revolution of syllables

lustful matrimony

2008-10-13T16:49:00.002-05:00

my tongue longs to click
in my mouth
pushing on the roof
of my mouth
thrusting itself
between my lips
drowning in spit
producing sounds
that
somehow convey emotion
sounds that reach your ears
boil your brain juice
and find a cozy little spot in your heart

for unlawful carnal knowledge

2008-05-29T20:19:00.001-05:00

frick, freak, fudge!
underrated, overanalyzed usage.
centuries of verbal disobedience.
kingly disrespect; off with your head!
the guillotine will be your deathbed.
hell's curses rain upon you!
earful, mouthful, splitting
wide open the chasms of
hades, fiendish harpies haggling
occupied forces on the front
lines, cancer sticks, submachines
enforcing imperial dominance.
wankstas, thugs, ballas, housewives
orphans, toddlers toying with
raucous tongue thrusts, clicks
little boy watch your mouth!
dictator, you cannot censor my vulgarity
(that's how I feel to be honest)

sp in east la, ese

2008-05-29T20:04:00.003-05:00

Congress
spineless wench
you are!
all in favor
war overseas
"yea"
sit at home.
mansion by lake.
sip-ping on
gin and juice.
laugh, hold
overgrown belly.
years of eating
young men's lives.
poor whites,
blacks,
Mexicans,
anyone you can
get your hands
on that isn't
Little Jimmy,
last in his
class at Yale.
daddy bought
the whole east
campus out.
young men
devoured by
industrial
military
complex.
our economy runs
on war spending
don't it?
hah.
look again.
$4 a gallon.
$59.99 for prom
shoes.
I can't even
afford a cheese-
burger.
much less stand
the look of
slaughtered cow
on a bun.
but you're happy.
meals for you
phat paid.
old men
I will
sell your souls
to this be-
loved
industrial
military
complex
explode your
limbs in
the desert
and claim it
was manifest destiny.

Platinum Protection

2008-05-25T22:08:00.004-05:00

"Excuse me, miss?" The girl in black kept walking.
"Excuse me!" She turned around to find a woman with red hair smiling at her. The girl narrowed her eyes and faked a smile.
"Can I use your cell phone? I lost my daughter in the mall, and I left my own phone in the car" she said. The girl hesitated; it wasn't the first time she'd let a stranger use her phone. She didn't mind really, and she was ready to run and beat down anyone who tried to make off with her phone. She handed the pink phone over to the woman.
"Natalie! I..." the woman started. The girl zoned out, looking around, then snapped back into focus in case the woman wanted to run off. The woman finally hung up and handed the phone back. Almost as soon as the woman hung up, the girl's brother approached her.
"What was that all about? Why are you letting people use your phone? What if it was a government agent calling the base to say they found you? You should've said your minutes were out!" The girl, whose name was Emmeline, rolled her eyes and laughed it off.
"You and your conspiracies."
"It's not a conspiracy! Do you remember when that lady came into our house at ten at night trying to sell us protection?" Emmeline's mind wandered off, and when they circled the store to go back to their desired exit, she saw the woman with red hair again. She was walking in the opposite direction she had previously walked, and she was alone. There was no daughter in sight. Emmeline felt uneasy about this, but brushed it off.

Emmeline lay in bed, slowly drifting off to sleep, her eyelids heavy from fatigue. That's when she heard an unfamiliar voice. She jerked awake, senses alert, ears perked up.
"You never know when something is going to happen."
"Our neighbor was robbed not too long ago.."
"You don't want that to happen, do you?" Emmeline rose up from her bed and descended down the stairs. A young blond woman sat at her dining table with her mother. The woman smiled at her, her eyes cold and austere behind her glasses. Emmeline stared blankly and proceeded into the bathroom. She tried to listen to their conversation as she brushed her teeth, but drowsiness got the best of her.
"Yeah, I'm over here on..." The woman recited Emmeline's address with ease and no pauses. Suspicion slithered into her heart. It sounded like the woman had been keeping a tab on her house for a while...

"They're not well equipped to defend their home, let alone their lives" the blond woman told her boss. Her name was Elizabeth.
"How has Pankhurst survived thus far? She's just a school girl for god's sake! We should have taken her out years ago, before her ideas got out of hand and into people's brains!"
"I sent three female operatives and one male to keep an eye on her. She thinks they're threatening her over the male operative. I have them blowing up her phone with text messages, phone calls, threatening voice mails."
"How has she responded to them?"
"She's ignored them, for the most part. "
"Give it a week; we'll have her dead by then."
"You think we'll get her this time?"
"How could we not? We threatened her family, her life."
"She's insane, you realize this right?"
"And you sent even more insane operatives after her!"
"But she's dangerous."
"As are they." Elizabeth was silent. If Emmeline had gotten away so many times before, what was to guarantee she wouldn't this time? Lady Luck was on her side, even when it was disguised as a man.

phalse proletariat prophet

2008-05-25T21:59:00.002-05:00

out of hand delusions of grandeur
haunt my already distraught mind
like Bona-man under British child's bed.
oral fixation, stumbling tongue.
cross of silver oration.
a phalse proletariat prophet.

claiming the bourge will devour us all.
eat our life's savings on their silver platters.
buy their way into universities.
eventually buy office for a nickel and a vote.
rally to the call of:
we must rise up in arms
excrete on the platters of the bourge.

wetness that builds up in crotch.
trickling down pale thigh.
prospect of privileged overthrow
an orgasm to ovulation station.
flooding canals of crevices of body and brain.
influx of dopamine that explains
fanatical overthrow of bourge regime.

but it's locked inside my brain
and no one can see.
the foundations I seek
to crumble face destruction only in a
phalse proletariat prophet's perturbed dream.

vive l'empereur!

2008-05-23T20:20:00.002-05:00

revolution long time coming.
get your rulers out.
deposed of a throne;
only a bench covered with velvet.
men's plump bottoms cannot bear
to rest their bums elsewhere.
declarations of war ring out.
tectonic ideas shifting continental Europe.
fragmented feudal laws.
privileged plagued by pillaging peasants.
the blue blooded buckle under civil codes.
children of the revolution
have taken up their bayonets
stabbing ideas into superconsciouses.
splicing democracy and empire.
a Corsican conquers
with colonel's calloused feet.
the dreaded guard.
the last of the angsty rebellious
hidden among us in the millennium.
powerless, grande arme-less.
submissive to a welfare check,
terrorist threats, propaganda.
he takes it back;
long live the emperor!

Stars and Stripes

2008-05-18T20:53:00.003-05:00

The doorbell rang again. It was Uncle Sam, equipped with an M-16 and a big bushy beard. There were so many stars and stripes on his top hat and pinstriped suit, that it was mesmerizing.
“You’ve got to go to war!” he declared.
“But I’m just a young boy!” Jacob objected. Uncle Sam shook a thin, frail finger. Jacob looked down, his legs shooting off into the sky; California Redwoods. Uncle Sam waved and smiled, nodding his head in satisfaction, his frail frame quickly becoming a speck. Jacob continued growing, his limbs and body proportioning, until at length, his head was in the clouds. Jacob was sure he was done growing when he reached the Earth’s atmosphere. But he was deeply mistaken. His head pushed through the final layer of thick atmospheric gases, right into a man’s face. It was Uncle Sam again!
“I’m not who you think I am, Jacob” the man said. His lips remained motionless. His eyes seemed to do the talking, as they had remained locked on Jacob’s since their encounter. Jacob opened his mouth to speak, but the old man raised a finger to his lips.
“Let your heart speak for you.”
“My heart…” Jacob thought. His chest started to open, his flesh hanging like hinges off a broken down door. The beating bloody organ found its way to the old man.
“Go on” he said, nodded his head, and brushed Jacob away with the wave of his wrist. And Jacob started falling. He was little again.
“Or, maybe, I’ve been little this whole time” he thought. He braced for impact, but his fall to Earth was not memorable, as he sat on the same couch where he’d sat minutes before Uncle Sam interrupted. The door bell rang again with the passing thought. It was God. How Jacob knew, he wasn’t so sure. It was probably the finely stitched nametag on God’s robe. Or it was probably the golden, disc-shaped halo floating around his head. Either way, Jacob knew this man was of heavenly decent.
“Your heart has spoken. And we have decided it is best if you do not engage in this war.”
“But I have a duty to uphold to my country!” Jacob protested. Why, he knew not, since moments earlier, he had protested against Uncle Sam’s demand.
“What has your country done for you, Jacob?” God asked.
“It has fed me, clothed me, provided me with opportunities to further myself.” God shook his head and opened his palm. In it, lay an apple and a cotton seed.
“For centuries, your people have slaved away harvesting these fruits you say your government has provided you with. You think you are any different from your ancestors? You now slave away in wars your government deceives you into fighting. A war is not fought by a governmental administration. It is fought by it’s people. And it is with people with hearts like yours that will end this.”
“I see words will not suffice” God started again at Jacob’s silence.
“I do wish to believe you but…” Jacob trailed off. He remained seated on the sagging couch that had housed kittens once before.
“You must see to believe?” God asked, an eyebrow raised, arms crossed against his chest. Jacob nodded sadly, his head bowed in shame.
“Very well.” Before Jacob’s brain could even begin to process what was going on, they were back in the clouds.
“From here I see all. Even that.” God raised a long, slender finger and pointed down at bright flashes of light spanning across the globe.
“Stars and stripes. My country‘s flag!” Jacob exclaimed. From an inside pocket, God pulled out a palpitating heart.
“Look again, Jacob. This time, with that which always knows best.” Jacob’s heart returned to him, wedged between his lungs, pressing against his ribcage, snugly in place where it belonged. And Jacob looked once more at the bombing raids and missile streaks that had befallen the war-riddled world.

a rapp

2008-05-17T14:25:00.003-05:00

a rapp-
er from Brook
lyn. best bye
punc
tured (ear-
drum)
always
punc
tual with his
mouth.
the re-vo-lu-shun
of syllables: talib kweli.
he of truth
and i of:
penis tales to tell
kicking (condoms) into closets

emma
nay shun
from lyrically
smitten admittin
pedestrian pedisticular pedaling
a scrimp of loons
un-der dark-scaped moon
ocean moon spirit
open for occu
payshun

shuns word i croak
boy i fancy
noun-u-ler
ver-bi-skie
none change same

give people a legible sentence
legal sentence possession
of potamus, pistolas.
che.che.che.
check out his
mellow dee

so?toe she says
japa-knees
outside(r)
he says i say (hah!)
m.press here

Origins of the Second Mistake

2008-05-17T13:11:00.008-05:00

There once was a man the people of the world called the "Grand Old Designer." They speculated that he was an immense architect in Transylvania, but nobody could locate this area on a map. Still others rumored he was a software designer, and the only reason he was grand and old was because he had long face hairs that well added years to his unknown age. Mr. G, as he was unofficially known, appeared rarely, kissing baby's foreheads and cutting ribbons. But other than that, Mr. G remained unseen, locked away in his hidden mansion, wherever that was located, designing whatever it was he designed. He really had no profound influence on the people of Earth. Occasionally, he popped up in conversations about wages and workers' rights and the eight-hour workday. In all honesty, nobody gave a hoot about Mr. G because nobody knew him personally. The closest one to him was his personal secretary, who announced whose lucky baby's forehead would get kissed, or whose grand opening ribbon would be cut, but even he didn't know Mr. G's birthday or social security number. But one day, his secretary, whose name was Marty Odys Sycklesyde el Second, hurried into town, his faded black suit unbuttoned at the collar. He ran straight for the town square, and an audience gathered around him. The media was there too, to broadcast his words into space and then back into the brains of television-watching people. And it was then that Marty Odys Sycklesyde el Second announced Mr. G's new decree.
"You are no longer allowed to hide behind a face. That which you feel must be easily detected. Hiding emotions from one another will no longer be as easy as hiding your riches." The townspeople rose up in a terrible anguish as soon as Marty Odys Sycklesyde el Second stopped talking. Angry faces melted away and burst into flames. The secretary, consumed with fear, sunk into a shell of his own skin and scurried away. However, there had been one person who remained unaffected by Mr. G's new decree. His name was James Clyde and he had died inside a long time ago. He was incapable of expressing any emotion, except for anger, but even that took a lot to be expressed. When James saw the state of emergency his planet had become, he sought a solution. He was tired of faces burning with rage, demon faces glowing green with envy, faces pouring with streams of tears. What he hated most was the face of Hussa Ling. Her eyes glowed green with the content of men's dreams. On her chest she had tattoos of men passed who had schemed to unlock her secrets. James was bothered by her presence most, as she continually promised him greatness. But all James wanted was for the people of Earth to control their emotions long enough for him to get his cable fixed and get a decent pizza delivered. James decided to get in touch with Marty Odys Sycklesyde el Second and demand a meeting with this so-called "Grand Old Designer." Mr. G accepted his request, and the following evening, James was sitting in the notorious home of various vicious rumors, which was in fact located in Pennsylvania.
"You're the first visitor in decades. Mr. G's door is always open to the people, but no one takes the time to visit him." Marty Odys Sycklesdye el Second went on to explain that Mr. G was a mute, whose means of communication were scribbled drawings on a notepad. James was a bit taken back, and this greatly surprised him. An onslaught of emotion began pouring into his brain. Mr. G's very presence had augmented his reception to emotion, tenfold. James got on his knees, and begged, pleaded, and cried for Mr. G to repeal his horrid decree. When Mr. G replied with an animated cartoon of a man shaking his finger back and forth, James erupted into a volcanic sludge of rage and anger, heat spreading across his ears and cheeks. When James finally used every emotion he could muster, Mr. G's decision still remained unmoved. James sat back in his chair, exhausted. Mr. G got up, walked to the window, and returned with a slice of pizza. James' taste buds had never danced so gracefully around the cheese, sauce, and bread, and his stomach had never felt happier. Mr. G motioned for Marty Odys Sycklesyde el Second to leave. As soon as he stepped out, Mr. G looked James right in the eye and spoke.
"You have difficulty expressing emotion, James. Why is it your concern what the people of Earth feel? They will never swallow their pride long enough to control and harness the power that is emotion, even if I did repeal my decree. You may stay with me, get free pizza, and no longer deal with the biggest mistake I ever made: free will."

untitled

2008-05-07T21:11:00.006-05:00

I was going to write a poem;

I fell asleep along the way.

my brain's chemical manifestations

fanciful illusions that can never be.

he of fair skin,

even fair-er of eyes

those that match

oceans reflectant of skies.

clouds that rain down on my pipe dreams

only to be washed away clean

in sewer lids lifted.

a feeding frenzy

of his mind from which all

beauty resonates

crooning melodic lullabies

of his, and my, past

of our past

as a people, as individuals

waking in hopes of a cloudless future.
entangled in the lyrical lines

of his lectures

Democracy

2008-05-07T20:51:00.009-05:00

Democracy we the people have birthed you.
Democracy we have nourished you on the backs of cheap labor.
One million acres to the Washington estate.
A deposed African prince picks cotton.
Democracy you have put 15 wealthy slave-owning men into power.
The rest waved their rebel flag, I'll tell you what.
Democracy why are you so intent on marketing yourself?
Democracy why do you think you can be worn like shirts?
I admit my shirt reads I am democracy.
Democracy, I am NOT democracy.
I am revolution.
I want the blood of the rich to fertilize the Dust Bowl with its rugged individualism.
Democracy Hoover should’ve done more.
Democracy why do you heckle me with the first amendment but then send me to the Soviet Union under sedition acts for criticizing your incompetent government?
Democracy why can’t you and communists lie together as strange bedfellows?
Democracy why do you abhor monarchies?
All should live as kings.
But no one dare wear a crown.
Democracy I hate your slums and suburbs and the reaganomics that told the two apart.
Democracy why does the lower middle class pay 90 percent of federal taxes?
Democracy when will you elect me as your president?
I bleed monthly and my diet consists of beans and tortillas.
Democracy don’t judge me for the contents of my colon or kotex.
I can’t stand your electoral college.
It will be the end of me as an Independent candidate.

Democracy when will you realize that what you’ve done then is what you’re doing now?
Democracy the economy that runs your capitalist society is in trouble again it’s just as bad as 1933 the dollar’s down dow jones we can’t fuel this war on social security and deficit spending I don’t want my children’s children’s children to be in debt because of your crusade to spread your venereal diseases politicians thirsty to indulge in intercourse with the courts and congresses rule with a militant fist trying to wedge yourself in between the sticky sheets of the middle east and oil refineries fighting wars for god only knows proclaiming how glorious you are I have seen the height of your glory it started in 1964 but even that wasn’t enough to hide your hideous history’s injustice toward the very people who trust you to govern.

Democracy am I a hypocrite because I live under you?
It’s true I wouldn’t be able to legally bear arms if it weren’t for you.
I wouldn’t survive in another century.
I’m revolutionary and psychopathic anyway.
Democracy I’m putting my bayonet to your throat.