Outer Space Is Just a Martini Away
"My girlfriend and I are quite poor. So we crash funeral gatherings for the free food. Hell, everybody's so busy crying and consoling; they don't even notice us in the coatroom pillaging their clothes and purses. It's too bad that you can't run very far on an orbiting space colony." I) Garden Greenroom, Battle Creek Funeral Simulation Type writehead collide. Tap tap paper tie. Prolific benign. Fill me throat cheap rye. I breathe a funeral foyer. Me with glue girl Margaret. Now she's kissing me. We drink gin till we can't see. Pâté brunch for symposium. Pink balloons drape the coffins. It reads no systole. I spill scotch on the body. Shit smile prom night. Rational hick life. Self-hypnosis guide. Exuberance lactize. I hear a song on the radio. So I spit on the dial. Now she's kissing me. We snort scotch till we're plastic. There's a gimp with a yo-yo who say's Pepsi owns Tokyo. He says pardon me. Let's bury the body. Hey, hey let's drive to the grave. Now our cars are a gay parade. He says, "Hey, hey. Let's drive to the grave. We'll bury meat on a rainy day." Human Landfill. I trip to walk. Margaret hands me a Librium, I say "thanks for the confidence." Now she's kissing me, my flask of Chaska's empty. I stumble up to the podium, and push down the Reverend. They'll yell, "Eulogy". So I pass out on the body. Hey, hey fill in the grave. Shovel mud on a deity. I say, "Hey, hey. Fill in the grave, then steal the collection tray. Pack some mud on the pious meat. Pack some mud on Uncle Sam. God bless the grime.
Submitted by Infernal Flame — Apr 26, 2025
"A touch of Earther rural folklore for the long trip." I) Athens, MI; High School Graduation and a Bloody Nose Below the thumb resides a prairie tagged Monhalo. Old as dumb. Does slave labor. Vents for Chrysler. In a hut made of branflakes and green egg cartons lives a nun with skin like visqueen stretched on bamboo. II) The Cosmic Wager They met on a deer path. Uncle Lowell's a betting man. I wager my nephew Jeb can break your face in half. Now I've heard everything, but some chump's 'gonna balk. Come beside Nell's polebarn where my haymaker's heating up. Autumn sun rolls on through the dust of the Butcher's parking lot. When I'm done, standing over your only nephew's bloody husk. I'll live forever, 'cuz I'll fight anything. 'got chores to finish. So let's start swinging. The ballcap hit the ground. Jeb charged without a thought. The haymaker coiled back, and launched Jeb's head off. III) Hick Superstitions And on it rolled through Lake Michigan and towards the Pacific Coast; and some still say if you look real close Jeb's head will roll through your legs.
Submitted by Lake of Tears — Apr 26, 2025
I) New Minneapolis, Sea of Tranquility on Luna You can't walk today. Purchase and obtuse. I will melt and flow a mile, but what sees Earth move when you're dead. One vein flowing violet lead. You're dead. Two veins spilling violet lead. Head wake with fire. Sprinkle candycanes. Stick on everything. Concealed and naked. Liquid floats and conspires. One chance to lose. The cherry syrup provides a line. It's funny how you can't move. II) Only a Sissy Would Live Blue cat walks through ocean rooms. A wall of glass to crumble. I said, "A string around and arm invites fluid to fall down. To soak and tire." Ice with practical mind. Numbness. Limbs fooled. Extremities forget to tire. A palsy lasts beyond use. Lord. I'll sear. "My computer is an ice cream scooper, and I love dairy." Laughing Man
Submitted by MetalElf — Apr 26, 2025
I) Dancing with Elvis in Cyberspace She walks beneath a Presley stare. Swivel hips a smile. Pissed on morning charm. Shaves her head with a lawnmower. Her toenails painted Jesus blood. Her facial cake is mud. Chloroform and girl. Strolled to the barstool, grabbed the pole. I heard her saying "As I was walking. Yes, I was talking looking for the sunset to give me nothing. I will hold you tight. Five drinks later, stumbling in the moonlight." Club Stupid is a ginger house. The bar a welfare line I think we'll start with gin. Then to Scotch with a soda chase. Slide across the marble floor. Through a pair of doors. Volvo release a purr. Back on garbage. A U-turn. I will hold you tight, eight drinks later speeding in the lamplight. The Squid I say I am the world. Swank as heat my style. Polished wingtip. Whirl. Stiletto sticking hairspray curl. Sixty-two a year for you. Drinks and drugs go round. My mind a razor blade. Rusty maybe, but fair today. I will hold you tight, ten drinks later dangling on a clothesline. Ya. "I'm still waiting for Ron Wood to join us on this one." Crossoverture
Submitted by Morgoth — Apr 26, 2025
I) Michigan Avenue and a Smoke I've lost hope for me today. Last pack of smokes. The busstop's a bleak walk through hell. I'm drunk and lonely. Ten cents could shred some time. I've Lost faith in me today. Clothes lacking style. Forty left to construct. Bookworm. Sexless. The dropbox a rude walk through hell. I'm drunk and lonely. Eight dimes could kill some time. Ireland cry seizure bound. A rouge from Holyhead. Manhattan grotto lie. It seems so premarital. Well, I must destroy myself. I have twenty dollars. In hell, I'm drugged and lonely. Ten bucks could rape some time.
Submitted by NecroGod — Apr 26, 2025
I) A Spacesuit Full of Urine; On the Orbiting City of Kalamazoo This coffee tastes distorted. A swank fruitcake contemptible martyr, because I will. The nitrogen is fine. It delves in to hypothesis and says, "young lad, so mimical and used. You feel small. Simulated. Advantageous." So they kick you when you're down, but I'm Jack Frost's son anyhow. Wearing my red shoes out of the wreck. Chill the backseat in a icetray. Foreign plasma drifts on ravished moonrays because I sit. Endorphin thinking fine. Poison pens scribed circumflected. Self respected. "Amen", said the spine. Bisect and leer. "This diatribe project through me and tear in." Englishman with Martian women, you crawl back like your Monday couldn't 'cuz I still hold you trendy style. Wave fake bills. Bloody miles and wars fifteen million minutes through elation and truce in K-Zoo. "The wedding reception went great, too bad about the inflamed thyroglossal cyst." A Short Practice of Surgery
Submitted by Finntroll — Apr 26, 2025
I) After the Great Toronto Plague of 1998 Fake your death. Plant a bomb. A note with a dental record. Move Away. Dublin's calling. Reserve a Euroticket today. This life is boring me. I knew it ever since thirteen. Fake your death. Drive your Pinto to a pier on Lake Michigan. Jump a train. Watch your Pinto on the pier burst into flames. I'll fake my death. "Man, he's so punk. Writes his own 'zine. Does basement shows. Plays in three bands; and he still finds time to love his Mom's wallet." Coffee House Leech
Submitted by Corpse Defiler — Apr 26, 2025
"I must have hit something, by the look of the volume of oil pouring out of my shuttlecraft, the radiator was smashed off it's welds, crudely placed on the fan; which was not turning. It had been a poor day. A day to forget, and now it would accidentally last a bit longer, and that I escaped the retarded outskirts of New Kalamazoo; and had found myself drunk and stranded, already pissed about the disastrous results my relations had turned. Standing in a meteor storm at three a.m. Next to my fucked shuttle. Time to get walking and follow the distant sound of late night FM radio to the population quads." I) Mate Housing, Lovell Street; New K-Zoo Now if I stay a bit too long. To find myself all too lost. Come push me down. Come beat me down. I deserve all that came. A sad walk fifteen miles into town. So if I play with a tomb. I cannot think. I cannot lose. Come hold me down. Come crush me down. I reserve a chance to learn. I gave up hope for my world. There's nothing to give in, you're my plastic girl. So if I moan from the looks. Afraid to move. Afraid to stay. Come give me a drink. I need a drink. I'll light a smoke on my way. There's no hope for my world.
Submitted by johnmansley — Apr 26, 2025
I) Clone Swap Seminar, on Io's South Pole Half man. Lathe Secada died, thus causation be concomitance. I'll empathize, like grangers melting chocolate drip smeared on Dublin ties because your laughing on with a memory. Laughing while I berate myself. I wasn't there for the landslide that's coming to terrorize you. Up she yawns time to shake. Waking up for her new day. Combing out her grease paint hair with a smoke and a coffee. If your God is fake. Scarred like you on your new day. I will come and paint your face watercolor grey. Maudlin. Thespian conspired. Our county fair revisions lay red and atomized. Some pompous phrases on wine. My combine splits the sky. I'll be with you again.
"Before the Atlantic/Pacific Desert, I used to travel to England for the Holidays." I) London at Winter; 1993 Oh, on yesterday a taxi cab stalled in the driveway. I was perched on the windowsill. Grabbing snow in my hand to watch it melt. My eyes are green to warmth. A wine bottle snoozing with the snow. So pale the face became gazing stoic from her backseat. Wine, all heat within my cold. Wine, lug me throughout my hell. What's your name? I trip around and drown in crowds. And the air was crisp while I passed through the trash of Camden. I pulled my coat airtight and walked towards the last garbage fire. It seems an hour ago I missed the last train for Hollyhead. Across the can of fire her face appeared barely alive.
Submitted by johnmansley — Apr 26, 2025
I) There's Possum in the Morphine Fields Miasma will befriend like a well oiled palm. The grass is so green. The grass is so clean. Besides the Oaks I blink beneath one tree to flow. Amongst the stones I quake within it's grave to spin. I'll spin. I can't make any sense anymore. My verse falls empty. Words now enemies. I'm going home. There's one chance to be lost. There's one day I won't be drunk. Goddamned, I'm bleeding all. II) My Pills... Quick To see no one. Must be my tranquilizers. Enlisting my scorched Earth and barbed wire. I don't feel tranquil. I feel confused. I am confused. "I'm sick to death of the shit of hicks in turtlenecks." Old Man Lowry
"...ye beware thy animals, thou art foul machines." King Kong Bible (toilet reader) I) Hiding in My Sleep Depravation Tank Some people say there's something wrong with me and the animal kingdom. I tell them because they don't know we're being observed. When you're at my apartment, don't pet them. Don't let them know we're on to them; and I tell my wife, "Madalin, don't let them in." It's not easy trying to convince people of the conspiracy. At least the NRA believes me. I say there's still a chance to pile them up. A building sized mound of burning fur. I decided to make a trip to Binder Park Zoo yesterday. I threw letters into the cages saying, "I know who you are. Tell God to please leave me alone." I can't watch. I can't think. What's going wrong? The cockroaches in my cupboard are always smiling at me when I reach for the corned beef. I can't read. I can't sleep. What's going wrong? Even with my pets; dogs and cats among them; 'cuz everybody knows pets are just camcorders for God. Staying close. Watching and filming my actions. Drunk in the bathroom. Smiling in my car. On the sidewalk asking for a cigarette. Or even when I'm good. Betrayed by my cat. I swear, It's always my cat. Always my cat.
Submitted by Morgoth — Apr 26, 2025
I) East Campus, WMU, New K-Zoo Burrow with the moles. Wary of mankind's outcome. No sunlight. Selfless night. To love none. Atomic stroller comes. Glides through the Southside of town. K-Zoo blood. East Campus. Hide amongst the books within tunnels forgotten. Preclude war. Velvet skys. It's not that I want you to bathe in my blood and my cancer. It's just that I want you to bathe in my blood and my cancer.
Submitted by Finntroll — Apr 26, 2025
"This was the last night I had on Earth. My home town was dismantled and transferred to the halo of Jupiter, and I went with it." I) New York City, July 4th, 1994 The skyline burns on Manhattan. She sat with me on top of a warehouse. I said, "I'm so lonely. I think it makes me sick; and I'm sure God's come to destroy me." Michigan man quits the freeway. Strikes bargains within the entry. Screams nonsense at the fools in the alleyway. Finds solace sniffing bags of all my candy, but it's cold; and it's so hard when you freeze. II) Come to My Flat Sit around. Sit on blackened heels. Choke on someone's spit. Dig churches in the pavement. I can't walk. I think I've arrived; yea, my wallet's thick. I could leave. You will not care here, but I care. I care. Contrive. Concourse to produce, 'got lots a cable. 'got a bag of hep tools. Electric paint. I want a set of chairs, and my ceiling drips. I could leave because I am nothing. Cheap as the wine. Cheap as expensive gets. 'got a broken figure. Not malfunctioned head. I want that dream. I hurt to talk. She's disagreed. I could leave. I'll wind and bind. I'll wind and bind. I am machine. I am my father. You want this walk. I could leave. III) Tompkin's Park Mist forms and exhales in the cold December air. She digs deep in her pocket for a half smoked cigarette. A bottomfeeder 'got jealous. Struck her face with a tire iron. Black clumps of park sod mix with blood in her hair. Picks herself off the cold ground, and starts to walk. Her face is bleeding. Bleeding for you. Picks herself off the cold ground and starts to walk. I can hear her screaming. "My love for you has never been so misunderstood." Jane
Submitted by NecroGod — Apr 26, 2025