Bite Me
you may think
you're getting away with it
words generated by ai
posting them as your own
but once busted
you can't be trusted
edit that shit all you want
it still stinks of ai
like that lingering funk
after sprayed by a skunk
tweak and reformat
it's still fuckin' junk
so pants on fire you
you disgusting flunk
you smarmy scheister
you plastic punk
11/16/2024
Houston, we’ve had a problem
So you believe in things written thousands of years ago because they're compelling and you know in your heart they're true? But you don't believe in things that have been observed for decades, things that have been tracked and replicated, things that have been predicted based on theory and that are happening now? Well, Houston, you've got a problem. We're staying up here. Y'all down there're fucked.
11/15/2024
Table of Hauteurs
The cocktail party is in full swing, with guests and hosts alike gathered in little groups. Some dance from one coterie to another, others do-si-do within their groups. All are talented in their ability to eat, drink, and talk while holding a plate of hors d'oeuvres and a glass of wine.
A table of delights stretches along the north wall. There are cheese trays, pastries savory and sweet, the finest red and white wines, and more. Three gorgeous Matisse lithographs hang above the table. A colorful gouache découpée in the middle, flanked by black and white portraits.
In the room's center, mouths chew, sip, and exchange airs as the sophisticate orgy unfolds.
"Oh I love the Matisse prints!"
"Yes, aren't they great! We just got them. You know he's totally making a comeback."
"Yes, yes."
"This one's my favorite. I love the yellow."
"Yes, yes."
In this fashion, the wall basks bright and proud as the drooling eyes stare.
Meanwhile, a centipede scurries under the table and disappears into a tiny gap in the corner. High above, where the walls meet the ceiling, a waft dislodges part of an ancient cobweb.
Twelve feet below the cobweb, the host goes on. They're originals, she's always loved Matisse, they are so expensive but she just had to have them.
The guest smiles and nods, her right hand holding a glass of wine, her left below it with palm up in a makeshift table. All in all, agreeable and interested.
On the ceiling, the cobweb filament stretches nearly a foot from the corner, thicker at its origin, a gradient black to gray, its delicate flutter a thing of austere beauty with a mastery of forms and transitions. A rearing cobra one moment, a scorpion tail the next.
The host continues. Her husband's promotion literally doubled his salary, it's so hard to keep her new jewelry organized, so glad we've had a chance to talk, we're thinking about buying....
In time, the guest raises the wine from its flesh table to her mouth. Sheltered by the glass, in the heartbeat before the inflow, the corners of her lips drop, the corners of her eyes tighten. With great effort she conceals her words, and then paints the cavity crimson.
"Right—like you know anything about Matisse. Bitch."
11/14/2024
Sturgill
Morning sun. Fried eggs in the air. Screen door slam. Semiconsciousness.
Sturgill squinted, salivated, leaned over the rail, and blew chunks like a dog.
His niece hit the trailer door from inside. "Don't be barfin' on that walkway! I fuckin' walk there!"
Sturgill wiped the grits off his lips, immersed in reverie. What luck, finding his niece's ex's stash. Big ol' box of baseball cards. Sold 'em for $2000 at the sports card expo yesterday. Treated himself too. Horse, booze, God knows what were those pills. Still a thousand bucks left. Maybe he'd go see little Annie later. Been awhile since he... Heh. Yeah, he'd definitely pay Annie a visit.
Sturgill spit and looked up in gratitude. Life was good. The sun was warm. Breakfast hot. Sturgill slapped the back of his neck, then wiped a mosquito's bloody carcass off his hand. He shook his head, appreciating the ups and downs, yin and yang, all that shit. To think, fuck... wasn't even two days ago, he had a mind to kill himself.
11/12/2024
Vicious Dreams
in my vicious dreams
the stars bleed red
black clouds churn and twist
stripping the trees bare
and all the people run
in my vicious dreams
i take what i want
maybe a little more
like john dillinger on a spree
as marilyn monroe spins
her dress billowing in bliss
i course her pink river
to my climactic thrust
in my vicious dreams
gold and honey flow from my pockets
while the dancers shimmy
i am untamed
chewing meat and tearing silk
with canine teeth
these walls cannot hold me
11/10/2024