Blood and Guts in High School (15 page)

Oh suck my cock honey suck my cock

That's what it's all about

I love how you turn yourself

Around and upside-down inside-out

for me

just for me

Oh I know

I must taste sweet

SUCK ME SUCK ME SUCK ME SUCK ME SUCK ME SUCK ME SUCK ME SUCK ME SUCK ME SUCK ME SUCK ME SUCK ME

SUCK ME SUCK ME SUCK ME SUCK ME SUCK ME SUCK ME SUCK ME SUCK ME SUCK ME SUCK ME SUCK ME SUCK ME SUCK ME SUCK ME SUCK ME SUCK ME SUCK ME SUCK ME SUCK ME SUCK ME SUCK ME SUCK ME SUCK ME SUCK ME SUCK ME SUCK ME SUCK ME SUCK ME SUCK ME SUCK ME

sex is sweet

now we've done with sex where we gonna go?

If you have no pleasure to live for, do you want to live?

grey grey everywhere grey

blucky blucky shiv

shifting shivers lurk in corners

corners of the nothing

everyone walking down the corridors

they think they are the outside.

in the corners there lurk

wars and poisons and liars and dirt

Just let me sleep under warmth crawl my eyes

Here is my lullabye:

If you have no mind to live for do you want to live?

Now stars lights up my head

I want the whole world to burn up instantly

I want everyone and thing to be dead

And then there'll be, not begin, another world

Or so I've heard it said

I don't know.

Don't ask me nothing. I don't know. I'm in pain. Ask me something. I'm tell

you I hurt. I don't have any other answers.

I like fire.

I like glory.

I like stars.

I like moving as fast fast as I can on a speeding train especially when I'm in pain

I like moving until I get beyond and I'm insane

meaning I can't think anymore meaning I'm a robot meaning I'm a dodo meaning

I'm a creep meaning I'm stupid

This is one of my dreams.

It stinks 'cause it's more prevalent than any thing.

What can we do for each other?

I don't know.

Finally we go there

All alone.

What can we do for each other? We come back from that

loneliness and say

I've been there, I saw what I had to see and disappeared, it's OK.

Life is totally totally lonely

No matter how bad things get on the streets

Poverty hypocrisy greed the world

Beauty joy honesty and all the rest

One side of the coin or the other

The only real thing is that split (second) between life and death.

excitement and danger and blackness I have that feeling and I feel really happy, more than sex and love and wealth, I like danger

continuing unchanging calm danger.

like a marriage that doesn't stop

only the whole world appears and disappears

and adventures pop up little blots

of madness, long stretches of nothing -you don't know where you're at -

(Janey's slave poem:

Why am I existing?

Just to be a slave?

List of my slave duties:

(1) Body slavery: I have to eat and get shelter so need money. Also my body likes sex and rich food and I'll do anything for these.

(2)  Mind slavery: I want more than just money. I live in a partially human world and I want people to think and feel certain ways about me. So I try to set up certain networks, mental-physical, in time and space to get what I want. (I also set up these networks to get money.) These networks become history and culture (if they work) and as such, turn against me and take away time and space. They tell me what to do.

The world I perceive, everything I perceive are indicators of my boring needs. Otherwise there's nothing. I might as well not exist.

I don't think I care about anything. All my emotions, no matter how passionate, are based on my needs.

So I can figure out at this point how to make enough money get enough people out of my life so I can relax sleep all the time every few days. Is there any other reason besides negativity?

Everything that has to do with this slave world makes me nauseous. All my emotions and ideas (i.e. depending on unstable ground for a decision: on any taste, on desire - that used to be the one I adored, on fascination,

on conceptual ideas, on inspiration, etc) make me sick and I want to die because I don't see anything else.

I don't even adore my emotions anymore. Whatever the fuck they are.

Living locked-up in a slave trader's room is easy. I mean you have the same emotions over and over again, the same thoughts, the same body, and after a while you see it's all in your mind: you're stuck to your mind. SLAVESLAVESLAVE.

The only thing I want is freedom. Let me tell you: I don't have any idea what that means. Depending on someone/something who's stable makes me happy. I don't find the external world stable unlike Francis Ponge. To base myself (?) on who/that which is stable and to have no regard for anything else makes me happy.)

DEFIES WHAT IS: NOT LIFE, BUT OBLIVION

DEFIES DEFIES DEFIES NOT THOUGHT, BUT DEFIES

every howl of pain is a howl of defiance every howl of pain is a howl of romance

driven beyond all measure of success, driven so there are no limits to what I do

this immeasurable eating, hunger, moving desire to lose consciousness,

go to the end

as if there's a beyond

driven beyond body desires into just desire, not for what, just desire

DEFIANCE born

not made by environmental poverty

DEFIANCE SCORN BLOOD

(not just hallucination dispersed from agony - Mallarmé).

if
this
is
the
world
DEFIANCE

would
become
the
whole
world
DEFIANCE

the world would be a flame:

A TOTAL FLAME BURNING ITSELF UP

BLOOD AND FEAR AND GUTS MY VISION

This is my vision of agony.

I no longer have to give the details of agony

'Cause everyone knows what they hear and see.

howling about nothing, howling about howling, driven up against the wall to break; nothing, says Mallarmé, takes place a lie, a fake ruin but

in these places

in which all reality turns into a howl and makes itself go away

something happens:

Ghouls

There are such things as ghosts. Death does not all things end. and pale yellow from vanquished even shades escape their graves. You see, Jane my was seen to lean over bed, though near the roar of just-buried Broadway, as finally I was about to fall asleep realizing love just dead, my bed and new reigns of chill and pain.

The same she had which she took with her to the grave hairs,

the same eyes: one side of her dress was burned,

she had always worn on finger the ring its sapphire had eaten away fire,

surfaces Death's had turned black her lips' dirt.

Breathing and animation and these words she sent out: though

thumbbones were rattling her hands:

'You lousy creep, though you're the best can hope for a girl,

you already asleep how can?

Already you have forgotten our desperate crimes:

by my that nocturnal worn-down window thefts

through which dropped-down I to you by a rope hanging how many times

by the other snaking around your neck hand!

Often Our True Love occurred publicly; sex organs joined-up

made hot skins our streets.

Thou Love-Partnership Thou silent, whose obviously lying promises

not hearing has torn the deaf wind to pieces!

No man loved me, eyes, dying;

if you had loved me I could have gotten one more day.

Not even a priest gave a shit about my funeral, but a broken brick fell on my dead brains.

'You matter most of all: who saw you bent over with grief at the funeral?

Who saw your black clothes? Who saw you cry?

If it pains you so much to leave this city, even for a funeral,

you could have at least told my death-car to drive more slowly.

Why did you pray, I know you hate me, the winds to rage over my grave?

Why didn't my grave smell of perfume?

Why didn't the most expensive roses in the world cover my putrifying body?

And why didn't you get all the priests in the world to try to mollify the demons

raging in the death-room? You can't manage to do anything. You're a goon. This is what you gotta do:'

This poem was written about 2,000 years ago and is evidence of how things were and that nothing's changed. The world, that is, thoughts, still stink.

'Lydamus KILL - get WHITE HOT the KNIFE -

I saw how, as from POISON SLUSH WHITE the wine I drank,

Nonas SECRETLY COVERED UP CLEVER BITCH the taste:

let reveal TORTURES how she STANK.

SHE who up to a few days ago in CHEAP AS THEY COME was

SELLING her CUNT the NIGHTS now in GOLD-AND-PURPLE GOWNS is DEIGNING TO STEP ON THE

DIRT and is making my SERVANTS WORK their ASSES off, so they won't have time to REMEMBER even my appearance and

HER TO CURSE: Just my cause Petale brought to my tomb some flowers, STUCK PINS IN CHAINS ON SHIT has been the OLD WOMAN; is BEATEN UP and Lalage by TWISTED HUNG HAIRS name because she DARED to my mention. YOU let the WHORE BURN UP my picture the GOLD frames so YOU TWO could MAKE some DOUGH out of my FUNERAL.' My thoughts hurt me all the time. They're the truth. 'Not nevertheless I pursue, although you deserve it Slave Trader: for long my in reigns were you. I swear I, by the Fates by-no-one-able-to-be-reversed, may Death-Dog thus to be gently bark,

that I was true to you. If I'm lying, that most-fearful-in-the-world snake my will hiss at tomb and on top of bones lie.' The realm of death:

'There are two filthy homes obtained-by-lottery across the river The crowd turned one way or the other rows across the water. One way: Clytemestra's addiction draws, or Cressa's: counterfeit wood monster bull cock fuck sex.'

THIS IS DEATH

(something else besides horror exists):

'Lo: the other: wreathed part carried away and by light ships seized, running quick in the water, flying, caresses where paradise's breeze is your breath bursting into flames music the blood veins eyes faster, like an orgasm growing and growing, burst abyss to endless size, I lie in a witch's trance.

Just from your glance, your breath is my breath.

'Andromeda and Hypermestre who could love tell us their stories:

'I was an innocent girl. 'Cause my mother was jealous of me she pinned my arms against these sharp ice-bound crags, bruised me, and left me still alive.'

'My father told me and my sisters to kill our husbands. I couldn't 'cause

something in me shrivelled and vomitted then my father placed heavy chains

around

my thin knees.':

thus by tears of death we heal the loves of life.

'I've wept enough tears now. I can no longer see of your crimes the treachery. I'm just asking you one last thing (if you have any love at all left for me (if Chlorid's coke hasn't made you mean),

'(1 ) Nurse in her trembling, no more desires, years are claws Partheni: she was competent and not avaricious, please give her pleasure, and my Nanny who loved her work let her mirror not reflect a strange mistress.

'(2.) Whatever songs you made in my name

burn them up: fame can no longer be mine.

(3.) Just put on my tomb some ivy ripe with berries gently intertwining with

vines,

and branchy the East River where garbage spreads on cement

never, thanks to Rockefeller, will money grow stale,

(4.) this epitaph scribble on the middle of some wall

SCRIBBLE it so that even the dumbest coked-up businessman can read:

HERE LIES GOLDEN JANEY GOLDEN CITY WHOSE DEAD BODY YOUR GOLD FEEDS DO NOT EVER TURN AWAY FROM LOVE'S DREAMS ALL EXISTENCE HAS A GOLDEN SHEEN