook full of bitches but I wasn’t mad .you are the lost memories I never had
Rebel you grow up wearing jeans and t-shirts then you say i wanna wear a button up probably with khakis then you wear cargos and a polo then you rematch the six items above now you say i think i’ll wear a suit and become a politician you’re 40! what else will you do! finally this all ends after saying i wanna be stalin
The Northernmost South (it won’t matter earlier) the smoke i puff is rising with the sun i’ll be high when i’m done, taking a ride on opus one outside its just begun, to clarify the hopeless son wary i if i’ve become, the teary eyed spyridon but i fly as airlines and then some, fair signs to defend them accidents from happening, and mistakes from unfolding passionate not immaculate, because traces of the odor are still residual, and this chilled is critical the original, non biblical, ministerial, ephemeral vaguely seen criminal, self evident, i did-habitual committed the visual, instant, immiscible hyper-literal, spittle what i mean like interviews bypass the screenings of those who are not into you like a film interlude, miserable, with chicken stew but this is food, down the drain pipe like a swimming pool who isn’t a fool, pain caused by our own minuscule organisms lack of truce
What’s a water to an Air sign? (Cry) by official ku shi's love poem
my divine rod is a heartthrob She goes wild about in yearning There was a pink party yesternight; I was moonstruck, Her amorous beau A bouquet of tulips and a hug on a holiday is all she needs I’m smitten with forget-me-nots, And crushed by her tenderness and unrequited love.
Synchronistics Become Second Hand (Mother’s Day) by official ku shi's amateur poem Is this the end of the end? My friend, is this the beginning of the end? This morning I woke up, momentarily gazed at the minute hand, a millisecond into the new month, and the moment I had his wife’s orgasmic body vibrantly vibrating at each meridian seems like a millennium away. now, i am a millennial so I steal wristwatches like a pickpocket kleptomaniac only to crush them below my gravitational weight at my feet. my schedule is on a stopwatch and I stop it at anytime. The season is shifting and as soon as the sun rises, my synchronistics become second hand. I studyed dreams last semester, and someday I’ll make time to change my time zone. Twilight or tonight? That isn’t the question, but today my my temporary tardiness toward death is on a timer. Perhaps, tomorrow I’ll eat the timekeeper. Yes, I once knew a man whom ate gods. I knew another woman who divorced a grandfather clock. Early on in life, an eon is declared in an epoch. After this evening, after I have dreamed again, I will have observed a whole era. The half-life of life follows no set horology. And the hourglass shape of Phil’s wife on a dime made me want to cross her boundaries like the international date line. Immediately, I want in her annually at anytime. From the front like A.M. And from the back like lost time. She makes me feel big -like cosmology big. Sometimes I feel small enough to hide in the gnomon. Sometimes I feel I am strange like how christians think of geologic time. And those famous people I view on screen are not stars if they haven’t seen one galactic year of time. The following decennium, I hope the decade is delayed. Workers contemplate overtime in the morning. By the afternoon, I’ve quenched poverty. But I’ll miss you Sarah Curio until you kiss goodbye.
Black Noise “I don’t see family”
I’m plugged in I said fuck all my old friends I don’t need them I never needed them I don’t see family Do you have some of them? I imagine I act like I’m adopted And I got none of these broads popped off yet And my top off, convertible I don’t give a fuck about any god thats not serving you And I murder few if most are like me In a jiffy, I drank her blood like iced tea I just gotta see to the sea, capital with capital c the capital aint for me, nor is the capitol I gamble like Gambit too, I’m superheroic And my knowledge is potent, so quote it
Should’ve stayed in bed I’m 23, and I still drink like a teenager I curse the whole planet and I don’t even beware Fuck your upbringing, your bodymeat tastes the same You’re associated with a killer, and you don’t know me name It’s not a game, but if it was, the controller’s in my hand I’m making you move according to my plan You could act as if you’re not scared when I’m watching Absolut the vodka, red the grapes, and the soup’s ramen You’re not starting, yet you thought that I’d listen Your life aint my life, so stop bitching You put info’ in the news like please pay attention I don’t see death, I bring death, spree killing is in my statement of mission god’s soldier “I’m drinking blood with my thugs, and my bruh (bro), he’s smoking drugs.”
T1 “obstruction of the flow of knowledge could be the destruction of mankind.” “Hey Baby, take a look at this, my phallus grew an inch when it’s flaccid!” So much for the greatest pickup line of all time. My prospect turned away from me with a grimace and continued on her lonely path. It couldn’t be any lonelier than mine though. I wake up to wank off then go to sleep the same way. In between those wanks is where the insanity happens. Today is the first day of the week, first week of the month, first month of the year, first year of eternity. I am Billy DoBad and I spend my whole entire life trying to do good by people. I grew up poor, but thanks to a few wise choices of robbery-victims, I became rich. I never wanted to be rich, and its actually worse than being poor in this way: I have all of this money to be spent but not frivolously given away. When I was poor, I’d usually take what I needed in that day. Now, I’m deeply saddened for my lifestyle as a careercriminal has come to a halt. But who is John Galt? I’ll tell ya. Before I killed him, John was a pleasant man. He went off on a tangent more than enough times in a single conversation but he smelled wonderful. Just thinking of him, brings to mind the emission of automobile fuel exhaust this second. I love the fragrance of a bouquet of carnations as much as the next gay but
anosmia prevents me from actually smelling anything. So the stench of incense and the aroma of spices are as bland and dull as any straight man’s sex life. And if I know John Galt, he was no stranger to a fantastic sexual experience. Oh my devil, we would go to Burger King every sunday and ask for managers to complain about the sexism of the company’s name. We demanded they change the title from Burger King to Pussy Burger because it was universal, nondiscriminatory, and modern compared to that Clown Society McDonalds. We never got them to change the name and it’s been nineteen leap-years. We had so much fun. John Galt was the absolute worst man that I’ve ever met in a hundred thousand years. He would smear lipstick all over his mustache and beard but never his lips. He’d wrap Magnum condoms on both feet but never his penis. He told me he was getting knee surgery once, and came home with a face lift. Oh my devil, if it weren’t for him teaching me six hundred sex positions, I would have murdered him earlier. I mean really though, who needs a Kama Sutra when you have a john galt? Oh the nostalgia of his Candies and Juicy Couture perfumes. I could just eat him up. I eventually did eat him up but you are what you eat so now I’m John Galt. I really am John Galt. I went to Social Security, changed my name, and received a new I.D. No one important realised anything queer at all about me except from my being as gay as a Hello Kitty backpack at a masquerade ball in Downtown, Fictional City. I wish John was with me now, lively and not without arms and legs in my landlord’s basement freezer. I might serve some fried john for dinner but since I don’t have any family, I’d need to invite fake friends over to taste the john’s texture, and gustatory complexity reminiscent of the fruit of magnolia vine.
Part 2 Plagiarised but Curiously Spirited by official ku shi's individualism . ‘Go ahead, dare further, no one can compel you to live” Upon those bare rocks where eagles build their nest, I guessed how strong the thought of committing suicide could be. The idea that you can say goodbye to the world at any time makes life wonderful. ‘Go ahead, dare further, no one can compel you to live!’: through the obstinate voice of that demon we can face any enemy. In fact, all blackmail collapses on the sharp point of this kind of awareness. On the edge of an attractive cliff, in the absolute emptiness where fiction disappears and only what counts really counts, I met unreserved love. In other words, the optimist prevailed with reasons that reason doesn’t know. When one night in the rain a kind of cosmic voice (my personal Mephistopheles) proposed a pact to me, I felt an irrepressible euphoria: ‘If you renounce your ideas I will take you out of this wood’. I said euphoria, which is what I felt when I refused the offer. Still rhetorical even when he is delirious, some will say. After all, even our hallucinations reveal who we are.
Do you believe in Flipism? by official ku shi's pseudopolitics mongoose, grey goose… all you need to add is some juice (i was an alcoholic) crocodile chartreuse (that’s green!) now hang from your neck, like a noose (merrill lynched) too much rope to let loose (i need more) my reasoning will deduce (deductive reasoning) child abuse raised my gastric juice (acid reflux) i was on the loose with drug abuse (extasy)
fuck your flag of truce! (no peace in these streets) here’s the redux, the redo… (my review) the context of use is about my substance abuse (polydrug abuse) i drink their blood like tomato juice (vampirism) and i chase it with alcoholic abuse (i chase it with vodka) i break loose… (like a wolf off it’s leash?) and spray bullets like hair mousse (that’s a lot of bullets) im a recluse who will seduce if he needs to (the girls next door) the in-group is in cahoots… (see below) its not grassroots (pluto rules) you’re being misused (last warning) by the government, parents, doctors, google, journalists, novelists, physicists, social engineers, criminals, christians, russell brand, and musicians, and artists, bankers, landlords, shareholders, and business-owners, lawyers, and opinionated friends, conformity, peer pressure, and influence, rule of law, bureaucrats, armies, churches, religions, and everyone but atheists and anarchists “this flower isn’t for your hair, but to be meditated on, for prayer is wrong, & long, but the dao gives you strength to carry on uprightly.”
Plagiarised but Beautiful by official ku shi's phenomenology Soon my thoughts go to those locked up in jail who can’t enjoy any of this. I have reached the torrent after hours spent in a train, then walking. It is hot and I can feel my shirt wet with sweat under my rucksack. No one followed my steps along the road and through this little valley, which means that still nobody knows who I am, where I am going or what I am doing. I walk along by the river, looking for a spot where I can stop and free myself from the weight on my back and relax. I soon get the chance: there is a large, clear pool of water surrounded by stones and a little further on there is some shade under a few trees. This is the place. I get rid of my rucksack and soon my lungs fill with air; I take a couple of deep breaths and am full of energy once again. I have a quick look around and I realize that I really am alone. I get into the water, step by step, without hesitating, and reach the middle
of the pool. I plunge in and abandon myself to this embrace with my face pointing to the sky. I am enveloped in a strong sensation of freedom: at the same time I feel I am part of the totality and free from any ties. Soon my thoughts go to those locked up in jail who can’t enjoy any of this. Of course it is hard for me, but nothing will make me turn back. Moments like this and the sensations they fill me with are sufficient to forget any tiredness, they are the oxygen that keeps me going. I try to fix this moment inside myself, my closed eyes turned towards the sun: Now, in whatever part of the world, I am free.
The Castle Crusher by official ku shi's hip hop lyrics “excess i caress, i hope all the gays egress” im suffering from success, i never won at chess before i came out as atheist, my family said that i was blessed now im not addressed, negatively depicted by the press they think evil is what i possess, like lucifer i fluoresce if id undress, i’d no longer be of the noblesse the same goes for you is what i assess excess i caress, i hope all the gays egress i distress with finesse, no redress me and protestants don’t coalesce i used to believe but see i convalesce more or less, youre balling without the nets the whole nation is sweating me like i’m doing sets i dont think that i could do enough reps im the only contemplative executive on the world wide web my city is underground, my lab is underwater insensitivity is negative, thats a disorder youve missed two whole steps step by step you love yourself, then infect everyone else thats contageous, and contagion doesnt have to always be outrageous the advantageous call themselves courageous unless your traits make you ageless, you come short of greatness theres no patience in vegas famous faces make statements produced by ghostwriters youll never see me follow the piper and drink that cider im cyber, this cipher has hemp-like fibre too high-strung to sniper my blood carries venom of a viper a typewriter isnt a typewriter without the songwriter im anti-copyrighter, i eat CEO’s like a bengal tiger i dont mean to be a blighter, i just mean to bea fighter my lighter is whiter for you overnighters but the squire is the enemy, my pyrophilia makes him perspire
Unexpectedly Rhadamanthine by official ku shi's “What am I doing?”
sippin on sizzurp (syrup), make ya mind wizarp (warp) most are blind to this izart (art), bitch im badder than bizart (bart simpson) was, in school, act for act, and this is an act of god you cant see me (john cena) like a blind man to an eye chart i cut the crack-cocaine piece by piece like a pie chart take this to heart, bleeding hearts are in my shopping cart my granny has an artificial heart, my grandpa a purple heart i’d be half computer, half soldier if i ate their hearts do you understand me!? i just described the fucking terminator!! child support came in, i bought a polo shirt with it traffic court sentencing is in the mail, i can just sense it i’ll take that ticket, all the way to the fucking supreme court! you know it’s fuck every little inferior court, when im superior-court wives, like they dont even have husbands i give information to you straight like i find gays disgusting have you ever felt like a bag? (katy perry) well i’m punchin your popular music, is worst than the bible, it means nothing “before i wrote this i mixed the combo that killed cory montieth; got me feeling like…”
Love and War-play “you couldn’t see through my screen, if i wiped it clean” they want more, more, its me they adore! making my own lane, like footprints in the floor its never a chore, to open opportunitys new door im not rigid, i could soar, or use an oar contract muscles of your core, count two-four now roar, they might forfeit the call of war now they’re done for they better exit the dance floor, and use the back door near the dutch door, is whores galore i implore senor to restore rapport you get what you pay for, in or out the trap door im indifferent like a swing door, any dame i’d fall for i’d bow and kiss a ladies feet at the shoe store then squeeze for her cake, speak for the both of us, and ravage her like a wild boar bodily attachment of c4, programmed in the name of Dior what is war without love, whats love without war? the guarantor cant take the floor, when not in a state of war and my family crest is still looking for the god of war i know the score, you must go to war spanish war, crimean war, first world war civil war, prewar, postwar, anymore? the cold war, the Boer war, the great war who to care for in the old war? i deplore the hardcore, i know none in Lahore i see vaguely to Timor like through a screen door was it you that had to opt for this hot hot war? i feel for the peace corps with such vain decor six days i fast for the six day war where do we get the budget for?
who accounts for? not the fire door but the liquor store is open twenty four Korean and Vietnam and thirty years war all for a musical score the best i can do, is hope to be a film star because the commoner is just living out the bell jar but my grandeur takes me on a grand tour this great year here they call me monsieur and care none of my career in america they are jobs, but its more about life here livelihood, personal and with due care for sure, i declare, im aware of unfair i tell you this though, with fine liqueur, life is like a beach chair make sure your friends arent just blowin hot air the cool breeze never expires here, and the lords prayer isn’t my healthcare its so severe how you revere, its immature i inquire to inspire and insure murals the writings on the wall, the concubines at the bazaar “chauffeur: to the cashier, i’m smoking my cigar!” school year boys are my voyeurs, they keep me on the wire they disappear before force majeure coitus is my evening prayer, its laissez faire clitoris is my morning star, im a movie star a husband is saboteur, im reassured i overhear in open air of my love affair my nom de guerre helps me persevere the questionnaire maybe shes unaware of the souvenir of my pubic hair black marketeer, no vanity fair and we’re too entrepreneur to be electioneer what an astronomical year. i played her cunt like a Hawaiian guitar im a civil engineer in my castle in the air and i act on delusions of grandeur with reasonable care while you were riding in the carts at k marts my black arts were giving me head starts take heart, Descartes imparted me with the state of the art so i misreport my teleporting until the last resort you couldn’t see through my screen, if i wiped it clean i got a canteen full of benzene and caffeine casein and chow mein is my favorite cuisine you think bein one is hard enough, im like a machine of fifteen im serene behind smokescreen, tinted glass is my sunscreen it might seem sweet like sixteen, but im unseen like saline in a shell bean, my routine is nineteen not quite adult, not quite kid, im in between but i can see in widescreen that the obscene trampolines bounces out of this world like a time machine but im just the figurine of the golden mean a day or two after halloween and the yellow submarine has yet to intervene im solid like gelatine, virgin like salad green too many illicit substances turn my head into a spinning machine read every book is my library routine but i lost count somewhere around x ray machine regression toward the mean got your automatic teller machine asking questions you might as well freshen up for this special session my transgressions gave me indigestion
expression-congestion led to depression compressed possession is a definition of oppression and obsession is a digression from progression aggression is an impression deserving of discretion the succession of confession is suppressive suggestion decompress your aggression sex is a practice session the great recession isn’t a facial expression its retarded depression and multiple regression the legal profession giving you reactive depression the medical profession giving you pulmonary congestion ecological succession is an idiomatic expression chronological success is material possession intercession doesn’t prelude accession
Divine Comedy II “Born in a rummage sale, with no surface mail.” ok, so put me on screen, i dont even need to act i improvise, my intelligence is already stacked my brain grew alien big, my skulls already cracked i sold my soul to the devil twice, im already backed by demons, the legion, you seen them, its a fact together we’re packed, we signed the pact we’re jacked where you lacked we snacked where you slacked with tact we sacked your quarterback, he’s whacked we’re blacked like the raiders, in fact, get hacked we attract the abstract to distract your retract we the accomplished fact to the end like a suicide pact in point of fact, we dont overreact when counterattacked we just hold back, because to reenact would be inexact i interact by optic tract to protract my nerve tract i redact by unpacking, diffracting the compact how you react is repacked inside the cultural bag as a matter of fact, pride subtracts when youre attacked butterflies in your digestive tract requiring cola extract contrary to the fact, we’re all accessories after the fact i piss greatness, check my urinary tract im apt, so i took a nap before you got the nerve to slap me im rapt, but i didnt snap back because the crowd is clapping i adapt, and you could never contract whats untapped youre trapped, and wrapped, sapped, and flapped i kept a map of where to direct the strap to your cap i got a knack of whacking loud jacks on yak put the jog down, ol chap, and have a chat he threw a jab, i dodged, the jap gets chopped and robbed im upbeat like a jock, and built like a chock he’s a jerk who wants to jam, but i dont do jazz i hit jake with a joke, and you with razzmatazz -
i told him, i cant take a trip without this shoulder on my chip i know my life is just a clip but it feels like the longest movie strip im tryin to get a grip but my mood always flips then it dips, and slips, and its gone in a rip then im like oh skip, if i could only get nips on some quips bein depressed is like a bitch, if you had a sip, you know it aint hip i could zip by in a ship, as quick as a whip but the scrip aint tightknit until i draw up the strip i snip a pip but only the tip could be eaten i shouldnt be surprised, im well equipped for a guilt trip im in the cruise ship, like id trade you my pink slip for your blue chip he said id outstrip you with a roach clip, youre worthless like a corn chip now that didnt hurt my feelings like a slave ship now im holdin on to my pistol grip like a filter tip i unzip my denims and prepare for an ego trip i said i havent seen a buggy whip, but i seen a landing strip and i seen a man killed with bean dip and a tie clip he said uh huh and you cant procure clam dip on its supply ship now i get upset, i take his poker chip, and waste his cheese dip i use a tortilla chip as a bargaining chip he takes me hostage with a potato chip now weâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re in a pickle on the Gaza strip my memory chip is more like a brick his field goal percentage is more like a magic trick he was rich, when he walked in whereas i was poor i was in the thick when i came in, financially crippled like a walking stick i could see that he was rich like oil-slick my pride is nonstick and i lurk like a house dick or old nick im chav and spick lookin to slip him a mick i never thought iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;d be in this predicament, not in a flick in a mouse click, i prick him with pain i re-clip my switchblade, handpick his blue chip and depict my get away i know women and all they wanna do is talk like graham bell its the worst when youre packed tight like an epithelial cell my old flow was menstrual but my new flows like an artesian well now when my talent knocks, heads ring like the liberty bell all you have to do is absorp it like silica gel and i fight my opponents off like white blood cells my clientele is personnel like common sense of smell resell what they repel, i propel to rebel they ravel the retelling, but my misspelling would entail the end of my intel, i have that note in my lapel so i expel what they foretell, im a hard-sell i dispel with farewells, i wasnt prepared at cornell so the cartel compels, but we know thats a death knell i can feel it in my brain cell, my bone cell, my sperm cell i reproduce fiction but cold spells as well when i turn a cold shoulder its like a magic spell its like everyone who knew me reappears in hell if you know of some who fell they should be swell if hell is where they dwell, theirs lots of korbel a turtle could live its whole life in a shell but if that shell is for sale, it would hate to exhale so many men who were derailed are waiting to inhale women try to help out but theyre a short sale
i pen a tall tail but only to unveil the travail born in a rummage sale, with no surface mail the wage scale is as sour as lukewarm ginger ale so my bill of sale is more like a coffin nail the holy grail is just an old wives tale old men are selling theirselves like a clearance sale young men are selling themselves like an auction sale the middle aged are more like a fire sale and me, im the lead of an heroic tale
Vague Hubris “Freedom is my business” the rulers back, yes, i have risen and the soldiers are back in commission yes, my legion dressed in crimson could stiffen from a distance they glisten in your vision your position of making a decision to greet them with suspicion is of forbidden fruition, the divisive condition causes attrition at the ignition and my cognitive omissions gives me pause before my provision of volition i make incisions to partitions(?) i’m only a musician with keen sight like an optician with your permission after dentition i can provide you with munition in the form of nutrition until the mortician or at the least, a clinician my ambition to audition proceeds this petition no revision, the tradition is in transition(?) with your tuition,im a technician of rescissions your rendition without remission defines my patrician a tactician must avoid a hospital admission the addition of a physician and logician is short of a magician my edition is not what you could envision im aware of the derision because of my night vision(?) theres nothing hindering my precision the sedition of the forgiven, could cause collision im prepared for whats hidden freedom is my business im driven to listen like we’re in juxtaposition abolition and prohibition was precondition to my criticism my recognition is repetition like politician cell division like extradition(?) im not a mathematician, but admonition of my acquisition would not be wise, my ammunition is erudition did he say he goin to get bread? i mustve misread i knew a man who bled to get head his life was on a thread, on thin ice he tread(!) the snake never pled, yet his skin shed does anyone die bloody red in bed? beheaded on a brick red bunk bed? or how about drop dead one step from their twin bed? could their be widespread history thats unsaid?
i think im awkward enough to drown in a waterbed so many have been misled, to sacrifice for overhead but im unwed just until i see deaths head the overfed get their med so i guess im brain dead(!) the next spread i could shred, then become a pil head stalk acid heads in francis and sleep on a truck bed i need a repair shed, to sharpen pencil lead until i lay to rest on my tulip bed, i thrust ahead im living dead(!) Parentheses notes: Both sets are conceptual. Question points are anarchist metaphors, and Exclamation points are capitalist metaphors.
Hashtag (Hashtag) I convinced my mother obama’s a money-hungry prick. he got in office and got rich while people are dying all over this bitch #Theydontcare others asked me why do i care so much? i said why wont you? people arent only dying all over the #news, dont get #confused bringin attention, like a chinese #lynchmob and the #cops always stop me before i’ve plotted to rob thats racist, but #postracism is the way now i was here before everyone and thats how i know who lies now im #ancient, and those who abhor me, are boring i summon #truth before i begin my story i’m like a robot, everything i say is #true i kill liars dead, until the picture’s #gory some are racists but never show it, because all they do is #brew all they do is #work, until they find old glory i dont respect you-not because your racist-because you never grew instead of caring about the #youth, you care about your inventory i ran out of #LSD, i had to settle for morning glory im just talkin my stuff, hopin that i break through its only truth on my rain cloud, i hope it falls through and reaches the ground crew, hits you without kung fu my skin is clear because of bamboo, this is my #beauty debut before you come through, you need to come to, and let my truth cut through i make do without gym shoes, i pull through while you pursue and push through, all for head like shampoo you need to renew, and redo, and review your own #lifestyle how does it effect a foreigners #worldview, right now? who do you turn to, to speak about #taboo? i neglected my stage crew to give you this #tattoo you wear the mask, i write the song but their isnt enough #banks for you to break into most are not strong enough and itll take too long so im with my cordon bleu, irish stew like de ja vu until my stomach flu but goin along with #hongkong cannot be lifelong tell mao zedong so long as i string along to sincerity’s song dont misconstrue whats in your field of view, no need for a peer review all you need to follow through is to lace into #Anarchy like a tennis shoe
no security, no judge, no doctors only people like me, no actors, no oscars and all grouches dont slouch i didnt compose this from a studio couch in my sub-urban house only the truth can vouch if truth hurts, in all languages, my name is #ouch.
The Answer How does decolonization relate to anarchism as well as achieving or creating a moment, place or state of anarchy? The proof is in the pudding and though we aren’t all chemistry-savvy enough to dissect its components, we all know that it is sweet. Right now, we are witnessing post-colonization. Anarchy is low, and restrictions are high. The founding fathers, hell, even the slaves had more freedom and open land than we do now. How does it relate? Slaves (workers, prisoners, bosses) can’t run away or just simply quit today. All of this nonself-controlled energy is causing biological waste, mental fatigue, and spiritual poverty. Legal abuse is the only crime. An atheist could see that heaven on earth is possible, before a obsessive-compulsive-religious would. And Anarchists know that Lawlessness will House every single Homeless that wants a roof, shelter, and clothing for his hairless form. Thank you. Out. What is the Ego? Ego is awareness of ego. Ego cannot be the unawareness of ego. Ego is of itself. Ego is the self. Ego is not someone else. Ego knows. Non-ego doesnot know. Ego is One. Anarchy is reflection of Ego. Egoless are politicians, lawmakers, and social handlers. The belief in status is non-ego. The trust in Anarchy is Ego. Thank you, Bye. How do anarchists, both in and out of the us, respond to the 9/11 hysteria? By non-response. A terrorist is one whom does not respect the quality of life. All life. Not just the housed, but the homeless as well. Not just the rich, but the poor as well. Not just the full, but the hungry as well. The africans and the europeans. The animals and the flora. The drugged and the sober. Everyone coming together is love. War is supported by religions, racism, and banks, and its been this way since the first war between mates…one erroneously thinking he better than the lot. No one is better, only equal. Thank you. Bye. Theft and property rights? No property, no theft. Property is more of an idea than it is a concrete thing. Lawlessness is propertyless and propertyless is crime-free. If you see two fighting, they are fighting FOR SOMETHING. I used to fight for nothing. A man would disrespect me, so I hit him. A woman would laugh at me, so I hit her. Pride, respect, honor are all nothing compared to cars, clothes, and money. So I used to fight for nothing. These are connected anyway-nothing and something-because they’re could actually be less nothing to fight for if we as human beings see that propertyness is wrong morals, ethics and philosophy. In the words of Russell Brand “where there is profit, there is also deficit.” Make no profit, take no life. How would An Anarchist society deal with healthcare? Healthcare or the care to be strong and not weak is a government term and i can see why. Strength goes to work, follows orders, militantly kills traitors, supports its nation, conforms, and stresses over external
problems. Weakness is pacifist, kind, quiet, knowledgeable, and loving. A society cannot be Anarchist. You either have society or Anarchy. Society is an organization, an institution, a corporation. We as Anarchists can’t have that. That is what we as Anarchists are against. I’ve answered your question on all sides of the spectrum but I’ll end here, simply. If healthcare by political means is nonprofit, nonkilling, and egalitarian, it will work, but if not, then we will continue having, careless overdoses, epidemics, and abuse of the profit-marching system. Could individual anarchy or being ‘ungovernable’ lead to unintended civil war with some organizations? In that people could actually bring down the state, but then offer no alternatives and little organizational resistance to more fascistic tendencies which might lead to ‘three-way fights? Egoist Anarchy is civil war at its highest remark. If Billy doesn’t fit into society’s norms, customs, and manners then he’s in a civil war. If Amanda is abused, exploited, and quieted by professionals then she is in a civil war. War is the opposite of peace, and an aggressive mind causes harm to external objects. Anarchy is such hard work that on some days the sun could be coming up and I’m already exhausted. The rightwingers are violent, plain and simple, so they’ll be the first to go in a globalised feminist world. The leftwingers are like moderate Anarchists, IF, (big if) they fight FOR HUMAN RIGHTS. Human rights upholds feminism, gays, blacks, basically everyone, so it’s a step to better times. Keep your sight on Anarchy and even if you’re in a coma for the next ten years, you will have done your part. Thanks. Peace. how to oppose the state & capitalism w/o resorting to a dichotomous critique b/t social/political, natural/artificial?by which i mean, how do we struggle against the state and oppose an anarchism that simply resorts to essentialism with regard to “humans are naturally cooperative or social” and the “state is artificial”? (not that i am personally opposed to a considering humans as cooperative and social creatures, but that the dichotomy is pointed out by many as an essentialist argument that limits and determines what a thing is or will become.) dichotomous. I’ve read 1,000′s of books and i haven’t seen that word til now. Good one! So yes, we live in a bit of a bipolar world, now don’t we? But let us address the history of those polarities. I am pro-criticism because an Anarchist is the only authentic critic. We were and will be social without politics. Good and bad is artificial in relation to morality because morality is decided by religionists and conformists. There is no right and wrong, and no truth and false. But I tell you this, Anarchy is superior to government. You can agree or disagree. Socialism without capitalism is better than meaningless money-worship. You can disagree or agree. What’s natural or artificial is how you see it to be. To a christian, baby jesus is natural and or real. To an atheist he’s artificial or a paradigm. Anarchy brings the contradictions together, ends the competition, and disengages the hostility and petty rivalry. In regards to essentialism, man can only do so much, so my sense of humor see comedy in the long distance relationships that are modern day politics. The fiat money system is the funniest joke of the last 60 years. And socially, entertainers carry more wordby-word weight than the first 22 presidents contemporaneously. Bad press is good press to the miley cyrus’ in need of publicity. so it’s not differences that will cause uprisings. It’s essentialism that will cause peace. How is crime dealt with by anarchists in an anarchist society?This is something that people always bring up when I mention that I am anarchist to them. I always tell them that we, as the people, deal with it as a whole. I just want to know specific ways of which we would go about dealing with it and the outcome of dealing with it. Also, it can be any scenario that you guys come up with: murder, rape, etc. No laws , no crime. No fear, no harm. Peace of mind is the only anarchist law. Universal peace of mind and conscientious social practice. Freedom is obliged by acting right. Liberty is kept by letting go of savagery. Moving ahead has more force than looking back. PTSD is treated by KIND or kindness. The sick are treated by the healthy. The talented put on a show for the lame. Rape is the cause of planned-society. Chaos cures, and feminism is the alternative medicine for those who are testosterone-allergic. Don’t give energy
to the idea of rape. I don’t.
Unexplained Mysteries (Nirvana-shakti) “you wear the mask, i write the song” so it appears that im at the top of my game like im sittin on the roof of the stadium mane but im no gucci mane cuz my swag-flu would make you go insane even haters say im super man, no lois lane and when the cold-front came, it met me then went the opposing direction, i’m cold like ice-cream that’s to down-play it, like a southern video-gamer but if there’s no limit, i might write this til there’s no errors errors of the human kind, i’m so divine love greets me with open arms becuz i do the time in a blue room like the president but him to me is like a cold to the flu cuz i am on another level, you need cheat codes and king james with all his successors have been dethroned in my sub-urban home, looking at all the crime like a project window but i make “niggas” know, and “bitches” know its not rap until you hear those words that’s why this work here is artful and in walton’s store, i buy a cart-full never know when the gov will legislate bear-shit so hear this, with everything but wealth is what i’m prepared with i never was the type to be scared of shit i’d rather tear up shit, and let my parents repair the shit now i’m parentless, i killed em both no confession, no evidence, i dumped em 30 miles off the west coast in a jet, you couldn’t fly quicker than i think i can solve poverty quicker than you blink look, i never enlisted in psychodynamics but my conscious motivation is nonexistent my unconscious motivation defines my attachment theory sometimes i emit my thought-waves louder so that a human hears me my personality is psycho and illegal so i must change the law to be everyday-people you’re mesmerised becuz my exchange of energy is hypnotic the way you interpret my ego is cathartic i un-grow lethargic, with the pseudo-science, psychotherapy telepathic word-choice makes one appear psychic totally my doctoral education is precognitive and i’ve un-grown young of near-death-experiences my psychokinetic obsolescence… this is the burden of a god without a question i am only an apparition reincarnate my psychometrics are measured by clairvoyance anomalous cognition is of the superior so im drinkin bacardi, to anything less than three eyes, i’m inferior i’m on another plane, postdiction chizuko mifune would tell you, i’m post-fiction it’s all paranormal, it’s all etheric your sense of science is on the fringe when you see my psionics hear a direct voice, this is your death-warning
i cold-read from the ectoplasm, you’ve been haunted from worldly ponzi-schemes, to spiritual pauli-effects transliminality is my backyard, if i itch, you scratch i’m psychokinetic theists call me god you wear the mask, i write the song
List of 10 Historical Figures I’d Invite to Dinner (Hint: I cheat) marcus garvey for emptying america of blacks black panthers and neo-nazi’s for securing garvey’s mission mlk jr for saying what garvey ghostwrites aaliyah, ciara, dmx for a character study on OCD and impulse control whitney houston, michael jackson for downers and cocaine janet jackson for her body (Gawd!) mike jones for gallons of liquid heroin stevie wonder, ludwig von beethoven to make fun of adolf hitler, che guevara, napoleon bonaparte, christopher columbus to see if they yawn when i yawn cleopatra, pocahontas to double down-of course-at the end of the night bonus! walt whitman and mozart for highest grade music and poetry -“Gawd!”
Poison Pen Letter (2-in-1) loud what’s loud? crunching with your mouth open. what’s loud? the deadly gunshot of my uncle. what’s loud? the stab-victims blood puddled on the floor. what’s loud? the words, i don’t wanna be here anymore. -
hope i seen a man killed today…i hope it gets better i know a woman was raped today…i hope it gets better a teenager overdosed on cocaine today…i hope it gets better today’s alcoholics deny tomorrow’s hangovers….i hope it gets better the government sent me a million dollar credits in the mail… it can’t get any better anarchist-thought decreased violent crime to one man… that man is me, and i said it can’t get any better 9 billion people shun opium and get high on love… it can’t get any better my words are like gold to a bum… they can’t get much better… until I sleep, then wake to a star-crossed love letter.
If It’s not poetry then it’s gotta be prose! i put the energy out, then shit change fork in the road, like poseidon, goin whichway you can try to wish a way, but neptune comin thru
the veils of subconscious andd lillith too im drinkin orange juice, got me in the mood for high health, in underwear, half nude its all blue in my room to remark the sky and the shades over my windows like a fly colored red green black but i do the bright shinin and the dirt you done in the darkness, right timin it couldnt have been riper, so call it bananas leading to the end, but life is the only handler switchin channels on the tube like you in control boy you aint got nothin, not a single soul in the days of old, see too much to talk about a million dollars? a million years aint shit to the qliphoth i read on, but that wont suffice til literary success literati liberaci in the queen dress im feelin fine, but what im bein is perfect i perfect shit, then reject shit
For those partial to pure hip hop, poeticsâ&#x20AC;Śtupac im checkin my free style skills cuz im curious yep i still i got it, im serious texas chainsaw all i do is murder shit and i leave the body where it was dropped at im not the industry type, anarchyst and my blood type got em hatin, bite me its nothin more than lookin, that yal can do so youre cold stairs dont lead to floor two i got punchlines, a jab or an upppercut and i never date, cuz i cant trust a duck in the cut, just absorping the scenery in the cut, like a blood donation, cut n bleedin bleed with me, or you wont be rich one day i got a litre with me rollin down the highway and the business is however i market it professional of professorship, dont mock this shit i come up with rhymes unthought of by mr seuss and most dont know that the doctor title was poop and like poof, you boys only tellin lies i murder your god, no witness no alibis