Plugged

Blah

This is not prose, this is and this is:

He wore inertia on his wrist like a watch, moving or not moving his Armani knock off suited arm, as it seems to be more likely the case. Cigarette casually plugged into his lips like some sort of electrical appliance. Children grilled barbecue beef burgers on the grating of the streets, sun f*****g red in the sky.
My, me oh my!
Curb stones, licked with a new layer of paint, for the f*****g thrill of community initiated, state vandalism, flags hanging draped, tattered on lamppost. The Union Jack, the UDA, the UVF.

Father, Son and Holy Ghost.
All in a state of catatonic withdrawal symptoms from arms! All, peevishly playing one up man ship against the other.

You know I once,
you know I once only bigger,
you know I once even bigger than the rest of you b******s.

That died years ago, gladly.

The knock off Armani suited B*****d. Left me with a handful of cigarette stubs a burnt out Ford Capri and mighty huge f*****g hang over. Mighty fine f**k he was indeed. Took me out many an adventure, mostly ending up with the both of us caught in a corner throwing stones at the passersby, throwing bricks off highway overpasses, throwing crude pick up lines at pretty blondes, you know the type! Oh yes.

“What about, you, me, her and him?”

We’ll obviously we didn’t give a s**t, but come on....

“What about, you, me, her and him?”

My gratification, her gratification, his gratification.
The entire bloody world’s gratification.
Pass me the sick bucket and I’ll go puke a little in my mouth. Why yes of course! Why yes of course!
And he stands, knock off Armani suited b*****d that he is! Cheeky grin plastered on his bearded visage-
Children grilling barbecued beef burgers on the street grating! Oh it’s a street party! What are we celebrating?

The immediate farewell to the- farewell to Arms! This is war boy, pick up your sticks pick up your stones, drink a little come on this is war!
Pro-Government, Anti-establishment encouraged war.

S**t smeared angrily, peacefully along the walls.

Modern Art?

Modern Protest?

Classic starvation.
Hungrily fishing for compliments....
Hungrily starving in disdain.....
Hungrily bloated with confusion....
S**t smeared along the walls, across the floor-
Picasso baby, Da-Vinci honey, Salvador Dali surely?

 

“No Surrender,” of the English tongue.

“No Surrender,” of our elderly mother.

“No Surrender,” to the monkeys dressed as men.

 

“No, no, no,” and a hundred more years of illicit, duplicite, secret sexual rendezvous!

Behind the bike sheds, behind the church yards, from behind-

“Oh God just the way I like it darling.”

Back handed, handouts for dirty dealings.

All played out for hard,

Harder, harder, harder earned rewards.

 

You, me, the Provo and the Big Chief! All waiting writhing silently aloud, to see which one of us will meet the same fate as Randle drooling in the corner!

 

“Mary Mother of God let it be her not me.”

“Mary Mother of God let it be him and not me.”

“Mary Mother of God let it be them and not me.”

“Mary Mother of God let it be me and not we.”

 

Funny thing is. funny thing is! The Armani knock off suited b*****d is out there, painting the peace lines!

While I’m in her swallowing down pills to allow the night wardens a night of peace!

 

Red, white, blue.

Green, white, gold.

 

“Goddamn the Huns,” scrawled across the walls.

I agree Attila was a prick!

Reviews

[Elissa; the genuine art..]

This is really bold. I like it.
I'd have to say that my favorite part was;
"Throwing bricks off highway overpasses,
Throwing crude pick up lines at pretty blondes,
You know the type! Oh yes. "
Adding this to my favorites!

-Elissa :D

[Alicante lullaby]

thiswork of yours narrate the conflict and the struggle your people have been through...its a queer world we live in...