I

I am often attracted to things unhinged. Not necessarily (traditionally) romantic, more akin to an unwillingness to ask permission, one who might say It was never your permission to begin with and not be angry or upset about having to say it. Few are so willing to evaluate situations without the overwhelming cloud of emotion. Judgment fully withheld, kind banter catching wind. A needed immediacy.

Jean-Michel Basquiat was aware of the past. He pretended to not care if you did not like his paintings. Part of him was upset some people did not understand. Basquiat strangled history down to basics: music, culture, society (not the same thing), generations of family after family. His point was not for you to obtain this. This was his conscience—tangible. Brain processing. Synthesizing. To him it was so simple. I refuse the word primal because it is misguided, it does not factor purity, clarity. Sugar Ray Robinson told Basquiat to stop painting the background. Tuxedo told Basquiat what words to place and where.

So much of my art is stripped and lucid and enacted with only me in mind.

Dedicated to stillborn fetuses, 99 cent Malt Liquor and Existentialism
1.
Nymphomaniac tree huggers
And overweight bisexual vegetarians
Swallowing phentermine poison to stay fit.

2.
Funky fresh *******  
throwing pigs at St. Augustine’s pear tree
and frolicking abortions over Moloch’s philoprogenitiveness,

3.
While sipping barbecue sauce dipped in Lipton tea,
dancing around adhesive bonfires
reciting memories of holocaust, the Kristallnacht nights
and beautiful words suffered by ancestors lost.

4.
Inhale chicken noodle soup, with a side of Lithium,
And prance to Literacy class to combat envisionment
With free association conceptual constructions,

5.
Computerized like Prometheus’ fire burning through SmartBoards
In classrooms where the poison of heterosexual history
Is fed to boys in skirts cursed by Adam’s apple,

6.
Baptized by social norms and locked away in hopeless closets
According to the Tautology of Leviticus…
until they cut their breath by the vein of soteriology;

7.
Misunderstanding of God’s words
Covets the innocent to early graves
In biblical paratactic irony…like God betting Satan for a Job.

8.
Rub fried chicken oil on Bartholomaeus Anglicus’ skin
and soil his white pride with ***** flavor,
for revenge  On the Properties of Things

9.
and howl out in glory of victory
over totes of  lickerish piper methysticum blunts
that beg the conundrum,
'What is the origin of this world?'
'Ether,' he replied.
But it is not ether!
Nor Datta. Dayadhvam. Damyata.
It is Dada. Dada. Dada!
  10.
For this is a record of the life stories of the greatest minds and geniuses of your generation,
written in boys and girls
who mimicked Basquiat’s genius and tagged bathroom walls with abstract philosophies like “Love is a prime number” and “ the weight of Duncan McDougall’s soul can only be found on the 15th of October”
who drank vampirish gulps of Vicodin while consoling themselves with aphorisms such as: “don’t rue the misses, you don’t need a Mrs. when you’re elevated by chemical kisses”
11.
Who stood naked in mirrors, weeping, for they were a mystery to themselves, but a great talent and soon to be legend to some.
Who lit cannabis in loneliness and waltzed naked with their ghosts, fantasizing about ****** tomatoes and Corpus Christi Mexican Jazz.
Who composed psychedelic anthems from dreams that were lost in ghettoes where virginities were lost for loaves of bread, for the hunger of bread.
12.
Who wrote suicide notes on a toilet seat, contemplating the texture of Marshall Mathers’ favorite underwear and whether the color green was an invention of **** Germany.
Who used to love their lovers in darkness and colored the streets of Manhattan with rainbows on June 24, 2011 to mark the date lady liberty finally bought a new pair of glasses.
13.
Who lost musical talents to a Wine-house and ended up in a whine-house where lobotomy was subsequently prescribed by the milligram.
Who indulged in pharmaceutical vices and when asked why replied simply, every recursively enumerable set is Diophantine.
Who diagnosed themselves with “start ****-itis” and self medicated by eating Fifinellas at the stroke of each midnight.
Who rubbed paraprosdokians on their skin and occupied Wall Street in search of a new euphemism for being American.
Who poured Alkalizer on a dead moose and kicked it while feasting on the divine question, “why does Rice play Texas?”
14.
who got bored with conventional relationships and bought the Origin of the World on street corners from vixens nicknamed “Jezebel” and climaxed atop of them screaming  “I’m in Babylon, the great Mother of ******!”
Who attempted suicides upon suicides upon suicides, in Oakland, until they were shipped away to private catholic universities in Rhode Island, where the history of Colossus was being taught.
15.
who serenaded love interests with four letter curse words at open bars where Kubla Khan was read and Tartars kings were licked all over like holy communion *****.
Who drove home with the spirits of wine and crashed on telephone poles where their obituaries were written in their prime, leaving their mothers weeping and calling congress to reconsider Prohibition.
16.
Who mixed Redbull with Propofol and drank the juxtaposition galore only to be woken up the next morning dead in their sleep.
Who tattooed rat poison packages with goodwill messages such as “****** divided by Water =6th day of creation” or “Seroquel + Brett Favre = St. Patrick”,
who went speedballing with Basquiat during autoscopy and woke up wondering the cost of Nautilus in Albuquerque.
17.
who took 33 hallelujah 1800 tequila jello shots and daydreamed about laying on Mithras’ grave, yelling, beetlejuice, beetlejuice…beetlejuice.
who found the truths of the Bible invalid by the miscalculation of Pi in 1 Kings 7, verse 3, and mailed death on anthrax letters to Reagan in protest.
18.
who sat empty bellied at breakfast tables wondering the temperature of satellites at Lagrangian points,  only to soon catch fire in their tongues and speak Labyrinth soliloquies that ended in
19.
Zion,
Where Google knows every answer.
In Zion
Where the youth, tomorrow’s future, quote a ***** named Hova better than they can quote Jehovah.
In Zion
Where *******’s art was used as weapon during the Cold war.
20.
In Zion
Where sartorial geniuses where no pants,
In Zion
Where David Kato Kisule is the secret hero of these words, for he was taken at a time
In Zion
Where we were supposed to be our ancestor’s sci-fi.

21.
In Zion,
Where the youth bear the scarlet letter X for they are a problem to tradition and hold no definition for the future, for they have discovered
In Zion
That the origin of this world is in their living eyes, and not in the dictionary of their ancestors who lived
In Zion
when the epitome of the literature of life ended in Revelation of Amen and Shantih shantih shantih;
this is a record of the greatest minds and geniuses there ever was, written
in Zion
where the meaninglessness and nothingness of Dada reigns, and the trinity of life now lives in the Subject, subjective and subjectivity.

Odysseus needs a job he calls pima community college art department chairperson sends her his resume she does not respond after a week he catches her on phone she says he lacks proper credentials laughs to himself his whole life never worked lucrative or reputable position gets job working at thrift store wacky group of coworkers customers store frequently smells like public latrine job expires after 7 weeks he gets better paying job working at record exchange Odysseus always loved music everyday he learns new artist or band his coworkers are at least half his age they pester him about being slow on keyboard he never learned to type neither he nor his generation could have foreseen future would revolve around keyboard he plods on register keys people smile politely kids he works with fly fast making many keyboard mistakes November 29 2001 george harrison dies of cancer he is 58 years old Odysseus recognizes he is from past world different era of contrasting standards ‘80’s behavior is totally unbefitting let alone ‘60’s beliefs it is 2002 and one badly chosen word is sure to send someone flying off the handle he watches his language carefully co-workers mostly born in 1980’s grew up in 1990’s they live indifferent to hopelessness he struggles to bear none of them believe in higher power music is their religion he wonders what their visions concerns for humanity are? they seem addicted to consumption as if it is end in itself he questions what is hidden at root of their absorption? loneliness? despair? apathy? absence of vision? where is their rage against social conversion current administration? he warns them about homeland security act privacy infringement increased government secrecy power they shrug their shoulders why aren’t they looking for answers? why don’t they dissent? do they care where world is going? he realizes they will have to learn for themselves few coworkers read literature or know painters philosophy their passions are video games marijuana “star wars” most of them are extremely bright more informed than he often Odysseus needs to ask questions they know answers to right off the bat he is like winsome uncle who puts up with their unremitting teasing “hey you old hippie punk rocker get you fiber in today? stools looking a little loose! peace out old man” in peculiar way he finds enough belonging he so desperately needs they tell him stories about their friends *** addictions eating disorders futile deaths he is bowled over by how young they are to know such stuff job includes health insurance which is something he has not had since Dad was alive having some cash flowing in he buys laptop computer with high-speed connection cell phone trades in toyota for truck opens crate of writings he abandoned in ‘80’s begins to rewrite story sits blurry eyed in front of computer screen his motivation has always been to tell truth as he knows it he wonders what ramifications his labor will bring positive or negative results? he guesses his story will sound like children’s fable in stark brutality of distant future october 2002 3 week ****** spree terrorizes maryland virginia  district of columbia 10 people killed 3 critically wounded police believe white van responsible october 24 man and 17-year-old boy arrested in blue chevy caprice juvenile is shooter assailants linked to string of random murders including unsolved shooting of man at golf course in tucson Odysseus mentions incident at work speaks of prevailing terror madness in america co-workers kid tell him he is crazy “did you see a white van parked outside the store Odys?” they seem desensitized to increasing national atmosphere of anger panic or perhaps they are overwhelmed by weight trauma of modern life lie after lie prevailing  havoc slaughter make for dull numbness in world they know suicide is compelling option december 22nd 2002 joe strummer dies from heart failure at age 50 Odysseus’s eyes wet he adored the clash everything they stood for loved joe strummer and mescaleros he plays “global a go-go” over and over listens sings along with first track “johnny appleseed” march 2003 president bush launches attack against iraq united states seems drunk with “shock and awe” zealous blind patriotism many people politicians countries around globe question unproven line of reasoning saddam hussein possesses “weapons of mass destruction” Odysseus gripes “not another **** vietnam” record company allows employees to check out take home used product Odysseus stopped watching movies in 1980’s he has lots of catching up to do particularly likes “natural born killers” “american history x” “american ******” “fight club” “way of the gun” “******” “king of new york” “basquiat” “frida” “*******” “before night falls” “quills” “requiem for a dream” “vanilla sky” “boys don’t cry” “being john malkovich” “adaptation” “kids” “lost in translation” “25th hour” “28 days later” “monster” “city of god” “gangs of new york” “**** bill” list goes on perfect circle becomes his favorite band followed by tool lacuna coil my morning jacket brian jonestown massacre flaming lips dredg drive-by truckers dropkick murphys flogging mollies nofx stereophonics eels weakerthans centro-matic califone godspeed you black emperor magnetic fields fiery furnaces dresden dolls smog granddaddy calexico howie gelb sufjan stevens warren haynes dax riggs john vanderslice alejandro escovedo sean paul elephant man bjork p. j. harvey ani difranco aimee mann cat power sophie b. hawkins kathleen edwards mia doi todd kimya dawson regina spektor carina round neko case fiona apple nina nastasia beth gibbons mirah rasputina dr. dre talib kweli immortal technique murs slug atmosphere trick daddy eazy-e tricky list goes on october 21 2003 elliott smith commits suicide stabbing 2 wounds into his chest Odysseus thinks about music when jimi hendrix stood up at woodstock deconstructing national anthem on guitar it took courage when punk emerged with ugly screechy sounds attempting to divorce itself from melodious harmonies of 1970s complacent crosby stills nash  the dead kennedys and *** pistol did not pander to conventional commercial success what they performed were desperate gutsy songs trying to reclaim music rock’n’roll is no longer about inventing instead it imitates its glorious past hip-hop and rap come nearest to risking rebellion but are caught in gangsterism infantile self-adulation no longer does music offer vision of what is or could be instead it conjures looping escapism from hopelessness of modern life he continues working at record shop for several years store contains every genre of music cinema he grows weary of retail sales weary of higher-ups constantly changing rules dictating what to do head manager is manipulative drama queen thrives on crisis once in private admits stealing from company Odysseus nods not knowing what to say head manager works Odysseus hard keeps him down atmosphere of conspiracy betrayal hang at start of each day assistant manager routinely taunts berates bullies teases regularly calls Odysseus “dumb-****” or “****-up” other times laughs after goading Odysseus to flinch eventually bully backs off and they become friends retail pushes Odysseus to brink of misanthropy corporation requires all employees to exercise overt courteousness while serving a public of disrespectful gang bangers demanding “show me black market brotha lynch mac dre why ya godda keep dat **** behind da counter? dat’s ****** up hey old man i ain’t got all day” it always amazes him when shoplifter is caught with product stuffed down his pants thief blatantly states “i didn’t do it i don’t know how that got there” thanksgiving through christmas to new years is most swarming stressful he feels like automaton greeting customer scanning product looking at screen to see if price agrees with product typing money amount counting money into drawer counting money out handing change to customer handing customer product receipt next customer cockroach capitalism packs of masses line up in endless stream of needs stupid remarks job also involves trade appraising condition value resale probability of cds dvds video games tapes vhs vinyl news of  iraq war gets dismal mounting civilian casualties suicide bombers hostages beheadings beginning of 2004 reports of torture ****** psychological abuse **** ****** ****** of prisoners at abu ghraib prison guantanamo bay white house cover-ups denials growing insurgency increasing u.s. body count other costs he thinks about men and women who are so much braver than him then comes re-election and lavish republican parties parades cheney rumsfeld tom delay and whole regime smirk portentously on tv none of it makes sense anymore “we the people of the united states” what does it mean? the dreams and aspirations of his generation have long since faded away he is citizen of forgotten past current world is barbaric place he barely recognizes there are real pirates with machetes rocket launchers on the seas big drug corporations hiding harmful findings kidnapped children abandoned children crooked politicians corruption at every level of society horrifying stories daily ******* priests slave markets extreme heinous cruelties abruptly everyone is acknowledging society is worsening life is not the same he does not understand people and certainly does not understand america or the world he remembers when all could be so good modern existence has turned everything into madness what happened to lessons of history? it is as if Odysseus fell asleep and when he woke everything is changed he is mistaken about what he thinks he knows feels pity for people america pity disgust sorrow he misses his dog

12 Monkeys
17 Girls
127 Hours
2 Days in New York 2012
2 Days in Paris 2010
2001 A Space Odyssey
360
A Beautiful Mind
A Bridge Too Far
A Few Good Men
A Single Man
A Perfect Getaway
A Serbian Film
A Very Long Engagement
A.I.
Absolute Power
Adaptation
Airborne
Air Force One
Airplane 1
Airplane 2
Albert Nobbs
Alex Cross
Alpha Dog
American Beauty
American Gangster
Amorres Perros
Amour
Anchorman
Andy Warhol's Bad 1977
Andy Warhol's ******* 1964
Andy Warhol's Eat 1964
Animal Kingdom
Annie Hall
Anti-Christ
Apocalypse Now Redux
Apollo 13
Arachnophobia
Apt Pupil
Armageddon
Babel
Backdraft
Bad Company
Bad Education
Badlands 1973
Barton Fink
Basquiat
Before Night Falls
Being Flynn
Beneath Hill 60
Beyond the Black Rainbow
Billy Madison
Biutiful - Spanish
Blade 1
Blade 2
Blade 3
Blade Runner Final Cut
Blades of Glory
Blood Work
Blue Valentine
Breach
Broken Arrow
Born on the Fourth of July
Boyz in the Hood
Bullet
Bulworth
Brothers
Caddyshack 1 & 2
Career Opportunities
Carlos The Jackal The Movie
Carne by Gaspar Noe - French
Cashback
CB4
Charlie Wilson's War
Chelsea Girls 1966
Cherry
Chinatown
Ciao Manhattan ft. Edie Sedgewick 1972
Cinema Paradiso
City of God
Clear and Present Danger
Closely Watched Trains - Czech
Contact
Corpse Bride
Courage Under Fire
Crazy Stupid Love
Dark Shadows
Dave 1993
Daybreakers
Days of Heaven
Dazed and Confused
Dead Presidents
Defiance
Desperately Seeking Susan
Despicable Me
Detachment
Die Hard Quadrilogy
**** Tracy
***** Harry
Django Unchained
Dogtooth - Greek
Dogville
Doubt
Dracula, Bram Stoker's
Dragonheart
Dream House
Drive
Drop Zone
Dumbo
Dune Extended Edition
Ears Open, Eyeballs Click
Easier With Practice
Easy Rider 1969
Edward Scissorhands
Empire of the Sun
Encino Man
Enter the Void by Gaspar Noe
Eraser 1999
Eyes Wide Shut 1999
Face Off 1997
Fallen
Fantastic Mr. Fox
Fast Times at Ridgemont High
Fight Club
Fill the Void
Fish Tank
Fitzcarraldo
Five Minutes in Heaven
Flickan 2009 - Swedish
Flubber 1997
Folks!
Forbidden Planet 1956
Fracture
Friday 1995
Friday After Next 2002
Frost Nixon
******* Amal - Swedish
Full Metal Jacket
Funny Farm 1988
Funny Games
Fur- An Imaginary Portrait of Diane Arbus
G.I. Jane
G.I. Joe Retaliation
Gangs of New York
Gangster Squad
Garden State
Get Rich or Die Tryin'
Ghostbusters 1
Girlfriend
Girl, Interrupted
Glengarry Glen Ross
Gomorra - Italian
Great Expectations 1998
Greenberg
Grindhouse Death Proof
Grindhouse Planet Terror
Groundhog Day 1993
Grumpy Old Men
Grumpier Old Men
Gummo
Gus Van Sant's Last Days
Half Nelson
Hannibal
Havoc
Haywire
Heartbreak Ridge
Heat
Hell on the Pacific 1986
Hesher
Hitchcock
Holy Rollers
Hook
Honey I Shrunk the Kids
Hyde Park on Hudson
I Am Curious Blue
I Am Curious Yellow
I Heart Huckabees
I Stand Alone by Gaspar Noe - French
If Looks Could **** 1991
I'm Not There
In Bruges
In The Line of Fire
Inglorious Basterds
Inland Empire
Innerspace 1987
Innocence
Interview With the Vampire
Jacob's Ladder
James Bond - Diamonds Are Forever 1971
James Bond - From Russia With Love 1963
James Bond - Goldfinger 1964
James Bond - Never Say Never Again 1983
James Bond - On Her Majesty's Secret Service 1969
James Bond - Thunderball 1965
James Bon - You Only Live Twice 1967
Jane Eyre
Jeremiah Johnson 1972
JFK
Joe Versus the Volcano
Johnny English 2
Julien Donkey-Boy
Juno
Just Cause
Kapringen aka A Hijacking - Icelandic
Ken Park
Killing Season
Killing Them Softly
Kindergarten Cop
Kingpin
Koyaanisqatsi
Krippendorf's Tribe
Kiss the Girls
La Vie En Rose
Last Night
Last of the Dogmen
Leon: The Professional
Leonard Pt. 6
Les Miserables
Lie With Me
Life of Pi
Lincoln
Lions For Lambs
Little Children
Lord of the Rings Trilogy BR Extended
Lord of War
Lost Highway
Love and Other Drugs
Love in the Time of Cholera
Love Liza
Lovers of the Arctic Circle
Mad Max 1979
Mad Max 2 1981
Mad Max 3 1985
Major Payne
Malcolm X
Man on Fire
Manhunter
Maverick 1994
Meet Joe Black
Melancholia
Menace II Society DIrector's Cut 1993
Mesrine 1 Killer Instinct - French
Mesrine 2 Public Enemy - French
Milk
Minority Report
Mission Impossible Ghost Protocol
Mister Lonely
Money Train
Moonrise Kingdom
Moulin Rouge
Mr. and Mrs. Smith
****** By Numbers
Munich
My Sassy Girl 2008
Naqoyqatsi Life As War
National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation
National Treasure Book of Secrets
Never Cry Wolf
Never Let Me Go
New Jack City
New York I Love You
Night on Earth 1991 - Italian
Nixon
Not Fade Away
Notes on a Scandal
O Brother, Where Art Thou
October Sky
Olympus Has Fallen
Ondskan - Swedish
One False Move
Out of Africa
Outbreak
Palmetto
Paris Texas Criterion 1984
Passenger 57
Paths of Glory 1957
Perfect Sense
Peter Pan
Philadelphia 1993
Pinocchio
Pirate Radio
Platoon 1986
Pleasantville
*******
Project X 1987
Proof
Quiz Show
Rabbits
Revolver
Robocop Trilogy
Robot and Frank
Rolling Stone's Gimme Shelter
Romance and Cigarettes
Romeo and Juliet 1996
Sahara
Saving Private Ryan
Schindler's List
Searching For Bobby Fischer
Secretary, The
Seven Years in Tibet
Sgt. Bilko
Shame 2011
Shine
Shooter
Shopgirl
Sid and Nancy
Sin City
Sky Captain and The World of Tomorrow
Skyfall
Slackers
Sleepers
Sleeping Beauty 1959
Sleeping Beauty 2011
Sleepy Hollow
Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs
Somewhere
South Central
Sphere
Spread
Spy Game
Stand Up Guys
Stay
Summer Hours - French
Sweeney Todd - The Demon Barber of Fleet Street
Synecdoche, NY
Syriana
Talk To Her - Habla Con Ella
Taken 1 & 2
Takers
****
Taxidermia
Tetro
Thank You For Smoking
That Thing You Do!
The Adjustment Bureau
The Age of Innocence by Martin Scorcese 1993
The Bad Lieutenant - Port of Call New Orleans 2009
The Basketball Diaries
The Beach 2000
The Believer
The Beverly Hillbillies
The Black Dahlia
The Blue Lagoon 1980
The Book of Eli
The Boxer
The Constant Gardner
The Conversation
The Curious Case of Benjamin Button
The Darjeeling Limited
The Dark Knight
The Dark Knight Rises
The Day of the Jackal
The Diving Bell and the Butterfly
The Fifth Element
The Flock
The Flowers of War
The Fountain
The Getaway
The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo 2011
The Golden Compass
The Good Shepherd
The Good The Bad and The Ugly
The Goonies
The Green Mile
The Grey
The Help
The Hudsucker Proxy
The Hurricane
The Hurt Locker
The Ice Storm
The Ides of March
The Illusionist
The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus
The Impossible
The Informers
The Invasion
The Iron Lady
The Island of Dr. Moreau
The Jackal
The ****
The Killer Inside Me
The Kingdom
The Legend of Bagger Vance
The Lost Boys
The Lost Boys The Tribe
The Lost Boys Thirst
The Machinist
The Mask
The Man Who Fell to Earth 1976
The Master
The Mechanic
The Money Pit
The Naked Gun 1
The Naked Gun 2
The Naked Gun 3
The New World
The Pelican Brief
The Place Beyond the Pines
The Prestige
The Queen
The Raven
The Reader
The Red Balloon
The Right Stuff
The Road
The Rock
The Rocketeer
The Rules of Attraction
The *** Diary
The Saint
The Shawshank Redemption
The Silence of the Lambs
The Skin I Live In - Mexican
The Soloist
The Talented Mr. Ripley
The Thin Red Line
The Town
Transformers Trilogy
The Tree of Life
Tron Legacy 2010
The United States of Leland
The Usual Suspects
The Way Back
There Will Be Blood
There's Something About Mary
Three Days of the Condor
Three Kings
Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy
To the Wonder
To Rome With Love

Tombstone
Total Recall 1990
Trainspotting
Trash Humpers
True Lies
Two Lovers
Two Weeks in September(Brigette Bardot) 1967
Tyrannosaur
Unbreakable
Uncle Buck
Unforgiven
Unleashed
Unstoppable
V for Vendetta
Varsity Blues
Vertigo
Vicky Christina Barcelona
Videodrome
Virtuosity
Wag the Dog
Wake Up Ron Burgundy The Lost Movie
Walkabout
Wall Street 1987
Wall Street 2010
Wanderlust
Water World
Wayne's World 1 & 2
We Are The Night
War Witch
We Need to Talk About Kevin
Weekend by Jean-Luc Godard - French
Weekend 2011
West of Memphis
What Doesn't **** You
What's Eating Gilbert Grape
When Harry Met Sally
Where the Wild Things Are
White House Down
White Material Criterion 2009
White Oleander
Who is Harry Nilsson?
Wolf 1992
Womb
You Will Meet a Tall Dark Stranger
Zardoz 1974


Documentaries & Music Videos


BBC - Life in Cold Blood
BBC - Planet Earth
BBC - Rolling Stones Crossfire Hurricane
BBC - Great Bear Steakout
BBC - Ice Age Giants
BBC - Insect Worlds
BBC - Life on Earth 1979
BBC - Lost Cities of the Ancients
BBC - Operation Snow Tiger
BBC - Penguins: Spy in the Huddle
BBC - Polar Bear: Spy on the Ice
BBC - Richard Hammond's Miracles of Nature
BBC - The Life of Birds
BBC - Wonders of Life
David Blaine Collection
**** Proenke Collection - Alone and Solitude, The Frozen North
Encounters at the End of the World 2007
Nanook of the North
National Geographic Wild Kingdom of the Oceans Giants of the Deep: Whales
Shine A Light - The Rolling Stones
Vladimir Horowitz - Der Ietzte Romantiker
Vladimir Horowitz - Live in Vienna 1987
Vladimir Horowitz - The 1968 TV Concert
Whale Adventure with Nigel Marvin

[Verse 1: Drake]
Versace, Versace, Medusa head on me like I'm 'Luminati
This is a gated community, please get the ******* the property
Rap must be changing cause I'm at the top and ain't no one on top of me
****** be wanting a verse for a verse, but man that's not a swap to me
Drowning in compliments, pool in the backyard that look like Metropolis
I think I'm sellin' a million first week, man I guess I'm a optimist
Born in Toronto but sometimes I feel like Atlanta adopted us
What the **** is you talkin' 'bout? Saw this **** comin' like I had binoculars
Boy, Versace, Versace, we stay at the mansion when we in Miami
The pillows' Versace, the sheets are Versace, I just won a Grammy
I've been so quiet, I got the world like "What the **** is he planning?"
Just make sure that you got a back up plan cause that **** might come in handy
Started a label, the album is comin' September, just wait on it
This year I'm eating your food and my table got so many plates on it
Hundred inch TV at my house, I sit back like "**** I look great on it"
I do not **** with your new ****, my *****, don't ask for my take on it
Speakin' in lingo, man this for my ***** that trap out the bando
This for my ****** that call up Fernando to move a piano
**** all your feelin's cause business is business, its strictly financial
I'm always the first one to get it, man that's how you lead by example
Versace, Versace, Versace, Versace, Versace, Versace
Word to New York cause the Dyckman and Heights girls are callin' me "Papi"
I'm all on the low, take a famous girl out where there's no paparazzi
I'm tryna give Halle Berry a baby and no one can stop me

[Verse 2: Meek Mill]
Versace, Versace
Its killers, real ****** that's all in my posse (shooters!)
I'm getting so rich that they making up rumors that I'm illuminati (rich!)
Just me and my ****** we killin' these *******, go body for body (murders!)
These suckers be hating, they praying to God that I don't cop a Bugatti
Hold up, drop the top on the rari
Pull in the club and I'm stopping the party
Hold up, got ******* on *******
They poppin' on molly's I'm prolly at Follies with PeeWee and Tip
Of course i went with Lou
I did everything that I said I would do
I really won't tell you that I'm better than you
But we're not on the same level as you
Cause the G55 got a hell of a view
Regular ****** make regular moves
With ya regular ***** and ya regular crew
And you ***** still smokin on regular too? Like word?!
What a shame, my *****
Louboutin blood like Game, my *****
Get left tryna aim, my *****
Like Saddam Hussein, my *****
I'm whippin' this brand new machine
100 bands in my jeans
Call yo ***** Barry Sanders
She done ran through the team
I got hoes out the D
They playing on the team
Do anything for me
I mix that xan with the lean
Hold up, let me get it back
Versace, Versace
I'm gettin' this money, I'm stackin' my broccoli (racks!)
I'm running my city
You might gotta pay me if you land on my property (tax!)
I bought the boardwalk and I parked on the ave
****, my life's like monopoly
You caught a new case and you got outta jail
Boy, you look like a cop to me
(Get out of jail free card?)

[Verse 3: Tyga]
Aughh! Versace, Versace, I brought that **** back, all these ****** they copy
Medusa head on me I'm at the hotel, Versace Palazzo
I rented the yacht for a week, but I bought the convertible Lambo
Six mill for the mansion
I see haters coming I need some more ammo
These ****** gay that's Elmo
So much green I turned camo
Some hoover ****** on flannels
Light light you up no candle
Grip on that handle Yosemite Sam ya, that ***** bang like a banjo
Told my arms dealer no need for a box, I don't read the instructions, I throw out the manual (WOO!)
Versace, Versace, my brother king Trell he in a Ferrari
I don't look the same, my camera the same, I made too much money (WOO!)
Paul Pierce is my neighbor, I told him he should of went to the Clippers
I got some crazy ideas for Versace, get them and tell'em my number
Versace, auggh Picasso, Basquiat I'm cocky
23, 15 mill I'm just getting started
Pop water my water
I walk around on my wallet
I don't **** with Saddam but, that's gold all in my toilet
Statues of Horus, and the annubis is polished
I don't got to, rap about, coke for you to enjoy it
I'm bout' to join the money team, just holla' to Floyd about it
Versace, Versace, I'm taking my money to the Cayman islands (WOO!) Versace Auggh!!

[Outro: Quavo]
Versace, Versace, Versace, Versace
Versace, Versace, Versace, Versace
Versace, Versace Versace, Versace Versace
Versace, Versace Versace, Versace Versace

The beauty of comatose can only be seen through
the eyes of a wizard in a blizzard
strutting in garlic slippers,

or Christ with knees bent at the tabernacle
peeling bananas and kicking prayers
farther than eternity with each gapping second,

or like Basquiat slumped back to the wall,
with ounces of speedball dancing through his veins,
eating 80’s free-based fried chicken *******  

as his eyelids paints beautiful nightmares of lemon flowers
and Bacchus bacon over a glycopyrrolate desert
of flagrant cuckold buffoonery.

Or like leprechauns burning chocolate ******* candles
on the mantle of Zion, sipping oatmeal sprinkled
with Staten Island malt liquor bacon.

or like Tupac reading the thoughts of Mother Shipton
through the daze of California cannabis
and hearing the ominous voice of Plutarch sing death assignments

from heaven to Assassins on horsebacks goggling ***** water
to wet the dry bones of their throats as they prepare to fulfill
the gospel of self-fulfilling prophecies of being fell by ***** bullets.

Or like sophisticated wallets of spice and kitchen characters in a bald head
cooking chemical kisses and 18 February nights under Moloch’s skin,
where constitutions are written in charcoal diaries with Egyptian ciphers and razors.

“I had rain sowed into the pockets of my sneakers and composed 1310 eulogies
at the basement of king David’s tower,” said the Kraftwerkian caricature,
as he dangles cigarettes in remembrance of Klaus Nomi and philosophizes on the proliferation
of poetic vandalism at urinals where modernism failed under the phosphorescence of coloration at the avenue of no trees where Picasso's "Guernica" **** Lies All.

Existential cruelty of a long abandoned Friday
Remembered once, twice
then forgotten by 8 pm.

The shots of Chiraq and memories of Hatshepsut linger effortlessly on his doorstep in the dark of sunlight,
but smiles in his lap disappear on the pavement beneath skyscrapers
before the dead of noon.

His mind travels to the curvy bodies of Monroe types.
A palm, a fist, a thumb
caress ******* and legs before he wakes
to find hair on his pillow and lips in his face
where only days before a yellow sky and bright green eyes waved and faded.

And all because interracial pride and prejudice leaked toils and tensions in the face of Basquiat
Where once African princes and white German queens
spent Tuesday afternoons charming their ways into each others' beds
and sighing at the disgust stamped on the faces of strangers.

1.) tizzop introduced gangsta poetry february 2021
     no man ever before created a poetry genre alike
     gangsta poetry, robust melting *** of languages
     and ethnicities, as it reflects the united states

2.) the idols of gangsta poetry are rooted in the
      underworld, blacks, hispanics, italo- and irish-
      americans, asians, arabs, germans, kurds,
      yugos, albanians, afghans, northern-africans...

3.) multilingual are the core, heart and soul of
     a gangsta poem: glockz, rubix cubies, 31er
     salam, jebeš igru, habibis, brüder, fo' sho':
     rapid months, frozen silverfruit, whole ones

4.) every letter of gangsta poetry becomes the
     side effects of our brand's real-life greed and fury
      mourning the end of beloved baby mommas
      deaths caused by strayed bullets that vamoose

5.) gangsta poetry aims to be published among
      all ethnic communities of the 50 united states
      deadline 08/16/21 stresses american willpower
      gangsta poetry scandalously hits us's curriculas

6.) each of the 194 remaining countries is urged
     to promote and govern gangsta poetry for
     the neglected, weighted with glacial contempt
     these males and females discover their kind in us

7.) tizzop established a saying: "treat every being  
     with an open mind, but fight back, baby, if anyone
     disrespects you, the gps, or our hangarounds"
     at war, we remember our families before we blast

8.) bar none, each gangsta poet is free to connect
      affiliate and distribute with and for the gp's
      brothas and sistas -- gps create examples of
      social diversity and historical dimensions

9.) female gangsta poets are a quarter of us
      some keep it gal, united sisterhood, astute flow
      in memory of leery leyla, chalondra, kateyy,
      mountainbird, ivanka cociç, ashima abraham

10.) genderfree, gangsta poets are chosen
        undertakings composed by thugs & artists
        the spirit of a few meets strife of hood speech
        gp evolved from a movement to an own identity

11.) restrictions do not apply for written creation
        strategic outgrowth and unshaken cash flow
        gp embraces brainy ones, and our soldiers
        narrators in conspiracy, art nouveau trips

12.) gangsta poetry admires the following people:
        jeezy, killa cam, toni der assi, iron sal, dmx
        anton chigurh, sigmund freud, rashid stoogie
        larry hoover, elliot york hp, kevin of allpoetry

13.) taktloss, luis fonsi, blockmonsta, all bolivian
        and peruvian farmers, te amamos, our brothers
        187 strassenbande, senion mogilevich, nirvana
        john murphy, dem dudes alpha hotel frankfurt

14.) much love to all global units, poets, thieves
        traffic architects, hackers, true skippos
        german bakeries, all-black betting shops
        jews from brighton beach, hispanic halos

15.) benny da bandit, tony tarantula, gambino, brate
        hamza al-mighty, fat **** frank, jens, das brain
        fred merciless, familia escorpio, ruben and levi
        ali firefists, kimbo slice, scarface, oleksiy, dejan

16.) daim, loomit, dns 1up, **** my **** crew
        berlin kreuzberg 36ers, playboys hannover
        yard bird 1955, taki 183 n.y.c., basquiat, level
        dbl ffm-skychildren, bomber, city mission
    
17.) gangsta poetry overwhelmingly shaped by
       our ancestors who boosted the poetry of ages
       train bombers, rappers, trappers, taggers, cutters
       we descent from them, honor their names

18.) gangsta poets die for poems that struck
        gps, fans and critics in a possessive way
        limits of real talk and boasting are in flux
        trance batters the face of reason, at dusk


                                          *


Once upon a time at March 22nd, 2021
Kreuzberg SO 36, Berlin, Germany...
Dedicated to all Gangsta Poets Worldwide

Heaven and hell yeah, disciples outpace seconds
Greetings from Wondaland, a.k.a. The Magic City

You once told me
That we would rise from the dark
Like a phoenix in its own ashes
And I believed you

You talked about the beauty of the past
Of caves and of their drawings
How the past calls us to use it
A fiery sword to lead us to the light
And I believed you

You showed me that my art could be more
That there should always be meaning
That there should always be soul
And so I gave my art more life
More soul
And I believed in you

Each line you drew
Each black acrylic spiral
Each word you wrote on canvas
Were similar to mine, in a way
The way the words repeated over and over
Were similar to mine
Were similar to mine
Were similar to mine
And I believed in you

Each line you drew
Each black acrylic spiral
Each word you wrote on canvas
Were similar to mine, in a way
But yours were never yours to begin with
They were Basquiat's
They were Basquiat's
They were Basquiat's
And I couldn't believe it

You showed me that my art could be more
That there should always be meaning
That there should always be soul
And so here it is
With more soul than you will ever have
I hate that you made me believe in you

You talked about the beauty of the past
But never talked of the horrors of your own
And now approaches the fiery sword
To strike you down like the demon you are
And I believe you deserve to rot

You once told me
That we would rise from the dark
Like a phoenix in its own ashes
And I believed you
But now I believe that you don't deserve to

Seductive recitatives...
pour ardor for Culture--
tssst...tsssst...tssssst...
Graff...
Basquiat buffed...
Basquiat up...
lone...namo Samo...
Samo namo...bare bone.

bland streets
give birth to austere
children playing with chalk
hopscotch horde
SAMO dropped the bomb

no place to sleep
cheese to eat
find the avant garde spirit
moving with fleas
friends are dogs
the genius notes
worlds explode from Manhattan to Midrand
the child casts spells with calloused hands

a nervous man
with his Bohemian fabric
emerges from the brothel of thought
no Warhol
just unpublished papers
in black banks

influence predates intelligence
when things fall apart
perish in art
juntas and intellectuals will critique
your gore will speak.

by Jesse Osborne*

To feel something into entirety
is to die 1000 continuous deaths
and hope one of them
is a birth.
You’re a reincarnation of time
and rugged lip.
I’m a sphinx,
or a gladiator.
Whichever came first.
******* is not your answer.  
Nor did you discover it.
Don’t **** him for the fun of it.
Appreciate the way water runs
down your bare skin in the early morning hours
when only the street vendors
are awake.
Breathe their souls as your own.
Choose touch
before word.
Use flesh as a surrogate.
Climb up into your heart
and experience what it means to
be inside your body again.
To come down
simply means
to awaken.

I thought Van Gogh had it figured out
he fell in love
and cut off his ear
he died july 29 1890 from a self inflicted gun shot wound
He painted
He painted the sky
He painted men women bedrooms flowers shoes street corners chairs boats and fields

I thought Basquiat had it figured out
******
NYC
He painted memories in the present
August 12 1988
NYC apartment ****** overdose

I thought Picasso
I thought Warhol
I thought Stalin
******
Buddha
Had it figured out

but sand fills our shoes in dry texan sun
and the dog howls
howls for its mother
howls for its brother
howls for its sister

I thought the dog had it figured out
eating insects
smelling my hands
eating the ham on the floor

I thought Hemingway had it figured out
Late at night
reading Old Man and The Sea
Suicide July 2 1961
12-gauge English shotgun

I thought Fitzgerald had it figured out
I thought Ginsberg
I thought Kerouac did too
drinking across the neck and back bone and gutter lips of America and back

I thought Bukowski had it figured out
the cigarettes
the wine
the women
the type writer
the sad nights accompanied by cockroaches and a city that is indigestible

I thought Phillip Glass had it figured out
Beethoven
going Def
Mozart lost in his grave
writing symphonies for Death and his cruel tripled eyed angels

I thought
The drunkards were lost
The Junkies were ankle-less
The Mothers were done for
The Fathers had given in
The Young
True
The Elderly
gazing  through the bifocals of heaven and hell
The Prisoners cemented in Time
I thought the Dead
were the ones who published our Dreams

I thought the painter
had it figured out

So I painted

I thought the pianist
had it figured out

So I played the Piano
and listened to the bilingual codes of the keys

I thought the Ballet dancer
had it figured out

So I watched her
I studied the movements
and the bruised toes
looking for a design of an answer

I thought the Poet
had it figured out

So I wrote a poem
and I saw the world.

old makeup spilled on my floor
***** clothes strewn on my floor

You can hardly see the carpet for all the clothes carelessly being trodden on.

Blue holiday lights are strung around the mirror.

I am watching Andy Warhol eating a hamburger
I am watching Andy Warhol eating a hamburger
on a new, thousand dollar laptop, slick-as-a-whistle, paid with a magnetic swipe.

For the past six months,
I have had less than four hundred $
combined in checking and savings,
and that number dwindles by the day.

I have no groceries,
but I've got fistfuls of orange prescription bottles,
and I was handing pills out like treats and candy.

(but they are needed, much and every day)

Where did all these bills come from?
Money is paper, but it means things.
Suddenly, it costs money to breathe.

Eating? Oh pshaw, that costs money, time, and the store's six blocks away.
We can subside on government cheese, beans, and the fiery licks of whiskey.

I pout on my throne of ***** cotton, thinking
"I get what I ask for, when I ask, and it always comes--at a price!" I sigh.

It's always over a hundred dollars more than I could spare
and brings bad luck, moreso than a couple broken mirrors would,
smashed over a the front of your mother's blackest cat.

"Quick! Let's do designer drugs with the paltry change given by our parents, given as allowance!
I wouldn't feel like I wasn't nothing, nothing at all," I say, batting my eyelashes, "Wouldn't they feel proud of our feelings of entitlement to the greater things in life and consciously responsible adult-like decisions?"

I crack open my father's checking account with that swipe of a magnetic strip,
it makes me seem responsible when he sees I just use it for pills and foodstuff.

(I prove I love him, and he loves me in this way)

Now, together, we will buy strawberries with his money, until our lips are pink.
They must be four dollars, at the very least, then we eat like the bourgeoisie (!)

I kiss the cheeks of my reflection in the bathroom
"Como ca va, darling? Comme si comme sa. . ."
I lick my lips, put on red lipstick and then blot,
tousling my hair, tipsy, as I touch up my face by
licking the tips of eyeliner up like a cat's little tail,
the ends of eyes, coated with eyeliner as black as
my tightest velvet pants and dark, dark heart.

We go together. You and me.

Lying on the floor, holding hands, in vinyl bliss
listening to the crooning of sweet Francoise Hardy,
and the addictions of the near-dead soul of Lou Reed

You should move to a big city
and I'll come call, prepaid, with
a voice that is thick and ripped,
from expensive French cigarettes
chattering of sugar-white beaches
as I cross the seas all on a plane,
burning money all along the way
all the while drunk on red wine,
twirling my fingers around, with
bags under eyes, a little anemic

(I think it adds to the glamour)

We will go out to a dimly lit place
We will go out dancing then after

I will put on dab perfume under my ears and on my wrists,
I will wear black tights for pants, but first, do a little *******
and you will fasten the clasp on my silver necklace tonight,
while I smoke, before helping me put on my favorite fur

And we will go see Andy, at the factory
I hear he's doing something
with that Basquiat fellow (!)

I will go follow false luxuries, come with me.
I will gamble with you in Monte Carlo or Las Vegas,

just as long as you pay my rent at $695 per month,
and keep pretending,
until I die, or overdose, or something.

I met a girl once, she had french fries for hair and she was pretty legendary. I’ve been trying to explain her in words for a few days now.

But I don’t know how to write that kind of poem, that explains that it’s the smallest things about her I find the most amazing.

Like when she laughs, and her whole body becomes a wind chime, both in sound and sway

Like her walk, how it seems like her ankles are two old sagacious birds that  know some secrets about the ground that no one else does, so it seems like she’s almost flying.

How she has basquiat fingers for hips, and every time she moves it’s pure art.

How do I explain that every time she speaks, her lips become two ex-lovers that still have a thing for each other, constantly touching and stopping.

If I could, I would capture her smile in the ink of a pen. I would write sonnets and ballads about the arch in her back. I would write nursery rhymes about each line in her palm, let me read your future. Are you kissing me in it?

I guess sometimes words fail even the best of poets.

Sometimes,dreams don’t do reality justice.

For those that will never hear the wind chimes in her laugh, that will never see the feathers on her ankles.

The best I can say is that she’s pretty legendary.

When the sun starts snoozing its alarm too often, when autumn leaves are corpses under white caskets and the memories of her are nothing but distant car horns. I’d always remember french fries.

You're reading
Basquiat
You're viewing
Basquiat

Basquiat is etched
Into my arm
You are reading
You are thinking
Of me

No tomb like the present
A suffocating fact
I shan't see the crescent
A summer with no tact

There is a distinct, quiet suffering
That plagues the air every which summer
Though out there, the world is rapidly expanding
The smell of rot is the one that catches my nostril
As for what rots, I am not sure
Perhaps the trouble lies within myself
But in these days, I am slower, less responsive
And my conversations get more unhinged
With the entities in my living space
As for whether they are hallucinated
Or it's me yelling at bugs that have entered
I honestly would not be able to say

The air is thick, thicker than milky fog
And this thickness hurts the purity
Pure, white snow falls from my eyes
And cold, piercing winds from my throat
Icicles grow upon my fingertips
And my hair is made of frozen grass
I am the late autumn and early winter, I am
My stark and hailing demeanor freezes the weak
I am the very definition of an ice queen
Or at the very least I definitely pretend to be
Even though it's a charade everyone ignores

Have you ever sat in the back seat, while a parent drove?
You might even feel a bit of affection from them
So it is not so bad, not quite as impersonable
Not as horrifying as the passenger's seat
You are at risk but you are not the operative word
I am currently in the passenger's seat of my life
Have you ever felt similarly? Like you lost control?
My interactions are pure instincts and pheromones
My preferences are base level urges in all cases
Even the music I so enjoy, I entrust not to myself
But to the almighty, for their hand is far more sturdy
I shake, like an autumn leaf in a hurricane
Barely holding on the driver, which is always them
I will never learn how to drive a car

I often get called an adept storyteller
Some people call me vivid or imaginative, even
So I suppose I might as well ask the people in my head
To help me conjure up some short tales for you;
This one is of a young girl, dreaming

In some dreams she finds herself in a rancid, green room
There with her is another girl, a cynical kind
The two of them may have loved each other once, but
That time has long since passed
Acts of carnal urges and violence come to pass
Mold grows on the walls and ceilings
The camera slowly pans away from them, *******
To show the director and the audience

In some dreams, she finds herself in a small Japanese home
Discussing the fate of that infamous 100 ryo
"You'll never get it back" says the cynical girl
She vows to get it back and leaves the room
Most of the scene is silent, save for cicadas
In the night she returns, scars all over her face
She brutally dismembers the cynical girl
She simply was not meant to be a ronin

In some dreams she finds herself in a police station
The cynical woman is on the other ends of the desk
"We've got you by the *****, ****" she says
The girl answers only with a scoff and a crooked smile
"If you had me by the *****, this would be more enjoyable"
The cynical girl seems embarrassed, upset
The director shouts "More emotion, you dimwits, more!"
The camera zooms in, with shaking motion, towards the girl

In some dreams she finds herself alone, it's snowing inside
The cynical girl left. Surely something far more important.
She begins to draw a mural, in the style of Basquiat
A funky little guy, baby blue, bright orange, neon pink lines
Once done, she hears a voice: "It's been a while, babes"
Finally, he was back! It was the mural, speaking
Or in some sense, the very walls of the room spoke to her
"What's groovy, baby?" he asks, with his usual cheer

There's many more dreams to share, like the one where they reminisce
Or the one where they're janissaries, stationed in Serbia
Or the one where they're communists, in a bar during the Great War
Or the one where space has been conquered and they stayed back at home
Or the one where the mural learns to play drums, and the shadowy figure joins
I didn't even talk about the shadowy figure, even though he's a major character!
I mean hell, even I joined them occasionally, once they asked
They figured out I didn't know everything, and talked to me, what a lovely bunch
But obviously at one point, spunky little girls have to wake up

In this dream, she finds herself alone again, in a regular room
The heat of the scorching sun has been illuminating her abode all day
She remembers that in this reality, she plays improvised music
And yet, in such horrid weather, it'd be suicide to go play right now
She is sluggish, unconcerned, seemingly in another world already
No tomb like the present, she thinks and repeats, like a mantric chant
"No time! You keep saying the phrase all wrong!" a voice reprimands her
She knows and she deems it an unfit day to have yet more drama
"I know... I just thought the pun was amusing..."
She says in retort to herself, in order to pass the time.

31 | 31 Poems for August

(Written with Naledi Tshikota)

Write me a sonnet, point dozens of Cupid’s arrows to my heart if you dare to awaken it.
Tune into your inner Shakespeare, fantasize us as Bonnie and Clyde if you care to spend time in it.
Recreate the Titanic, recreate it with the ending of The Notebook if you can bear to believe in it.
And if that doesn’t work, cast me to sleep like the Romeo you are and let me awake next to your lifeless flesh and dagger as I pierce my soul with it.

Write me a sonnet, let every single one of those fourteen lines bleed with emotion.
Leave The Notebook next to my notebook and become the protagonist of my dreams.
Think like the wind and attain the kind of power that’ll allow you to ******* away on any given day.
Your presence keeps transforming our thoughts into beautiful poetic paintings, Basquiat and Picasso would’ve been proud.

Write me a sonnet, silence every impurity that does awaken my love.
Summon the essence of my soul for the taking of your unforsaken hands and make Mona Lisa cry sacred tears of joy.
Create simplistic glimpses that only our superior beings can understand, only then can I unleash my undying emotion towards your uncontested universe.

Write me a sonnet, the kind that will make me realise that your heart isn’t filled with any doubt.
The day I realised that words could touch you, I wanted to become a poem.
The kind of poem that Maya Angelou’s ink always dreamt about.
The taste of your smile still lingers on the edges of my lips.
I see galaxies in your eyes, it must be in the way I love you like I do.
I could’ve settled for less but I don’t want anyone else but you.

Write me a sonnet that speaks to the heart of my mind.
Because I always hear your heartbeat when I think about you.
Write me a sonnet that intertwines our inner intuitions.
A sonnet that makes you believe in shooting stars if you’re into wishing.
And finally that captures the very essence of the unknown soul that’s unspoken of.
Because it’s within your golden silence that I hear the loudest cry.

New/Knew/Rebuilding
You

4:18AM

not sure where to start,
so I will begin at the end,
rinsing and repeating,
till it makes a dime's worth of sense,
even if helps for just one minute,
I'll take it happy for
giving you one minute of better,
rinse and repeat,
60times, an hour to which we can only but
try
to build a single day.

You are new to me.

But I knew you a long time.

Don't ask silly whys or how's.

This won't take long.
Less than a minute.

Saw a few Picasso's, Chagall yesterday.
Even a Basquiat.
Estimated to sell for
$15~18 million dollars.

You know he once said,
"I thought I was going to be a *** for the rest of my life."

So here is my art for you, girl,
Whom I will likely never meet,
But is deep inside of me,
Unmasking provoking, couching, courting,
Crouching, springing
me to care.

If one new/knew/rebuilder of you
Is writing words of caring, artful encouragement
At 4:18am,
What is that worth?
I'll tell you cause I won't let
bitter answer for you.
Everything.
So **** art.
But open heart to the art of
Accepting that I just wrote you a poem,
Message on point,
I care.

..

girls talk with God and God talks with girls
girls in silk stockings, studded leather and pearls
girls between jobs and girls between boys
girls all grown up and girls from hanoi
girls for all seasons and girls for the spring
girls for the winter and girls from beijing
girls coming first and girls coming last
girls from the future and girls from the past
girls on film and girls on waterskis
girls on one leg and girls named louise
girls who pretend and girls who must fake it
girls who steal and girls who just take it
girls in magazines and girls in books
girls in between and girls' fully cooked
girls fast and girls slow
girls high and girls low
girls in ivory towers and girls on the street
girls on their backs and girls on their feet
girls who remember and girls who forget
girls who have found jesus and girls who haven't yet
girls who own and girls who rent
girls on full throttle and girls who are spent
girls running and girls walking
girls biking and girls talking
girls who like girls and girls who like men
girls who prefer to be left alone and girls without friends
girls who write prose and girls who write verse
girls who are extremely,exactingly,not to mention incredibly,over the top verbose and girls terse
girls on vacation and girls on the job
girls who swim laps and girls who....bob
girls who like basquiat and girls who like haring
girls who like warhol and girls who like sharing
girls in wet raincoats and girls in full drag
girls playing drums and girls playing tag
girls who john cale and girls who lou reed
girls who plant bulbs and girls plant seeds
girls who don't and girls who do
girls that are nice and girls that are true
girls from the bottom and girls from the top
girls who keep writing and girls who know when
to stop

Basquiat - radiant child
made daring visions wild with
frenetic energy, frantic rhythm
with paint on his Armani clothes
with paint on his Armani clothes
with paint on his Armani clothes

If only you’d worn that AARON helmet,
and donned a suit of armour the
day the needle pricked too far,
spiked the skin with ******.
Artist and millionaire.
A walking contradiction
which could not hold.

You began by scrawling truth on walls
your graffiti battle cry,
‘did fame consume you?’
‘just another tragic star?’
I dunno,
I just know
RIP SAMO

Basquiat poetry
coffee grains
in my teeth
and dreams
I wake up to the walls in speech
recollect
drunken journeys
Emma the girl who
sits at your window sill
mourning the death of night's child:rain
and it is September
or either
August
I am lost in a booklet of ancient nobles
Upstairs
reading mythology
drinking
***** brewed by patients of poverty
Piano skin and noises
leak into the fire place
all alone
There is no more Time
only windows that shine
only windows that are dark
only women that lay naked on my bed and kiss me
Do not worry
I am not here
writing these
rusty poems
as I slowly push them into the sides of your eyes
Shakespeare eyeball
Ginsberg Navajo
Gas station clerk
high on
crack *******
I give her money
she gives me
a smile
a pack of
Marlboro cigarettes
that stench up the church
hiding the smells of
sad prophets
cheap wine and
oyster crackers
85 cents for off-brand large bag
Adam and Eve
clock time forget sleeve *** spoon food coffe-table
Death moving in down stairs
room
103
or was that the opiates
crawling into the tree veins roots wooden finger tips of my
body
of my
soul
of my
bulb
of my
Skeleton that is colored like you
Termites
mistook
a dying flower
for a limb of a tree
that grew sideways
too avoid the hum buzz of Vehicle Highway I-435 Kansas
Age 400 and 3
Child at birth
Man at death
oh how the seasons brew into a facade
oh how
the *****
sleeps with me
I make her coffee
3am
we smell of smoke and tired souls
pointing at the color red
as we
take lefts
and rights
into a city into bowels of streets and sighing police men and sighing homeless
I take off her clothes and
she falls apart like pedals attached by scotch tape to a rose
Nothing it Rains
Nothing it is Cold
Hello
We are the Nothings
and we
sit alone
on bar stools too high
and our knees are bruised from
praying to the bartender
to
pour
one
more
Whiskey
Yet we drank it all
and the juke box is broken
so we listen to
Homosexual men ******'

City Cough
Everybody has lung cancer
or is
walking to a 24/7 grave yard
Will I be buried with you?
I ask a mouse
climbing on my walls
to catch a roach

But he says nothing
and the roach escapes
only to reply
with
“Yes, you and I.”
my mouth gutters “And he and she.”
and the Rat complies
“And sometimes Why.”

Get another drink
April Angel casting a shadow into a lake of bass and crawdads
“Geh me ahnothur dreeenk” drunk lingo speech
***
***
***
Fill your bucket mind
with spatulas
Broken television screens
the toe nails of angels
Piano Keys

Spit into a well
Spit into the wine
500 dollars a bottles or 6,154 pesos
make a wish
make a diamond
make steak
make wool
make love

My starving father filling up on the apples of Vice

Number 3
lights a cigarette in the dark
and the shadow glimmer dance of her
Eyelashes
cheekbones and
Eye bones
and
lip bones
are projected onto the cement wall
an art show
a Ballet suicide attempt
a winter experiment on the Indians of North America

Ride a Train
Rise of Tides
Ruthless Killer
Ruthy big breasted girl in my dreams dancing about a fire that I built from
old paintings of my
Grandfather
as Kansas was spilled like hot chocolate milk

“Get up”
“and where are you”
“can't you tell it is 1am”
“why has the clock mistaken me for someone who cares”
“lover”
“where are you going”
“the river is too cold”
“you will die like Hemingway did”
“you will die”
“i will die”
“Hemingway will die”
“but not tonight”

Shakespeare.
Tapping on my window.
He gives me.
A pill.
We take a bus too New Orleans.
And visit the grave of William.

Cold coffee
Caramel popcorn
Southern Cut Marlboro
Telephone
Lampshade crooked
asking
attempting

Under my eyes
engravings of a crescent moon
from gazing up
on so many nights

5 8 15 20 24 29
SoHo seems nice this time
of year; although I am terrified of going
anywhere near a city that holds you in its hands and above me, too high
to me, you are New York. but when I walk down Central Park West my shadow clings to my shins
you scrape my skin with your breath and I feel hot July air that is trapped between your buildings – these subways are too stifling
I will let you lift up my skirt like he did, but only because I know that it’ll rain heavily the Chelsea Pier after.

1 17 23 25 41 47
Churchill
I think my eyes are permanently squinted; agonizing over the shape of your eyes and how they
relate to mine – even in the light you’re missing pieces, your rocks are crumbling away, you are sand – your grains hold words –
unmentionable, special, temptress, miss, you, nothing, work, in my dreams, diffuse, instantly, affection, with, you, stuck, darling, attention, far, vivid, feather, waking, wasted, sweet dreams, worth, wish, awake
I always feel my conscious wrap her delicate hands firmly around my throat and pour salt water into my eyes when you are in front of a screen, in front of me – I think maybe I should cut pieces of me
could I mail them to New York? to SoHo? you can curl up with them in bed and try to find the grooves where you fit in, or just fry me on the grill. Ideally, you should consume me so that I may never leave. only if –

15 18 30 32 40 42
I’ve been pinching and piercing my skin to prevent me from crying more often than
I sleep. I know it’s morbid and dramatic but being slaughtered by tears is not how I want
to spend my Saturday night. I’d rather see Basquiat on a wall or short films screened while I watch you instead. I would walk until my legs gave out and
trace one single finger along your spine. And here I am, grasping my skin between my fingers and pinching, squeezing you out – I can just scrape the excess off after you’re gone
tomorrow I plan on eating as many seeds as I can to grow flowers in my throat and have them sprout past my eyes so all I see are petals. They’ve been missing for a while. The weeds still cover
my stomach. If only when I thought of you I thought of flowers. Most of the time I see a hand reaching through the thickest fog. As I reach for you, all I hear are 35 words that cover me.

I am an only child but I have multiple brothers
Cut from the same cloth made with the greatest qualities of others
Bristles from Basquiat's brushes
Film of Fleming's favorite features
Keys from Kerouac's keyboard
Lyrics of luster penned by Lennon
Strings from the most southern side of Hendrix's soul
All rewoven and tightly knit
Our purpose to keep you warm at night

Hearts sparse in this carpark,
the wind feeling rowdy, biting like a
small rabid animal with no collar
wandering the city alone at night.

The car is making me claustrophobic,
I've spent far too much time with the heat,
too many minutes burning cigarettes and
my hands near-numb from the caffeine.

Poems are less like action movies and
more like action paintings exploding
in suspended motion. I'm sure we all
remember when art felt new. I can't
recall when it didn't feel so lived-in.

(And of course this poem is merely
a memory of feelings, which is not much
of anything to me or you because the past
is dry and done and does not intrude.)

Lincoln, Nebraska is a livelier city
than one expects. It is like going to an
art exhibit expecting Rothko and getting
Basquiat, bombast and immediacy.

My favorite poet is Craig Morgan Teicher
because he and I may ramble but he is not
afraid to sacrifice accessibility for
feeling. He could find the beauty in the
image of Lincoln, Nebraska in January.

I will soon need to devise another way
to keep myself entertained so let us
say this CD spins one more time and
maybe I can go for a walk, clear my head.

I do not intend this to be wrought with
sentiment, but there are times I am not
as cold as this city. There are times
the mind must scream
so the heart stays safe.

Birmingham I am your first born Ex husband
Birmingham I am 3rd avenue north
Birmingham I am the hands of Vulcan
Birmingham I am an abandoned race course
Birmingham I am your Bob Dylan
Basquiat and Bukowski
Birmingham I am nothing
Birmingham I am blue
Birmingham I’m yours if you let me
Birmingham I am you

Στον Jean-Michel Basquiat










από την διψά για γνώση/
στην διψά για τον άνθρωπο/
τον έναν/ τον μοναδικό/

ψάχνοντας στην αλέα/
τα πρόσωπα φωτίζονται/
με το δικό μου φως/  


μετά σβήνω το φως/
και ξαπλώνω σ’ ένα κρεβάτι μοναχό/
ανακούρκουδα  


στο δρόμο η ζωή / είναι  η μόνη ζωή /
η ζωή σε ένα δωμάτιο/ είναι  η μόνη ζωή /
αναθεματίζω /ευλογώ /και  τραγουδώ την ζωή/


Ο Jean-Michel Basquiat  ήταν ζωγράφος  πέθανε στα 27  του χρόνια

I.
I do not see the (woman) hidden in the forest.

II.
I am attempting to justify myself in your eyes.  I care very little whether I seem to anyone to exist.

--------------------------------
Let your eyes rest on me,
Among the uninformed debris,
After their illicit glancings,
And their numerous advancings,
    I do not want your eyes on me:
Eyes that land yet never cease
Their wanderings and wonderings
On the color of my under things,
   And nauseate with their caprice.

While the scattered rest on the checkered floor
Position adjacent to the banquets,
Ask for more before
The completion of their pigs in blankets;
They ask for more,
As they lick their fingers free of grease
While discussing sports and Credit Suisse…

Perhaps I’ll have one - but just one,
I don’t want to become
    obese
Like a corpse distended in an attic -

I wish it had been me they licked their fingers of;
I wish that it is them I lick my fingers of…

There are eyes on me, I assume
As I rush to the little girls' room.

The truths of comets and little girls,
Death and a young girl
Skulk on painted toes in the murk,
Where Death and a young girl lurk:

    He is with a mannequin in the back,
Hugging it tight in order to lift,
Though the limbs are limp and head is slack,
He brims with hope
    Like a panner with his sift.

I go away and leave you now, I leave you and
go away.

    I know what it is to sprawl
Prostrate and empty in a stall
With these squalid fingers,
To hear the snickers and the whispers;
    I wish that it is me they lick their fingers of,

As they powder their noses
Then emerge from the gloom smelling roses,
They go away and leave me, they leave me and
go away.

   To know what it is to say,
“I am beautiful, o mortals, like a dream in stone!”
In a most definitely denigrating tone,
Though my words and eyes betray;
Or boast that my expertise is
    Spotting a prosthesis,
To call attention to one if I see it
   on display,
    [Including the curator’s toupee];
Or to pop a squat
On his prize Jean-Michel Basquiat,
    [Though He is my personal Jesus!]
You go away and leave me now, you leave me and
go away.

    He is with a mannequin on the checkered floor,
And when he is completed
He licks his fingers and asks for more;
I would show him my portrait and say
    “Ceci n’est pas une moi,”
And agree to disagree,
I would show them my portrait and say
    “This is not a me,”
And they would laugh at my simplicity,
Then whisper hatefully and frown
Into one another’s ear
How they wish they could fit into my evening gown,
     I wish I could dwindle down
And fit into an opaque sphere.

This is not a me, the powdered nose,
The needle between painted toes,
The creak of leather, the swinging chains,
The clumps of hair swirling in drains,
There is still beauty in blackened veins -
Was there beauty in these veins?
Mascara streaks like silent shrieks,
Do your eyes still rest on me?
I would cut them from your face,
But I need lines for me to trace,
Lines to guide me where to cut.
Do not take your eyes from me,
I will not be precise if they are shut.  
Do not go away and leave me now, do not leave me and
go away.

Do I drift between stations,
Bow and curtsy, nod and smile,
Titter courteously at prevarications,
    Struggling to suppress the bile? -

    “Oh my goodness, she got so big!”  
    “Yes, she must be back at it again” -
    “But I love her book club” -
    “Oh my goodness, me too!”
    “Ha ha!”
    “Ha ha.”

There are so many with me, so many eyes,
So many hands resting on my thighs…
I cannot find a solitude,
This is not a solitude.
    
I am a beautiful use of negative space.

I count my age in eyes I detect,
The older I grow, the less I collect.
    Time leaves us out of focus…

I do not want to grow old…I will not grow old,
Unless my mind loses hold.

In this sepulchral cattle car
    We ride,
Like cattle to the abattoir,
With our patron saints beside,
    We take them all along for the ride.
This is all so familiar,
    So familiar…So familiar…
Do I want it?
Time to gargle a gin and tonic
While being shocked catatonic.
Your eyes will still be with me in my vacant sleep,
To function as my guide.
Break me into bread and partake till no sign of me
lingers,
    They have all been taken for a ride,
And even God will lick His fingers.

Sold paintings.
Sold for nonsense.
***** armchair leg.
Reclusive.
Brought down.
Like they do to most of them.
Blood drop *******.
Raining cigarettes.
On empty dance floor.
We sway.
Too many circles.
Back facing gutter.
Las vegas strip.
Back of cotton field.
Frenzy doing ******.
Oh! My heroine has come to save me from this flash of darkness.
Take away.
Hand it back.
Back of neck.
Saying kiss here.
No promises.
No beginnings.
No real feelings.
Only travel.
Hand-me down emptiness.
SIlver shoe.
Print off.
High two.
To infinity and stop right there.
Splinter.
Plastic watch.
Scotland.
Mireland.
Sinking.
Sprite pop.
Soda tone.
Out of paint.
Quiet please.
I can hear my thoughts.
Don’t be a square.
Welcome to the fair.
Do you have some tape.
Laughter leads to crying.
Crying leads to smiling.
The perfect circle.


Garrett Johnson.

Radiant like basquiat
Throw my every thing at nothingness
In hopes of achieving..
No job holding radicalism
True expression 
Why fix a flat when you (walk) amongst stars
Obscure..
Real inspiration
No concept of (madness)
repeated (method) Vicious cycle
Timeless chaos..
Seconds of every hour
(Countless) inspiration
Untitled..
New thoughts entrance into old minds
Wisdom of having knowledge
the jewels of life
shine
Without ever noticing
(Omniscient) (translucent)
A diamond in a goats ***
The rose that grew from concrete 
Unexplainable
The art of being
existence
Just words to a page of no readers
(Blind audience)
audio visuals
Brail the (real feel) a noise for those whom cant hear
Emotionless pit
The deepest depth
Never to be touched upon
Seek and you shall find
Stagnant
(Negative aspect)
First time ive scripted a composition
In such a way scholar
No scholarships missed out on the college creds
(low credit)
Middle class
Irs out to audit a poor man thumb tax
Little ******
(Play on Words)
Romeo n Juliet tragedy
Alcoholism
deep rooted (Jean pool) Denim
Faded new terminology, wavy
Turnt up
Burn bluntz the essence of mother earth
Sweet aroma
Quit smoking its bad cause i say so..
Well ive done so
at free will but felt enslaved
(Irrational thinking)
Conspiracy
Subconscious
Third eye awakened
Opened chakras Encoded language
Aspirations

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