Archive for July, 2014

“Pete Suicide” by Ian Ayres

Posted in Uncategorized on July 25, 2014 by Alex S. Johnson

petesu

“Pete Suicide”

 

My revolver

So easy to get

Cocked in fist

On the way to the grave

Wide open for morning

Loaded and ready

Bullets to blast

My brains to the clay

Of Mother Nature’s womb

 

Skull full of stars

People that cross

Lost in a garden

Of slab and dirt

Hands from graves

Reach out to shake

Me up so late

Embalmed hands

Amidst the wilt

 

How I love the Dead

Putting down roots

Echoing whispers

By the time you get it together

You start to fall apart . . .

Skeletal, you know

A jaw drops

Moss will grow

With unknown approach

 

Living to die, dying to live

Tombstones scream

Or winds grow shrill

Among final faces

Of resting places

My constant family

Who embraces chill

Beneath my feet

Tripping

 

Naked

Among the Dead

To a bed

Where I sit

Smoking a joint

On that tomb

Sculpture of stone

Near a baby’s

Grave

 

A seedling

Alone

How I yearn

To hold you

Above

Your crumbling

New name

Eroded

Not even a weed

 

So I sing

A lullaby

And reach out

To cradle you

In my arms

With your rattle

Of bones

Watching

Birds Fall

 

Birds fall

From the trees

Dying

From disease

Wondering

Why

Death is

The rest of

Your life

 

Some call me a necrophiliac

Who bones the boneyard

Others, a ghoul

Who haunts the Dead

Whatever tickles their tulips

Licking dew drops of lust . . .

Did you know divorce kills?

Divorce kills children

For the rest of their lives

 

Under-aged children

Kicking the emptiness

Of a beer can

Can no longer feel

Superior over anything

Nothing but luck

Before granite claims

Years of avoidance

In unfulfilled hearts

 

Finding a family

Like me

In the dead of night

To dance

Headlit

In moonlight

Celebrating

Every vertebrae

Of our spines

 

Bone

Is white dust

And soul found

In gathering

Atoms

Ready to be

The one

In the box

Planted

 

To remain

Where

I can always

Be found

Underground

Knowing dark

Caresses

My mind

Listening

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Jizz Angels by Alex S. Johnson

Posted in Uncategorized on July 14, 2014 by Alex S. Johnson

Two Maggot Angels were chilling in the interstices between Heaven and Hell. One was named Bob, the other, the Sigil Formerly Known as Wormfood.

“How’s it hangin,’ Sigil Formerly Known?” asked Bob.

“Pretty low. I can’t get a job anywhere. Went to the employment office, but there was a line around the block. Hard out there for a Maggot Angel.”

“I hear you loud and clear. Me too. Maybe we should change our status.”

“Change our status? How do you mean?”

“I mean maybe there’s a glut on the market for Maggot Angels. I heard a rumor from a guy…but let’s go get a Bukkake Cone.”

“Solid. They’ve got a Bukkake Cone stand at the Plaza Odium. The place is a little smelly since they started excavating the carnival graveyard and there’s piles of clown corpses everywhere, but, between you, me and the fly mob, there’s nothing like a cool Bukkake Cone on a hot day.”

The Maggot Angels walked to the Plaza, which was only a mile away. They ordered medium cups of Bukkake–strawberry flavor–and sat thoughtfully for awhile, spooning up the creamy goodness. 

“So let’s hear more about this Jizz Angels concept,” said Sigil Formerly Known.

“Ain’t no thing. Well, I’ll level with you. It’s more than just a rumor, it’s happening. I don’t want to jinx it by telling you too much now, but let’s just say a guy could get pretty rich pretty quick if he got in on the ground floor.”

“What does a Jizz Angel do?”

“There’s a lot of waiting involved. What they do, basically, is wait, usually behind a large piece of furniture, while someone whacks it or sinks it in balls deep. Then, when they cum, a Jizz Angel floats over their head and sings a little song.”

“A song? Like, what kind of song?”

“I don’t know, folk songs, grindcore, Dolly Parton. Whatever rocks that person’s particular boat.”

“I don’t know, dude,” said Sigil. “It sounds deeply random.”

“As opposed to Maggot Angel?”

“Yeah, but at least Maggot Angels have been around for a while now.”

“Evolution is a bitch, my friend. We rose from the decomposed with wriggling wings, and now it’s time to change that public persona. Why, in no time at all, this Jizz Angels thing is going to go universal. I hear Jehovah himself is down with it. And Satan, damn, he wants to corner the franchise and start mass-producing Jizz Angels as fast as he can get his claws on their souls.”

“Well, if folks of that stature are involved, there must be something to it.”

“Hells yeah there is,” said Bob. “Look, I’ve got a video here.” He pulled a cassette from beneath his wormy pinions. 

One Week Later

“Sign me up,” said Sigil. “I think I’ve got what it takes to be a Jizz Angel, and no mistake. Also, I spoke to some buddies of mine and they’re very, very curious.”

And the two Maggot Angels joined hands and burst into an a cappella duet of “Wrecking Ball.”