my life is shot in black and white

has a bitchin soundtrack

 

and sometimes when I loop back in on it  the stills  the music  overpower my senses

I am a rerun

                      a nostalgic rerun

 

I light a cigarette

play with the paper match as it burns down to my fingertips then snuff it between the thumb and finger of my other hand

they have been scorched senseless over years of smoking dope and refusing to use an alligator clip or hemostat

                                                                                                

the roach passed round til it ends between me and like souls
or just me                                      

a cheap badge of honor  among heads

I watch the blue smoke curl and rise off the cigarettes reddened edge

out of focus  behind its threads

are the colour and contours of two naked women who are playing with each other

biding me a little time

                                                                                                                     

one rises from between the others legs who sighs and pants

she breaks the line of smoke off my cigarette  it curls around her breasts and throat as she leans forward and kisses me deeply  sharing the tang of the others cunt
her face shiny and moist 

she steps back for a moment  the smoke spindles again  splitting her bush in halves her hips and belly in a sensational Rorschach 

then she goes down to her knees and takes my cock in her mouth

the other rises drunkenly and stoned and straddles the back of the couch  leaning forward she grasps the others hair at the back of her head and doles out a new rhythm  shoving her head down on me until she chokes

I crush the cigarette butt in an oversized coloured glass ashtray and paw her tits snuffle and suckle until I cum  spasm

I yank her off the back of the couch onto her back  pull her legs apart   

she lays still

I stand to help the girl off her knees  kiss her deeply  smile wolfishly

then toss her as she laughs  shes well ahead of me  Im that obvious and inflamed  onto the couch too  position her on her back  low to the other end  straddle her head and feed my cock into her eager mouth again 

on a knee and a straight leg I thrust  she has her hands at my belly taking what she wants  bending over I take the other one by her ass in both hands  my thumbs curled up the insides of her thighs  I split her apart  run my tongue up
stern to stem

she takes my head in her hands    orchestrating her cumming

we met in the sea  the surf growing larger  high tide foaming

going up the beach we realised wed laid our towels and bags near one another

the heat and humidity was parching 

I offered pina coladas

I lived just up from the ocean
the daylight inside the apartment always coloured the ceiling a reflected and refracted quivering blue

Electric Ladyland played on the turntable behind us

I had opium I had hashish

we had a ball

Ive rerun that with a woman  and other women 

                                                                              orgies I instigated with a telling suddenness

singeing exhibitionist cravings and ecstasies  empowering roomfuls of voyeurs to put up or shaddup  the whole while knowing there was nothing like freed voyeurs  who could stash their furtive  sly(or so they thought) peeking  and get in touch with the objet d’art that before had only titillated their seemingly forlorn or veiled obsessions

reruns

            reruns of crazed sex  of games competed in and watched  friends  not friends  intimate jazz spots  blues dives  building designed smashed and redesigned  structures erected   at daydreams  at bars along the road

before whispering campfires overlooking canyons and deserts  lakes and rivers and seas

                                                                                                                                                   reruns thoughtless invoked

among stuttering delirium tremens  tremors off too much caffiend  off inane binges that sought to satisfy unspoken wants

demands

reruns  in place of and offending the day-to-day inebriation of mindnumbing rote and routine that paid the bills

my life is shot in black and white

couldnt have it any other way 

evening,  Fadders Day, Sunday,  21  6. 15

2227,  Monday,  22  6. 15

The Buffalo

                     a book he was reading

suggests(inanely)  subtly  seductively  --  as if it were trying to talk a girl out of her panties  --  that the Native Indian tribes across pre-historic America and into its western push  plugged as Manifest Destiny(Gaaaad  --  aint that the best reason ever) saw benefits from the European White Man’s arrival on the shores of the Continent(Their Continent would have been more appealing  but they did not conceive of land ownership  --   another White Man’s concept

and His Appropriation)

the author touts how Natives were introduced to horses 

he touts the benefit they learned of improved hunting by the introduction of firearms

the enlightened trade of tangible Goods  for liquor

the writer even touts how the White Man tried to stop Indian tribes from becoming infected by smallpox   and while methods of vaccinations were had in the Cuntry’s(even then) urban centers they did not make them available to the Indians

aptly quoting the writer:

“(1837) In Dakota the smallpox left a wide stretch of open land on both sides of the Missouri from Fort Pierre about 250 miles upstream, in country formerly claimed by the Arikara, Mandan, and Hidatsa.”

while he and who he associated with would call that genocide

the writer did not

it was among many genocides perpetuated in the New World(not America  --  he had to catch himself) with a deathly agent 

 

either a trick picked up from Cortez the Killer in 1521 against the Aztecs                                             

a priest who witnessed the events wrote:

“As the Indians did not know the remedy of the disease they died in heaps like bedbugs. In many places it happened that everyone in a house died and, as it was impossible to bury the great number of dead, they pulled down the houses over them so that their homes become their tombs.” *

or the Massachusetts(it wasnt called Massachusetts then) smallpox genocide of 1617 – 1619(a historical footnote) where an estimated 90% of Native Indians died

its survivors were the Machicans of Berkshire who limited their contact with the infectious Europeans

evidently the New World tribes couldnt handle Old World cooties

the corruption of European(Eurasian) plagues and diseases

they never became so civilised to squander their health  their nearness to the Land or its Earthling Brothers and Sisters

and while many tribes fashioned and wore elaborate ceremonial headdresses 

not one was fashioned like the Plague doctors anteater masks

or did they make lousy their villages with the foetid squalor that existed in Old World cities

those who claimed to be Gaaads Chosen  the Most Perfect People  existed only in their racial and societal constructs

and their bloodlust for armament to kill The Other

this book of The Buffalo

                                        unleashed more than he bargained for

Fadder’s Day afternoon,  21  6. 15

*  http://mason.gmu.edu/~alaemmer/disease/smallpox.pdf

 

Walp
          she welched on their deal 

he couldnt miss it if he tried

a big gauzy cottonball of eggs

Really eighteyes  What was the deal  I know you got enough brain matter to stitch out a web and agreed to our agreement

why would she  a black widow  renege

all eight eyes blinked simultaneously 

the big eyes silent treatment

she might have had a better shot at it if they were big brown eyes

not black 

                not black like the harbinger of death or the soulless eyes of a Great White

that merely reflect your horrified terror-distended features    before it strikes

and then leaves you alive  disabled  gored

leaking blood like engine oil   knowing there will be another strike

and perhaps another strike

before you pass out from massive blood loss

or perhaps your endorphins  dopamine  kicks in to anaesthetise you

and you bob haphazardly  lazily  on the rolling surface

a blissful junkie

No sweetheart  that aint cutting it

We had a deal

I got opposable thumbs

I got a stick

I pick up the stick in my fist and the cotton candy ball goes byebye

Sorry  

          a late abortifacient

Im usually prochoice

 

but not when an agreement is violated  a trust denied

You can stay in the tin mailbox if you want

                                                                                                                              But you cant be surprised by my actions

I dig Nature calls  but when She did   you should have taken the call outside the box

Ca pische

if she didnt get his English maybe she could take a hint from his mongrel Italian syllables

he just ran the gamut of his Romantic Languages

 

blinkblinkblinkblinkblinkblinkblinkblink

Thats all you got

Big black eyes

Ill give you a moment

Say yer goodbyes

Im getting a stick

he couldnt say that he didnt have misgivings

he pulled the egg sac intact from the mailbox and considerable strands from her web that trailed off the stick like iridescent streamers he had on his first bicycle as a boy

it had training wheels

he found a favorable shaded spot and wound the strands  --  with much ado for its stickiness  --  to a thatch of dead weeds

if they hatched thered be plenty of creepers and crawlers to nosh on

hed check after the weekend to see if she blew the pop stand  vacated the premise for another dig

he hoped not

but he couldnt blame her

though hed miss the brittle empties scattered on the floor of the mailbox like tea leaves from which to divine

animals bones guts insect carapaces and yarrow sticks

                                                                                            beggars cant be choosers

afternoon,  Friday,  19  6. 15