• He led me inside, seats and lights filed in an organized motley. A stage of wood and a curtain of fine red leather that clung to the ceiling like hooks to a bistro.
• Maverick strutted in folk-whimsy, explaining the nature of the theatre. He tells me how this is the place where those who have blown all his options can't afford the luxury of changing his ways come to Q&A the wishes of their devotee's. The lobby was labeled as "the Mat". He told me this was an abbreviation to the name of the forge, but I don't believe him. Who was this Mat? Where is he?
• Back behind the stage was were I met a man dressed to his ankles in deep Navy Blue, shoes reflecting in shining sienna. His head showed signs of molting in the middle, shedding for the coming summer heat. Mr. Bain was his name. His game I have yet to descifer.
• "So Amir--"
• "Mmhm."
• "And Mrs. Villa--"
• "Yes."
• "Will ask you the questions on the list--"
• "Yeh."
• "Do you know how your gonna answer them?"
• "Of course"
• "So remember to keep the answers consistent and not draw them out for to long. This assembly only goes for about an hour."
• "Mhmm." Time here in the coterie of this gentleman was like living in the presence of a modern American man yelling at his mother's urn. You wouldn't know what to say or respond at such an action. A reason I am sure, but for what reason?
• "…Are you even listening?"
• "Hhmm." With your everyday pedestrian, in a situation where you annoy the individual within the same bubble as yourself, one would seem to babble and repeat the words your questioneer would ask. This is how it goes wrong. To escape the moment with your hands clean, you merely need to fake it.
• "So what did I just say?"
• "Uhh…" I could not explain the terror I felt. It was like being in the presence of one yelling at his mother's urn.
• He sighed.
• "Never-mind, you'll remember when you hear it.
(45 minutes later)
• An ocean of juveniles flooded into the carpeted stadium. Many machines of a handheld purpose blinked and radiated into the center of their misguided attention.
• I hid with suspicion, praying to god that the nightmare would wait for a little longer for me to breath in the sawdust back stage-right.
• “Hello Booker T. Washington Students. It is my pleasure to present a man that has won much praise from both the faculty and your fellow students. Thanks to the combined efforts of Scott Davison’s Creative Writing Group and his college in the Dallas Morning News, Tyler Maverick.”
• I spied through the red velvet, eyeless at the searing lights the equipment ignited.
• “He is known all across America for his works in literature and autobiography, which has earned him the title ‘the Father of Gonzo Journalism’. Please help me in welcome Mr. Rauz L. Dutch.”
• Vague gestures of the hands soared in motion across the theatre, screams in empty excitement roaming the seats in a tizzy.
• The crowd fed the delirium as my face was shown to the world. Will their fun be undone when I mention there own home's tie-in to Kennedy?
• Bad vibes of paranoia, madness, fear and loathing, revulsion and terror were reverberating off the walls.
• I was cascaded in a romp into the chair prepared for my visit. There beside me were the faces I have learned on my adventure.
• The Russian seated to my left, slouching to correct the lower vertebrae.
• The Woman settled in Pink at the mantle, cheeks blistered red from the tension of her unhealthy smile.
• It would have taken me extreme physical force to take me off the stage, but such a thing cannot happen.
• A Latino pair of Loral and Hardy to my right, smiling as their jaws clicked and moaned in the form of what the modern American would call a sentence.
• If only I could remember. Ambience of revolt and comedy filled there glasses, and in the end, that there all truly is. The good the bad and the consequences.
• I was just another addict off the aftermath. They loved me in Reno as they do now. I took another glance at my droning public, my brain shriveled up and fresh from the fryer. The last drop of tequila coursing through me burnt out its welcome, as the DT spasms began to take effect onto my bronchia. I felt like the monstrous incarnation of Ben Stein. .. A man out of touch with human interest, his place on this fruitful earth, and complacent all the same. Straight into frantic oblivion: hazards, obscurities, a freak on all fronts. My name is Rauz Dutch.
• Thank You and good night
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Story: Revulsion and Terror in Dallas, TX (Part 3)
• Following the brick-less road to the man in charge.
• I could smell the menagerie of beige and grey on the facade to my left and right,
• Brick-red metal cubbards clanking from the contents sealed inside from the locks clinging for dear life.
• My footsteps echo like the drug-crazed hormone monster that I was, and Considering the Circumstances, I would not deny it.
• I came to a halt, fascinated by the maze I saw.
• One floor after another in a compact size for convenience. Stairs was it? How could I forget?
• I trotted the peril, legs frightened of what they were awaiting for. Flip-flops tumbling one shoelace at a time. Damn methadrin. Always getting in my eyes.
• "You need any help sir?"
• "Don't come near me, no, no."
• Such a large establishment. Who's to say that I would ever make my way out? That was when I knew that this was not the place for psychedelic drugs.
• My pleasure knew no bounds on my arrival to the witness of another misguided soul in this convoluted maze.Whether be by my aching feet or inebriation, one cannot say.
• I find a somewhat older woman behind a desk, possibly of a haitian origin, dressed in a cape of spanish red.
• I saw her speaking on a fax-mannered phone, gossiping on manners of Pink-Slips and $300 worth of trinkets of a womanly nature.
• "Excuse me madame, were could I find the manager of this here union?"
• She removed her glasses as some sort of obscene gesture "I'm sorry hun, what was that?" This is getting me nowhere. Better keep going.
• "I have a meeting with the Principle, and for that to carry out, I will be needing the directions and the 'I say so'. Do you understand what I'm getting at?"
• "Hmmm…" she pondered "and what, mind you, is your name exactly?"
• "Dutch, Rauz Dutch, Father of Gonzo Journalism here on invite for a social gathering scheduled by my attorney back in Reno. He told me to come here and make contact with a person by the name of T-Man at the source, so like I said, were can I find my way to head office? What's the score here? Hmm? What's the score?"
• No flowers from this Haitian grove, only a gorgon matting of carnivorous plants, a glare of white from her eyes. She was like a Congo River Gorilla, ready to bare her teeth in heat of aggression.
• She placed her glasses back onto her eyes, as if they were the secret of her zen focus, and shuffled through the papers in a karmic manner. This woman was either at peace or was a bitch of different flavors. That I cannot be certain.
• "Hmmm… Mr. Dutch, oh right, you were supposed to meet with the Miss Fraley over an hour ago."
• "Yes, I was detained on route to Nash and Maud. A prehistoric gathering If I say so myself.” So much oil, so much blood, flying car parts of so many shades green and chrome that I could not stop watching.
• She spied a glimpse that would have shot me dead if it could, and pressed a button on the phone to her left, clicking a beep as it did.
• "Mrs. Fraley, your 2:00 is here to speak with you."
• "2:00… alright, better send him in." The small box that spoke back fascinated me. When have we become so reliant on ware of both hard and soft did we wither off in a void of bewilderment?
• "Mrs. Fraley is in the older building, first door to your left."
• I was on the other-side of the looking glass, behind me was a four-story grey concrete maze only found 2-dimensionally on a lithograph surface, one I have just previously trekked, but before me was old. The teenage heart of the 1980's, Bill and Ted have left their mark and left it spotless. Who'd a thunk it.
• As the Haitian instructed, I took my left, and made it safely inside, room lined with posies a' fancy, radiating paint on the walls like Yellow Cake uranium and other juggernauts man was dumb enough to denitrify. How long will it be before my skin burns away with me a melted glob on the carpet?
• "Hello Mr… Dutch, is it?" I nodded a yes. At the end sat a woman anointed in bright magenta work-woman's skirt. I thought she was bald, her blonde hair blend ing in with the background, same to her rosy grinning cheeks to her dress.
• "Why yes, yes it is."
• "It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Tracie Fraley."
• "Rauz Dutch, thank you for having me."
• "You're very welcome. Would like something to drink?"
• "If you have any alchoffee that would be nice."
• "If we have what now?"
• "Never-mind. So where is old T-Babble? I was notified by my attorney to meet a tall man of a foreign description of such a name for a gathering of some kind. Russian perhaps. Your not him, are you? You don't look Russian.”
• “No I am not him, although Mr. Tyler will be here rather shortly, I just notified him and he’s on his way.”
• “Well then, no time to waste I suppose.”
• Sweating. That was all I knew. One drop of cold perspiration at a time. What a world.
• “Yes, speaking of which, you were supposed to be here to prepare over an hour ago.”
• “A delay was made through a detour in Texarkana when a Nissan 300 killed a pedestrian, so I had to co-operate with traffic and wait.”
• Was there no conversation in this room? Was I truly alone? Or was I talking to myself as I always do?
• “Oh that’s awful… well otherwise, it is a pleasure that you were able to come and present to the school.”
• “The pleasure is mine I’m sure.”
• As the old man in pink before me was dribbling over the fawning and flattery the seminary juggling in it’s mitts, my thoughts were only pertained to the task at hand, but I do wonder, 'How can T-man in a dress run such an empty bureaucracy? How do the blue suited pigs and clanking metal doors pertain to such a sight? Is all this just some crazed narcotized frenzy of some kind, or had I really come to Dallas for an assembly to the deviant masses?
• "Mr. Dutch… Mr Dutch, are you listening?"
• A series of knocks emanated from the door. "Oh God what's that?!" I ducked behind the chair for dear life. "Is it the door?"
• "Come in." The door uncut itself, allowing the guest in with open hinges.
• The Plastic woman paced to the door ajar, high heels clacked like a bohemian hiker along the sidewalk.
• "Oh, Mr. Maverick! So glad you could come, he’s right over there… cowering behind the chair…” glittered with dots and daisies, his optics like beryl blue in a woman's eyes, his hair a possible black, dyed in glowing blond stained with magenta. He wore a pair of itchy grey wool chaps, an unbuttoned black suit jacket, hiding a rather loathsome looking wife-beater, covered in stains of every color of the spectrum.
• "Dutch? Rauz Dutch? Hey, I'm Tyler Maverick, the one who sent the fax last week."
• "You’re not Russian."
• "I have got to say that we are all good fans of your work, particularly myself.”
• I could smell the aftershave adhered on the tax-payer's brow. I think I'm going to like this man, despite my uncertainty of his racial basis. I clung to the hutch for dear life. The giant looked as if he would pull a gun between my glasses at any moment.
• “Well I’m sure he’s as excited as the rest of us. Mr. Dutch, would you please follow Mr. Maverick? He’ll brief you on what will happen over the presentation. 'Where you’ll be, the question’s you’ll be asked and so on.”
• I left from the safety of the cotton seat. Such intolerable vibrations in the area. And now of all things I’m stuck a position that is hard to explain. Hearing gravel in bricks along the wall, fascinated with one another at the stranger faring the tiles beneath his feet.
• The Russian man with his fingers in his pockets, strutted around in a dance reminiscent to music of 70’s heart throb Tom Jones. I began to swerve in sync with him, mesmerized with shock and awe. Where was he taking me? Should I be afraid? Should I pray-tell go where the wind takes me? Or should I take my chances and leap for the nearest window?
• We strutted through the graveled crumbs of our mother-earth and her dry crust, A building of a geometric nature welcomed the two of us in, doors screeching like a foul beast fresh from a cloaca.
• I could smell the menagerie of beige and grey on the facade to my left and right,
• Brick-red metal cubbards clanking from the contents sealed inside from the locks clinging for dear life.
• My footsteps echo like the drug-crazed hormone monster that I was, and Considering the Circumstances, I would not deny it.
• I came to a halt, fascinated by the maze I saw.
• One floor after another in a compact size for convenience. Stairs was it? How could I forget?
• I trotted the peril, legs frightened of what they were awaiting for. Flip-flops tumbling one shoelace at a time. Damn methadrin. Always getting in my eyes.
• "You need any help sir?"
• "Don't come near me, no, no."
• Such a large establishment. Who's to say that I would ever make my way out? That was when I knew that this was not the place for psychedelic drugs.
• My pleasure knew no bounds on my arrival to the witness of another misguided soul in this convoluted maze.Whether be by my aching feet or inebriation, one cannot say.
• I find a somewhat older woman behind a desk, possibly of a haitian origin, dressed in a cape of spanish red.
• I saw her speaking on a fax-mannered phone, gossiping on manners of Pink-Slips and $300 worth of trinkets of a womanly nature.
• "Excuse me madame, were could I find the manager of this here union?"
• She removed her glasses as some sort of obscene gesture "I'm sorry hun, what was that?" This is getting me nowhere. Better keep going.
• "I have a meeting with the Principle, and for that to carry out, I will be needing the directions and the 'I say so'. Do you understand what I'm getting at?"
• "Hmmm…" she pondered "and what, mind you, is your name exactly?"
• "Dutch, Rauz Dutch, Father of Gonzo Journalism here on invite for a social gathering scheduled by my attorney back in Reno. He told me to come here and make contact with a person by the name of T-Man at the source, so like I said, were can I find my way to head office? What's the score here? Hmm? What's the score?"
• No flowers from this Haitian grove, only a gorgon matting of carnivorous plants, a glare of white from her eyes. She was like a Congo River Gorilla, ready to bare her teeth in heat of aggression.
• She placed her glasses back onto her eyes, as if they were the secret of her zen focus, and shuffled through the papers in a karmic manner. This woman was either at peace or was a bitch of different flavors. That I cannot be certain.
• "Hmmm… Mr. Dutch, oh right, you were supposed to meet with the Miss Fraley over an hour ago."
• "Yes, I was detained on route to Nash and Maud. A prehistoric gathering If I say so myself.” So much oil, so much blood, flying car parts of so many shades green and chrome that I could not stop watching.
• She spied a glimpse that would have shot me dead if it could, and pressed a button on the phone to her left, clicking a beep as it did.
• "Mrs. Fraley, your 2:00 is here to speak with you."
• "2:00… alright, better send him in." The small box that spoke back fascinated me. When have we become so reliant on ware of both hard and soft did we wither off in a void of bewilderment?
• "Mrs. Fraley is in the older building, first door to your left."
• I was on the other-side of the looking glass, behind me was a four-story grey concrete maze only found 2-dimensionally on a lithograph surface, one I have just previously trekked, but before me was old. The teenage heart of the 1980's, Bill and Ted have left their mark and left it spotless. Who'd a thunk it.
• As the Haitian instructed, I took my left, and made it safely inside, room lined with posies a' fancy, radiating paint on the walls like Yellow Cake uranium and other juggernauts man was dumb enough to denitrify. How long will it be before my skin burns away with me a melted glob on the carpet?
• "Hello Mr… Dutch, is it?" I nodded a yes. At the end sat a woman anointed in bright magenta work-woman's skirt. I thought she was bald, her blonde hair blend ing in with the background, same to her rosy grinning cheeks to her dress.
• "Why yes, yes it is."
• "It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Tracie Fraley."
• "Rauz Dutch, thank you for having me."
• "You're very welcome. Would like something to drink?"
• "If you have any alchoffee that would be nice."
• "If we have what now?"
• "Never-mind. So where is old T-Babble? I was notified by my attorney to meet a tall man of a foreign description of such a name for a gathering of some kind. Russian perhaps. Your not him, are you? You don't look Russian.”
• “No I am not him, although Mr. Tyler will be here rather shortly, I just notified him and he’s on his way.”
• “Well then, no time to waste I suppose.”
• Sweating. That was all I knew. One drop of cold perspiration at a time. What a world.
• “Yes, speaking of which, you were supposed to be here to prepare over an hour ago.”
• “A delay was made through a detour in Texarkana when a Nissan 300 killed a pedestrian, so I had to co-operate with traffic and wait.”
• Was there no conversation in this room? Was I truly alone? Or was I talking to myself as I always do?
• “Oh that’s awful… well otherwise, it is a pleasure that you were able to come and present to the school.”
• “The pleasure is mine I’m sure.”
• As the old man in pink before me was dribbling over the fawning and flattery the seminary juggling in it’s mitts, my thoughts were only pertained to the task at hand, but I do wonder, 'How can T-man in a dress run such an empty bureaucracy? How do the blue suited pigs and clanking metal doors pertain to such a sight? Is all this just some crazed narcotized frenzy of some kind, or had I really come to Dallas for an assembly to the deviant masses?
• "Mr. Dutch… Mr Dutch, are you listening?"
• A series of knocks emanated from the door. "Oh God what's that?!" I ducked behind the chair for dear life. "Is it the door?"
• "Come in." The door uncut itself, allowing the guest in with open hinges.
• The Plastic woman paced to the door ajar, high heels clacked like a bohemian hiker along the sidewalk.
• "Oh, Mr. Maverick! So glad you could come, he’s right over there… cowering behind the chair…” glittered with dots and daisies, his optics like beryl blue in a woman's eyes, his hair a possible black, dyed in glowing blond stained with magenta. He wore a pair of itchy grey wool chaps, an unbuttoned black suit jacket, hiding a rather loathsome looking wife-beater, covered in stains of every color of the spectrum.
• "Dutch? Rauz Dutch? Hey, I'm Tyler Maverick, the one who sent the fax last week."
• "You’re not Russian."
• "I have got to say that we are all good fans of your work, particularly myself.”
• I could smell the aftershave adhered on the tax-payer's brow. I think I'm going to like this man, despite my uncertainty of his racial basis. I clung to the hutch for dear life. The giant looked as if he would pull a gun between my glasses at any moment.
• “Well I’m sure he’s as excited as the rest of us. Mr. Dutch, would you please follow Mr. Maverick? He’ll brief you on what will happen over the presentation. 'Where you’ll be, the question’s you’ll be asked and so on.”
• I left from the safety of the cotton seat. Such intolerable vibrations in the area. And now of all things I’m stuck a position that is hard to explain. Hearing gravel in bricks along the wall, fascinated with one another at the stranger faring the tiles beneath his feet.
• The Russian man with his fingers in his pockets, strutted around in a dance reminiscent to music of 70’s heart throb Tom Jones. I began to swerve in sync with him, mesmerized with shock and awe. Where was he taking me? Should I be afraid? Should I pray-tell go where the wind takes me? Or should I take my chances and leap for the nearest window?
• We strutted through the graveled crumbs of our mother-earth and her dry crust, A building of a geometric nature welcomed the two of us in, doors screeching like a foul beast fresh from a cloaca.
Story: Revulsion and Terror in Dallas, TX (Part 2)
• Two Men by the Pearly gates of the Abyss stand in my way, unable to grasp the Green moss that clung to walls.
• I could feel the Cannabis taking its toll. The Burning of the Rubber on my car many feet above the steps crawling my way like a colony of New York Roaches.
• Think of the Roaches. Think of them and not the trouble only a few feet away.
• "Yeah, HI THERE, My name, uh… Rauz Dutch. Invite! Me! Here! In this establishment. Here… for the coverage. My agenda, … the presentation to the people, later here, today. And I must meet with the one in charge. They may have told you, but if not, than good day to you. But today, I must speak with the principle.
• I look into the mustachio's glasses, intoxicated with my words that they did not answer. Not his eyes, only his glasses wanted to answer me.
• "If that is the case, than show me you’re ID."
• Mother of God help meet now.
• I handed him my wallet, for no fear of my money being taken for inspection of a later hour, for I kept no money between the leather.
• "Rauz Dutch, Age 34, Louisville, Kentucky."
• I could see the defeat in his lips, curling at the teeth.
• He gestured to pass him my valuables for a search.
• Jokes on him. I keep no valuables on me for fear of theft on any of the three degrees.
• None to pretty from what I’ve been told
• He waved his hand, wanting me a few steps forward.
• I see a box, with both an entrance and exit, wedged between two-half's of a table.
• Okay. Be quiet. Be calm. Ignore the earlier delicacy and all of the bad virtues inside. Let it work through your system. Nice and slowly now. Yeah. Pretend it's not happening. It isn’t happening dammit!
• A loud ding went off, me collapsing to the ground under the left bench as if a powerful spell has come over me.
• "Oh God what's that?"
• "That's just the metal detector Sir? Come and get up."
• He grabbed me by the axillary artery, careless of such a risk, and wandered his hands all along my attire.
• I felt like collapsing for the second time there again.
• He found nothing. Only spare change and a receipt to car I recently purchased just south of Memphis. He let me go without a word.
• "Sir, Lady, Child, Whatever. Where's the head's room?"
• "What?"
• "The Head. His room. Where is it?"
• He stood with a stare on his face.
• Or was it my face?
• Where am I? Where the Hell am I?!
• "Hmmm… just up the stairs, in the other building, the large room to your right. Yah can't miss it."
• "Thank you sir."
• I felt raped. The Pig had done me on all fronts, while I enjoyed much less than you could ever say I would have.
• An atmosphere that shook with ferocity loomed over me like a cloud fresh from a ganja cigar.
• I walked as straight as one can under the scoliotic effects of an etheric episode, praying to god that those men were as gone as I would have hoped.
• That could be, if I did not feel the break in my back by there cruel stares
• I could feel the Cannabis taking its toll. The Burning of the Rubber on my car many feet above the steps crawling my way like a colony of New York Roaches.
• Think of the Roaches. Think of them and not the trouble only a few feet away.
• "Yeah, HI THERE, My name, uh… Rauz Dutch. Invite! Me! Here! In this establishment. Here… for the coverage. My agenda, … the presentation to the people, later here, today. And I must meet with the one in charge. They may have told you, but if not, than good day to you. But today, I must speak with the principle.
• I look into the mustachio's glasses, intoxicated with my words that they did not answer. Not his eyes, only his glasses wanted to answer me.
• "If that is the case, than show me you’re ID."
• Mother of God help meet now.
• I handed him my wallet, for no fear of my money being taken for inspection of a later hour, for I kept no money between the leather.
• "Rauz Dutch, Age 34, Louisville, Kentucky."
• I could see the defeat in his lips, curling at the teeth.
• He gestured to pass him my valuables for a search.
• Jokes on him. I keep no valuables on me for fear of theft on any of the three degrees.
• None to pretty from what I’ve been told
• He waved his hand, wanting me a few steps forward.
• I see a box, with both an entrance and exit, wedged between two-half's of a table.
• Okay. Be quiet. Be calm. Ignore the earlier delicacy and all of the bad virtues inside. Let it work through your system. Nice and slowly now. Yeah. Pretend it's not happening. It isn’t happening dammit!
• A loud ding went off, me collapsing to the ground under the left bench as if a powerful spell has come over me.
• "Oh God what's that?"
• "That's just the metal detector Sir? Come and get up."
• He grabbed me by the axillary artery, careless of such a risk, and wandered his hands all along my attire.
• I felt like collapsing for the second time there again.
• He found nothing. Only spare change and a receipt to car I recently purchased just south of Memphis. He let me go without a word.
• "Sir, Lady, Child, Whatever. Where's the head's room?"
• "What?"
• "The Head. His room. Where is it?"
• He stood with a stare on his face.
• Or was it my face?
• Where am I? Where the Hell am I?!
• "Hmmm… just up the stairs, in the other building, the large room to your right. Yah can't miss it."
• "Thank you sir."
• I felt raped. The Pig had done me on all fronts, while I enjoyed much less than you could ever say I would have.
• An atmosphere that shook with ferocity loomed over me like a cloud fresh from a ganja cigar.
• I walked as straight as one can under the scoliotic effects of an etheric episode, praying to god that those men were as gone as I would have hoped.
• That could be, if I did not feel the break in my back by there cruel stares
Story: Revulsion and Terror in Dallas, TX (Part 1)
Here I made a four part spoof of 'Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas' I made it for a Creative Writing reading over at a specially made Retro-Theater named "The Kessler". Let me know what you think in the end.
• My name is Rauz Dutch, Father of Gonzo Journalism. Nanoo-Nanoo.
• Recently I have been invited through fax machine notice and inter-mail to a city just east of west capital Fort-Worth, within North Texas, in a facility entitled BTWHS.
• My contact is visual man by the alias "T-Man", who has directed this meeting through a paper full of strange names and writings that I will never remember knew or otherwise, but touched at the same time at the thought.
• God Bless them, and Help Them.
• I was looking forward to meeting a man who gives himself such an odd identity.
• As well as a community with equally strange names and footnotes.
• The tell me that I'm supposed to meet this "Mr. T" at the Gate.
• When you get there turn south, and you will come across two guards in deep navy blue monkey suits and walkie talkies.
• The strange beings will then search your any harmful devices and substances , and coming out clean will grant you safe passage on the other-side.
• To play it safe so they can't find them anywhere on me, I have prepared for myself a Rolling Stoner Brownie for consumption of an earlier time.
• But when I get there, everything will go wrong.
• For those not in the know, a Rolling Stoner Brownie is like any other brownie, exempt it contains an assortment of Grass, Mescaline, high powered blottered acid, cocaine, andrenochrome, light budweiser, many other kinds of uppers downers, screamers, laughers and five other narcotics that would leave the mind recoiling in horror for many hours to come.
• I had no idea what to expect in mistake, but luckily, I came heavily armed.
• Let us hope that they will be ready.
• My name is Rauz Dutch, Father of Gonzo Journalism. Nanoo-Nanoo.
• Recently I have been invited through fax machine notice and inter-mail to a city just east of west capital Fort-Worth, within North Texas, in a facility entitled BTWHS.
• My contact is visual man by the alias "T-Man", who has directed this meeting through a paper full of strange names and writings that I will never remember knew or otherwise, but touched at the same time at the thought.
• God Bless them, and Help Them.
• I was looking forward to meeting a man who gives himself such an odd identity.
• As well as a community with equally strange names and footnotes.
• The tell me that I'm supposed to meet this "Mr. T" at the Gate.
• When you get there turn south, and you will come across two guards in deep navy blue monkey suits and walkie talkies.
• The strange beings will then search your any harmful devices and substances , and coming out clean will grant you safe passage on the other-side.
• To play it safe so they can't find them anywhere on me, I have prepared for myself a Rolling Stoner Brownie for consumption of an earlier time.
• But when I get there, everything will go wrong.
• For those not in the know, a Rolling Stoner Brownie is like any other brownie, exempt it contains an assortment of Grass, Mescaline, high powered blottered acid, cocaine, andrenochrome, light budweiser, many other kinds of uppers downers, screamers, laughers and five other narcotics that would leave the mind recoiling in horror for many hours to come.
• I had no idea what to expect in mistake, but luckily, I came heavily armed.
• Let us hope that they will be ready.
Saturday, July 9, 2011
Poem: Hourglass of Mercury
Come to Time
To Ponder While
A Poison's Kiss
Shrall grant my Wish
To End the World
Of Time and Wait
And Soul in Chains
Cups like Swords with Shining Wine
Forbidden Fruits of Earth and Rock
To Juice of Iron and sweetened Strain.
Behold, my Breath ran dead
From Sudden Sound
Come with me,
And you'll see,
Where you'll Drown
In a Sea of Mercury.
To Ponder While
A Poison's Kiss
Shrall grant my Wish
To End the World
Of Time and Wait
And Soul in Chains
Cups like Swords with Shining Wine
Forbidden Fruits of Earth and Rock
To Juice of Iron and sweetened Strain.
Behold, my Breath ran dead
From Sudden Sound
Come with me,
And you'll see,
Where you'll Drown
In a Sea of Mercury.
Poem: Mystic Box
Four Swords,
One Box,
Magician's Act,
Winner's Prize,
Illusion Fancy,
Eye Candy,
Suspence,
Commence,
Insert!
...
My Act has failed
My Swords impaled,
Magic Box reveals and leaks,
Cherry Red Water of Passover Breath
One Box,
Magician's Act,
Winner's Prize,
Illusion Fancy,
Eye Candy,
Suspence,
Commence,
Insert!
...
My Act has failed
My Swords impaled,
Magic Box reveals and leaks,
Cherry Red Water of Passover Breath
Poem: The Hermit (Beatnik Poem)
Living Tranquil,
Peace above and around,
Standing Up Right,
Wondering Lights,
Pondering Sound,
No Longer Earthbound,
Wisdom See and Wisdom is,
Isolation
Peace above and around,
Standing Up Right,
Wondering Lights,
Pondering Sound,
No Longer Earthbound,
Wisdom See and Wisdom is,
Isolation
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