There’s always been a counter-culture.
And by counter-culture
I do not mean the CPAs or CEOs,
Or those money **’s at Goldman-Sachs,
Nor do I conjure up a ****** of Brooklynese,
Some De Niro or Pacino, or
Bobby-come-lately Cannavale--
This decade’s guinea strunz--
Standing on the back of the truck
Checking his hand full of dollar--
As in Almighty Dollar--bills.
Another hour’s pay & time to
“Count duh money.”
Nor do I mean Harvey Korman
In his greatest film role:
“Count De Monet,”
Part 1 of Mel Brooks’
History of the World:
Harvey as French fop, 1789,
And we may as well throw a
Sop to Cerberus with nary a
Bean Counter around, to be found.
And if you are with me thus far,
You may as well stick it out to the end.

What one word defines the counter-culture?
For me: RESISTANCE,
Any kneecap reflexive swim against the tide.
For Count DeMonet:  La Résistance.
When hair is short,
They grow theirs long,
Or shave their heads,
Pierce their tongues & *******,
Inka-dinka-dooing their epidermis,
Mere skin-deep commitment to Liberté,
Always the least tangible of
French tripartite banner slogans.
The French:
As always, putting up a good show,
Masters of illusion & flexibility
When it comes to ethnic integrity,
Captain Louie Renault, Vichy stooge,
Exemplar extraordinaire,
Double shocked to find gambling
Going on at Rick’s Café,
His morality to the wind,
Tacking strategically,
Playing it safe, as always, a
Fickle-finger to the weather.
The French: girlie men, bent over
Presenting bidet-puckered rectums,
For *** and Viet Cong humiliation,
Once again, declaring victory,
While slipping out the back door,
Wearing nothing but their socks.
But I digress.

The Counter-Culture,
A mile wide and a centimeter deep,
Putting up a good front,
A Potemkin still life,
In it for appearance sake,
Like Billy Crystal doing Fernando Lamas:
“It's better to look good
Than to feel good.”
Looking marvelous, of course,
All the girls want to be
The Dragon Tattoo girl,
Haunted & smart,
Solitary & suspicious,
Cybercrime wealthy.
Cashing in, raking in affluence;
The guys all with Bobbitt night sweats,
***** shriveled, shrunken ball-sacks,
Count De Monet
Counting duh money.

Calf augmentation => silicon implantation
Endoscopy, otoplasty, baby
Mentoplasty, rhinoplasty, scalpel
Juvederm at 4, Starbucks pit-stop right after,
pop some xany's and go

Chemical peel, dermabrasion
Dr. Unknown PhD. meet patient Montag XR3.
Brain stimulation, kneecap replacement
Doc, I'm starting to miss the table, is this a complication I should expect?

Fat grafting, bone grafting, mystic tanning
(what really is natural nowadays?)
Chin reconstruction, laser resurfacing,
(what really is me anyways?)

Consultation with your post-op pain,
It's gonna be "Ouchy" for a month,
but worth it in the end.
Self-esteem scan shows a cancerous tumor and growth
Yuck
And here I thought plastic was
"cancer-free"?

Did you know that if you leave your car in your driveway,
With the keys in the ignition,
And someone sits down in the front seat like they own it, and drives away,
You are the one who is liable for theft?
They can drive that sucker to the coast.
They can burn the upholstery with their cigarettes. They can bring their friends into the back seat, and fill the compartments with their refuse, and ****, and they can leave it ruined in front of your house, or crushed into the median on the highway, or left in disconnected pieces under an overpass.
It will be called, “unauthorized use of a vehicle.”
It will be called a “misdemeanor.”
But you left the car running.
Weren't you kind of asking for it to happen?

They said,
This,
(Gesturing to the skirt which fell to two inches
above my kneecap),
Is like that.

If I walk outside of my house in jeans and a t-shirt, or a long dress with thin straps,
Or with my chin tilted out,
Or with long eyelashes,
Or with full lips,
Or with my hips swaying when I walk,

It's like I left the car running.

It's like I invited them to force their bodies into the front seat.
In their minds, or with their hands, or with their lips to anyone who would listen to them.

Little girls in leotards become like unlocked car doors;
Where men can burn their cigarettes into their skin,
Or stick their fingers in
In plain view of their parents,
And told to let it happen,
Quietly.
It isn't theft,
It's “a medical examination.”

What did they expect?
It isn't a theft.
She was just as guilty of negligence.
It isn't really a felony.
It's not THAT BAD. (Stop being so dramatic.)
It's the unauthorized use of your body, for a time, or one night,
or every time you close your eyes for the rest of your life,

Sure-

But you left the car running.

Consider
a girl who keeps slipping off,
arms limp as old carrots,
into the hypnotist's trance,
into a spirit world
speaking with the gift of tongues.
She is stuck in the time machine,
suddenly two years old ******* her thumb,
as inward as a snail,
learning to talk again.
She's on a voyage.
She is swimming further and further back,
up like a salmon,
struggling into her mother's pocketbook.
Little doll child,
come here to Papa.
Sit on my knee.
I have kisses for the back of your neck.
A penny for your thoughts, Princess.
I will hunt them like an emerald.

Come be my snooky
and I will give you a root.
That kind of voyage,
rank as a honeysuckle.
Once
a king had a christening
for his daughter Briar Rose
and because he had only twelve gold plates
he asked only twelve fairies
to the grand event.
The thirteenth fairy,
her fingers as long and thing as straws,
her eyes burnt by cigarettes,
her ****** an empty teacup,
arrived with an evil gift.
She made this prophecy:
The princess shall ***** herself
on a spinning wheel in her fifteenth year
and then fall down dead.
Kaputt!
The court fell silent.
The king looked like Munch's Scream
Fairies' prophecies,
in times like those,
held water.
However the twelfth fairy
had a certain kind of eraser
and thus she mitigated the curse
changing that death
into a hundred-year sleep.

The king ordered every spinning wheel
exterminated and exorcised.
Briar Rose grew to be a goddess
and each night the king
bit the hem of her gown
to keep her safe.
He fastened the moon up
with a safety pin
to give her perpetual light
He forced every male in the court
to scour his tongue with Bab-o
lest they poison the air she dwelt in.
Thus she dwelt in his odor.
Rank as honeysuckle.

On her fifteenth birthday
she pricked her finger
on a charred spinning wheel
and the clocks stopped.
Yes indeed. She went to sleep.
The king and queen went to sleep,
the courtiers, the flies on the wall.
The fire in the hearth grew still
and the roast meat stopped crackling.
The trees turned into metal
and the dog became china.
They all lay in a trance,
each a catatonic
stuck in a time machine.
Even the frogs were zombies.
Only a bunch of briar roses grew
forming a great wall of tacks
around the castle.
Many princes
tried to get through the brambles
for they had heard much of Briar Rose
but they had not scoured their tongues
so they were held by the thorns
and thus were crucified.
In due time
a hundred years passed
and a prince got through.
The briars parted as if for Moses
and the prince found the tableau intact.
He kissed Briar Rose
and she woke up crying:
Daddy! Daddy!
Presto! She's out of prison!
She married the prince
and all went well
except for the fear --
the fear of sleep.

Briar Rose
was an insomniac...
She could not nap
or lie in sleep
without the court chemist
mixing her some knock-out drops
and never in the prince's presence.
If if is to come, she said,
sleep must take me unawares
while I am laughing or dancing
so that I do not know that brutal place
where I lie down with cattle prods,
the hole in my cheek open.
Further, I must not dream
for when I do I see the table set
and a faltering crone at my place,
her eyes burnt by cigarettes
as she eats betrayal like a slice of meat.

I must not sleep
for while I'm asleep I'm ninety
and think I'm dying.
Death rattles in my throat
like a marble.
I wear tubes like earrings.
I lie as still as a bar of iron.
You can stick a needle
through my kneecap and I won't flinch.
I'm all shot up with Novocain.
This trance girl
is yours to do with.
You could lay her in a grave,
an awful package,
and shovel dirt on her face
and she'd never call back: Hello there!
But if you kissed her on the mouth
her eyes would spring open
and she'd call out: Daddy! Daddy!
Presto!
She's out of prison.

There was a theft.
That much I am told.
I was abandoned.
That much I know.
I was forced backward.
I was forced forward.
I was passed hand to hand
like a bowl of fruit.
Each night I am nailed into place
and forget who I am.
Daddy?
That's another kind of prison.
It's not the prince at all,
but my father
drunkeningly bends over my bed,
circling the abyss like a shark,
my father thick upon me
like some sleeping jellyfish.
What voyage is this, little girl?
This coming out of prison?
God help --
this life after death?

I FORGOT TO WASH MY HAIR FOR TWO WEEKS IM ******* SLIMY ALL OVER DO YOU STILL WANT TO KISS ME
this isnt a ******* pride parade **** me with your eyes open
**** me and say "god,the smell of you"
the stench
******* spiders crawling out of my mouth i smell like a gutter turned into a bomb shelter
im an epidemic
ITS ******* ART THATS WHY I RIPPED OUT YOUR THROAT ITS ALL A METAPHOR DONT YOU SEE IT NOW
let go of me. let go of me--slime central
home of the world famous gutter babe
******* ******* shut up ******* **** me
bury your pride and the ******* ****** weapon in one line its not that complicated
but i want to be messed up, or i used to want it
or i will want it
i can feel everyone vibrating with the force of it all and somewhere you're laughing at me
chains around your ankles
this is what it takes to **** a martyr
this is what it takes to swallow him whole
go out guns blazing
WELCOME TO YOUR DARKEST HOUR
**** the switch, or turn the lights off, or whatever
put a blindfold on when you stab yourself
put a blindfold on me when you pull my intestines out with your bare hands
desecrate me
im not a tomb but im a funeral pyre
bodies are my specialty
sorry, i misspoke
what i meant to say was, "i want to **** myself"
but i won't, not when the meats so fresh, lick blood off of my kneecap
YOU WERE ALWAYS GOING TO BE THE SACRIFICE
sentiment is for liars and thieves
(im both but you dont know that yet, it hasn't happened yet--shut up, I'm telling the story.this is my fall from grace,not yours)
bite your tongue bite your teeth too in fact
just bite yourself ******
its better this way, or whatever you want to hear
what am i supposed to say to a graverobber? do you want me to thank you,is that what this is about?
*******, *******, what the **** are you still doing here, anyway?
i hope you rot
i hope we both rot
(AND HERES THE PART WHERE YOU SAY "I ALWAYS LOVED YOU" AND HERES THE PART WHERE I CUT OFF YOUR HEAD)

Control
Everything comes back to control
There are pins on a board
Places you took me
Needles in my skin
Places you touched me
But, no
This time I'm not losing it
Maybe it's because you're only a foot from me
Maybe I still have some hope
Trials and errors
Everything comes back to trial and error
You were a trial
I was the error
I'm realizing in time,
Everything really does fade to black and white
I'm realizing
Everything doesn't happen for a reason
This wasn't fate
This wasn't a higher power
Here I sit,
Ready to pour
And your back is turned to me
Nothing's the enemy
There is no ******* enemy
Walking through empty corridors,
Filled with paranoia
I'm not afraid of going numb again
That'd be the best case scenario
No,
I'm afraid of feeling this
All of it
Like a slow, steady beating
Like a nail on my kneecap,
A hammer in your hand
Like it was all just
Nothing
This was your trial
And I was the error
Like a hammer in your heart
Like your heart morphing into a hammer
One swift hit
Trial and error

I woke up this morning, and no I am not singing a blues song....
There is something big and white in a small room
I had a torrid few minutes trying to recall...
re-fri-ger-a-tor
a step forward
ouch! My kneecap hurts, not fun.
I learnt the refrigerator although white
is not as soft as a pillow or a cloud
I managed to make the room safe
by pushing the refrigerator
out of the window.
Whoops.....sorreee!
there is something under it outside, round and red
a volley ball is round and red
but this round thing is gurgling
and very red indeed
except for the things like lips that are going bluey-grey
Wow the world is fun with severe memory loss
and a laissez-faire attitude to exploring things.
Bubby, my neighbor gave me a present
it is heavy, has a handle and a little lever on the side
safe......fire.....safe....fire......
It fits in my mouth, I wonder if ..
BANG!!....

i found a birthmark shaped like Alaska
on the inside of your kneecap,
and i only saw it the day you
let me cross the border;
it was sensitive to my touch,
the moon-like ripples leading
to the needles on the pine tree
in your back yard.
sometimes i can read behind the
lines of DNA makeup,
like the lonely biologist you seem to be,
but your lingo is foreign to me,
tattered words and language deficiencies,
i can hardly follow along the braille
carved onto your outer layer,
the marble you worked so hard to
weather on your own time.
yet, somehow its turned to rubble again.
sometimes i hold an out of order sign
against my breastbone so i can set eyes
straight and wish anyone would light me on
fire,
           (but not literally, i'm absolutely against abuse)
i want the sticks but not the stones,
since wood won't leave my body bruised.
use my transitions for kindle,
and my organs for the flames.
i want to be colored red,
like ambulance lights, stop signs,
painted like a signature to warn others
how my frequencies can only be heard
by animals.
maybe some other life forms,
or god,
but i have never hoped more that
you would pick up on my signals,
my freckles scream out samples
of how this could be
or what we could have known.

I was suckling the barrel
of my grandpa's favorite gun,
when Gloria strolled in,
head held high,
like a 12-story *****.

"What the **** are you doing?"

"Nothin', sweets, I was just wondering about the taste."

Gloria mixed herself a Mt. Vesuvius,
unplugged the telephone,
turned on the tv,
dug her nails into my weary couch,
over and over.

I didn't ask how her day went,
she didn't call me babycakes,
we didn't touch,
I just watched as she changed channels,
sunk further into oblivion,
I traced my kneecap with
grandpa's gun,
it was something to do, I suppose.

"You know you got to get out," she finally said.

I looked like a suicidal *******, baptized in cobwebs,
and every word I threw at every guest teemed parasitic.
I hadn't left the apartment for awhile,
it seemed like every time I did, I would collide with
some enemy, and my bloodlust was subsiding.
I didn't like it to be so awfully one-sided.
"Hey, look at me," she demanded.

Maybe the neurons are crippled,
can't cross the synapse,
or perhaps it's this culture that
listens only to the false priest in its head,
but when no one else around you is living,
it makes the whole gig seem a bit pointless.
"Gloria, sometimes it's better just to die."

phasical circumlocutions of basic, embodied life..

i am an infant still  i teethe and moan in lonely darknesses

solar revolutions
         earthling orbits and spheroid whirls
                                  an axis of worlds
                                  adulterated limbs
my adulthood limns an architecture's disconnections
       thin, the layers undulate
                      of elbow's sway and kneecap right

i am an adult still  i teethe and moan alone in darkness, light

i'd like to live in the geometry
of your body
like the cut of your kneecap
and the planes of your cheek
build myself along the rays
growing from your fingers
like so many smokestacks
the dodecahedron
Platonic in my orbit

I saw your head turned to stone.
You'd only been alive four days.
There is nothing like music for the dead
lovers who don't bother
to flatter me anymore.

I know that the ones who love me would not
waste breath on flattery.
I've been jailed for battery.

The road back to my house is made of
gravel.
The map is a scar on my kneecap.
One half of a bright red big wheel.

That is all I remember about the sky,
  as it works its way into my self conscious mind.

A living ball of white plastic twine
its bulb of body conscious
slim head pointed down towards the floor
chaos of legs whirling
knees bend inwards and go slack
like a flower opening and closing
a shimmering life
the size of my kneecap

hanging from a thread of silk
spider as a puppet
marionette legs
flailing as they play empty notes in space
haggling without gravity

mused into waking they paw at the air
smoothing the surface
of imagination

making and unmaking
an invisible tapestry

all these careless maids
whatever their purpose might be
whatever heartbreak is
the encroaching ends of their creations
meticulous in movement only
when the sewing
commences

In the morning
all the magic has worn off
the spider is a tiny brownish
common cellar spider
a miniature Daddy Longlegs
just the hull of what
was massive
and sentient
in the night

I don't know what I'm looking at
a masterpiece of acoustic vision in front of my eyes
but for all I had known
there were trap doors slamming themselves
shut, letting off dust into the crystal air

For all I had known
this freckle on my kneecap is a trickling spider
making its way over the hill
because it's been climbing so long it's footsies
are blistering and it just wants to
freefall into nothing.

For all I had known those voices of
children outside are trapped in my head
They don't exist because nothing is real
and nothing is real because it's safer fake

For all I know now is all I knew then
It's just altered and makes sense now
because I know what opportunities I left
to die dry
because I didn't water them with tears
I made an ocean instead.

you cried my arms a perfect dough
like foreign pastries
scratch atonement for the tongue

i love it when you say i should
i shouldn't this or that
as if the stars had tabletted your mind
with what was pleasured best
and sparks in mine were best left dim
until the frosted world commanded fuel from two..
it eggs the burning fibers -- gaze
release  be somewhat more across the gaps
our bouncing would incurr

untimely spring  my step
become a kneecap brace
of hanging here
in reinverted sight
my laughing arms outstretched
both reaching for the earth
in giddy disbelief

you could mean anything
...the higher i fly i see that now
of split horizons into sun again

my screaming holds the jointed sweets
of vanity undone, remade in other grins
of wincing where the tissue does not hold
clawing bark to finger
weight away

our nylon bed aluminum
ringing stars
in squeezing eyes
suspended over dancing leaves
so many stillness-ecstasies aloft
our rhythms seasoned
thinly darkened to the house
where whispered creaks could drift
ignite another blush
to faintly mirror
heated gasps we recreate the meaning of

child- small voices sag
bomb-smoke rises from the ground
far off, birds still shake

Billy Striker blown
to Holland, the north sea wind
took weeks to fall

beforemourn chimneys
slate rooves yawn hunger,
one cigarette draws breath

moon crater on the
road to Derry, limousine
sarcophagus lands

siren scream and scrape
tears rigor mortis frozen;
the sea now quiet

hands across water
missing fingers, Gabriel
silent, the watcher

he’d stopped to look
smile asking the time of day,
pressing the trigger

one small death for man
one giant death for mankind,
eyes search behind moons

bicycle wheel turns
awkward lazy arm protrudes
broken flaying skin

obliteration,
scalpel dissects argument
camera’s detail

a.m. paper print
fortresses build stone by verse
each wall a chapter

retaliation,
leopard stalking, counter plot
begun in blueprint

burnt flesh of kingdoms
republic’s frost bitten dogs
bark anger blood ***

interrogation,
splattered kneecap agreement
hands shaking silence

investigation,
no stone unmoved, evidence
a silent quarry

old man keeping dust
one eye swollen, hunching armour
his grief in buckets



MChallis © 2015

I still think about that boy sometimes
in the same way that someone who breaks their kneecap
gets a ***** put in it to hold their bones together
but they are only reminded of it
when they are at the airport and they
have to walk through a metal detector
-

I can't even begin to know where to start about life.
The depth of beauty and intricacy is this great big incredible- an infinite, infinite, infinite incredible. Sitting alone at home on my computer, trying to strike inspiration from one place or another, I always end up with a coffee in one hand contemplating how beautiful the wine glass to the left of my kneecap looks in the hue of light beaming in from the rainy grey bright- or I gaze outside and contemplate my warm protection from the cold and wet outside, wondering what would truly be better- this warmth? or the thrill of living and forced recognition of every step given by the airy forecast of the clouds wisping from my breath, breaching me from the shoe of my pants and the kneck of my shirt to caress the bare-skin of my spine and the calfs of my bony ankles?
and it's as if I have to choose, but I laugh when I realize they're both great big incredibles in themselves- the fluff of a book in my hand and a hot drink at my side as the floating water decides to come back to Earth- the melancholy of still-in-my-pajamas-and-this-is-one-of-only-two-days-off; the poetry of love and the poetry of loss and the poetry of all I desire to do but hold back- all of this brings me a comforting sadness. Life, life, life, life, life... thank you for loving me.

The Federation stood around stunned because they did not know what to say
Message was the heart of the Federation, and now she was in Drozen’s fray.
Lady of the Night appeared to them and said Message is ok, Drent you have explaining.
Because it was like they were Romeo and Juliet the way they were complaining.
Drent rose up and said, no it was more like Romeo and Juliet were like Drozen and Message.
My father tried to warn her that as an Imperial Candidate she should spurn his vestige.
But Message did not respond, and as Headdress Prince I tried to get together a decree.
That no barbarian could associate with an Imperial Candidate or die painfully.
Message would not speak to me, and Drozen left in a maniacal fury.
Little did I know that Drozen would come back and this time not as a loving suitor.
The Imperial Candidacy went on, and it was between me and Message to be ruler.
I thought Message would win it, but the Brethren never got to pick.
They handed the Advocate Council the paper with their choice, but she never opened it.
Drozen interrupted the proceedings, and captured us both to his Alieno-Machine.
This is what happens when true love turned into violent vengeance, I would never forget that scream.
He destroyed our planet, and took Message to a load to lock her inside.
And as for me he said, Drent you will be a Teremi Mercanary, and if you fail Message already died.

So I came to Earth, because that was my next assignment.
But I did not know that Message was already there, and had broken out of confinement.
I resented Message for the destruction of our world, but I realize love cannot be forbidden.
I guess Message became a courier of the Dragon Power to become better hidden.
The Federation sat there stunned, and Breastplate-Bearer said, This explains so much.
Dragon-Man groaned and Lady of the Night asked, Tell us, how did she get the Death-Touch.
I think the load was so strong that it had a Gretian force-field and in the process of breaking free.
Some got onto her hands, and over time it evolved to become the Death-Touch on her fingertips.
I could never let go of the fact that I let down my Dahomeyians as a Headdress Prince.
Lady of the Night said, No don’t feel that way, and Breastplate-Bearer said, you really dropped the ball.
Boundaries, Lady of the Night and Dragon-Man both screamed, but Breastplate-Bearer continued, Good thing this is like boxing with gloves at all.
Dragon-Man then turned to Lady of the Night and asked, So did you get any intelligence that you heard.
Lady of the Night said, You can use your disembodiment powers to free her, and Dragon-Man replied, I gave Drozen my word.
Lady of the Night said, Well, there is nothing I can do, because Message just has to fight to victory.
Drent replied, I think now that how Message feels about Drozen, victory is not enough.
Breastplate-Bearer called out, Hey, should I take the cloaking mode off the Isotrain Mechanism?
Dragon-Man shook his head and said, No, this is our base we don’t want Drozen to know where we are living.
The Claimant joust was come, and Drozen and Message were both prepared.
But Dragon-Man was shocked for the first time in a while to feel fear.
He knew Message could fight, but Drozen was the Commander of the Numberless Clans.
They must be Numberless for a reason, but at least Message has the Death-Touch in her hands.
Message took her position on the Centaur-Raptor, its wings were spread out to its fullest.
Drozen also mounted a Centaur-Raptor, but when Message looked closely he was sweating bullets.
He seemed to be out of breath, and Lady of the Night taunted, What is wrong can’t get enough air.
Drozen fired back, After I am done with Message I will end all of you who have come here.
Message and Drozen head together each other Message had her weapons ready for combat.
Suddenly Drozen fell to the ground heavily, without Message making First Contact.
Message pulled out her Celestial Blade Saber, and yelled Surrender or die you fiend.
One of the Scimitan referees said, That is against the rules, and Lady of the Night retorted, Hush, you don’t know what you’ve meaned.
Don’t you realize that Message has saved your planet and many countless more.
I don’t think I did it, Message said as she stepped back with Drozen lifeless on the floor.

Can I have his head, No, Heart, No, Kneecap, No, Message and Dragon-Man argued.
His hands, You have hands, stop trying to be greedy and eat this splendid food.
Message huffed, He did not even have the courtesy to die by my hand, how rude.
Drent called out, So what do we do with Drozen’s lifeless body without power.
Dragon-Man replied, Put it in the Acider flames and let them have a feast to devour
Lady of the Night asked, Dragon-Man, don’t you have a pending court case?
Dragon-Man smacked his head and said, Oh yeah, we better get back to Earth in haste.
No don’t go to Earth yet I want to fight you all, the Legate said in the background.
And in the Voidful Midst the Covenantial Project was gathering the Federation without making a sound.

i want to perform an exorcism on myself
bite into candles so rough
wax’ll become sewn to my mouth

and i forget how to
flick my tongue to form your name.

i must be as close to you as my thighs
are when i sit down,
mature inward upon ourselves
like legs crossing, calves behind kneecap.

count the number of girls
who pretend to be someone else

during ***,
then count the number of girls who say
softer softer softer please

and i’m sorry, i promise the first will win
because chilly air can make us
light-headed and nauseous;
harder harder always just distracts.

i want to swallow guns and swords, then
tell my friends the bruises
came from you –    they kind of did.