Chapter X

(ႎႢ႟ Ⴍ႟ႛႬႝႢ ႠႩႬ͙͙ၣ


Ideally I should have written this down earlier͙ Ideally I should have written this a year ago. Ideally I
should have written this last night. But we do not live by ideals͛ we live however by ideas. Everything
was built on ideas; ideals often fall short of their goals. Chapter X (the letter not the Roman numeral)
was built on the search for an idea. It seems I have plenty of ideals. I need to bring them into focus with
ideas. Thus the subtitle: ͞in search of͟. In this book I forgo the stream of conscious speeches, poems and
off the wall quotes. Instead I will try to articulate some sense out of this drunken, drug induced haze I
have found myself in. Maybe my fault lies in writing the intro before I write the book, we͛ll as always
only tell with time.

From Winston to Atlanta to New York and back

This however did not happen as you will read. I did continue with just that very thing. So I lied to you right from
the start.

To quickly recap: its January second nineteen-ninety-nine. Supposedly it is a
pivotal year because; it·s the end of the century. We shall see. I sit alone in my
downtown apartment, cold, hungry, annoyed with the general sleepiness of my town.
With another year under my belt I contemplate time, age, and just what will become of
me when all my sins catch up to me.
You see I have been a very bad boy in 1998. Hell, I·ve been bad my whole life.
Yet aside from a few random assurances I can·t remember ever feeling much remorse.
I have no clear recollection of how it started. Do in part to mental blocks that I·ve put
up, and the alcohol I·ve consumed. I assume it began as most things in my current life,
with the moment I chose never to be like those who were over me. To never walk the
path they walked. And worsened as I realized I had no choice in the matter.
Though, I have managed to walk the path backwards, sideways, and even
upside down. Every chance I get to stray away from it, I always seem to be pulled back
some way or another. I cannot seem to completely separate myself from the past.
I have, however, managed to except this and merely build upon its foundation.
It is here where I run into the most trouble. For you see my own vices tend to trap me
up at times. My drinking and my off center approach at immortality, have all lead to
problems with attaining my ultimate goal which is not to become like those I so hated
growing up. My Grandmother, as she is, is fond of reminding me that I am not yet
grown. I wonder often if she is right. Maybe it is my impetuousness and fast living that
has made me blind to the fact that time is indeed not on my side.
Throughout this past year if not the last several years, I have made it a point to
conceive of philosophies, spout grand prophecies and fall short in delivering the goods.
My lust has always deterred me from my destiny, my insatiable lust for wine, women,
and a good time. I have drank myself into a stupor, fucked myself into oblivion, and
party like there·s no tomorrow. The Gods themselves have reached down from the
heavens to throw me in the right direction, and time and time again I have forsaken
them for fun. When will I learn that the road to legend is no paved with good times?



So here I sit, wondering when the hand of God will descend and confirm my every belief.
Confirm that while we sit here we should have been enjoying this time. That no man is a
master and, no woman is either. That the universe is bigger than all things, and yet while we
are a part of the universe we are not the whole. I wait this day with glee.
I review all that I know over and over, listen to my voice on tape. Replaying all Iƞve
done in my head. My memory distorting reality and my perspective is reshaping my perception.
Losing time, and losing hope. Iƞm thinking of escape routes, when I should be thinking of
defensive maneuvers. As always Iƞm just trying to make some sense of it all.
I really just need to relax. I know how it all ends. I know that to try and make sense out
of nonsense is just a waste of my time. In the end it will only cause me heartache and misery.
Yet time and time again I attempt the impossible. I just need to relax. Take some of my own
advice, touch myself and think about the future in a more positive light and take each day as it
comes. And I know that trying only sets me up to fail. What was itƦơthe essence of success is
not found in excessơ. Itƞs the whole being in non-being thing. Yeah, I know it, but there is still
something Iƞm not getting. I feel a spiritual void that cannot be found in words or piercings. I
need to take some time away from the world.
I was once so close to enlightenment I could smell the emptiness of nothingness. But
getting trapped in this state has distanced me from my goals. My vision twisted from drugs and
the cold reality of my life. I need to sober up a bit and hang out in the woods by myself. Or
maybe just lock my doors and hide in my room. Stock my fridge full of beer and cheese, sit
down at my desk and write down all these thoughts jumbling in my head. I have stories I want
to tell, music I want to write, movies I need to make, and a legacy I must leave. Hanging out
on the street corners and gay bars will not help me reach my destination.
I just fill that if I stop going out and loose contact with my friends Iƞll be forgotten and
washed away. Iƞve already lost so much of my popularity and my standing with the ladies is
slipping each day. I talk and people moan about how Iƞm Ơpreachingơ again. But damn it some
oneƞs gotta say something. Someone has to do something. I just canƞt sit here and watch as
nothing happens. The people must be woken up.
Not to say that everyoneƞs ignorant to whatƞs going on in the world around them. Just that not
enough people are doing anything about it. Personal freedom is being attacked on all sides.
When if not now will we stand up and do something. You know you donƞt really see things until
youƞre around people who donƞt see things. Which leaves you feeling scared and alone and in
need of one person who you can trust. Yet your own fear and paranoia drives everyone away
from you.

That leaves me, trying to start a conflict. And wondering what happened to that idealistic
young teenager who once believed so strongly in everything he said, and did! What happened
to the boy who didnࣛt think he was the future, but knew it.
You see now as twenty-one I just keep trying to relive. The dream is gone, but the baby
is real. Could have done a goodࣧ
So where am I now? Sitting on my couch in a ࣞwife-beaterࣟ and boxer shorts, watching
pornoࣛs, listing to ICP and reading comic books. 21 years and this is as far as Iࣛve gotten? Iࣛm
losing hope. I realize that all reality is perception, that all truth is relative, that laughter is the only
salvation from misery and that life is eternal. Iࣛve peered into the universe only to be scared
motionless. My mind races with color and knowledge. So much so I canࣛt even function properly.
How does all this help me I donࣛt know any more now than I did at fifteen? I still have no real
solid direction. And even worse Iࣛve lost all compassion and sympathy. My entire range of
emotions is merely false mockeries of actions Iࣛve seen on television.
It seems as if everything that I thought made me myself, was nothing more than my
subconscious aping things that I saw growing up, making me 100% product of my environment.
What do you think that does to me? I have all these mother-fuckers round me saying how free I
am, how original, how they envy me! Why? Why? Iࣛm not even real.
Itࣛs July now-nineteen hundred and ninety-nine. I am alone. I do not try to lay the blame
on anyone or anything. It is my own doing. Life has not been good for some time. I didnࣛt cope
too well with age or time itself for that matter. My pursuit of a good time, has lead me down dark
path after dark path. My lust for life has alienated me. I am an asshole. My fear and subsequent
paranoia has left me bitter and alone. My perception of people and their actions has left me a
marked man. More than that, I just canࣛt shut up.
I see everyoneࣛs faults. The way a man stands, the way a woman talks the way we all
interact. I know they just want to get fucked. They all want to be normal. They all want someone
to love them, pay attention to them. I think itࣛs funny. I tell them. I point it out and mock it. I
exacerbate it and they resent me. Some see the humor, some see I want the same thing, and
most just hate me. Most donࣛt have the patience to wade through the bullshit to see people (and
me) for the souls they are. Most people are pussies. Weak jelly fish, who will not survive what I
can see ahead, the Dark days, the coming Storm. Funky weather and high crime rates are only
the start. We draw closer to the final conflict. It is not some mystical/mythical Armageddon I
speak of, but mans own negative energies reaching a breaking point. Manࣛs insecurities, his
fears, and his greed, each consuming him to the point beyond redemption. It comes, my friends.
And then Iࣛll be happy. Until that day comes though, Iࣛll be on the fence. Hiding in plain sight my
true face, to please you all, to no end. My greed overwhelms both you and me. And there is

nothing I can say or do will ever change the outcome. I could say it all and you still not know
where Iࣛm coming from.
After two years of contemplation what have I found out? That I am a villain? By whose
definition am I? That Iࣛm greedy, lustful, conniving, dishonest, hypocritical, and vain!?! Perhaps,
or perhaps because I make mistakes, I am sometimes thoughtless and selfish and I make poor
judgments/prejudgments. Or does this all simply make me human. Something I have strived so
hard not to be for as long as I can recall. Something Iࣛve lied about being, pretended not to be,
created elaborate fantasies not to become. I am my fatherࣛs child. And sadly there is no
escaping it. Does this make me a villain? What does? Is there truly no right and wrong?

I know now that too much time has been wasted (along with my mind) on how I came to
be. Maybe itࣛs my own fault, maybe Iࣛm a product of my own environment, and perhaps Iࣛm
warped by television? Who knows? Better yet-who cares?

I am what I am, not what I will/can become!

It is now what I do with the knowledge I have and the capabilities I have left. My only fear is that now I am but damaged goods. My mind (a jigsaw
puzzle without all the pieces) is a mess. My body a wreck and my life span shortened. My heart still M.I.A. where to go from here.

This has all been years of practice!

The further you move away the closer you seem to find yourself!

Iૹm trying to make sense of it all. Little bits and pieces fall into place, but none out it makes sense anyway. Losing
ground, no way out, all I can do is shout, in hopes some one hears me cry, in hopes someone understands why.
Hopelessness fills my soul-donૹt stop now weૹre on a role.



Before we begin, let me just say that everything you know is a lie. By that respect everything you
know is true. In as far as every myth, legend, fable, and scientific fact is both false and true
simultaneously. They hold within them the seed of every story. It is the names and conception of time
which are wrong. So far as there is a wrong. Nouns are not used in the universe.
Gathered from ancient oral tales, and formed into religious, the sciences, you begin to see a
pattern within the myriad complexity of Chaos. We gather that at some point (neither the beginning nor
end) something happened. A big bang, great fall, something was cast out or born. Two forces collided
then shattered, creating our known universe from their coming together and apart. From hence forth
there began a struggle. And for lack of better terminology we will call these to forces Order and Chaos.
Not the; be all end all, not the first nor last-simply is and is not. Now, since the initial schism is not has
struggled to be what is while is has fought to not be what is not. Some say good and evil, some say black
and white. The differences are actually irrelevant. All needs be known, is that the two define each other
and opposed each other simultaneously. And so their struggle defines us. Creating us and trapping us
between their fluxes. There by lending credit to the theory that our universe is merely a hologram
created by two overlapping forces. As we enter the period when the two once again collide we find
ourselves being visited upon by the many offspring of the two (and the physical manifestations of the
forces themselves) more and more often. We are confronted with the fact that these are indeed end
times my friends!!!

Don·t be afraid of fear
Vision Quest

In my life I have been fortunate enough to meet many insane people with
immense charisma. People who throughout their lives have dreamed of being kings,
rulers, despots, terrorist, revolutionaries or saviors I have been fortunate enough to have
dreamed of being all these things and more! As I grew older, I learned that these were
not separate dreams-but one. Time clarified that, and thus I began to fortunate how to
make this vision (as I called it) a reality. In doing so I would have to manipulate the
public·s perception of me, as one of them. Now I quickly accomplished that on a small
scale. But that was merely the first step. The second was to develop a philosophy that
would last for over two-thousand years. That·s where I ran into my first problem. I slowly
built a personal philosophy, and slowly alienated certain groups I had acquired
acceptance by. There were holes in my plan, holes that I alone, could not repair.
So I gathered friends who I thought would help see my vision through. And they
more than likely would have, had not self-doubt and delusion stepped in to help see
me down. It just wasn·t my time. I sought to join the world in Chaos. But I failed every
test set before me. I had always done well on test in school. It was homework that I
wouldn·t do. And it would seem that·s where my second mistake was made. You see
my philosophy took from the ´big threeµ; Anarchy, Chaos, and Nihilism with the politics
of the first, the spirituality of the second and, the attitude of the latter. To truly make this
stick though, I needed more, I had neither seen, nor read enough to make it sufficient
So this is where my friends came in. I thought with the right marketing I could cover the
holes long enough for me to fill them. Little did I realize that friends often drag you down
worse than enemies and seeing as how I was my own worst enemy that immediately
back fired?
So there I found myself, twenty-one years of age, barely a man, barely able to
walk, having served in two invisible wars and unable to handle my bowels. Time floats
by wafting in the air like cigarette smoke. I lay there with a girl who was not a girl
discussing personal politics and my own health issues. I felt congressional. I felt
responsible. I had spent far too long dwelling on what got me here, when I knew all
along. Now was time to put things right move forward Maybe I should visit my mother·s

When I was growing up I saw myself becoming a Malcolm X or Martin Luther King character. I was young and
bright, creative, with a gift for gab. I wanted to be remembered. I wanted the world to know me. I wanted to be a
part of history. There was my first mistake. I did what I did for all the wrong reasons. My words were noble yet my
heart was not. So there in lied my second error. I allowed greed and selfishness to allow negativity to seep in. Then
in my selfishness I felt I could become so much more. I envisioned myself a Jesus figure. And thus began my
ultimate downfall. The negativity pushed me towards the occult and the darker aspects of life. There I stayed for
over five years. At twenty-two I had wasted much of the potential I had. Drank away most of my creativity, and let
my other qualities rot in the background. Then I discovered the other side of magik and the occult, I found that my
potential lied only in becoming a cult leader or guru, options which at one point interested me, but no longer
intrigued me.

Love, Sex, Power, Romance,
You want me to talk about poetry,
Well I can sling a rhyme,
I could write great romances
I could talk of kings, queens,
And heroes alike
I could speak of pussy and fights,
And tell you of heartaches and breaks
I can teach you the ends and outs
Of selling yourself-
And still not say anything
I can write songs of times gone,
Tell you about yourself a hundred
Ways till dawn, and still not
Even touch whatÆs truly going on
I could speak of movies and records,
CDÆs, eight-tracks and tapes
But nothing I could ever do will
Match what I say

Sometimes it·s all in how you look at it.

Sex is a truly powerful thing. Mind over matter, to express how I feel will only shatter this
beautiful thing we call a game. (Because) We can͛t figure out its real name. My mind is a puzzle
with all the pieces missing, I just keep hoping and wishing that one of these days it͛ll all make
I smell taste Tequila

We don͛t always do what͛s right for ourselves. We sometimes fall short of our
ideals. What are ideals anyway, beliefs set up between actuality and conception.
Any ideal will be proven false, as all reality.

Put a lime in my pocket

It is sometimes sad that we do not always get what we want. Only what we need.
Sad more so because, of the fact that the two so often differ dramatically. Why is
it that we always tend to want more? Why does greed constantly over take us?

Q: What did the acorn say when it fell?
A: Now I am a tree!

People talk of Jesus as being good/evil, beyond temptation and what
not. When it comes down to it though it¶s all in how it was written

You see we have to branch away from outdated definitions of good and
evil. What are they but words?

The reason one experiences senses of dread and hopelessness while under the influence of substances, so much as
it is, that we live in a dreadful reality. Rather than increase inebriation we should work towards a more pleasant
reality. So that way we can all be drunk, all the time.

If someone keeps telling you, that you worship the devil, sooner or
later you might find that you do. After years of putting on a mask,
you find the mask won¶t come off.

If you open yourself to all possibilities nothing is impossible.

Don¶t take these words so

A man once told me a story:
You see he had this watch he had bought at a Pawn Shop. It was a gold Swiss Army watch, he
loved it treated it better than he did himself most nights. The watch stopped working three
weeks after he got it. Then he bought a cheap pocket watch from a department store and once
left it outside in the rain for two days, and the watch (which he still has) lasted him over three

Carolina Kudzu
When I was younger,
Not a man of 25
I felt alone but II felt alive,
As I grew on this path
I stopped loving and learned to laugh
My mind it wanders,
To thoughts of suicide
Yet I keep strong,
Strength through pride
No longer with reason, no longer with rhyme
Only anger and pain inside


So I walk alone on summer nights, downtown with the only voice coming from car
radios as they whizz by. I listen to the city, the buzz of neon light filaments, and the whir of
oversized air conditioning units. I hear the wind blow the stop lights and some odd insects
mating call. I hear the solitary rustle of my own feet, occasionally passing other ghost like
myself. We don͛t make eye contact. So who knows if the other is real? Occasionally I͛ll pass a
drunk and see future versions of myself. I feel as if I have to escape- always.

Always running, never, stopping never was altering the path blind,
and unseeing, unknown, and unknowing following nothing listening
to the wind.

Stop and ask yourself what day it is. Then ask yourself how you know that. Who taught
you how to tell time? And who taught them?

I love her lips on my cock my hands on the back of her
head. I love it when she uses her teeth. Fuck her-fuck me-
fight the forces of evol!


Chapter next: Return from

It·s Saturday (Saturn·s day), I sit alone in my empty apartment. Staring into my filthy carpet,
waiting for a woman to come and fix my hair. I have been trying to write this down for two weeks. It has been
nearly one year
since I last wrote in this journal. Summer is about to return and I feel the heat through the
gray clouds which darken the afternoon sky. I hear the birds and the children playing. The phone rings again.
It really hasn·t stopped since I got it. I hear Afghan Whigs on the stereo popping and crackling as the record
spins. I have to write fast now-company·s coming. The last eight months have been a whirl wind of egomania,
popularity ascension, misguided love affairs and paranoia. I probably didn·t spell that right but no turning back
It all began with the arrival of my mentor and subsequent father figure Jeff Joyce. He arrived from
Puerto Rico and immediately climbed into my window
. For a month we partied, insulted, and I drank our way
through both of our bank accounts and several dozen titty-bars. Over $900 was spent reminding this town we
were its kings and reminding ourselves why we couldn·t stay. His visit prompted me to spend the summer in
contemplation and Anarchy. I broke laws and sacrificed virgins. Fucked whores and got arrested. By fall I had
and STD
and a house arrest waiting. I made some wrong turns and got his message confused. But all was not
lost. The STD was cured and the house arrest brought me a flock of eternal followers. The children came to
me by the dozen and listened intensely as I drank and sang and danced, ate glass and bottle caps recalling the
old days when we who came before them were young and out of control
. Climbing roof tops and eating acid
running around this small ¶burg in search of ourselves and a good time. We dominated the then and we laminate
the now. Our joints stiff from our adventures and our minds left scared from the drugs.

My odyssey started when I realized that my eternal quest may have been flawed by those I chose to
surround myself with and the lovers I chose to take. So I tried to change that. I broadened my spectrum of
partners (both in crimes and in bed). Now it·s been nearly a year, and I sit alone sipping beer listening to Tom
Waits, reflecting on my recent transgressions. I know a little more now.

Eight months to be exact!
Sprague Street Represent!

About Death-
I have known of Death since for as long as I can remember. I have lost a cousin and an
uncle to violence. I have lost a cousin to Aids; I have lost my aunt and my mother to cancer. I
have lost countless friends and acquaintances to accidents, drug overdoses and what not. I
have come to terms with my own mortality and with that of those around me. I have dealt
with it on so many levels, which if it were not to happen that would surprise me. I was sitting
at my great-grandmothers (granny·s) funeral when I begin to ask myself ´what was I doing.µ I
f I died tomorrow or the next day would I be pleased at how my story was told. ´School yard
bully, turned child genius, turned social outcast, turned criminal, turned would-be terrorist
found dead of boredom. Or shot by some jealous ex-lover or vengeful enemy or envious friend. Is
that the epitaph I truly wish to leave? Is this my worth a small cadre of acolytes and an army
of scorned lovers and acquaintances. Do I wish to mark my path with embittered companions?
Hell No! Then why is it the life I lead running from arms, bed to bed.

What is it I fear? Truly Fear. Is it giving in or giving up? Is it the loneliness of failure?
I have failed before. I have been alone always. Do I fear my own mind? I claim, or have
claimed to be capable of many acts of horror, yet have committed any simple acts of ludicy and
chaotic disruption, both on minute scales. Is it losing me to forces beyond my control? Though,
I tout Chaos, and beauty in all its forms. I fall short of letting go of what·s buried inside me. I
may never be free as long as I hold these last secrets. But it is these secrets which drive me. It is
the depths in which I have sunk that have shown me what man is capable of. I do fear that.
But that is not all, and what of death? Why is living without secrets more terrifying than
dying with them? I can see death, it is warm, inviting, it will be a release, it will be the long
rest I have struggled for since birth. Or at least since assuming the responsibilities of walking
down this path in which I have chosen. I do not fear that. Though letting go of those
responsibilities, releasing myself from the yoke of my secret deeds is a thought I cannot bear to
entertain. It seems like a joke, a mistake, or something equally trivial. Death to me has never
been a joke, never an item of trivial pursuit (a fantasy maybe) something to ponder
The idea of mass murder floated through my prepubescent mind like candy and video
games to thirteen year-old boys. Other kids took LSD and saw visions of wonder and color, I
on the other hand saw rivers of blood and water color pictures of Jonestown. I never had

nightmares of dying, not once have I woken up in the middle of the night afraid that I was
going to die. Does this make me a bad person? Does this make me evil or fearless? ´Is evil
something that you do or something that you are?µ
My friends seem to feel that I am some
demon-spawned freak. I don·t know myself. I personally don·t feel evil until people surround
me and berate me with the word. Most of my ´friendsµ are just self-destructive death
worshippers or so scared shitless of death they fall face first into the trappings of modern
society. This is in all senses a death culture. Our whole society is set up to either produce dead
heroes or their slaves and pawns. We glorify acts of valor which lead to death. We hold
material items higher than the dead animals and plants their made from. We follow advice
from the dead. We follow religions centered on the afterlife. It·s a wonderful concept: Tell
people that if they follow your rules they·ll be rewarded when they die, take their money and
make them fight for you. Genius!

About Fear-
Fear is the ultimate fighting weapon of Order. Fear is the most dangerous elemental
agent of control. Fear dominates America (a nation of paranoid fanatics). Everyone·s running
around in fear of the government, law enforcement, disease, image, God, and each other. The
nightly news is filling us all with a healthy dose each night, at 5, 6, 10 and 11. Fear of
weather, fear of natural disaster. Fear of animals, humans, insects, and microscopic germs.
Fear of criminals, police, and our own children. Fear of losing it, fear of getting it. Fear of
seeing it, fear of missing it. Why? What do we have to fear? Fear it·s self? Ha! Death is
inevitable, inescapable. Life however is something we can change, shape, mold, or give into fate
and despair. Become victims of circumstance or rulers of chance. Why is it man runs from
destiny rather than runs his destiny? Man building monuments to his fears, hiding in towers of
fright, evading his fears with fast cars and giant metal birds, trying to escape his demons by
creating elaborate fantasies and calling them religions. The evil that men do comes not from
Hell or above, but from within. Man is his own enemy. Fear is his own demon. I no longer
want to ´stay paranoidµ
; I am prepared-ready even-to go head long, balls out, into the driven
snow and beat a path of resistance and revolution. I am tired of cowering behind intellectual
ideals and words of wisdom. No ancient text can save us now. We have gone too far. Science
has replaced myth and the only prophets left are on Comedy central. My eyes and heart hurt
from the view of the world. A planet so in fear of its own mortality it has erected eons of
foolish euphemisms to mask its fear of death. Why else would we wake up to put ourselves
through grueling agony to provide useless trinkets of our absurd homeopathic death culture?
We are a lost race. And mine is a lost generation of this lost race. So blinded by Gods message
we cannot attain Gods visage. The beauty of life and of the earth is lost to us because we seek
to discover it when all we had to do was step back and look. Nothing you find inside of a
mountain itself. But I digress. Eco wars should have been waged a hundred years ago. The so

From Morrisseyૹs ૼSister Iૹm a Poet૽
A little something my good friend Ibrahim used to say.
called Industrial Revolution signaled the apocalyptic end of man. Now all is left is to speed up
the process. Mankind has become a plague upon the earth. His ignorance and greed consume all
that is beautiful. And none can be spared, even the few who understand and see. But I fear it
may already be too late.
Fear of the unknown has driven us to desecrate the stars and rape the heavens.
Spreading our mechanical junk across the universe; polluting the very thing that gave all its life.
No longer sedated by pillaging our foster parents (sky and ground) we run from our inner selves
more and more we destroy ourselves and the world around us. I write all this in fear that no
one else will. I live bodily in fear of dying being unnoticed. Fear is inescapable in our society.
We are programmed from birth. Inset into a world of paranoia. Maybe I should start my own

About Women-
The difference between the sexes is not physical. Our molecules are not different, our
blood is not different, and our minds however operate wave lengths. The female human play
elaborate mating games yet is torn by a need to be accepted as an equal to males. While on
many hands females are superior. The foolish rituals they undergo for sex, and the rituals they
force males through weaken and discredit their gender. They fall short of gaining an upper
hand in the so-called ´battle between the sexesµ simply because they seek an upper hand. They
turn the idea of love making into competition; between other women and toward men. They
compete for orgasms and pride. They flaunt their personage while touting their mentality.
´Woman the Holy mythµ
is how I think the CRASS line goes. ´A gift to mans perfectionµ,
it goes on to say. I·m pretty sure that·s dead on. I·ve yet to meet a woman that lived up to my
expectations. They either exceed or fall short of my anticipations. Though, all have been
somewhat unique in their own ways, they still all resemble each other in most ways. Perfect
contradictions of lust and logic, of reason and insanity, Paraded around in glamour
contraptions of pasty made up images of plastic icons.

In fact I did for a while, it was called the Piedmont Community Cult, and it never quite made it off the ground
Itૹs from the song ૼSmother Love૽ by early British punk rock group CRASS

Shit from Shine-o-la

Pedigree Mutha-fukas

Alcoholic Birthright!
This is my Alcoholic Birthright
To sin on these sheets
My dick between your legs
Your pussy in my head
The smell of cheap wine
Makes for a good time
Lost thoughts to the bathroom floor
Don͛t snap your fingers at me
I͛m as ready as I͛ll ever be!
Don͛t forget to come
My love child wrapped in a
Onion shell
When I cut you͛ll cry
This wine is making me thirsty
How do I drive this car?
Falling from a shooting star
This is all there ever was
Keep your clothes on


I try to retrace, yet again«I have no excuses for my current state of existence. No guise for my face. ³I
am what I am´ like Popeye the Sailor man. I tried blaming my father. But he was only eighteen when I
was born. I am now 23 (magical # for Chaos). Older than he was at my birth, I can see now he was not
ready for me. I know I myself could not have handled a child at eighteen. Hell I couldn¶t handle a child
now. He was young and inexperienced and made mistakes... I mean we are practically the second
generation of men raised by women. How can we possibly know how to be men? So he¶s no excuse.
So then I look at the drugs. This too is no excuse. There are plenty, i.e. hundreds of people who
own their own businesses.

~I am from a generation of hate. A generation so aware of the past they go to great lengths not
to repeat its mistakes. I exist in a sub-culture so filled with angst and passionate disdain we risk
losing our very humanity to our insecure fears and need to become individuals. We¶re striving to
make our mark bigger than our fore-fathers. We¶re striving to be the best we can be. But, run
blindly into repetition. After all it¶s all just a cycle.

Now its fall, when the leaves come crashing down. Green turns to brown and seasonal
emotions go from good times to thoughts of death. I walk around listening to be-bop, hip-hop
sounds, and blasting out the cars of southern white boys whose fore-fathers would have
lynched them for their taste. I talk to no one but myself. Realizing just how far my mind has gone.
I find myself coming up on another stint behind bars. It seems I catch all stops on the Karma
wheel. My grandmother, love of my life, and everyday inspiration, lays crying in a hospital, she
tries desperately to hold on to her pride. I live only a few blocks away from the hospital, deep
within a suburban swamp. I never thought I would be inࣛ questioning (yet again) my direction.
Confronted yet again that I canࣛt be what I was, but have to start living as what I am. At best I
could say that ࣞI could have been Jesusࣟ, ࣞI would have been Jesusࣟ, but I didnࣛt have what it
took. But, I can still touch some with that sparkle in my right eye, and that sly half smile. I think I
need to go to jail, or at least away. Remove myself from my friends, family, and life. The style I
chose was not the most successful. I need to break from the parties, the drinking, the sex, the
love. Isolation has always been positive for prophets. And being that I canࣛt be the prophet
doesnࣛt mean I canࣛt be a prophet right?
Yeah right. I donࣛt even exist anymore. Iࣛve let myself become more of an idea than a
person. The venue of my expression remains a question, the avenue of my dementia not. My
eyes cross at the thought of digging any deeper into my own soul. I wanted to be superficial for
awhile. Three years past now Iࣛm just an asshole. I saw inside me more darkness and evil than I
thought in the world. I reflect on my child hood, on recent years. I try not to think too hard on the
future or at least the immediate. I do find myself thinking a bit too much on the distant future,
and how I will be remembered. But it becomes far too apparent that Iࣛve had one too many hits
of acid, two too many joints, and about three hundred too many beers. Now my role is reduced
to universal class clown/Cosmic fool.
I thought I had something to say. Maybe I did once. Maybe I should have listened when I
was talking. Could-a, should-a, would-a, but didnࣛt and now Iࣛm out of style and almost out of
time. Where Iࣛm at now my game stands exposed and I feel let down by life. I set out to bring
down God, but instead humbled myself before the universal law of-ࣞwhat goes around comes
Whatࣛs left, what else is there to do? Create albums on the Play Station? Give way to a
new generation of digirati-technocrats. Everyone is scrambling for their piece of the pie,
reaching and grabbingࣧ

aze/nights pass months become years

´We had our hands on our future-but blew it to save our own lives!µ
-from the ´Gooniesµ

~I feel funny~

The sound of my own voice intoxicates me

I wish we all could be high!

Who could have foreseen
Who could have known?
My life·s work is gone,
Gone, gone, gone«

1 2 3 4 5

Hell Raising Hillbilly¶s
from Hell

February 6

Last week I lost the
remainder of everything I
had left. Now I¶m sitting in a
local bar sipping on
Budweiser (king of Beers).
Over the last year I have lost
both my grandmother and
my great-grandmother.


Bad sex with someone you love is better than good sex with
someone you don¶t

I am not going to sit on my ass take hold of and let the events of my life take hold of what and who I am!

Real insanity is living in this world of shit and like it!

Kitchen Table
Mattress (4)
Box Springs (2)
Books (70 or 80)
Computer monitor
End tables (2)
Cable Box and remote
Universal remote
Paintings (4)
Plants (3)
Coats (16)
Comic Books
Sculptures (around 12)
Video tapes (around 30)
A box of collected artwork
Art supplies
Desk (2)
Cork board
Mementos (12 or so)
Trinkets (unknown amount)
Curtains bathroom supplies

There is no way did the place seem abandoned
threw away select items. I was uncertain whether I
was robbed or not when I first discovered the place.
The land lord Ali had talked with me on the 20
said I had to the end of the month. Then on the 26

he entered without permission and began removing
all of my and my roommateૹs personal items and
throwing them away things were boxed, packed, and
sealed. They even went through a box I had made to
mail a friend and.
My vague aloofness has made you wonder about my intelligence. For the record I am not stupid merely crazy.

The day the Earth stood still;

I walked out of Elkton Ohio, November 5
2001, a slightly changed man. My mind and heart
were recommitted to the causes that lead me on this path so many years ago. My spirit
however retained the passion and fire always and craved the excitement of Dzthe My
friends were confused, unsure how to take the new L.
I never claimed to be in any way shape or form a good guy. I am not a good man,
mediocre, maybe but not good. My first night I came back to Winston-Salem NC, I slept hard
on the couch I left. The next night I went to the bar (OǯCasey) and drank free beer and smoked
weed until 4:30 in the morning with my favorite DzBart-tenderdz. He drove me home and gave
me $40 bucks and told me to Dzhave fundz. Which is of course what I did? The next night high on
the couch I turned to two of my youthful protégés and said, DzSomething wicked this way
comedz, and no sooner said did my old flame (LAV2
) waltzed in the front door. We eyed each
other for a minute before the passion reignited and the urge to grope one another returned.
She spent the night, and the next, and the next one after that. Then I spent the night with her,
before she left. Off to see the world after a brief month in Jamaica.
Romantic isnǯt it, two lovers star crossed and lonely. Clinging to each other like leeches.
Love is a sickness, a disease like cancer thatǯs terminal.

Letter A Virgo # 2, which stands for the fact that both Amber and Audra were Virgoૹs I began using it as a short
hand way of referring to them in my prison diaries.
Nothing is in Order: 5*2*00

Murder Rape
Death Pillage
Cult Murder

A. You were true Love affair.
If you ever want to look me up!


Two people can never go back to the way they were.
But they can meet on down the line.
We are at an apex, a time when histories converge with modern times. These are the periods that
overlap just before a new era is born.

Our fates and our souls are marching towards and ecstatic destiny


In Chaos there are no accidents, mistakes or coincidencesૹ. There are only the wonders of Chaos.
The wonders of Chaos allow us to stumble into our destinies.

We cannot control anything it is not our way.

A. Man cannot walk on water, and not get wet!


What is life worth if not for sin?
Life is valuable, but how would we know if not for sin? Whether you like it or not everything has
value. Be it a price tag or a paycheck everything in life has meaning. To separate the meaning
would make things unvaluable.
To show respect for life you must first make it valuable. How does one make one·s life valuable?
Good question! The answer is Sin. Think about it; something as priceless as life should not be
measures and valued on; money, possessions, property, wealth, or even health. A valuable life can
only be measures by something cosmic, something bigger than man made things. The price of life is
valued on the wages of sin. It is sin that shoes us why life is worth living right? Sin is the
measure of life. If you are not willing to risk sinning something then it simply isn·t worth it so the
question then becomes what is life without sin? The answer is simple; Life is naught for sin!

(Atlanta is a chick town; i.e. a chick
movie, or chick music)
Atlanta, GA;
-not for wanting to sound contrite, but there is something to be said for
towns centered on its universities. I think it͛s a uniquely southern thing.
When our biggest city is still based mostly around its colleges and the jobs
it attracts. This I feel is the biggest similarity between Winston-Salem, NC
(a.k.a. Waiting-Salem), and Atlanta, GA (a.k.a. Winston-Salem, Georgia).
Though the similarities only begin there. Right down to the very T, this
haven for self-righteous losers, matches-up with my former home. Atlanta
is Winston, Raleigh, Charlotte, and Greensboro all rolled into one; And
proud of it to boot.
I look out at the sea of faces I view on a day to day basis, and see endless
replicas of losers I knew. I see in their eyes the souls of those I͛ve passed
on the way. It͛s hard not to slip into generalizations. I forget sometimes,
that I am dealing with images and not individuals. I wonder how I myself am
perceived-even at all. The main shock to my system has been the
abundance of what I call ͞Hoochie Culture͟.
I feel the hands of time upon me. I am not as young as I once felt. My
hands and eyes are tired, sometimes I want to give in, but the show must
go on.


Queen Mab, Queen Mab, Queen Mab, Queen Mab, Queen Mab, Queen Mab, Queen Mab, Queen Mab,
Queen Mab, Queen Mab, Queen Mab, Queen Mab, Queen Mab, Queen Mab, Queen Mab, Queen Mab,
Queen Mab, Queen Mab, Queen Mab, Queen Mab, Queen Mab, Queen Mab, Queen Mab, Queen Mab,
Queen Mab, Queen Mab, Queen Mab, Queen Mab, Queen Mab, Queen Mab, Queen Mab, Queen Mab,
Queen Mab, Queen Mab, Queen Mab, Queen Mab, Queen Mab, Queen Mab, Queen Mab, Queen Mab,
Queen Mab, Queen Mab, Queen Mab, Queen Mab, Queen Mab, Queen Mab, Queen Mab, Queen Mab,
Queen Mab, Queen Mab, Queen Mab, Queen Mab, Queen Mab, Queen Mab, Queen Mab, Queen Mab,
Queen Mab, Queen Mab, Queen Mab, Queen Mab, Queen Mab, Queen Mab, Queen Mab, Queen Mab,
Queen Mab, Queen Mab, Queen Mab, Queen Mab, Queen Mab, Queen Mab, Queen Mab, Queen Mab,
Queen Mab, Queen Mab, Queen Mab, Queen Mab, Queen Mab, Queen Mab, Queen Mab, Queen Mab,
Queen Mab, Queen Mab, Queen Mab, Queen Mab, Queen Mab, Queen Mab, Queen Mab, Queen Mab,
Queen Mab, Queen Mab, Queen Mab, Queen Mab, Queen Mab, Queen Mab, Queen Mab, Queen Mab,


Where r all the lazy douche bags?
Where r all the queens and the fags?
Who r the dead beats and lazy kids?
Where do you keep them where r they hid?
I wanna find·em
I wanna meet·em
I wanna eat·em
Screaming donkey·s r at the gate
Screaming for all the things that I hate
Screaming fission all over my kitchen
With such division, all you wishing
There·s no wonder daddy·s bitch·n
The blood of Palm trees
Brings momma to her knees
All the things
That daddy sees
A swarm of happy bees
The lost colonies
I share my love for the past
Keep it tight and hold fast

The Real War
The Real War is not I Afghanistan. The Real War is not fought on some foreign soil in some
distant remote nation few average Americans have heard of. The IQ of the nation¶s adults is dropping as
the generation that inspired national testing matures. Remember the big scare back in the first Bushes
administration. When we were told American kids scored just above Guatemala in intelligence. Funny,
now those kids can vote. Our frat ±boy/King president has led us into war: A war that parades on the
national media to be against terrorism. Particularly; Middle Eastern/Islamic and foreign terrorism,
yet we are warned everyday of foreign terrorist in America waiting to strike. Now I don¶t know about
the rest of you. But I can¶t even get a driver¶s license and I grew up in America. Born and raised in
North Carolina. I have met men who couldn¶t smuggle drugs across state lines. I have personally felt the
wrath of American Law Enforcement. And as much as I thought about it; I have never tried to raise a
terrorist cell within America.
Now I am to be led to believe that all this Homeland Security is in my best interest. Cameras have been
appearing over streets and buildings for the past twenty years.

Make away when you can!

Billy Bob Jenkins
º.Forward through the rabbit hole. Life moves pretty fast, someone once said ÃIf you donÆt look around youÆll miss it.Ä I have been through a lot of ups and
downs, I think I have seen a lot, but I know there is still more the world has to offer. I donÆt want to experience other cultures yet. I would rather create my


Iʂm high right now listening
to Petey Pavblo on the
playstation. Later I will be in
New York wishing I had this
money I blew, but right now
it was worth it.

L 8 Octa*gon
7 Hexa*gon
5 Penta*gon

Is it reality you see or is it a dream


My Atlanta experience has been fruitful on many levels. This is truly the city of Outkast. Their
influences are all around me. I see a lot of Winston here. It·s retarded though; it·s like a, chick movie or
chick music. Guys are welcome to watch them and even fuck them, but they only like gay guys. The
funny thing is they don·t have a lot of cats. They have an over abundance of dogs and bays. Maybe
the woman is losing her grip and man is taking over. I wonder what draws people to Atlanta, maybe
it·s Outkast?
Mechanical/Sexual Animal

I walk these streets alone at night, taking the long winding journey home from work. I try to be brave,
but I walk in the center of most of the back streets I slip down. I don·t want to be surprised by the cops
or the shadows. I duck and jump afraid of one of the many rabid possums I have seen slipping in the
darkness. I don·t see too many police, but when they see me they stop, question me, and roll on. Not
very much, but gentle harassment not like Winston, they·re used to harassing punks. They·re not
new at this.
I had an awkward arrival that won·t be made right until payday. My job is nothing special and will
be easily forgotten. I write and draw, creating collages of my life now. In between studying my
surroundings and checking emails from my ex. My living arrangements are tenuous at best. I bicker
and argue with my first love over animosity she saved up for two years. Now that I·m back in her life
she vents to me the stress of my absence. So to escape this I smoke more weed and work and work more
hours. I zone out to Jerry Springer and Porn. Bad movies are rented but once a good one got in.
Ironic thing was it had first been introduced to me by my ex. My second love has been taunting me
via the wondrous internet. She toys with my heart strings and emotions. Just as she did while I was
with her, and while I sat in prison.
I feel that if I don·t meet someone new soon I will go mad. I do not wish this trip to be in vain. I need to
leave Atlanta with at least one new friend. I look in unlikely places, but feel it·s time to try the likely
ones. I will be out of this place sooner than I thought, and longer than I estimated. It·s funny how the
brain functions when high on weed. It had been so long it feels like another life. In fact everything
before 2002 feels like another life. I wonder what that means.
XXX feature

If I had killed 100 people for the last seven days, then maybe I would feel better about things. Instead I¶m
sitting here on this couch feeling like shit. It¶s 4:41 in the morning, officially Saturday, yet it¶s still Friday
until I go to sleep. I¶m watching ³Girls Gone Wild´ infomercials on TV (standard late-night fare). I knew
when I walked out of work I wouldn¶t be home until after 4:30, I wouldn¶t be high until after five, and I
wouldn¶t be asleep until I jerked off. These ³wild´ girls are all over ATL, at work I can hardly keep my
eyes in my head. I don¶t stand a chance with any of them. I¶m not trying. My mind is attempting to stay
focused on reaching New York and the ³wild´ girl that is gone from my life.
It¶s funny; my life in ATL didn¶t really begin until I got a job. That¶s actually more sad than
funny. I had hoped to luck into some crazed coed college girl action like on TV. Instead my frazzled
dread locks and dirty blue jeans make me look worse than the average Atlanta crack head. My boots are
busted open and my pockets are empty. The first three weeks at work were spent in my usual misery. I
walked to and from what is known as the Virginia-Highlands, a name that conjures up images of Scottish
red-necks, in kilts, and pick-up trucks. Instead the area is populated with undergrad yuppies to be. I
watched them desperately for my first three weeks, my hair falling out, trying not to snap. I dreamed
everyday of all the things I would buy with my future wealth. Shoes, a bag of weed, a bus pass. I would
take a cab home on those late nights when I didn¶t get off work until three or four. My mind danced
thinking over all that I would buy. Only once I got my check it was already gone. I had one night out with
my current brother-in-law
. Then my money was gone, I had given back to Amber, because I had taken
so much. After she took half my check I gave the bartenders of the Virginia-Highlands the other half,
which put me back on my feet-walking again for the next two weeks. Though I wasn¶t mad, I knew the
next check would be different-it were all mines!
I bought my shoes and some gifts for Amber to enjoy, and began spending the last seven days up in the
Virginia-Highlands boozing and carousing about meeting freaks and weirdoes and insane Scottish red-
necks and yuppies. I bought my bag of weed too! I am enjoying the last of it as I write this. I have smoked
most of it with a friend I have made at work; a bucked toothed 19 year-old red-neck pot-head, from
, Georgia. He¶s the kind of wig-dog, punk that would have hung out in Clemmons, North
Carolina circa 1994. The kind of kid I would have run with back when I first broke free of Mocksville.
Riding around listening to Beastie Boys-I still listen to the Beastie Boys. Now it¶s behind the line at
Neighbors Pub! When I left work tonight the bartender called me over to the bar where I been posted for
the last seven days. He gave me a stern warning for talking to his girlfriend.

I feel I need to document the phenomenon that is
Jerry Springer. He is the King of All Media. More so than
the titles original name sake. He is a mirror to our current
world even post-Sept. 11; it was Jerry that returned us to
normal. Alongside wrestling¶s Vince McMahon, Jerry is a
marker for this current generation. Guest often say they
grew up on Jerry. The show has lasted for some time now.
These men are in line with my own attack on American

$hane Money Moore
Somewhere deep in southeastern Georgia where the raise peanuts and Hell!

I¶m dying to cheat
Sex for Sale
Bizarre Love Triangles
First time Lesbian Lust
Happy Hooker Hour
Wild Sex Jobs
Torrid Tales of Prostitution
Family Secrets
And don¶t forget Attack of the Home Wreckers
2 episodes per every 24 hour cycle
Introducing Jerry politics-the

The very curve of u womunըs thlgh,
Hus me pooplng off lnslde her eye
I pussy-porno flend
And I ulm to pleuse
Outslde ltըs over u hundred degrees
But I found the shude when I purted her knees
The fountuln of youth ls
The pool thut glves blrth
Iըll swlm uround ln lt for ull Iըm worth
I love the wuy your nulls dlg ln my buck
I push hurder wlth mlne so donըt cut me no
Vlslons of extruterrestrluls
Lylng on u sturshlp wlth u mllllon guls
Huss thls ls the ponderosu
And we gonnu burn lt down
So whut you know good
ATL Georgia
I love taking the train when I¶m high. When I walk high I feel awkward and off balance, and it¶s as if the
whole world is watching. They all notice me and know something is off kilter. They are all aware that I am not right.
On the train no one is right. If they were they would have a car. So amongst the MARTA passengers I see on each
journey I am nothing special, my walk is not distinguishable. Here at the train station I am lost as me of the masses in

We are trapped in a Hoochie Nation; Tight shirts, low rider/hip
hugger jeans, short skirts and hair done like models. Millions of young
females desperately trying to look like a magazine add. The streets of ATL
are filled with waifs in painted on cloths clicking their high heels. Their
stilettos sound like the heels of jack-booted Nazis. They¶re fascist

fashionistas out to make all women Hoochies. It began long ago when their
queen Madonna elevated to sainthood.

Cool Breeze
Big Gipp
Cee Lo
Big Boi
Andre 3000
Witch Doktor
Organized Noise


No sign of you?

In 182 days I will be a quarter of a century. I am currently getting situated in the Bronx,
NY, amidst ghetto thugs and Puerto-Rican Hoochies. The weather is hot and life is getting good
for a change. My relationships with my lovers are falling apart. My mind and heart are torn and I
don¶t mind. Weed is smoked regularly by my cousin, who is presently keeping me housed and
fed, though the lack of self suffering is gnawing at my pride. I hope soon to be employed and
drinking on Jack Daniels that I bought.

I just assumed that these rappers and performers would just be walking around Atlanta waiting to meet me.
New York is not what I had expected. I imagined as a 13 year old boy that the city would
be filled with four legged rats and garbage piled a mile high. Instead the rats drive Mercedes
and the garbage is blocked by thirty foot neon billboards that move like TV. Huge posters of
fashion models and Spiderman, sirens and music covers the gun claps. The city sounds like my
dreams rather than nightmares. The affordable public transit is bliss and the congestion helps
me smoke less.
I cower away at times the unexpected emotional baggage I brought up with me keeps
me in. I¶m trying to shake this blues feeling. I sit on the 11
floor of my cousin¶s apartment and
mope over mistakes I made. But, I feel here I have a chance to truly start over. I had better heed
the call. Here in the second year of the new millennia, I must make a choice to change or stay
the same. Now is my time.
Everyone keeps telling me to work on my issues. For so long I denied they even existed.
Throwing up my hands and saying ³What issues, guy with issues doesn¶t have a face like this.´
Little did I know we all have issues and some of us choose to work on them, some of us don¶t?
Those that do grow-up so to speak, they mature and lead happy productive lives. Which the rest
of us hit a wall in our growth and development. And as much as I talk a good game, I hit that
wall four years ago. I haven¶t grown a lick since.
Not to say I haven¶t learned anything, I learned all about drugs and guns, and stealing
shit, and playing with knives, treating people (especially women) like shit. I learned about hiding
and being invisible to the law. I learned the ins and outs of the legal system, and how to stay
alive in prison. All the things you need to know when you¶re scum. I became a consumer of
trash culture, and a clairvoyant thing. I immersed myself in the filth and dirt of the world. All so I
wouldn¶t have to grow up and face the reality that everything doesn¶t always go like you want.
It was a long hard lesson, one that I won¶t forget anytime soon. But, now for myself and
those close to me I must put that aside and focus on being a better person. Not a better thug.
Maybe I¶ll be a little fat baby Buddha or a angry Krishna, some divine urban monk for Chaos (of
I look out over this city so recently wet with rain. I hear the sounds of laughter and
screams of defeat. Young and old lives hung out to dry. A million old clichés come to mind.
There¶s someone cooking fish somewhere. I think I should go and walk around tonight. Soak up
some local color. Maybe I¶ll meet a new female to practice starting over on. It would seem the
sins of my past will not forgive me.
I f I had my wish I would spend each night in bed with the two women I loved. Money
and Time would not exist. The world would revolve around my desires and God would come
over with Jesus and Lucifer to play Spades and all the world would be put on the table.

Go West young man~

~Shiny Happy Mutha Fuckaڊs

To take it like a man is to act like a boy!

Screw the Human Race-God Did!

Once and forevermore things won`t be the same-until

I often visualize myself as some modern monk, a master of dishwasher kung fu, and monkey
style fighting techniques. A voodoo shaman priest: who wields the magik of Chaos, as a warrior for
fascist individualism? A rouge commander of an invisible army, made up almost entirely of young ultra
hip next level playas and hustlas with our ear to the streets as we stay ten steps ahead of the crowd.
Yet we all secretly realize that nothing ever really changes because energy van not is changed. We
unspeakingly agree that our war is just a game the universe plays with itself and that our war is just a
game the universe plays with its self and that all life is merely god masturbating itself and nothing really
dies. Some would call that a hallucination-if I hadn·t convinced them otherwise.

Nobody I know is being themselves. Well I take that back-most people I
know are busy trying not to be something that they are not. I have friends
who are so busy trying to be hip, cool, and downtown that they neglect who
they are. Andy and Tim busy being rock stars and characters, Amber and
Audra in their various make up each deny their past. Me and Josh in our
washed-up hustler outfits trying to hold on to love that¶s not real, both of us
dying to be ourselves and free. My character is the worst, so busy trying to
destroy he destroys only himself.

My head is throbbing from car alarms, lightning bolts, and all of the weed
that I¶ve smoked. I feel my finger tips and all the joints in my knees. It¶s
going to be hell to pay when I¶m old«If I¶m old. I want to burn out right now.
That¶s what characters like me are good for. We don¶t fade away or drop
out really. We burn up in a super nova. Sometimes no one sees it.
Sometime everyone does. Then there are those times when only those
closest to you get to watch. Those are the worse. I¶m trying not to burn out
just yet I want the whole world watching. I wish there was another way to
be free. But, none of the other characters I¶ve watched have got it right.
And those who strive to be themselves every day seem to have it harder
than those that don¶t. So I realize I will just keep waking up putting on my
mask and enter the stage as my character until I finally burn out for good.
I was going to start my indictment of society this year. Then I realized who
am I to judge? All the dirt I have done is only a pebble to the dirt which
coats this Earth. I fancy myself a Chaos Bringer.

You can·t save the world with American flags on pizza boxes, stickers on your S.U.V., or painting stars and stripes on the hood of you ·78 Datson.

The desire to be famous and recognized by strangers is a disease
. We were all
infected by television and highway billboards. Cause and effect. Our souls were eaten
away by an alien devise known as marketing. We all want a fan base. As it stands I
will seek my own fan base. As it stands I will seek my own fan base compromised of
thousands upon thousands of little L̉s. By spreading my own personal belief that all
things are one and the individual is merely a conscious conduit of the extension of
the one true self known as God-who presents itself in various forms and anomalies in
order to wink at itself through the looking glass which is our reality. I will
explain this through highly complicated plots involving super heroes̉ rock stars
media darlings, animals, and comic books. I will write, draw and perform grand plays
in all my works for the remainder of my life. Nothing is sacred and stone will be
left unturned. I do this not so much to be famous but as to gather those of like mind
around me.

Project Militia

Of which I myself still have
Shit from Shine-o-la

4 When ls u purty not u purty?
A When lt ls u Democrut, Republlcun, or uny other
bloody polltlcul shlte!

If God is watching over us now it is in shame. For we have taken something beautiful
like life and twisted into something ugly like plastic. The forest is hidden from us by
forty-foot billboards.

We can¶t see the forest for the trees!

This is what
victory taste like.


Don¶t tread lightly just carry a big stick!
Somewhere we gotta draw the line/Below the Mason Dixon I
make mine/Pick up yo guns and yo truck boi-it¶s time/When we
get to the water every thang be fine/War ain¶t never ended-still
blue µgainst gray/South will rise again today/There ain¶t no other
way/Carolina don¶t play/Six dollar blade braking off in yo rib/ soup
bones drawing blood from yo lip/My mind on fire from this white
liquor/Corn shine-go figure/Cooked the fish watching Andy
Griffith/Slept on Mayberry sorry you missed it/Shadows bound to
fall/Raise up all of y¶all/Word on the street/You can never stop the
infinite beat-

My name for all intents and purposes is ³The L´ I was an average black boy from the sleepy North Carolina town of Winston-Salem.
As a young man growing up in the dirty South I went through my share of hardships. Losing my mother at 15 pushed me out into
the world. I began ³experimenting
´ with the night life. My Experiments awakened a long belief that I was the second coming of
Christ. A time moved on I was able to delude a few innocent, naive young kids desperate for a messiah. As my tiny following grew
so did my ego. This mixed horribly with my experiments with the night life. At age 19 I was out of control and found myself
running into the law. The next four years sent me over the edge. Drugs, alcohol and a small town ended landed me in prison in
2001. There it became painfully certain I was no messiah, but a scarred young man. Now I have set about to find some other
occupation, my gift being a knock for spinning yarns and exaggerating the truth to fit my needs. This is how the story begins truly.

I·ve been to prison, I·ve seen the hell
I·ve been to prison, I·ve something to tell
I·ve been to prison, I·ve seen the HELL
I·ve been to prison, I·ve something to SELL
(Repeat 5 xs)

Where a young man is cut down, shunned away from society,
Where there is brothas right where they ought to be
I never fit in with regular society,
That·s why prisons didn·t bother me
I met others that thought just like me
I met men that didn·t like where they be
I was one that fit right at home
Behind bars don·t mean shit to me


Away from men and all their deceit
Away from girl and all her world
Locked up inside shun the light of day
We lived by night and we liked it that way
9 to 5 and house with two kids
That·s not living that·s being sick
I never fit in with normal society
That·s why prison don·t mean shit to me
We·re better off without a society
What has man ever done for me?
I want to see it all fall down
The whole shit just ain·t working out


It never works baby
Society only huuuurts
Man is the evil
Culture our plague
Shun your society (yeah)
It never works baby
(Ad lib till fade)
A letter to a ´Friendµ

By experimenting I mean do a shit ton of drugs.

There are so many things I wish to say to you. Some of them I should say, some of them I shouldn·t. I decided
instead to let you live your life and move on as best as I could. Writing letters I will never send has been a habit of mine
since childhood. Not that you ever cared enough to find that sort of thing out. You see along with the hurt and heartache
I feel, comes resentment and regret. I resent how you·ve moved on and I remain locked in my pain. I regret that I
foolishly let our twisted relationship get this far.
I admit that I do thank you for luring me to this wonderful city, where I can feel the opportunity. As soon as I
am over you I have no doubt great success lies ahead. This so-called letter is the first step in my recovery. You have helped
me almost as much as you·ve hurt me over the brief time we·ve known each other. As I sit here in my cousins apartment,
overlooking the capital of the world. I get misty-eyed remembering our first chance encounter. The way you looked so
innocent, sitting at the end of my couch.
You moved in almost overnight. Slinking into my bedroom after the party was over, falsely complaining of cold.
Our first kiss began with you lying. I should have known how it would end.
Do you remember those first few weeks? The passionate sex, how you came back uninvited every night for a
week? After that I was hooked. I called you at 7:30 in the morning to beg you over before you left for work. Just so I
could bury my face between your heavenly thighs. So I could look into your gorgeous eyes and melt. It brings tears to my
eyes thinking how I will never see that look again. You were so young and innocent, only eighteen. What were you doing
sleeping with some sleazy twenty-two year old punk like me?
I dry my eyes and try not to recall all the glorious months we spent in bliss. Going to parks and trips to
mountain tops, and picnics in the sun, the light illuminating the halo I saw around your head. Instead I focus on the
way you looked when I invited my friends into bed, just as it became our bed. Come to think of it, wasn·t it your idea? I
considered those test then. And you failed everyone. You were so eager to become my favorite slut. You were so happy to
have two or three cocks to choose from.
You loved to suck dick anywhere, anytime, fucking outside, in bathrooms, on the front porch of a house by
Main Street. The problems in our relationship arose when I stopped wanting to see you exposed to others. Your attitude
and mood changed when I said ´I love youµ and you said ¶I knowµ.
You loved the new found empowerment and freedom of sexual release I should have known after all the
episodes of Jerry Springer I·ve watched, that without the kink you wouldn·t remain by my side. The funny thing is you
wanted me all to yourself; you wanted me to only enjoy your pussy. Your selfishness never ceased to amaze me. But, I did
love you, so I fell for it and watched as our relationship deteriorated.
You blamed me and my past. You blamed my inattentiveness and my drinking. All damaging factors, I know. I
should have, could have, would have, but I didn·t. I could have been there for you when you lost our first child. You
could have visited me in jail instead of sipping wine with child molesters. I could have cried on your shoulder when my
grandmother died. You could have spent one holiday with me. I could have drunk less, partied less, and held my mind
together. But, losing my grandmother and facing prison time was more pressing. It·s no secret I let you down, yet there·s
no mistaking that you let me down too. I apologize for the hurt I have caused you. I regret the mistakes I made
throughout our time together. You have every right to want someone else.
Some one who won·t try and love you to the best of his ability. Even though you drive him mad with your
indecisiveness, your irrational mood swings and your sometimes sex drive. I didn·t mind when I lost everything I had in
the world due to them. I don·t want to go into that though. We won·t talk about how when everything was falling
apart in both our worlds you decided that was a good time to dump me. Much like now when you saw fit to abandon me
after I left everything I know and the only real lover I ever had to be with you. No we won·t go into that. Instead I will
end this now, I know you must be in a hurry to get back to the train of old men waiting to fuck your stretched out box.
They will all just melt over the way you fake all your emotions. But like the song says ´It·s your thang-do what you
want to do! I can·t tell you-who to sock it to!µ

Of course things just kept going, spiraling ever out of control. My obsession with this girl was borderline sick.
Youૹd think we men would learn that if a woman is yanking our chain around like this that weૹd see we were better
off without her. BUT, I am an idiot!

I lie awake now listening to wind blowing through the city. I can hear it blowing over the river beside where I
stay. I remember then that this place is surrounded by water. It is a nice feeling knowing that there is water all
around. Even if it is polluted, foul, black water you can·t even drink. It·s still water and in a few generations all
that is here now will be gone and all new water will have taken its place. And who knows you maybe you could
drink it. I look out over this decaying metropolis and dream that someday after the storm, when the skies have
been cleared by fire, that humans someday rebuild on top of what is now New York ´Fuckingµ City«If things go

I feel the worse curse of all has been placed on me; the doom of never being satisfied.

Who knows what day it is? It¶s not even day. The wicked wind chills my
back. A deep gray haze fogs my vision. I feel sent here to love her
but she won¶t let me. I try to express myself outside of the bedroom
and it doesn¶t seem to reach her. I can¶t argue with her, I could if I
knew how to play guitar. I don¶t have any options as to how I live
these days. Not any options I would want. But you can¶t always get
what you want; the story of my life.
Right now I have so many things trying to trouble me. I should be more
concerned about the resurgence of fascism as I predicted in ¶96. I
should be calling old friends and making new ones. I should be writing
and collecting artifacts for my body of work, but instead I sit for
hours thinking of her. I should destroy her or our relationship before
it destroys me. But, the hopeless romantic in me thinks maybe she¶ll
come around. Perhaps she¶ll wake me with a blow job tomorrow. And
monkeys will fly out of my ass.

I¶m Hungry for Life

Terry Boala

Wrestling 4 life
I remember watching AWA and NWA (National and American Wrestling Associations:
respectively). In 1987 when my mother moved our little family to Maryland to live with my father,
I took to watching the hated WWF. I lived in Suitland, Maryland for five years (almost) and in
that short time fell in love with the monster that McMahon built. The World Wrestling Federation
grew leaps and bounds in that time even spread down south and was waiting for me when I
returned. As WWF expanded the game of wrestling, the scope of my own life horizon grew. I
followed their evolution along the way, from the first end of Hulk mania to its final (hopefully)
incarnation. Over the last four years though I have been doing intensive research into the world
of wrestling, I have collected hundreds of hours of tape, read every magazine on the stands
from WOW to NOW, to RAW to Wrestling Digest Iીve spent hours discussing this with anyone

who would listen to my diatribe on the history and metaphorical symbolism behind the
characters played upon in the squared circle.

I ain¶t no hustla or bustle,
I ain¶t no pimp or playa,
I¶m the mutha-fucka sitting on the
But when it¶s time you bet I roll out
Playin¶ Play Station like all day,
But I had a few things I wanted to
All this bullshit an¶ gun bustin¶,
Is µbout to come to a head cousin
So get right, get you¶ head out the
I can hear the war an¶ it¶s loud
Like Jerry say; ³Take care of
yourself and each other´,
You slipping if you forget that I¶m
yo¶ brother
Too many bitch¶s hooked on color,
The other half hooked on money
Can you count al yo¶ boys on one
Are you yo¶ only man
I wonder if you even hearing what
I say,
You better get it the end could
come today

The war coming soon,
A storm brewing doom
It¶s all said and done,
It¶s the end my son
Get ready-GET READY

I rep NC so what you know,
I done lived all over too
I ain¶t got no home,
Live couch to couch, month to
Lost a lot of friends and family,
I still recognize there¶s more to it
than me
You see;
It¶s 6 billion of us on this here
Do you know how much you¶re
Lord knows how many more out
there in the sky,
Over this here you fixin¶ to die
You a fool,
If you think that¶s cool
Don¶t even know the rules!
The game is dirty if you think it¶s a
Stay in yo¶ house it¶s all the same
I ain¶t afraid to go outside,
Been keeping it real since the age
of five,
I know I¶m making it to the sto¶


You talk big-but act so little,
Too stupid to answer this riddle
Where have all the flowers gone,
If you knew you¶d sing along,
The whole system is wrong
Ain¶t nothing right about the flag
you raise,
Ain¶t nothing right about the God
you praise
To you and yours it¶s all about the
You can keep it if you know what I
Life is what you make it,
Gotta go out and take it
I¶ll be here sitting on the couch,
Somkin¶ herb µtill I pass out
Drank a little jus¶ to ease the pain,
Petty mutha-fucka-this ain¶t no
You¶ll understand when you laying
in a casket,
You¶ll find my head in a basket
But don¶t call me no Baptist,
Overstand my sight is different
I see what will become of yo¶
Fifth generation don¶t remember
Hear that,
Fear that,
Know what,
You still don¶t give a fuck
I¶m at a loss of how to reach you
KRS couldn¶t even teach you
Times up,

I dream of a T.V. show based around my imagination. An album based on
my loose fantasies, and a comic strip about all my bad thoughts. If I were
less distracted with my penis I would get to work. My loins and my lust keep
me from slowly assonating creed and Britney Spears. My own ineptitude
holds me back from actualizing my own prophecy. I feel like all my old pals
are watching me from afar. Awaiting the fulfillment of my years, I know their
success relies on it. If I fail here and now they will fail and all my dreams
will be for nothing. I͛m so mad at myself right now. If I cannot pull myself
together than hope is lost and the cheese has won. Integrity must be
restored, a nation of 15 year-olds needs me.

I wish I could be free-free of these thoughts.- ³thoughts of she, thoughts of he-thoughts of the
feelings that couldn¶t be had.´ But everything happens for a reason!

I am most at home when she is between my legs. I stroke her hair and caress her supple breast.
She is all that I need. But, it seems the more I try to love her, the more it turns her off. She
wants a friend she can fuck, when she wants to. I want a friend I can fuck when I want to. Our
times rarely meet. I desire the warmth between her thighs, every minute of every hour, she only
occasionally wants mine. Sometimes I wonder why I bother. She¶s mean, cruel, indecisive,
demanding, shallow, and did I mention mean. I feel as if I have given all there was to give.
There is nothing left for me. I try to lie down and rest my weary head. But, the thoughts that
weigh me down are the ones that keep me awake at night, tossing and turning until I drift off for

an hour or two. I awake each morning with the sun, feeling more and more distant. Even when
she¶s lying next to me, we are worlds apart. I reach out to stroke her tender fame. She jerks
away as if my touch were poison. Maybe it is everyone who ever loved me is hurt by me. Some
are dead.

&an`t keep all these emotions bottled up forever. You know, the stress of love and life are all I
have in the way of baggage. I have long given up my rights of manhood; opting instead for a
Peter Pan lifestyle, devoid of any serious contact. I think had I learned to open up and
communicate things would not be as difficult. But, I didn`t and they are. Old movies play
endlessly in my mind fueled by hip-hop soundtracks. I can close my eyes and watch them
sometimes. Nothing else matters when I`m alone with my movies. In my mind, behind the
curtain of my eyelids, I can`t be affected by the mistakes I made. I should be the most beloved
grafter in America. Instead I am a sandwich slave to New York`s extremely vapid.

To avoid the diary pit falls; of sounding like the broken record, of some washed-up rock
star. I will tell y¶all a story. I will begin the epic fable of how two ill fated lovers
discovered they didn¶t need each other. This is the ancient tale of:
Amon and Mamon
Our story begins shortly after the ³fall of Mon´, when the first ones descended
from the sky and made their way about the world. In those days (before time was a
number), the first ones lived in a forest of life. Some called this place EEdon, but that
was much later.
Two young lovers named Amon and Mamon, were seen by the elders in throws
of passion. Ashamed they fled without speaking, unaware the elders saw no shame.
They ran through the trees to the edge of the forest. The old ones tried calling out to
Amon and Mamon, but their shame and fear pushed them out into the high grass of the
Great Plains. The two young lovers ran and ran until darkness fell over them and their
hearts could take no more. Exhausted and scarred they stopped to rest beneath the
shade of a lonely tree. Amon held Mamon in his =strong youthful arms and together
they cried themselves to sleep.
In the morn they rose Mamon felt a pain in her belly. Having never known hunger
in the forest, she cried out. Amon too was in pain. In the forest one could pluck fruit from
the trees or berries from bushes. In the plains no food grew for one to eat. It was
decided by Momon that Amon would go and search for pleasant food to eat while
Mamon lied down in the shade. Not wishing to upset his love Amon went out into the tall
blades of grass to find food. Amon searched for many hours. He learned to cut the
grass with sticks he found. Beting back the wild untamed plains he came across many
strange creatures he did not know existed. Some were frightened for they were smaller
than Amon. Some were so small they fit on his round plump fingers. This he thought
was wonderful. In the forest of life all creatures big and small were friends. Creating fear
made Amon feel special.
Some creatures though, were big, much bigger than Amon. So big they blocked
out the sun. One creature with horns round his head chased Amon until it bored of him
and sat back into the tall grass. When the sun sank back into its home, Amon found he
was lost. He could not even see the lonely tree where he left his beloved mammon. It
made him sad to be so alone in the strange plains. He cursed himself for leaving the
forest, and then he cursed Mamon for leaving with him. Realizing his foolishness he
called out to Mamon, but she did not reply.
While Amon was away in the fields all day Mamon made had made herself
comfortable under the shade of the lonely tree. She studied the birds that lived in the
tree and busied her self playing with the tiny creatures who came out of the brush to
study her. All sorts of creatures arose both big and small. One in particular was neither
big nor small, but exactly her size. The creature stood upright much like her and Amon.
At first she thought from a distance he was Amon, but he was not. She looked puzzled
at first and then became curious. She reached out to touch the creature, his hide was
smoothed, unlike hers or Amon¶s which was rough and furry. She drew the strange
creature onto her bosom to let it know she meant no harm. Scarred the creature struck
Mamon, with one blow knocking her to the ground. Then realizing its own power it
leaped upon Mamon seizing her and then it took her. Not with passion and love as
Amon had done, but with lust and anger. Helpless Mamon lie still and quietly cried, until

she could feel nothing as the creature forced himself in and out of her. Such aggression
was unknown in the forest of life.
When darkness began to fall Amon made his way back to the lonely tree. He had
found the trail he cut with the sticks he had found. He brought to Mamons feet a small
bunch of berries, yet she was quite. She had not told him of the attack. The creature
was long gone and she felt nothing would come of concerning Amon. Instead she
chastised him for returning with so little. He tried to tell her of the great beast with horns
around its head, and of the giant ones that blotted out the sun, but mammon would not
The next day they decide to search for food together. The truth be told Mamon
was afraid to remain alone, in fear the stranger would return. Ashamed of her secret she
forced herself upon Amon that night. There was no passion and no love from either,
they was neither lust nor anger. When they finished they lay with their backs to one
In the morning they arose and headed out into the tall grass. This time they went
away from where Amon had ran from the beast with horn around its head. After much
walking they came to a river. The river was wide and its water sparkled in the sun. It
shimmered and drew them to its edge. Thirst and heat caused Amon to dive in without
thinking. He swam to the bottom and back up before he noticed Mamon still on dry land
moving further away from him. Mamon called out to Amon but he could not hear her, the
rushing water was too loud. He was being swept away from his beloved and he could
see the lonely tree as big as his little love.
Mamon wept for she felt alone and was scarred the stranger would come take
her again. She wiped the tears from her eyes and dove in to catch Amon. Yet, by then
Amon was far, far ahead of her. His tiny lungs filled with the rivers water and he was
forgetting who he was. Somehow he was still alive when his wet matted fur washed
ashore in an even stranger land. Barren was this land no tall grass was to be seen save
for a patch here and there. There an elderly woman found him and carried him to her
home. She lived in a dark cave and there she nursed him back to health with milk from
her own body.
Mamon washed ashore as well, not far from where the old woman had found
Amon. She was not found, she had come too alone. She woke with a pain in her head
and belly; she stumbled upon a garden that belonged to the old woman. There she
gorged herself on the vegetables that the old woman tended. She eats until a different
pain filled her belly and she continued to eat until she fell asleep. When the old woman
came to get food for Amon she found the fat Mamon lying in her garden and all her
vegetables gone. Angry she screamed at Mamon until she awoke. Unable to
understand the old woman she ran. Unaware the old woman lived in the cave she ran
inside and found Amon there still asleep from his trip down the river. Surprised she tried
to wake Amon but she could not raise him. The old woman came and understood the
two furry creatures were lovers. Feeling wicked, the old woman made Mamon repay her
by doing her bidding until Amon awoke. Amon would sleep for many more days and
nights. The Old woman would see to that, for she was a powerful witch .She used her
magiks to make Amon stay asleep until a new crop could be raised in her garden. As
the days and nights passed by for a whole season it became apparent Mamon carried
with her a child inside.
Fearful the child would belong to the stranger and not Amon Mamon told the old
woman of her secret shame. Laughing with glee the old woman told Mamon she could
disguise the child with magick so that Amon would see it as his own when he woke. The
two could stay and raise their child with her, but they must serve the witch for all their
lives or the old crone would reveal Mamon secrets. Sadly Mamon agreed.
Shortly after the deal was struck Amon awoke and the Mamon told him the old
woman was kind and had saved them from the river. Another lie was told and the die
was cast. Amon did not much care how they were saved; he was overjoyed to see
Mamon with child. He thanked the old woman and then tried to take leave with his love.
Only Mamon refused and said she must stay while she was with child and they could
leave after the baby arrived. Amon agreed and the old woman smiled, for she knew the
more lies Mamon told the deeper the claws sunk in. She now had two slaves and would
soon make it three. The old woman promised Amon to help them with the birth and let
them eat from her garden but she needed a few task preformed in exchange. Soon
Amon found himself in the service of the witch as well.
Soon the child was born into the world. As Amon tried take leave Mamon
convinced him they were safer in the cave with the old woman until the baby could walk
on its own. Many seasons passed and each time Amon tried to leave the witch care,
Mamon would find a new reason to stay. Over time the child grew and the four grew
older. They watch the garden grow and the land change until they could no longer see
the tall grass in the distance. The river grew smaller and the great beast from the plains
began to disappear. Soon there were creatures with smooth hides like that of the
stranger that began to appear. Amon would fight them off and with the help of his son
he would defend the garden. At night they would hide in the cave and the old woman
would tell stories of to scare them from leaving.
After some time though the witch fell very ill, she was too weak to keep up her
magiks over the boy. One day while gathering water from the river Amon saw his child
for the first time with his own eyes. And he did not recognize him. Thinking he was a
stranger he killed the child and ran to Mamon with the news. Mamon knowing he had
killed their boy, she confessed. The old woman laughed and then died in her cave.
Angered Amon struck Mamon and left her alone in the cave with the old woman.
He traveled down alongside the river to the mountains in the distance
where the sun hid behind in mid-day. He climbed the tallest mountain and found other
creatures who tried to eat him. Against the winds and perils of the mountain he fought
them back and reached the peak. Tears frozen to his fur he cried out in pain. With one
mighty cry he felt his hurt leave him and there he lay down. The wind and snow beat his
body and he looked up and saw a great light. From the light came the sound of giant
wings. He had never heard such thunder and the sound came all around him. With eyes
burning he looked up and hears a voice speak out in words he did not know. The voice
said unto him ³Behold´ And all at once a chorus of voices in hushed tones whispered
³My wings are made of metal, in them you see yourself.´ Amon knew not what these
voices meant. Fear had taken hold of his heart and then all fear left him.
The wind grew still but Amon could still hear the sound of beating wings all
about him. He stood up and held out his arms. The voices meant him no harm, and
through the light he began to see a figure. Its¶ head was like a beast from the Great
Plains rounded with fur and fangs. Its body was smooth like that of the strangers and his

boy. Its wings where bright and shiny, like nothing Amon had seen before. The figure
wore a cloth that was also shiny like nothing Amon had seen. It looked away from Amon
down to where the Great Plains once was. Then beyond that to the forest edge, Amon
could see too the forest was dead and all the trees were burnt up and fallen. He knew
than that leaving the forest of life was a good thing, for he would be dead too and all the
years he spent loving Mamon were not lost. He could see her now as she buried their
child. And he wept at the sight. He turned to the creature in the sky and asked it ³Why?´
The creature smiled showing its sharp teeth and said ³Why Not?´
³Are you the god of this land?´ Amon asked.
³I am not´, the creature answered, ³The Queen Mab is your benefactor, I am merely her
avatar. You may ask one more question of me then you must leave this mountain top
behind and face the troubles ahead.´
Nothing made it said made sense to Amon, but he understood the words enough to ask
one final question. ³I wish to know the meaning of it all.´ He said, ³Why has this life
passed me by? Was I bad; was I wrong in following my heart?´
The creature paused then spoke these words; ³You follow fear, not your heart. You
have run from your destiny, not towards it. You have come here to this mountain top
running scarred my son.´ His words made Amon look away, ³fear not my child the
secret is...´ Then the beating of the creature¶s wings grew so loud that Amon had to
cover his ears. Then he could hear the creature laugh as it said ³Nothing makes Sense!´
then vanish just as it had appeared. Amon was alone again and he left the mountain
and made his way back to Mamon. He told her of the creature with the metal wings but
claimed he had not heard the answer to his question. The truth be told he heard the
creature all too well and now things would never be the way they were.´

This was supposed to be a childrenૹs story for adults. I even sketched out the artwork, but it just fell short when I
lost interest halfway through.
Why are so many females· whores and sluts? If I knew that I would be able to tell the hoochies from the women I want in my
life. If I were to use dolls to describe our relationship; I would take turns putting the dolls on top of each other, smothering
and suffocating each ones creativity and sucking the life out of each other in the 69 position. I would use the dolls to show how
at one time or another each doll holds the other down while looking the other way. Smiling some painted on plastic grin as hollow
as their rubber frames. Then I would rip the heads off the two dolls simultaneously, signifying the horrible end that will leave
us both dead, on the inside at least if not out. I don·t want to think of us anymore. I want to think of me. But, then I start to
think that·s all I ever have thought of. I want this ordeal to be over. I just want to rest and rink. Smoke a little herb, kick
back and listen to my music. Yet my imagination keeps pulling me back to the past. Mistakes and all, laid out on a magic carpet
at my fee, too heavy to fly me away to the future. On the upside, nobody lives forever.

I walk these streets, cars pass me by, no one knows what I can do, and I wonder if they would
even care?

(Sung to the tune the Fat Albert theme)
People outside know how I feel
People outside are the real deal
People outside know how I feel
People outside are keeping it real
-The L 2002

͞Nothing really happens,
Anyone can see-Nothing really happens to

It·s what you say when you see a pretty girl. It·s what you say when you pass a beautiful
woman on the street. It·s what you yell out the window when you pull up to a red light and
a Honda full of tasty Spanish chicks are bumping Ashanti.

How come whenever you¶re not having sex all you see is condom commercials on TV. Every
show is about sex, every movie you watch, even the crappy late night cable movies are about
sex. Well they¶re always about sex, but you can¶t even find an old Godzilla flick or a black and
white drama. When no one is fucking you all you see are attractive prospects.

Right Now!
Right now, I need to relax, but I feel I need to get up and go
somewhere. Problem is; I have nowhere to go. I am all out of places to
run and hide. I am torn in a inner conflict between the part of me
that wants to run away from everything and everyone, and the part of
me that just wants¶ to relax and have fun. I can¶t enjoy my life right
now. Mainly because I feel I can¶t understand it. I have faced all of
my fears except one, and I feel that I will face that one any day now.
I was afraid as a child that my mother would leave me, and she
did. I was afraid my grandmother would die, and she did. I was afraid
I could loose touch with my sisters and I did. I feared jail and ended
up in prison. I was scared of losing my friends, now they too are gone,
now all that¶s left is my fear of dying broke and alone. If I lost my
life tomorrow in some freak accident it would happen.
I don¶t know why I¶m here in New York anymore, aside from the
free room and board a chance to reconnect with my family. Audra is
gone, a lost cause from the very start. I knew that on Spring Street
though. Cute ass and a smile can never be trusted.
I had a good thing with Amber, a sure thing. I screwed it up as
usual, feeding her bullshit while she tried her best to give me her
all. I was so lost after I got out of Ohio. Truth is I have always
been lost. I ran to Atlanta because I hoped to find something there. I
sought answers/salvation with a woman. That¶s always been my mistake,
comes from being spoiled. Momma will take care of me, if she won¶t
Nanny Will. If Nanny won¶t Amber will, if Amber won¶t Audra will. If
Audra won¶t-no one will«
I ran to Amber because she was most like Nanny, big, warm, kind,
and she put up with my bullshit and running the streets. She was
always waiting at home to feed me and love me in spite of my flaws.
But when I got to ATL (Georgia) Amber had matured, she didn¶t/wouldn¶t
up with as much as before. She had become too independent to buy all
my shit. So rather than deal with her growth as a positive I split.
Off to Audra once more.
Audra was never as tolerant as Amber. More self-serving,
independent from day one, she never needed me. I served a purpose and
that was it. When I did not meet her needs, she did not come around
anymore. By the time I got to New York she was so far beyond me, my
very presence was treated as a nuisance, not a blessing. Her treatment
made me feel even more like a pariah. I¶m a social outcast, a convict
with no home, no money, only a duffle bag worth of belongings and not
a friend in the world, a little far from the truth, but not too far.
Depression sat upon me like a pack of wild Howler Monkeys. My mind
began playing tricks on me. The women didn¶t help, but what does.
I feel I have lost my passion, my lust for life. I no longer feel
inspired to do anything but retire to a cabin in the woods near some
magical lake deep in Carolina. But, not before I make my work.

That sounds like a personnel problem?







































































New York City, Mecca to the tarnished nomadic freaks produced by a society
that have cast them out, Coming together to feed and build upon the very same
monster, dying, trying to work for the machine. Their very presence in this filth
ridden metropolis helps broadcast and perpetuate the sick sad cycle that drove
each of them here to replace those who came before them. The game is never
ending the damage never done્

I ride the bus now through Central Park. I look at them on both sides of the window, admiring the stark contrast,
with one uniting and not some country/flag, sports team or origin. It·s clear the lines of tribes of Earth and not all
share universal beginnings. We are one people though, because we are connected by the only overriding
community. We are all consumers, I think of one of the over-hyped pop hits of this new millennium and how it
sings ´We are all made of Starsµ the glare from the television blinds me in New York. I fool unreal as if I am
trapped in the infernal box.

There·s defiantly some guy looking at me weird on the train. Now the question is, is he looking at me because I·m looking at him?

Humanity is the original sin!

I come from the center of the Earth, we don¶t sip tea, and we smoke herbs. In
the middle of winter, we enter. Talking loud and wearing monkey suits, our only
goal in life is to disrupt it! So you can see all the corrupt shit that¶s under it!

J.C. Over-man III


I wonder if the police will ever find«


Jaded Disenchanted
Disillusioned Disheartened
Worn-Down Down-trodden

About life

The first lesson is to cherish life. To overcome all obstacles, that weigh one down-by any means



I wish I spoke French

Se suit om o necli paus

Yes! My child-black punks do exist! I should know I was one. There are a few more around now than
when I was young. Most rock afros or dreadlocks, occasionally I¶ll run across a few with Mohawks, not
many though. I may not be father to these new kids inspired by Lenny Kravitz and that guy from
Sevendust. But at least I am an uncle. I remember our fathers like H.R. from Bad Brains and that guy
from the Specials. I remember Prince in the seventies and Jimi in the 60¶s. I remember my very first Dead
Kennedy¶s shirt ordered from Alternative Tentacles in `93. I remember my very first orange Mohawk. In
my day we rocked the hard stuff; Misfits, GWAR, Minor Threat, and of course DK, Bad Brains,, Bad
Religion, and Black Flagg instead of Black Rob. We understood what hardcore meant! Now the only ones
that care are young black lesbians I still live in the ghetto, still get rude comments and snide remarks,
though they learned not to make jokes when I went to prison. I¶m taller, more muscular and walk with
much more attitude. I feel I¶ve earned it all I was bleaching my hair before Dennis Rodman
ever thought
about it.

I·m on a bus right now, on my way back to Manhattan from New Jersey. I guess the greatest times in my
life have already passed me by. I came out to this god forsaken land at 4 in the morning with my LAV2/
Audra, under the pretext of having sex. We wound up on the wrong bus and ended up divided for good. I
don·t think there will be another romance. I am sad of course, but it all makes sense. It should have never
gotten this far. When we left the bar last night she told me she hadn·t even liked me in almost two years.
She was just stringing me along for the sex. That was four hours ago. I thought we were in love and would
always be together. I thought she understood me, and someday we would tell our grand-children our
tales of emotional ups-and-downs. I am an idiot a fool for love. How could I have honestly thought«?

I hate myself for caring.
I should get up and walk away,
She·s not worth my time anyway
But I feel I gotta stay
Momma didn·t raise no quitter this day!

Simpson St. is next and Other Tales from the
Monkey Book:

Man originally came from the center of the Earth. They were extended by an alien
organization representing Mars. These aliens were actually planet destroying vagabonds. Vile,
filthy, creatures that abused and defiled every planet they were on. They were actually not alone.
Shortly after the first creature you know as man was formed, a separate armada arrived and
created woman. Not without many failures. The many faces you see, colors, sizes, all makes
and models of man, are the product of nearly 6 billion years of cross breeding. There really are

This was supposed to be a huge article on how I was the first black kid into punk rock, but I quickly realized I
wasnૹt even close so it turned into this.
We wound up walking through New Jersey for hours until the sun came up, arguing and crying and generally
having a miserable time. Of course we ended up sleeping together again after this, but to no avail. This was actually
one of the worst nights of my life thus far. We were lost scared and fed up with each other. Had her ass not been so

few men left only Hue-mans. And their legacy of Apocalyptic carnage and world destruction,
passed on to them from their nearly extinct creators. Now many men believe different things
about their own origins, only those who descended from the people who were here first. Now I
don¶t know what cockroaches say but I do listen to Monkees. Monkees not apes were first to
see the arrival of man and though we take many forms our hearts are true. We have no one
book, nor no one God. Yet our story lives on. In coded messages played over your stereo, in
hidden words in comic books, on the screens big and small, and in small interpretive dance
studios in Charlottesville, Virginia. Our tale is told, we scream out at times just to find others like
us. We tell the tale of how once there were no men, no apes, only Monkees. Then a visit from
the stars changed that now we must return the children of the original man to the stars. All the
while the other animals (some of whom were not there) wage war for who will rule, now fight to
remain on top of the food chain.
This is how I will tell my tale.

Thee Monkee Armada

I must become famous; I will not let it elude me again. I will get my name known. So all that have come before
recognize that there is only one L. Only one son that my mother had!
Gimmie, Gimmie, Gimmie, all ya got!!!

I am not the man u think I am

*͟I will not wait because she͛s too rough and I͛m too delicate. I
will not lose my faith in woman-hood, because nature played this
trick on me. Sorrow is nature͛s son, and the sun shines out of our

The Son Shines
Out Our Behinds
Music (LTD)

The needle skips and the record plays an awful tune. I cover my ears by the
edge of the dance floor. And she·s screaming as if I·m listening. Somewhere
someone is dying a slower death than me and that brings a smile to my
face and suddenly the song the DJ·s play is no longer so awful. Her voice is
wicked, her mind is restless, but her eyes a wondrous. Never, never, ever
again, will I touch her poison lips- and not the ones reddened on her face.

I smell the foul stench of dying rodents. I smell the aroma of their decayed flesh. All I think about is
where my woman. The vapor fumes of death leave me longing the center of my life. I adore the scent of
pussy it is my all time dream a sweet romantic memory from the time I was born in the fall of man, after
the Summer of Sam. The power went out downtown today. Twenty-five years to day. Prophecy must be
fulfilled omens have been cast by the faded hand of God. The eye of the Queen watches over me.

Too much tears have been shed, I head into the event horizon dead already, just a zombie awaiting his chosen time. If the Queen
weren¶t dead I¶d ask for her forgiveness. If the King were ever alive I would ask for his head.

Is nature mocking me? I was once a charming man, making love in the
back seat of their daddyڊs cars. Now I canڊt go out because Iڊve
nothing to wear. My nerves of steel have begun to rust.


So as I lay down last night I thought I may never wake-up, and the uncertainty comforted me. Now as I
sit on the train already late for work, I pray for certain death«I envision my fate over the coming months
and years. The outcome of my life will be determined by the time I spend here in New York. Thus far that
time has been married by my connections to the past. I will not be successful less I rediscover my love for
the future. The future is all around me, from the micro technology on the streets, to the fascist political
regime, poor environment, dystopian politics¶ and religious strife. The future is open to me with a myriad
of opportunities. As years have passed I have watched those opportunities shrink with choices I have
made. I desire at 24 (soon to be 25) years old, to increase rather than decrease my life options. I seek now
to embark on a new road. I do not work and try and enforce positions that did. At the same time improve
myself with healing motivations. Seeking a sort of closure I went down south, only to feel its awesome
pull on my emotional well being. Meaning perhaps it is never too late to go home. So long as you bury
old ghost. But, I call forth Chaos whence it does need me, and the power of reunion is mighty. My
brothers and sistas all know me too well. I can¶t hide anything from them and one day I hope they join me
in the war. Not that I think they won¶t or have not already.

My mind is swimming through a tidal wave of THC, thirty-minutes late for work and another twenty
minutes away from walking in. I feel sick with anticipation for a date that is not even set. My mouth has
yet to learn how to communicate any of this. Luckily my hands have been busy. I look out at these
teaming masses. Some I want to punch, others I want to fuck. But, I would like to talk to all of them.
Maybe I should learn Spanish.


Seeing the huddled masses of New York City transit at ³rush hour´
makes it easy to imagine the city two/three hundred years ago.
Noticing the subtle similarities of people one can visualize the New
Worlds, New Amsterdam bubbling over with the conquerors from the Old
World. How many different families did it take to make this mess a
hundred, or more-Thousands? Surely not! At times it looks more like 8
or 9 different family trees and its various limbs, branches, twigs,
roots, and leaves. I¶ve never existed around so many people in all my
life. It can be a bit claustrophobic at times. My chest feels tight,
and my nose burns from all the various scents and aromas caused by
this many living beings. In the south genealogy tends to be clustered
or spread out over small areas. My family for instance goes back two
hundred years and more in the very area in which I was raised. Hell I
even have a great aunt who turned 102 this year. These people here
have genes that reach across oceans and distant relatives on tropical
islands. I think about the lone pioneers who were not pioneers,
because they laid claim to the soil that belonged to Native Americans,
but, pioneers to have spread the seed of their race by; fornicating
with unfathomable amounts of women. The cunning skill it must have
taken to disguise your last with religion and politics¶ and succeed in
changing the world for all eternity. I don¶t think the God of Abraham
ever intended on this country. There must be a new God in charge, one
that lead the lost tribes of the north to rob, rape, and kill the
golden children of the East.

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