Hot Rats

Hot Rats

It was a warm summer day when a freight train zoomed passed the two boys. It's whistle boomed as large plumes of exhaust cleared the smoke stack. The train was pulling along with it numerous cargo wagons of which the boys so hastily tried to jump on. The first boy, Jim, a 17 year old corn-country born nomad took off with astounding force and in one swift motion, climbed aboard the passing wagon and slid open its thick metal door. "George get yer ass up here now or never!"
The other boy a tad younger and bulkier was panting," Man fuck this! Why cant we just keep walking!" But Jim was only focused on getting him on the train so with a firm grip on the handle bar he angled himself enough to grab a handful of George's shirt and yanked him on the wagon. They both sat there in stacks of hay gasping for air and laughing at their recklessness.

"Goddamnit George when I say go you gotta move your fatass as fast as possible!"
 "Alright alright, im just hungry thats all."
"Dont worry we'll find food over where we're headin, not to mention some fine young girls.."
"This better not be another one of your pipe dreams, im tired of landing in disastrous shit."
Jim rolled his eyes at George's last remark and fell back into the hay not expecting the sudden sharp pain that surged up his back.
"OWWW what the FUCK." Jim rubbed his lower back and furiously looked through the hay only to find a large boot attached to a bony leg to be the culprit. His eyes ran up the uncaring leg and found a waist, a beaten chest and the sullen face of a homeless man smiling back at him through what teeth he had left. "You son of a bitch that hurt alot, I should beat you silly." Jim howled at the bum.

And from the darkest corner of the wagon a voice spoke with concentrated ire,"You should watch who you threat...boy." The voice then revealed itself to be another homeless man but this one was much stronger and nourished than the other. He wore a ragged black overcoat and had long black hair that touched his shoulders, a menacing stare and a large scar running from his chin to his chest. A third man revealed himself as well and that's when Jim and George began to panic. Their fears became real when the three men took hold of them and with a final comment from the scarred man ,"Piss off." were thrown off the moving train into the grimy dirt from whence they came.

Covered in clouds of dust and dirt they groaned, got up, and began walking down the endless set of train tracks. It was about midday when the forest surrounding the boys finally cleared and was replaced by acres and acres of crops. They got off the tracks and walked through the crops until they  reached a dirt road that eventually led to an intersection. To the south it said Blackshear 35 miles, Jim smiled,"Were almost there mate."

The boys we're uneducated, homeless, unruly but never whined about labors like this. For they knew what this lifestyle entailed and had grown accustomed even fond of its hardships. If anything true, it in fact helped them develop character and a certain resilience unseen from most young boys their age.

 In no time they soon arrived to the township of Blackshear; a dwindling conservative town still desperately clinging unto its heydays long gone in the past. It is true that the world is becoming more and more democratic everyday but this only promoted the stagnation of the town. There main source of income once came from the exploitation of another man through hard labor and now comes from the corruption of women through whore houses which are riddled across the deteriorating town. And so the boys decided to stop by and enjoy the one and only thing the town can offer.

After a few minutes they stood at the steps of Neshaminy Inn, one of the most recognizable brothels around. They entered the gloomy establishment and were immediately confronted by a large white man who in a rude tone announced their arrival. "Ah looky here, a couple of sorry boys looking for a cute girl huh? Well only if you got the penny...and seeing as how y'all are dressed in shit ima have to ask y'all to leave."
But before the man could push them into the streets Jim with a sly look on his face flipped a gold coin whose golden shimmer sent the hick aback. "It's best not to assume such things, sir."
Jim looked back at George and with a victorious smile walked past the guard and into the casino.
"And just what the hell do you think you're gonna do there?" asked George.
"Im gonna spike our money, just watch."
George knew that Jim had a knack for poker but was afraid that his gambling would cost them their meals. But Jim was a stubborn son of a bitch who would throw all his efforts in a given opportunity and so went to exchange his coin for chip. Jim then began to eye out which tables had the serious players. He spotted a table of men whose manner of being, age and demeanor was intimidating. Jim knew that half the game of poker was won through bluff. And so he headed towards the table and sat across the dealer.

 There were six players on the river with hearts dominating and no high cards. "Call" crowed a devious looking man in sullen brown plaid with locks of disheveled hair covering a seemingly dead eye. The man noticed Jim examining him and gave him a crooked smile in which his set of gold teeth shimmered in the casino's hazy, drunk setting. He flung six 20 dollar chips and the table responded with two calls and one fold. The men flipped their cards starting with a timid looking man who grinned when he completed the 7 high heart flush. Dead Eye as Jim befittingly named the devious man tossed pocket 8's, defeating the flush with 3's full of 8's. The last man bore failure in his face as he foolishly flipped 2, 6 pair. Dead Eye snorted and proceeded to augment his chip stack.

 Jim carefully noted the last man and the underlying reasons as to why he might have called Dead Eye with such a weak hand aside from of course, sheer stupidity.  But with no time to go over such hypothetical scenarios the next hand had begun and he was handed 10 of heart and 9 of spade, a fair hand. He threw in for the blind and awaited the action of others, one of which, raised triple. Everyone called and the flop presented it self with 7 of club, ace of diamonds and 9 of club. Jim's hand wasn't all too lousy but he knew someone would have ace's and furthermore the flop voided his chance at a ace high straight unless by miracle a king and queen pop up. In any case, Jim held his eagerness and checked along with four others but was raised by one fat man with beady eyes who's chin was layered in what looked like chicken grease. The raise was minor, 10 dollar chip, a safe bet that Jim was comfortable with which took the pot to 240 dollars. The next card was flipped, 2 of diamonds, useless.

One card was left to flip and it was then that something in Jim's strategy snapped along with the rustle of a girls skirt across the casino hall. "Hey gal... how 'bout you go buy me a drink or two huh?" Jim, cracked a smile at her as he tipped his chair to get a better look at her as she passed by. She turned back at him and said, "Hey boy you better keep your eyes on the game now."She returned the smile and left to get the drinks. Jim took her advice and focused on the game, it was his turn in fact, and everyone was looking at him. "Raise 60 or Fold?" said the dealer, "Huh?" Jim peered down at the last card, 9 of heart. "You know what. Ill take your offer my friend, I raise 150." The fat man snorted at Jim's beaming confidence, "Ill take you up on that Jimmy Boy." Dead Eye raised 100 more and chuckled," Dont be so quick now to lose your lunch money, boy." One man folded, the fat man raised 250 and so did another. Jim was on the blind and with 150 dollars left, raised 100 more. The pot was at 1000 near and the tension between the men was in sight. But Jim kept his attention to the girl that had yet to come with his drinks.

"Show your hands, gentlemen."
One man concluded with two pair of queens and ace's.
The fat man flipped over pocket 10's.
And then Dead Eye showed off, with an ace high straight and sat in his arrogance, victorious.
"Boy you best be taught before you play with men." he cackled at Jim.
And Jim with fury in his corner eye looked him straight in his rotten face and flew off his hands a full house of 9's and spoke, "Aint no one need no lesson, sir. I done learnt long ago."

 The girl came back just then with two fine beers in her hand, the dealer then said, "A formidable hand sir." Jim took his coin, his beer, and stood up from the table. "And your other beverage? She asked. "Im drunk as it is Red Lips, that ones for you." She looked at him astonished and before she could object, he took her by the waist and walked to the chip exchange.

George saw Jim and approached him, "That was amazing Jim! How much did you make?"
The man behind the counter counted out fifty 20's and five 50's.
"Enough to buy us a couple drinks and maybe some smokes." He smiled and then George asked," And who are you??" "Yes, my fine lady, what is your name?"
"Elizabeth."
"Well Eliza you can stay here attending rotten old men or you can come with us."
"And what exactly what would we do??'she asked.
"That my dear, is a question I don't know the answer to."
And the three of them walked out of the greasy tavern, out into the shining day, leaving behind them the past, the poison, but never the perils that come with life.

Mammal

 Mammal

Sometimes there's nothing to say. 

Sometimes there's a yearning to run away.

 Sometimes people die, but not every day.

I didnt know where I was going, or what I was doing. I didnt know if the darkness in the air would ever reveal itself or if the dank cloud in the sky would ever disappear. But I knew that I was alone in this forgotten trash can of a world. I come out of the soiling earth, out of the impeding shit, lost in zero space with no tolernace for anything. The anger rages everywhere, eviscerating the sky and managing the weak. I want to cry out into the windless night, howling out like a frenzied beast. Like a warped being, crushed by everything that is present. A savage, can I understand what that means? Foul like the melting suns decrepit paste. Beaming, like an entangling fixation to evil. I feel it, under the darkness, I feel it under my excuse. Under my disheveled hair, latching unto every pore of my body. Usurping me of everything, a nocturnal breach of the foundation.

And it isnt easy to defeat the breach, to overcome the besieged. But it is done in every step, in every movement. An ascetic performance shall crush everything.It is impossible to move in every direction, but I cant do anthing else. I am the forgotten burden of the family, the wasted energy of the creed, the last hope of a helpless cult. The unknowing arrogance that bewaits when everyone is asleep. The shriveling sadness and remorse that is left for no one. Leave, leave me. You cannot teach me, for I am the undivided anger, the spinning blades that will sharpen with time. The power in the sky unseen, the ravine under the planted tree. I am gods wit, lifted into falling things.

And why is there need for a breach? Was it brimming arrogance? Outstanding devotion? The pinnacle of my destruction. An undying love, for my own corruption. Destroy it, don't let it destroy you. Be the fear in the eyes of god, be the knowledge of your undying heart.

Because there will never be anyone, and when nobody is there, nobody was ever there. Nobody cares. There is no love in a scarce land of desecrated individuals. Accept that you are alone, and die in a fiery chaos, in a world swirling, chaotic, rubbing, frolic in hate, wait for Satan, for he comes.

 Or do not accept it, break free from your self, live the way you see fit. And there are no buts. You must accept it or die, die, die, die, you must die. You cannot force it, nor leave it alone, you cannot undo it or succumb. What has become of the Golden God? He has fallen. Fallen down from Angels touch. Because there is no more love. Writhe in hell, in consuming fissures of the vacant souls. In the underlings corner, from the grips of mayhem into the teeth of God.

From the grips of mayhem into to the teeth of God.

All planets are dead.

There is a defining end, that end is in my unrelenting hate. The crushing force that will smash everything noticed. A ruler of kingdoms, destined to release all human understanding into the wind.

And while I do want to destroy everything, I cannot. Because there is no power. And I should not, destroy individually. Because I will desotry myself. So I must destory my enemy, but when everyone is your enemy, who do you kill first?

Run with the Devil.

Kill them first.

Apex

Selected Ambient Works

It was in a white building, wedged between disciples of articulation that I was born.

 This building was tall and slender, windowless, and affirmed by its discoloration. Here, is where I drew first blood from the doctrines of the abstract and inhaled the brumes of obscurity. Where escaped me, did the engulfing bursts of frigid wind into the well of my frail lungs. And how it was, to be enthralled by crystals of pure frost. To be subdued by the pressing particles that arose from the vents of these monotone walls. For it was air that bore me, under the annexment of time.

 Here I grew, in the mystery of life's odd motions and emotions. Uncertain of its notions, or its supposed devotion, towards my emerging body. It was puzzling, how my limbs contorted to the bendable walls, how my hands motions would swiftly stifle the emergence of light within my room. For it only seemed that all light was but a flicker, a mockery of a lifeless sun I had never known.

There was an eerie silence that lurked in my small room. A sort of, residual noise, an underlining trickle of mental clicks that pressed on for countless days. It was a reverberation, a happening that only presented itself as a part of my subconscious. And in the oddities of life it seemed as if this impeding noise shifted with it, deepening shadows, writhing spaces and swarming thoughts.

I watched the walls and the ceilings walls and the floors walls and the walls of my muscles of my bones bouncing off my pulsing cells. And I knew there was something within me, a besiege, a conquest that had created me. I was something not made alone, something formed by another disorderly being.
Am I Besieged?
Is this rigid thought committed to the mires of mind?

I sat in one position often, quite still, knowingly coordinated from other parts of the blank room. And it was from one small hole that light would pierce the shades of my confines. In my silence, light would assertively press itself unto me. My shimmering shoulders, my curving thighs, my transparent fingernails. It would then digress, and illuminate a blanket I had my entire life, the cupboard that was hollow, the long cylinder that erected from one wall.

And one day I pressed my fist into this cylinder, like pressing a finger into the barrel of a shotgun.  I was fearful, I was angry. I was touched. By something else on the other side of the wall. Something that felt like what I had renounced in my agitation, a hand.

But I was spared and I had learned. And even in the minimal confines of my home I grew. For it was not the morphing of walls nor the distribution of light that caused movement. But it was the fluidity of my reflexes, the cycles of my body and the influx of energy that caused uproar.

And that's all that really can be learned about anything.
 Which is that things can dismantle you if you wish it too. That I may fall one day at the hands of another. But once clarity shines down on our ignorant heads will it finally be realized, how unimportant another is. And it is a twisted thought, a squealing opposition to human association.

But it is a principle that creates both beast and God.
 It is the motion that defines the truly odd.
The ideal that seeks no gratification, only truth.

Ash Ra

Ash Ra

Out of bland, perforating darkness are slivers of events, jolting out of neutral space. 

Like slits they bleed through each other hoping for convergence of light.

They pound and thrash at the sky, rattling the expansion of silence in the cosmos.

Their lifetimes are often instantaneous and rarely consequential, but if they latter comes to be, was it really?

A question in relation to its residue. 

 For their beauty is exalted in the tenderest of our somatic universe.

They drop blends and bombs of draining energy from their jaws of life into swirling cocoons of stillness.

 How they entrench the opportunity for future force in a frenzy fathomable only by its inability to confront its visceral pith.

But does that negate its primal behavior?

Or is it the subjugation proposed by the laws of nature, which renders it void?

To choose the former, is to have silenced its beauty, in process. 

And the latter, to have traveled in excess, across its dimensional recess.

Tangier

Local Flavor

I see myself, often, submerged in the ocean's esoteric chasms. 

Under gleaming displaced light and a haze of salty foam I doze off, between thinning air and embracing darkness. I close my eyes and listen to the world churn and mumble around me in its muffled beauty, wondering if they can hear me too. Sometimes I can grasp familiar voices and forgotten words that push me deeper underwater into a world once buried in the past. Here I drift aimlessly in the midst of schools of fish and delve farther into unknown factions of my mind.

I am, however, scared of fish I might encounter swimming here. Scared that maybe I will drown or that I'll lose my way or that I'll never return to the surface... But all these fears I notice aren't true, maybe, somehow, I don't need to breathe to stay underwater, I don't need to ever see light again. Maybe one day I can become an orchid drifting in vacant spaces, enjoying every dripping moment in time, delaying death through blissful peace.

Maybe im a pelagic being. 

Condemned to the mystifying depths of the human ocean, where I find only myself and all of his reflections, pointing outwardly into infinitesimal directions. For this is how I develop, through theoretical construction, through anomalic ideation of multiple me's. I am not one, but many, oscillating and absorbing energy, shaping my troubles into clear pathways that lead to a long winding road befallen by warped oak wood and a nostalgic gust.

I walk alone on this road. Only I notice the sun dropping, time stopping, and the skies clearing for the myriad of stars to twinkle and gleam and share their illustrious visages with me. Around me I hear the world so vividly, the sound of nature pulses in the summer air like a living creature waiting to be startled. But still I shuffle forth in the shaking silence of my own solitude, inattentive at the fact that I cannot ever go back again...

I don't think about it often, but I know that there is someone waiting for me at the end of the road. Someone who see's me in mornings light, who originates from earths womb, who colors the sky deep blue and knows what to say. A she who watches me with her aged blue eyes, and doesn't place me in contempt nor distaste but in comfort and fervor. Her steps are subtle but sweeping, her voice is coarse but fluid like a thick honey milk freshly poured. And her touch transports me to the innermost sanctuary I can imagine, two pillars of marble and a door to match in coated merry white. And behind this door... a tear of emotion and beauty sheds. A certain knowingness, a revival of truth reveals itself in such lucidity that can never be seen again.

It is gone now and may never be seen again, but I will, one day, see her again.

Meta

Bedlam in Goliath

 He opens his eyes to a googloplex of specks pressing to his body, the pressure pushes him out of the disintegrating earth into the world like a newborn child from the womb. He lies their on the cool sand collecting his senses, sand spilling out of his disheveled hair.  His robes are soaked in sweat and piss and torn to shreds. And without hesitation nor second thought of where or how he is he jolts out of the desert tent into the shining day leaving nothing but unanswered questions and a trail of dust behind him.
Quickly he scans his surroundings, a couple of tents, six unattended camels, a large block of ice withering in the heat, a scorching sun soon to melt away his already decrepit clothing and an assortment of maps packed away in a small knapsack. Like electricity he collects what is needed in a frantic motion...first the maps, second a chip of ice, third a fresh set of robes (these of which he so covertly snatches in the displeasure of another's slumber) and lastly a robust camel of hump and grandeur of which he mounts and begins his journey across the endless plane of shifting sands and dessicated air.

T'was a long journey,  but with aid of maps he stole and the knowledge of the Northern Star's position he approaches his destination ever so hastily. Along the way he suffers from internal fissures and relentless fluorescent bludgeoning. His loyal camel humps and rumps every step of the way without grumble nor complaint and ever so often he feeds him the evaporating crystalline. It is only a matter of time before the sun incinerates them to the ground and just at the verge of blacking out he saw through his dust covered eyes a sign of civilization. There past a sea of vicious heatwaves stands an ancient town composed of mud brick houses.

 He arrives soon thereafter to the town and dismounts his trusty camel. He continues his journey on foot and walking past the battered houses he notices the town held an eerie silence to it that troubles him. He spots a small tavern sitting across a large statue of a man looking towards the sun; his hands blocking his face from the perpetual sunlight. This splendid effigy got the man thinking; the amount of skill and time thrust upon the statue was slowly being annulled by centuries of pressing sand and then the man understood nothing under this sun survived for much time, even that of stone and earth.

He enters the tavern ever so casually and after adjusting to the lack of light inside is greeted by a room full of half drunk taciturn men. They are cloaked and as they turn around to see who the stranger could be, scowl at the burning heat he let in.
"Close the door ya damn fool." yelps one of the drunkards. He pays no attention to this and walks up to the bar, "Greetings, two Ta Henket will do." While the bartender slowly concocts his drink he peers around the room. The tavern is small and dank, the stench of men and booze fills the sultry air. Many sit together at tables in hoods and robes looking cunning and crafty. They soon forget about the wandering man and continue their silent parle. It is the strangest sight to the stranger, how these native people speak in mute tongue. And then something bright and abrupt caught his eye; a golden amulet whose luster was that of the desert sun.

He approaches the old man wearing the amulet for he knows who he belongs to, the Hidden Dune Clan, and they hold information he seeks. With drinks in hand he sits across from the hooded figure and offers him one. The old man tilts his head towards his direction and even behind the darkness that cloaks his face the traveler could sense his disposition.
 "A mans death goes unnoticed under this sun."
 He then takes the drink and chuckles in the security of his shade,
"What is it you come for, speak quickly."
"I seek the whereabouts of the Relinquished Library."
The old man snickers and then quickly in a serious tone said,"I hold this information and will pass it unto thee but what will you offer me in return?"
"I will grant you Sage also what you seek, knowledge."
And then the old man digs his nails deep in the table and whispers in a menacing tone "Fool, I am all knowing and omnipotent; what knowledge could you possibly have that I do not?"
"I hold words lost in the heat of the morning desert sun, faces spat away in the great blood river, thunder hidden among maps and compasses. I hold a purpose that I must carry out."
"Tell me, young seer, tell me your name."
"Jinn."

At that second the Sage tenses up and begins whispering words of an indiscernible language in quick succession. The tavern lights dim, the undertow of men conversating flushes away and his focus upon the sapient old man increases. He then notices the dark veil that obscured the sage soon dissipated and behind was an ancient visage that has seen the world twofold and suddenly he could hear him in his head...
"Two days to walk,
two nights to scry,
your third eye the hawk,
will guide you by.

Remember the path,
it is hidden but seen,
do not look to far,
past the ravine."

The moment passes ever so quickly and soon enough he is back in the dank tavern but this time he is sitting alone. He walks up to the bartender and orders in a new found certainty,"Let me have two water skins and two loafs of bread." The bartender looks at him inquisitively and then softens his expression,"It's a journey then aye?"
"Indeed."

And like snakes slithering in sand he slips out of the tavern into the cool night. He looks upwards into the night sky and begins following the Northern Star. He soon is out of the town and back in the sea of churning earth. He walks and walks....until the sun draws from the horizon...until the moon steals the sky.
A day has gone by and he has yet to find the library. He sleeps horrible nights under cold intensity, enough only to regain his strength for another day in the blistering heat. The next day soaring high above him is a brown hawk with large talons, was it the one mentioned in the Sage's wise words? The bird does not change direction, it must be.
The sun slowly makes its way from one end of the world to the other and in between that precious time Jinn struggles to stay on his feet, but he is strong and holds a steady pace. The environment takes a toll on his body leaving his exposed skin to suffer from light burning and his entire body to exhaustion and exasperation.
Dusk slowly approaches and a milky blood red sun bathes the desert terrain. Jinn continues his search with no luck, has the Sage duped him, is he to die unnoticed? He pushes these thoughts away and focuses on the path in front of him. But suddenly he slips down a steep hill so narrow he hadn't seen it prior. He is sliding down the hill and just when he is about to reach the bottom a trapdoor reveals itself under the sand and he slips right past it into the lurking shadows. These tunnels were just big enough to hold a man and stretch for miles for it took Jinn much time to exit them.

He soon arrives to a room full of darkness and set his torch ablaze. Surrounding him are rows and rows of bookshelves filled with ancient books stacked up in what seemed to be a ceiling-less space. The desert was slowly making its way into the library through small cracks and splits in the walls.
"This library holds humanities primeval thoughts and conceptions.
I will be the only man alive who will know fully my ancestors lexicon."

After eating the last of the food he has left Jinn drifts through the aisles looking for the archaic tome of his people. Finally after hours wandering through this maze he finds a large book in a display case. It's cover is made of leather and the pages are thick and yellow. The title translates to "Son of Ra".

Jinn marvels at the book of bountiful knowledge and in a greedy state says,
"Finally the knowledge that will propel me past my contemporaries, to be the last reader of this book is my destiny."

He then ever so carefully props open the glass case but to his dismay the dry air snatch's away his fortune and reduces it to dust.
He stands there in such a state of deception and astonishment that he drops the torch and lets it roll near the shelves. And suddenly out of the darkness the looming voice of the old Sage booms overhead,

"Fool! You were never worthy of such wisdom! You showed this through your own selfish actions. Pathetic human, you are not a seer, now I condemn thee here forever to dwell in anguish."

Jinn grabbed a hand full of the dust in the display case and cried in the air, tears flowing down his face,"NO! This cannot be! How...how can it be..."And slowly around him bursts of fire began emerging, licking away at the books long kept pages.There is nothing else he has to live to for, nothing else to persevere for. Soon the whole library is afire...

"Take me away flames of malediction, take what is yours God, for I have failed."

Gaza

I Don't Care Where I Go When I Die

Filth, scum, swarming under the sun. 

Future lost in a chaotic reprise, 

you know nothing,

fucking die.

My eyes linger in rage, 

my touch warps

in magnificent torpor,

in craving,

in malignance,

a human,

with no significance. 

Steal me creator, 

for I am collapsed and vapid,

tormentors of this world,
 consuming rapid.

Smart man smart man

show me your ego,

show me your veins,

grasp what I inherited,

console in my pain.

Tell me about the truth, 

you so undoubtedly know,

tell me that I am condemned,

to my own status quo.

Teach me the right way,

you menacing fuck,

I know nothing, 

Im all out of luck.

I am here to compete,

we are here to defeat,

one another,

in apathetic deceit,

you're not my family,

flee.

Life revels in death

from which moralities shift,

inexorable violence

kill me quick,

 we are never ending,

endless shit.