The idea seemed like all my others genius why think  it through
had my parents ?
**** no if it wasnt for wild turkey  loud music wild women and
bad desiscions   gonzo wouldnt be here.
Thanks for being a party girl mom.

We had gotten hitched  i always said if i found a woman
who could out drink me under the table was smokin hot  and meaner than a rattle snake and would actully have *** with me without charging.
I would make my wife.

From the moment Skeeter had stepped into my life and said hey what
the ******* lookin at ***** ?
I knew that pint size ******* was the one.

And finally after my in house arrest and her brief vacation in Rikers was up we finally  tied the knott  and got married  but enough with the foreplay  children.

Like two insane people  with a shared thought.
The first night was outstanding the second even better she was like a
hot female  version of me.
A teenage hellcat who should have been busted for filling out that sweater  thank god for citezens arrest.

The first  week flew by Ya think we can everday?
My dear  if you just put your mind to it  and some other parts.
I know we  can.
Yes  to have a dream  and to be horney with someone
who shares  the same  dream is a wonderful thing.
Till you have to slip her roofies to get some sleep.
I knew thoose pills would come in handy  than for
just having them for  blind dates.

Although Ive learned your supposed to not take them also.
Then its just awkward waking up looking to the other person
saying hey  what happend and why are we in the burger king rest room?

After a few weeks i learned why people  actully spoke to each  other
and had these thing's called conversations.
I learned my Skeeter   loved halloweeen  for how could she not with so many costumes.
And she had a a real passion for law inforcement  with all the handcuffs  and tazers  a couple badges  a cop car  hmm makes me
wonder could it be yes your right.
People  really get carried away playing dungeons and dragons.

The first month was great the second made me rethink taking vitamins  she reminded of a  hamster in a wheel runnng without stop
just taking breif breaks  to hit the bottle  of Jack  Daniels
I miss working the pet store.

Leaving the house to  stagger to the bar  myself worn like a
a cheap motels matress.
Skeeter glowing like a neon sign if a neon sign were prone to random acts of violence.
Speaking sweet  nothing's to each other  like I love you sugar ,
did you hide the bullwhip ?  And hey wake up you drunk ******.

Her eye's  a work of true beauthy  that read  **** with me
and i'll knock your **** in the dirt   or light you on fire
ahh romance  it is grand and slightly dangerous and painful at times.

The night alive the drinks flowing  the waitress  a attractive  yet
soon to be mauled victem  of a five three spitfire.
The paper read of something i belive they call them numbers
dam you davinnci code.

Befor I could  down the wild turkey order four more and say in the name of Bono.
She sprang from her seat like a  miniture ninja leaping over the bar.
tackling the woman who had angred my mighty banshee.

the fight was epic and i did what any good red  bloodedand whiskey fueled pervert  would do I sat there and cheered on this cat fight.
get her honey it was a true sitght to be seen  hair being pulled
clothes being ripped off  okay i added that one.

And as a voice echoed over the crowd that said
hey who is that  hot crazy *****.
I turned  to the  man pointed saying  look its raining  
*****   and Adam Lambert  oddly enough he looked.

the sucker punch was fast hard and hurt like a son of
a *****  sorry but thats not just any hot insane horney carzy *****
thats my  teenage nymphomaniac  homicidle costume collecting halloween loving demon with a touch of sweetness wife.

The cops had arrived  but strangley enough Skeeter knew them all by
name.
Im starting to belive she might have a thing for tazers.
The questions flew around sir what caused this and why are you not wearing any pants.

She was in a rant so like any semi sober man  I decicded to set her straight  well  kinda.
And you!
I cant belive you take her number  the rage filling within her
building like a volcano  of pint sized sexiness mean chicks
are hot.

Well  honey I ment to tell ya mid flight  that was the bar tab.
Suprize.

And after i awoke from acoma  my hellcat in my hospital bed
I looked from a black eye saying skeeter  i love you more
with every day that does pass.
To which my teenage ******  replyed good.
God cause if ya didnt Gonzo id have to kick your drunken semi sane long winded  ***.

To stare at the ground and wonder when,
To prance about looking for the wring'd necks of wrens,
To die, but wake a next day,
‘Twas how the Hellcat lived,
Up in the mountain garden,
All alone,
His face broken.
He sings each day,
Until final light,
When he drowns with a bray.
The tears streaked from eye to lilac sodden ground,
Where he curls into a ball,
Skin wrinkled,
Grey hair falls.

Mother Moon’s light comforts her child.
She bid the tears away,
Strong-willed, she watches his soul sway,
Her hand extended, catching light,
Warm, kind, soft it felt in her hand,
She smiled, tears well, swallowing fright,
The soul entered his mouth, when her hand came hither,
The light returned to her child’s face,
Very bright, growing, without fear,
Too bright even for her.
Mother Moon took flight,
Not looking back, hearing baby’s first laugh,
Good, true songs of night.
She sat in the dark clouds,
Resting, awaiting the morrow,
Waiting for his tears, his songs, his death, all dreadful sorrows.
                                                        ­                                             -**Firefly

I am but a horned boy,
I need no compassion,
Still afraid of shadows,
Still quivers in the wind.
The jersey devil called me brittle,
“A brittle, crumbling fool you are,
“But don’t worry Lucas,” he said,
“I’ll be with you forever,
“Under Mother Moon’s stars.”
I trembl’d at that,
Hoped he wouldn't notice,
‘Twas the Fates who cruel,
Me, the Hellcat.....and shadows.
Seething silhouettes,
Wielding daggers,
Squeezing thy pulsing heart.
Mine own fears fill thy mountain stream,
Brittle, now timorous,
Struck with afflicted dreams.
Confusion, rapturous, the wind whispers in a niche,
Tales of vengeance to remember,
Conceived I a plot,
Look out Hellcat!
Fear I, and the word: dismember.
                                                      ­       -**Firefly

In my office me and Gonzo waited speaking on deep issues
with no true meaning as usual.
*******'s heart had been broken for Drew had   left him a beaten and
love bitten  luchador slash attorney.

Senior Gonzo speaking endlessly to the hat rack had reminded me why
I never  dropped acid anymore.
Poor gonzo had just been served with divorce papers  to which
his only response was ****** amigo  i never knew i was married.


As his attorney  i belived a trip to mexico was outta the question for i had just got back do to some well a misunderstanding  its legal
jargin you  couldnt possibly understand.

His deadline was near  and without my solid advise this man wouldnt be able to pull it off  so being we had been in the bar for more than
eight hours  we decided to make a exit through the  mens room window.


Front doors are over rated.
In my legal office slash camper  hey eveyone starts somewhere
okay.
  I was reminded of my  loved hellcat Drew
she had left many items here a satanic bible  her  boil cream.
how I did mis rubbing her webbed toes.

How was i to work Gonzo was a mess hidding under the table
so the ginger bread people couldnt find him
and return him to there  bitter talentless leader
Kate Perry  i swear if you stab me one more time senior  gonzo
with that fork in my maracas im going to get medevile on your ***

Oh how i missed my tag team partner drew.
i should never have introduced her el man donkey who
resist such a uhh personallity.

But now here I  sit with a madman under my table tripping his
***** off   insisting  I contact Simon Cowell  to inform him
man ******  are so yesterday.

If only I had gotten the Lindsy Lohan case  I would finally have gotten my brake or maybe just a std.
Oh well theres always hope Mel Gibson  will need me.
The road warrior was a true classico  and he seemed so well
balanced compared to my   reallity challenged  cilent.

Remember kids if ever  you have a chance to trip with senior Gonzo
its probaly best you hide all sharp objects.
adios  *******

The scene was chaos almost like black friday at El Wallmarto.
people being pushed around by ******'s who didnt
even own a pair of spandex tights.

Or even know the glory of winning a no holds barred naked lumberjack
with a ***** splintter match.
The people needed a hero.
they screamed for the legends return please poppi
save us from the ordinary.

My amigo's were persecuted  and i sat helpless traped across the boader do to a bogus  lack of green card.
I must have left it in my other tights.

but once again like a old man on crystal **** and ****** the champion has returned to claim his crown.

And to shake his groove thing all over Hello  once again.
With the strength of a small well shaved bear.
And the eye's of a low flying seagull I shall drop some splatters
of wisdom apon my fellow amigos.

Chips and salsa for everyone .
no longer heartbroken from my hellcat seniorita Drew
yes her bite marks i wear proudly  in places I need to tan.

Let the little gringos sing like pretty little birdies
and senoiritas run through the fields like in thoose not
so fresh comercials.

Go tell amigos everywhere pour the cervesa
For El ******* Rides again.

That coquettish *****,
has starlight filled eyes,
It's only natural,
that she is a rage among the men.
                         one night in the bar,
                         she raised hell,
                         danced naked,
                         called everybody names,
                         such a racket it became,
                         looked like a hellcat's play time,
the cops came rushing,
siren wailing, lights flashing,
but enjoying her burlesque,
one stayed put with her,
she held him close,
as if she was his girl.
                               he lost his turban,
                              while she mind ****** him,
                               making him promise
                               to keep her out of jail,
                               by hook or crook, even
                              bending rules in the book,
*glinting starlit eyes had
such an aphrodisiacal effect!
he threw his lot with her
and decided:
"My deliverance is her"

Sitting in my red Lambo
the wind breathing down our backs like a perve
I look to my right after working up the nerve
She's sipping that malt like nobody's business
Her hellcat smile barely containing a playful tongue
Funny, I never thought I'd be jealous of a straw

My Ray Bans refract the setting Sun's spit onto her shades
We play tag with it before tossing the light through the windshield
Doctor Dusk gave us the full dosage
The tires grind on the gravel of our asphalt Neverland
I Peter Panic when she sheds her masquerade
She's got stunning mocha eyes frosted with truthful lies
I see her spirit phasing into my chest
A pair of luscious lips giving my heart a crimson kiss

She tells me I carry the scent of leather and sorrow on my sin
On hers, I discern daddy issues and untapped sin

The girl's as broken as I am

Sure, I might occasionally be smarmy and sick
by no means, though, a consistent ****
Her giggles wash all the bad days away
so my Lucifer impressions melts her ears with a

*"Baby, wanna play?"

brewing potion with ritual
reciting chants, merely verbal
niching these little caviar
a mixture of gravitas and war

such ladle so long enough to combine
a ******'s blood with a spoon of wine
perhaps adding a buckskin would suffice
this hellcat's hellacious bliss

a bushel of a misogynist's intestine,
must not forget to hitch gobs of sharks fin,
augment a pair of an old man's sight
then smatter the hogs' teeth bite

sing song this dark lullaby
you ought to hear plead and cry
smell and smear this fatal brew
any life it shall take and shoo

death will come and it will reign
blood will begrime and it will stain
thoroughly toting the daring deathly hex
seeking a prey who must be next

[Hellcat]

By the bubbling stream,
Lay your head down,
On my lap of reeds.
Oft the lyre was struck,
Flatt’ring music,
Ne’er ceasing, ne’er circumscrib’d.
My horned boy give in,
Sleep in this lea,
Under secret bow’r,
Beside stream,
Under imagin’d ivy-mantled tow’r,
“It’s time.....for the rite,” I whispered,
“Sleep shall bring you no pain.”
Come, leave thy clothes here,
To be washed, like the tow’r, by the rain.”
Your lithe body was warm,
Rub’d against my chest,
Creating a ling’grin feeling,
Sweet,delicious friction,
Sending my eyes reeling.
My sweet catamite,
Still unfathomed are your feelings,
No revenge shall you be granted,
Oh yes! I know, but we may not tarry,
Mis’ry awaits,
And glimm’ring moon,
Welcomes us, th’inevitable mates.
                                                          ­      -*Firefly

You’re struck by thoughts that zip like raging electricity
Charged wholesomely by the eye snatching power of curiousity
There’s that hefty knapsack of guilt constricting your back
A tear stained jacket olive green and not so fresh off the rack
Typical attire adorned by an untamed hellcat hellbent on the attack

You’re always eager for flimsy fellows with paper mache names
Too bad they catapult you back into prewritten tales of ill-ridden fame
You seem to entice the astral glare of scorching stars
To unwittingly interrupt Nature’s frolicking soundtrack at all the key bars

You’re Alice’s protégé adeptly meeting learning goals
Far surpassing her mentor at the art of slipping reality and falling down rabbit holes
A spirit shedding her blouse of light and taking a dip in the lake of souls
Writing new mythologies amidst the morbid company of witches and trolls

You’re burned letters and missed calls on the phone
A slowly sinking stone
Filled with grey from every ***** to bone
Wilting words spoken monotone

Tarac Ridge Warplane crashes February 8-10 2018 write up by Nick Armbrister



I have had an interest in aeroplanes and history ever since my dad got me into planes back in 1980. He took me up to air crashes on the Pennines/Peak District/Manchester/Yorkshire/Lancashire area of England in the early 80s. There are over fifty crashes alone here ranging from the war years and later. We also went to wrecks in the Lake District and Wales.

In 2014 in the Philippines I went to more wrecks. I Googled Bataan warplane crashes and found out about the LT Stone P-40 Warhawk and Sgt Kurosawa Ki-27 Nate dog fight and subsequent crashes. This read like something from a Battle or Warlord comic.

Over the coming weeks I put together an expedition there. I talked to Kevin Hamdorf who was one of the group who found the P-40 wreck. He gave me much info and introduced me to the guide, Noel. Without his help the trip wouldn’t have been possible.

We went to the crash area at Tarac Ridge on February 8-10 2018. This was the 76th anniversary of it. We went to the P-40 on Feb 9 and the Ki-27 on the 10th.

The crashes are over a kilometer up altitude wise. We had to hike many hours through the forest/jungle and mountain to the area. We camped at the lower campsite. There is an easier site at the top of the mountain near Kurosawa’s Nate which is less than a hundred feet below the area. Because we never camped there we had to ascend the final hour to the summit each day.

The Warhawk site of Stone is hundreds of feet below Kurosawa’s in the forest on the mountain side. Little remains today but bits of alloy, Perspex, glass and other small fragments. We found these. Lt Stone is still listed as MIA Missing In Action. One of our group, Mike, searches for MIAs. We took hundreds of photos of the area and of our search.

I ventured up to the Nate site of Sgt Kurosawa on the last day of our three day stay. It was at the summit. We had to go through thick brush/jungle to the location. Kurosawa hit a rock face and his plane was fragmented. The engine used to be there but has since been removed. There is less at this site than at Stone’s P-40. We found bits of metal, Perspex and bits. Looking at the closeness to the summit, I realized that Kurosawa almost made it.

Nobody but God and the pilots know who shot down whom and who was on the other’s tail that day. The result is the same: two warplanes wrecked and two pilots dead. Maybe more answers will be found on future expeditions. It was a great experience to go there to Tarac Ridge, Mariveles, Bataan. In time I hope to return. This was my first international warplane trip. I want to go to a Grumman F-6F Hellcat at Capas next.

Like the deep, slow, hum of many voices, I hear it.
Softly crying in the darkness I have encased it in.
A sliver of my true soul, I cannot help but fear it,
It whispers to me a ballad sweet, on my forehead written…
“This was never the real you, your decay is not complete.”

For you, the one who cares, I have a confession.
I, a man of fear and sorrow, my heart drips black.
My sight bleeds gray, as I witness my reflection.
A gaunt sentinel of hopelessness, it stares back…
Smiling all the time.

Underneath the grim and slimy casing, my heart beats a song.
One slow note in rhythm, its message is clear.
To my knees I slide in the silence, no longer strong.
Exhaustion, chills ripple through the atmosphere…
As I fall through the floor, into another world.

My angel before me stands, his glowing saber drawn.
His radiant figure defending against the shadow,
Against the black animal that prowls beyond,
Its milky eyes fixated on where it wants to go…
Staring deep into my chest, at the cage it used to call home.

The shady hellcat lunges, as I sit staring.
My defender parries mightily, but in vain.
The lion turns to face me, ****** fangs barring.
As the sword fades next to the slain…
As my vision recedes to black.

Lucid again, I sit introspectively in the dim space.
My Father beside me sits, laying a hand on my knee.
“I showed you this for a reason, do not lose face.
You alone can choose, my child, and so hear my plea:
Your actions have consequences in this war for your soul.
Please weigh your actions carefully, salvation is the goal."

Dante, the Inferno's here baby,
Look up and down the avenue sweetheart, Ain't
Nothing but chicken ***** and chicken hearts,
Lining the gutters and grocery stores, While I Got
My pincer moves down to mechanics,
It's like an art form baby,
Machines that drum dumb dull all day, As frenzied housewives Fight over toliet paper,
I tear up the avenue,
Spitting hellcat North,
Looking for the remnants
Of a once great civilization,
Red balloons and bicycles ribbons Float by my intoxicated eyes.
And Mozart plays handball
Off the prison wall.
And politicians line they're pockets,
And poet's reside in madhouses, And the wealthy
Rig the game,
And birds fall from the sky.
And it's just like clockwork baby, And canned beets
Are the main course,
And hands raise
To a silent sky.
And Dante baby,
You hit the nail on the head.
And nothing calms my ******* heart, And the sun screams
At the blood of the day,
As fans whir in ghetto windows,
We throw up the last of the day.
And the walls come crashing
And never make a sound,
And it's a one way ticket,
And never look down.
And Dante sports wings in Heaven, and I have two feet
On the ground,
And I guess it draws even,
And the best laid plans
Are no plans at all.

My hellcat wiffled and wharbled
As I fell through space
Dodging enemy discharge.

“Dispatch; status!”
“Status nominal. Dismissal eminent.
Dispersal advised.“

Swerving left and up, I
cut thrusters and
Bit down on the tube, hard.

All wrong, all gone as I dispersed.
I smelled peaches.
I saw a nascent sunset.

I might have puked.
Then it was over.
I took off the gloves,

lifted the visor and
Detached all sensors.
I needed electrolytes, stat..

Later, I checked my gradis.
I had died twice, virtually of course
But gained only 67 credits.

Somewhere, though,
Lives were lost
That actually happened.

Drinking in the halls
The eccentric people with
The hellcat, drink where the champagne falls
And they tell us Moses was at the helm of Earthly seas
Purposeful, purporting, punctilious that is the howling wind
That learns to speak through elders that have plenty of mouths to feed
Jealously beyond compare, the music belies the noise
Thence, the heart so barren, that words fall like wasted words
Talking about memories, thence beyond compare and laconic behavior
Iambic meters, the music sounds like it is tinkering my inner moonlight with its a spoonful of rhapsody
When the tempestuous storms are white then the maiden's talk of blossoming buds
Prodigal and prodding the terms of rain, and the raging fields of coruscation
These locusts cannot turn into blood, as the coral in her eyes shines with heated perturbation
Lust spake as it is should be taken for fair chance unless pardoned
Sunshine on your shoulders, I hold your hands like a flower that follows my wildflower
The misery that sermonizes the serious surprise, although maiden and beyond compare
The gumption so rare, the customary glances of belied and complicated fairness
The sword speaks when I fall silent to comparisons belied my heart in boughs of distress and troughs of harmony
White like the musketeers that never let the chance pass

the world is going down the route
of an absolute butchering of an apple crumble
and i find myself:
without a voice for the people -
perhaps the few epicurean hedonists -
among the other scuttling rats -
but not: with a voice stand at the fore
of a disgruntled mob...
   and... it's not an impossible stance...
after all: what's on my mind?
   well... there's the carrera hellcat XL...
or... more to the point...
there's the raleigh tulus 2 XL (29" wheels)...
something similar to that ancient
variation on a calibre bossnut from
the 1990s on which i managed to loose
around 20 kilograms...
once upon a time -
   in that: this great world of demands -
sometimes has you looking out for
little concerns and all the more simpler
plans of escapism -
   if this was beijing or amsterdam:
i doubt that thinking of a bicycle would
be any in way: remotely designated as
an escapist project -
                       for thought to accompany -
and i'm not really catering to
any phenomenology -
                                       either...
                backs against the walls of basics...
so that yes: this probably is
a variation of self-indulgence -
   but it's not: and never will be...
tabloid spew - it's sole redeeming need
for existence.

p.s. it just so happens that youtube
can still be fun...
ha... unwashed. season two -
faw wight faw wight...
   i might need a lightbulb:
no... not to illuminate any of the subject
matters is already dis-alienating:
DAN: faw wight and
meringue clouds... on the tinge
of the frizz!
       well: fair enough to the itv
and the bbc's attempts at anti-soap-opera
dramas:
    from DAN... to DEß -
knitted cotton? oh... nicholas' citation
of the "14"..
             around the time of
the punk's cultural appropriation
of the mohawk in blistering colours
of phosphorescent -
the punks didn't wash themselves:
while the...        НAЦИ!
you'd think... a clean-shaven...
fearful for his bald-patch and imitation
kippah: monk primo tonsure...
would have...

i'd gladly sink in teeth into the headlines...
but without a sizeable audience -
i have itchy teeth and a missing
chin - dub-step is somehow still
a music genre alive and well:
it might have been with
distance and burial...
            
     golz for gargantua: ha...
norf v.c. (volleyball club)....
                   ******* on an orange...
pardoning a shy-loan
of some word in aremnic.

Ain't this the s*!t.
Burning reruns come Sunday
Better round out the order
Of sad days and glad rags.
****** Tonk dreams
Busted down in doldrums.
Zithers and atonal strings.
And here I am.
More auto focus tied to repeats, said contract
Available upon request.
Such vegetable starlight,
Passing on the false bravado,
Burning out the backside,
Ready to blow out the wick,
Ready for one more lap
Around the track.
I've got a silhouette to write
Out the business end
Of this badass pencil.
And I'm spitting hellcat North,
Crunching these work boots
Worn in the heels.
Each day a death,
But one at a time.
I light 'em up, hope they don't
Fizzle out halfway down the line. Its all suffragette,
And it out poops Dresden
On a black night of bombing.

Moving away from center,
You spy an ending to this letdown. O well, what did
You expect? High priced
Prose from some well heeled snob? But I've got alot of
Postage stamps. I'll send
This drivel to anyone who has a pulse.
See, I've got to shut it down.
I don't need the neighbors yapping after ten. As you see,
I've got one foot tripping
Over the other.
And sometimes Sunday slaps
Me back to coherency.
As I dream of a sojourn back
To the seventies.
Now I see it so darkly,
As I try to shed some light
On this dark matter moving
Elusively through the microscope. If you find
This terse drama enchanting,
I'll send you these sad remains of this little endeavor gone to wind
By morning.