unidentified member

In the ocean core, the mountful blur on the uneven skin, the rough plough, the engaging sin, the pleasant wonder, the scary dory, the pimple canvas of erupting future coves,
I kill the palatines, and supreme guests, feudal whores and pimping royalty, this is my land, my sea, my infestation.
As dark as it may be I light the midnight, the center of the deepest night, the furthest distance from any hint of light, through holocaust or pandemic, by mushroom or plague. I scratch the cave of limbering gills, stupid afro hopes and sex thrills, my concubine ever fills.
I arrange and pain the assault of stupid liberals and nervous cons, frighten rights and petulant fights; desecrating is a right, so I do it. No need to investigate the cruel, the idiot fools who blanket the porcupine skins, the honey bee stings, the anaconda chokes, sorry laboring old folks. You guys favor the sick old jokes, resurfaced and sacked like pornography dads delivered to you door, sipping on their little girl’s juice, imprisoned yet lose. Your world is a feast to be laughed at, yours is a wrinkled lip in need of moist semen, camouflaged by make up to hide the present slide. Hypocrisy filled mold, spreading poisons through different folds. Jailing other by what is sold.
You wonder about mines. Here I fever the anger of imbalance, like sinus pains, I demand the breath of only one whole, I’m not insane. With these hard boned scars, fear facing bars, metal hard black teeth like chewing tar, never questioning the burn from the blazing end of cigars as I smoke in my relaxed Zen, ugly like a mother fucker so what then.

SlimDick

You will find me swaying in the current of the deep
Fading in and out of mournful sleep while others protect themselves onto me
I don’t mind.
This boredom I suffer needs distraction. The cloud of death which lies deep in me, the complexity of chess which I had hoped to be, the plough of boiling dreams which burn away inside the wishes I wail.
I’m not sure who first called me Slimdick, but I have matured from this posture and accepted its fate.
Here all has a name, a branding of fame, a visual game played like a silent orchestra.
There is no longer hunger for an eternal stiffness, I know it sounds lame, but its my mantra
And so I lull to conjure over the plate of unexcited days.
Sill hydroplaning over what this place is, day or night. Here they share themselves and confuse the muse, they are the same.
But I ask it continuously and ask myself as well, what of this place we dwell?
This is my ignorance’s pure chase for aspiration. A game I fear it has become, a play of which till recently I had none.
As I bid for clues, reaching out my long thinned hairs close to the bubble nerves of my base.
Like hands they scavenge this black blanket for its language, our language.
Like bands of unison they are all that inform me and tell me of my fate
They look without eyes and see without previous references, except those they themselves save in their hard drives, even my memory is scattered.
They are the very fibers which rectify me, erect me and identify me.
I am a Slimdick, the most boring figure here, in my forever dying Nigga leer, the farthest thing from a Christ figuring fear.
Who knows what I was when I was human, when made up whole, instead of the constant parts I piece now.
I should sue them, for my conjunction they stole, that which I now spread with a hardened heart and a stiff slow.
A human

Billipedilus

My kind has been here for centuries, before the fires of the deep, erupted the secret it held and formed our current plantations, where these blacks dwell, I am no longer sure if we’re not in hell.
I am a Billiped and I have skateboarded most of this ocean’s deep, hoarded my memory sticks with tales that will never be mentioned.
The highway nights, the constant fights, destroy the habitations I cared for. It is now a ghetto of lost souls, forever drones, conversations don’t happen anymore, the languages are in confrontations like dishwashing liquid and oil slick butter croissant residues left on a plate. No this is a world before.
The night seems ever present now and only one color. It used to have a mirage feeling throughout its denseness. The black we slept in was a multicolored fan, whose swing-swing half circled an air of illusions; this was our cinema, our nightly tan.
My ancestors could once walk a digital silk screen of endless shades, sharp blades of legible tones, the ocean sky would moan, more often back then.
It could be that we are transparent cells, navigating the current of those who wish to see. We bypass the arrogant stares which bypass us. Were known to demonstrate a sass staunch, with such a malevolent brass and deliberate launch that we’ve been told we’re best left alone. This is fine, they despise us and we shun them.
All is not lost in this new home of carcasses, were bones crack in their constant change. You can hear them scream, when a further realization of this insecurity makes relevant that they don’t belong here, for this its there price, to always live in fear.
These stinking mixed races, transforming rate faces, soul searching language stripped, mangle lipped slave cases,
These dropped from above, whipped and chain marked scrubs, wishing for a forever death where they thought they’d find love.
These no currency fools, soul needing shoals, stranded amongst each other, deathly vein human kind tools, now rest in wait like one hind leg raised stupid mules.
You think I hate hard but I’m telling truth, that since they came the bottom is low, the dark is deeper then ever before and the sanctity we once held lives here no more.