Friday, May 16, 2003

Oh my brother Rabbit it is the unhappiness of rich beautiful girls that assures me we be little injuns took the wrong road. Responding to the charge that commies favor ribald licentiousness Marx and Engels reply in the Manifesto: "yeah, but y'all be whoring your daughters." It was true and it's still true. I got some particular instances in my mind and oh my brother Rabbit we are talking some fine, fine girlflesh, just achingly beautiful girlflesh, I mean off in Mermaid realms. I mean if I spent every day of the rest of my life painting my bad little girls in the parlor of Mrs. Montoya's I would never evoke adequately the cuteness of the sandy butt I have in my mind, sashaying her Mermaid self down the beach where our forefathers landed (querelous and irritable from reading that silly book) and interestingly enough her daddy sort of resembles Marlon Brando. Sometimes when I'm bopping with my cotton patch K-mart Yoko Ono I flash that bottom up in a long cinematic still of warming wonder. But the thing is brother Rabbit, the one thing that Faithful Leadership Men the World Over agree on is that my cockroach nigger disrespectful body should get squushed. Other creatures in the forest have warned me that my Mockingbird singing gonna get me shot. Last time I was in Texas brother Coyote gives me an NRA cap, say: "here, wear this and maybe you'll be safe". Burroughs liked guns. Hunter likes guns. But me I'd rather bop on my K-mart Yoko Ono. I guess I'm just a woosy. I worry that people with kids should stay a distance from me so if the West Houston Boys come and step on me they ain't part of the Collateral Damage because the way those West Houston Boys are these days they'll probably want to use an Atom Bomb or something. But since you broodless, brer Rabbit, you should come up and we'll play a little ukulele and throw some tulip seeds around and check out some of them rich girls and get our dicks hard. Oh brother Eagle, check out Ortega Y Gasset and ponder with me the possibility that plot might unwind over a considerably longer space of time now that paper is near valueless. 2:47:27 PM    comment []

Anthony Burgess, he came to hate A Clockwork Orange/ There ain't no rhyme for that but we gonna poesy on/ Vladimir Nabokov he wrote about Lolita/ That made him some money and money makes things sweeter/ Even so it didn't work out how he had in mind/ Books is errant children, ungrateful and unkind./ Kafka had the right idea: burn up every word/ Nothing bad can come of nothing being heard/ But then your friends'll dig you out even when your dead/ So what you gotta learn is to let nothing out your head/ Let nothing out your head, let nothing out your head/ Then no words come back at you and make you blush beet red./ That ol' Zip Coon is such a joke, he thinks he is a scholar/ Cos he wears a dead man's morning coat and a shirt with a collar/ And even worse those Wiggers who follow him around/ Listening to his doggerel and scribbling it down./ God's gonna burn these poseurs up for their artistic pretention/ Their filthy dreams, their stupid schemes, their endless dissention. / God's gonna burn the poseurs up, that miscegenating crew./ Stay away from that kinda trash or God gonna burn you too. 2:33:35 AM    comment []