“For every French fry consumed today in America
10,000 pubic hairs have been singed by bombs
since the birth of Christ and the advent of waxing .”
Dan Glee Balls (1999).
Afrighanistam: Whenever . . .
Conjunctive decibels splurge din-gunk;
quivering the thickening skin of the extracted eardrum.
Drawing blood with a rhythm stick.
A cancer-pen, full of lead, for children to chew.
They cram math and nibble
once before and twice during the war.
Agent Lemon Yellow scattered lethal writing
instruments all over tropical battlefields.
Min Gee Man,
a Marxist guerrilla (clad in a monkey suit),
studied the ancient art of Gridiron.
This diminutive rebel unravelled a ramshackle institute,
built from crash-test Jets,
attack copters and chunks of chomped propaganda.
Man taught the young children the intricacies
of Offence and Defence in a hole in the ground.
Tactical Tarts and degenerate art for starving toddlers.
Hotdogs, popcorn and a gallon of Bud for the teacher's pet.
A star-studed student and the first
third world quarterback to boost the trophy.
The CIA cold wind
blew hot air under the Mullah’s religious radar smock –
Man’s breezy trousers flutter, a fake fart floundering; an insipid waft
transported with a gay guff, the putrefying pencils of venality.
Protected by crustacean shaped crash helmets,
gargantuan shoulder pads and Wai Ban sunglasses,
the People's pupils dilated and spelled invincible
behind the shades.
They masticated the tens of pens
circulated beneath the detector.
During the half-time team talk
their hardball outfits began to melt into the Jungle canopy.
An entire breed cried, died of dehydration
in the desert, severe concussion in the caucuses,
and other data-raid related acts of global
pen-pushing mirrored smoke and tissued lies.
Min Gee Man dickered his way to a small fortune
by hunting, killing and then trading the golden
bum holes of the sacred transgender Orang-utans,
who had, until this point, paraded around
the downtown taverns and Seal clubs, camouflaged as
Vermillion cheerleaders on mopeds – erotic war pigs
riding pillion, masquerading as Orwellian characters . . .
They fooled No Wan Et Al. . . .
Except that is, for Charlie Sheen (in town for a remake),
who, pumped up on the Blood of the Tiger cub,
had contracted a nasty touch of Midas.
The entire affair was reimagined by multiple Directors.
Christopher Nolan rebooted the franchise in order to save his career.
And now the multitudes perceive History
through the flap of a violent Happy Meal massacre.
In essence, Full Blown AIDS suited Man,
a fitted tribute to immorality,
made to measure, whistle and flute:
A Tripartite peace:
Made to make African mouths water.
Struck by poverty, the bug and the dead children,
beating at his conscience with their infected ballpoints,
Man lit up his own head of hair like a Hollywood daredevil
Woo Man, Man’s wet wife,
struggled to smear him in her fluids.
Enacting an ancient squatting technique
Woo imbibed her Man.
Extinguishing the Stunt, the Cunt
and the cunning Sun.
aMen: in Atrocity.
Dark faces and golden crowns – they're kings in Ethiopia.
And I like the way that tits cling to the flowers and pick out
the seeds, while the other loutish birds, grubbing dirty for
their food, look up in envy from the ground.
A.Huxley - Crome Yellow (1921).
That's all it is one big propaganda sized game, that they use as fame or to mame or make whatever other claim. Some rather umm disturbing images you portray too, didn't need to know the pubic hair fact haha
ReplyDeleteArron...you have taken what, for me, is one of the most chilling images ever captured and somehow made it even more so. Add to this so very many potent statements from your writing, and this is one reader who has been left shell-shocked. Damn...damn...DAMN Poet!
ReplyDeleteplease tell me these quotes were not made up...hha....my fav part...Except that is, for Charlie Sheen (in town for a remake),
ReplyDeletewho, pumped up on the Blood of the Tiger cub,
had contracted a nasty touch of Midas...how true man...how is it that some that are so fucked up have the midas touch and come out smelling like roses....
You gave me chills. I already have a critical pen focused on the darker human traits but nothing compared to this. Powerful and a small sarcastic grin at Charlie Sheen. (Wonders how Arron's brain works, if it kicks into gear before he wakes and insists on recording thoughts before breakfast or maybe the voices keep him awake at night in spite of bananas and milk)
ReplyDeleteExcellent
There's a great quote from a terrible movie(Sahara) that goes "This is Africa. Nobody cares what happens here." And ad infinitum. Your characters in this are hideously hilarious and all too cancerously apropos--I misread this line to go "The entire affair was reimagined by multiple Dickens'.." and got even more from it. :P Love the Floyd wallpaper for the burning Man theme. Erotic war pigs, the exploited orangutans at play in fields of the Gored with their asses holy for sale made my night, not to mention Woo(Hoo), Man's wet wife, always there for the wetwork. Blowin minds from Timbuktu to Tipperary as always.
ReplyDeleteoh dang arron...tight as always and well placed between those two quotes
ReplyDeleteAgent Lemon Yellow (clever)
ReplyDeletethe lethal writing (nice way to say propaganda)
Wai Ban sunglasses, (LOL)
Protected by crustacean shaped crash helmets (sounds like it could be in a Beatles song)
Tactical Tarts and degenerate art for starving toddlers. (great in ternal rhyme)
Woo Man, Man’s wet wife,
struggled to smear him in her fluids. (hot)
that tits cling to the flowers and pick out
the seeds (what an image)
was there a half time for them? didn't realize
i like how you move from them chewing the cancer stick to masticating the pens
so click on this for my entry in dverse this week:
fruit essence facial mask
A bit wordy, Mr. Shilling, but certainly agreed. We need to stop the shit. On a lighter note I found it quite fascinating that Mr. Balls would find it appropriate to talk about singed pubic hairs!!! Unfortunately not everything is fun... The Viet Namese girl between Micky and Ronald lost more than pubic hair. Her backside skin was mostly missing and her clothing had been ripped off by the gale caused by the intense heat of a napalm explosion. That photo was of her and a boy leading a pack of several naked children as they ran, i guess just to be doing something in the aftermath of an incredibly painful burn. I don't know. I wrote a poem about her about a year ago, somewhere on my blog. The photographer won a prize for that photo, though i don't think he ever collected it. It was featured on the cover of Life Magazine in the United States during that war. He did keep in touch with that young girl and as far as i know she is still alive today. Luckily. Never the less, I certainly agree Mr. Shilling......
ReplyDelete