savagesneversleepnyc

[savagesneversleepnyc]

NO MAN OV THE STREET RIDEz 4 THE MAN

AEON FLUX

ON THE BOOB TOOB

SUN RISE TEA N SUPER FUZZ

MUFF

ARTHRITIC LEFT THUMB

TACK PAIN IS PRICE OR PRIX OR PAY

OR SAY … nadda foot GOOT … OWL’s headed south for KEY BEST WESTERN.. FIST FULL OF DUCK EGGS… DUK KOO KIM ATE UP… AT DAWN..

DIE STAND LIKE GODZILLA FOR 15 ROUNDS VS ROCKY ONLY

TO… STAND AND DELIVER A DEFEAT

ONLY COMMODUS ET TU BRUTAE

AND ALL THE WHITE HORSES

BOOM BOOM ROOMS OF GLOOM

WE HANG MISTOE AND PICS OF Those we KNEW…..

DUK KOO KIM (7.29.55–>11.18.82)

OGE 7:57 am HOD NYC

[savagesneversleepnyc]

SITUS INVERSUS

BY UZIEGO

Based on a true story with liberties taken.

The phone rang in its off-pitch timbre from the olive green rotary housing.

It had been a very hot, hard summer. It would be great to get back to Vermont and get away from Athens. It hadn’t been a good year. The frayed sense of patience between them had all but dried up. The dream of living, teaching, and raising the kids abroad had been a glowing success. But the rift had grown too large, too expansive to continually bridge.

The same phone had rung two months earlier. DR KAROTONIS called to ask them to his office immediately. He had by pure accident discovered and confirmed that Junior’s lifelong asthma and breathing issues were rooted in something rather terrible and ominous. He had spent years looking at Junior’s X-RAY’s backward. It was a ridiculous and gut-wrenching realization. Junior had an extremely rare genetic condition.

SITUS INVERSUS

Junior had been born with his anatomy developed in pure inverse. The positive and negative polarity of his DNA had been touched by a rouge chromosome that flipped a switch and formed his entire form backward.

The MOM had taken the news horribly. She was CRUSHED knowing that her son had syllia in his throat pointing inward. His heart was on the left side of his chest. He would be sterile and never sire SPAWN…. The long-term prospects weren’t much better. One in five million people who share this condition usually died before 50.

The DAD groaned a full-body roar and reached for the pack of KOOL MENTHOL cigarettes sitting next to the ringing phone.

It was his daughter's ballet teacher. She was stuck in Cyprus because of a ferry issue. She was calling to inform him that the GIRL’s final dance recital would be on Friday the 3rd.

Goddamit he thought to himself. The four tickets back to the States were already booked and now he’d have to shell out the 800 bucks to change the flights.

No problem, no problem, he grumbled and hung up.

He immediately called TWA and changed the flight from Friday to Saturday.

TWA FLIGHT 847 from ATHEN TO NYC

Leaving the flat and loading the shipping container had gone off without a hitch. The recital had been a bittersweet triumph. They all appeared as angels on the stage. Frozen in a

CRYSTALINE moment in time. Everyone was floored by the performance but heartbroken to say goodbye to her family of friends. Thus unfolds the childhood of EXPATs..

No one spoke in the car to the airport. The MOM and DAD had a row prior to throwing the keys through the mail slot and completely closing the door on that chapter of their lives.

They agreed to try harder and make a new go of things on the flight back. The whole terminal was pandemonium when they boarded but they were able to beat the phalanx of departing flights that morning. They would land 16 hours later at JFK to a terrifying realization.

DAN RATHER greeted the nation as he did every evening. Turning to the breaking news of a HIJACKED TWA flight from ATHENS to JFK.

A family of four from VERMONT was on board. Frantically the images rushed in of the hooded men with AK-47s on the tarmac. RONALD REAGAN expressed his concerns and prayers for the safe return of these American teachers and their two young children held in the bondage of International terrorism.

When the DAD approached the customs agent, he gasped and yelled for the supervisor. TROY came lumbering from the east side of the terminal to see what the HUB BUBB was about. To his shock and amazement, the family had changed flights and avoided the trauma of being victims of the HIJACKING.

.

The MOM set off the metal detector and dumped out her bag begrudgingly. TROY summoned the DOGS. They all had a laugh as one of them chewed the shit out of her diaphragm.

Years later the MOM would go on holiday in Ukraine. She took the train East to St. Petersburg the morning CHORNOBYL melted down. She missed the initial deadly radioactive blanket, raining death on thousands. She did however continue to carry a very hot reading on any X RAY or GIGER counter.

She would pass of cancer in 2008.

DAN RATHER addressed the nation once more that night to proclaim that the ballet recital had saved the family’s life. MIKHAIL BARYSHNIKOV chimed in with GREGORY HINES promoting their new film WHITE NIGHTS. They proudly proclaimed that the power of BALLET can bridge cultural and ideological gaps, saving lives from gun-wielding agents of chaos.

The family returned to their home at the base of the cup de sac. The greenhouse still smelled of basil and cilantro.

Many moons passed as the NPR played on the HI-FI. The family would only stay in the states for a year before moving to teach in the HAGUE.

JUNIOR’s best friend came to visit him in the Spring before graduation. He’d been quite ILL with MONO and continued to be a ragging maladjusted teenage degenerate. Out of ironic desperation, his parents shipped their pubescent psychonaut to the MECCA of legal debauchery. They hoped that seeing his long-lost best friend who’d come of age in the NETHERLANDS would oblige him to not quit in the final moments of high school.

KURT COBAIN had just passed. Junior played the GRISMOND and GARCIA album of DAWG-GRASS fusion in the BMW as the rain fell in buckets across the boundless seas of TULIPS.

They would immediately proceed to CREMERS on PRINESETRAAT.

Eating DRY cleaned LSD smuggled in a TOP MAN blazer seam from the UK. Smoking neon green nuggets of skunk from a cheesy plastic bong. Falling nuts over noggin, knocking out only to come to later. The pure magical mystery of tripping balls entering the VAN GOH museum. They would declare a blood oath to stay up and continue their adventures promptly after graduation.

It’s crucial to note the extreme turn down the left-hand path they would both take.

Junior returned to his childhood home only to TOIL for an eccentric alcoholic CHRISTMAS tree farmer. The friend worked the fields at an organic vegetable farm. Brilliant young minds relegated to back-breaking, soulless labor. Ensnared in a vicious cycle of excess and exertion.

Eventually, they would have a falling out and not see each other in the flesh for many moons. Too many bad trips in poor contexts.

The DAD continued roasting KOOLS while blasting to BACH and PAGANINI around the HAGUE. His son and daughter despised each other. Both were so brilliant and brutally opposed to the other's existence.

Teaching science was his passion and he was damn good at it. He would do so until his passing of lung cancer in 2019.

Junior and the girl would tally forward to degrees, jobs, and lives. The girl edited and produced comic books in ASTORIA. Eventually settling in MAINE to work and live out her days as a reformed HARDCORE CHICK.

Junior would live as he’d grown up as an EXPAT. He was the managing editor at a dual-language publication based in CHINA. His brilliance and rare sense of humor were legendary. The sands of time flowed slow and droll as the days and space between the friends elapsed effortlessly.

Fate would intervene in the most mercurial way.

The friend had been working on container ships. The life of a merchant sailor suited him well. Traveling the world seeing the sun rise and kiss the horizon every day. Steaming closer or further from the port.

It had been a standard passage and sailing from JAKARTA. The crew was given extra pay for the quick turnaround. At approximately 0330 a small sleek boat would quietly slip into sleeping GIBRALTAR's wake.

The men all passed the foil around once more as they began their approach. The engine screamed as they slid behind the stern of the mighty vessel. SING grabbed the hook and cast it to the heavens as he’d done a thousand times. SUN, CODY, and BAM exploded up the line toward the deck. Once all five men were on deck they immediately broke in all directions.

FONG sprinted to the bridge.

The first MATE was keeping the watch on the bridge in the dead of night alone. The MATE screamed a blood-curdling cry of terror as they crashed the bridge. There would be no conversation. The crew was rounded up and led to the mess. No one had been beaten or manhandled. Most of the crew had been fast asleep as they steamed through the strait.

FONG was furious. The captain was nowhere to be found. Captain SALAMONA had taken refuge below deck in engineering. He’s heard the commotion and was extremely furious about this unwarranted molestation of the voyage.. He’d picked up two cars and some other loose 40-high cubes loaded with amphetamine, porn, wine, and olive oil from Morocco. MISS PEPPERPOT had given him an amazing deal on the first press straight from the port.

These dick-face pirates were not going to just flip his whole program upside down. He’d managed to retrieve his MOSBERG and DESERT EAGLE from his quarters, then strapped on his fanny pack full of bullets and drugs. He scampered quickly and quietly to his favorite speed-smoking HIDY place.

FONG yelled into the hatch of the bulkhead leading to the roaring engine room.

The 220,000 horsepower COILS responded in turn. Cap’n wasn’t coming out. He clutched the cool grip of the shotty and peeked up. He could feel the clanking of feet but the engine was too deafeningly loud to ascertain where they were coming.

Suddenly they were upon him. FONG popped his pistol twice and CAP’n slipped left, under the compressor. The CAP’n returned fire and put a sizeable, messy hole in BAM, who flopped over like a side of beef hitting the floor off the hook. FONG turned and the CAP’n pulled the hammer again catching him square in the rucksack. He had three grenades and a block C4 that all exploded instantly when the buckshot hit. Due in large part to the general lack of quality in the fabrication of fragment ordinance.

The arc and sound were deafening rising over the purring of the turbines as huge pieces of gangway careened into the rotors. The motor began to choke. The machine would fail in minutes and violently explode. The Cap’n was creamed by the shrapnel and died almost instantly. As his life flashed before his eyes and thoughts turned to a young lady’s backside he once plundered. A full grin washed over his maw as the explosion consumed them all.

In that same moment, SING heard the sound. The friend stood up and they all looked at each other. No one said a word. Everyone pushed instantly through the hatch and nearly fell face first, charging up the steel stairs. On the deck, they could hear the horrible roar below.

SING and CODY grabbed the friend and charged to the rope. They said:

CLIMB DOWN OR YOU WILL DIE.

The friend descended the line very quickly and found himself on the deck of a tiny sliver of a ship one, one hundredth the size of the GIBRALTAR. The mighty ship was currently churning and banging like a BRONTOSAURUS that’s eaten a sack of land mines.

Their hearts all pounded as they skipped away from the horrible crackling and popping of containers exploding into each other. The engine block seized and a deafening clap cracked across the ocean's surface. The hull began to split, eventually jack-knifing into the water. The friend and the MEN spend away smoking cigarettes, trying to conceive the next step.

When they docked on a slip in MASAKAMBING everyone got off and proceeded directly to the brothel. The men all sat against the wall berating and yelling at all of the inquiring women. Between constant sips off the dragon's tail, howling like wild dogs.

Something extremely wrong had just happened. A full container ship has sunk and disappeared in the strait. Lloyds would send out a crack team in hours to start the dig. Running amok from island to island, tossing out money looking for leads. They all had to leave. NOW.

Over the course of several days, it was determined that they would all split up.

By pure coincidence, the friend had been talking on GCHAT with JUNIOR. They’d planned on meeting up in MACAU when his contract was done in the spring.

THE PHONE RANG

Junior picked up the phone and heard the friend's voice. It sounded RAGGED. Like a steak, drug behind a BIG WHEEL, up and down the driveway, then snuck back onto the grill. Serving the unwitting guests literal street beef.

It had been a lifetime since they’d soured in different times. It had been a dream they shared to meet as men and have a BEER. To catch up and break bread on the salacious tales of woe neither had told the other. The many colorful pieces that had paved the path back to them meeting face to face.

The friend said he was in Manila and would be flying to MACAU on Sunday. Junior asked the friend if he was still on the ship. The phone clicked off and he went back to sleep.

The cat looked out the window at a spider crawling up the glass window pane. The spider was bulbous and old. Lumbering. Junior awoke sometime later to a text and shooed off the bimbo he’d mistakenly brought home from the club. He’d taken to pregaming any evening out with a tall gigger of cool blue cough syrup the lady on the corner had been selling him for months.

Junior put on a tailored blazer and hard black GUCCI loafers. He fed his cat then poured up a proper gigger of sudo-antifreeze. Sipping it calmed him down.

His phone buzzed again and he hopped in a cab to the CASINO ESTORIL. The friend and his mates were playing craps., JUNIOR went to the counter and procured a thousand bucks in chips. He then made a b-line to the table underneath the sexy animatronic GODZILLA as he had been instructed. The friend put down his drink and embraced him. They both gasped and sat down.

The night wore into the morning. Many powders and beverages were passed and consumed joyously by all. SING had been on the fence about coming but decided it made more sense to follow this loud mouth IRISH sailor to meet his eccentric EXPAT brother in CHINA..

THEY WERE ALL COMPLETELY FUCKED.

The boss had already proclaimed a full-bore head hunt to round up the BAFFOONS who had sunk a goddamn container ship and all the booty. The friend was in a far worse spot. The news had already pronounced him dead and buried with the ship. But alas he would not be sleeping with Captain SALAMONA in Dave’s Jones locker.

The sun was rising and old folks were starting to pour in holding hot stinky bowls of noodles.

SING knew it was time to make a move..

Unbeknownst to the friends something sinister lay in wait.

SING had heard the story from the friend about Junior. About how he had a peculiar propensity for avoiding calamity and a heart that pounded on the LEFT side of his chest.

SITUS INVERSUS

SING announced that they were taking the crew to a penthouse across town.

The friend and junior climbed into the suburban. Everyone was still completely PISS DRUNK and looking like those who’d seen things they couldn’t unsee. SING flicked his SEVEN STAR into the gutter as they rounded the corner.

They pulled up to the curb and were greeted by four men in suits. Something instantly seemed wrong. SING stepped out and pointed at the yanks and muttered something in CANTONESE..

The men yolked them both up and walked slowly to the palatial entrance of the high-rise apartment building. Jutting up like a middle finger against the backdrop of the bay and decrepit temple.

The doors open and they entered with SING.

The friend yelled in rage at Sing asking what the fuck was happening. SING didn’t say a word and raised his finger to his lips so as to hush them all.

The door slid open to the white marble foyer with a huge LOUIS VITTON chest that sat alone greeting them. They heard the voice. It told them to come in and have a DRINK..

They passed the case and entered a well-lit wood-paneled salon overlooking the bay. A kind lady placed an old fashion in his hand. They were asked to wait for the HOST to join them. Everyone found a place on the ginormous leather sofa that snaked around the room. Cigarettes and coffee were served as well.

A voice crackled over the HI-FI in CANTONESE.. Everyone left. Junior and the friend sat listening to the footsteps clack in syncopation as the HOST approached.

Then the HOST entered from behind a cloth drape behind the bar. His thick grey hair and imperial-length fingernails cascaded as he thrust his hand to engage the parlay.

Welcome my friends. I’m quite certain you’re both wondering what’s brought you here to my audacious home.

I’m a man of unspeakable wealth. I’ve collected so many things. Beautiful things made by hands and hearts that know nothing but a passion to push objects into the wild. To live and become ART. But what is behind it all? What extends beyond the boundaries of the work that’s made by these mortal hands? I traveled a twisted and despicable path and have seen things no one could ever unsee.

This is what brings me to you JUNIOR.

I’m a man who is always hearing stories. Sometimes these stories can lead a curious person like myself to find something profound. I heard a story recently. About a pale face YANK who was magically made bacKwards.

SITUS INVERSUS

Why do you think I would find this story interesting Junior? What reason could I have for wanting desperately to meet a man with an anomalous anatomy such as yourself?

Well, allow me to illuminate you with my most exalted and cherished possessions. The friends stood up. Hand in hand they passed through an ornate door. They found themselves in a long corridor with high vaulted ceilings. Dim lights lit the floor casting glimpses of the smooth shiny cases that lined the hall.

The HOST clapped his mighty paws and the lights popped on.

Looking back at them was a true rouges gallery of the human anomalous cast in the CRYSTALINE resin..

The creatures who were once living breathing humans were on display celebrating their grotesque and malformed bodies liberated of flesh and left fallow to bone and muscle.

ONE CANNOT UNSEE SUCH THINGS.

Junior was very drunk from the whiskey, coffee, cough syrup, quaaludes, cocaine, and poppers that ragged through his frame.

The HOST approached Junior and took both of his hands into his.

You are the key Junior. You will become my most exhausted possession.

What is art, Junior? Is it a painting in a museum behind glass or a pillar crafted in the Parthenon?

So many times the fates were kind and ultimately delivered you to me. So many times you and that sublime body were spared from untold calamity. So many steps you took to finally stand before me now.

Junior’s eyes were glazed over with a CHESHIRE grin. His eyes appeared to be navigating a sand storm. He said nothing but kept smiling.

The HOST looked deep into his eyes and saw a ghost looking back at him.

Junior! I want you to understand what’s about to happen to you.

The HOST removed a flat piece of slate and placed it before Junior. He pulled out a golf ball size rock of cocaine and tossed it on the slab. He reached into a drawer and lifted up a stainless hammer. He waved it around the room wildly building up the searing tension.

This is my COKE HAMMER., BEHOLD!!!

The friends looked at each other.

The HOST had stealthily exposed himself as the friends stared in sheer awe of the COKE HAMMER in his vile clutches. The HOST now looked like a caged, rabbit animal clutching his throbbing JOHNSON in one hand and the most glorious hammer ever held by a man in the other.

He let out a low guttural tone and then bashed the shit out of the rock. It was rather messy but no one was complaining. The HOST calmed down significantly after burying his face in the BOLIVIAN mess that he had made on the slate. Pulling his powder-kissed face from the pile belted out something in LATIN.

OPERARIOS MORI OPUS VIVIT (THE WORKERS DIE BUT THE WORK LIVES ON)

He slumped himself comfortably into his patten leather throne that perfectly matched the leather straps he had installed as panels around the entirety of his domain.

Let me tell you about a man I know. He’s a stout man I call TEFLON. He works with his hands and heart and brain in a manner that is poetry to me. This man executed the wrapping of this very room of leather in which you now sit. However, this humble genius was once very unlucky. Fate dealt him pancreatic cancer. Everyone including himself sincerely believed he was going to die. But he did not die. The force was so unimaginably strong in him that it was able to conquer the pestilence wrought upon him.. Ninety-five percent of people on his path return to force. But not TEFLON. He fought the demon that grew inside his body into submission. This man conquered death and now continues his passionate odyssey in leather through this savage wilderness.

ART IS THE ROARING BEAST I WISH TO TAME

The HOST looked at them both intently.

Junior appeared to have entered a K HOLE-like state of joyful intoxication rendering him cognitively infantile.

The friend's eyes were wide open though. He had not started the journey sipping cough syrup.

The HOST looked the friend directly in his eyes

. Your friend is a very, very special piece of art you see. He is the GOD particle. What do any of our lives matter? Is the most ambitious thing that you’ve ever done less impressive than the most meager accomplishments of those you rever? How many people leave a legacy?

Why do we care about art?

Is it something we make or does it make us?

WHAT IS ANYTHING MADE?

Why do we run in circles endlessly suffering, chasing the cheese in the maze? What are the choices that we make as artists? How many steps did you take to come to this place? Do you think that your genius friend will live to be an old man? How long do any of us have prior to the breath that flicks the wick? Not even the PHARAOHS could create art of the highest level that ultimately would not lose reverence.

I can say with absolute certainty that if I was the proud owner of the pyramids I would trade them in a heartbeat for JUNIOR.

You’re friend probably thought that he would once again dodge the bullet. If he’d change flights and miss terrorists. If he’d not been mad over anything so long ago that no one remembered what was sour. But alas, he too will pass into the void and live in our hearts and heads as we all do. They all float down here in the clear CRYSTLINE resin. They gaze back at me reminding me that there is still ART in this godforsaken rock on which we spin.

The HOST let out a full-body sigh and disappeared with Junior through a door at the end of the corridor.

The friend looked at SING. Hatred and vitriol filled his heart. But deep down he knew full well that nothing would be settled in the HOST’s home.

They all knocked back their drinks and proceeded to the lift. Back out on the street, it was morning and the hum of the hive was in full vibration. The friend looked up to the top of the tower.

MAYBE HE WAS OK?

Junior had been drinking cough syrup, chain-smoking, wasting away before the screen, and lying with foul hussies just pissing his already bleak prospects down the drain.

SING looked smug and put his arm around the friend. He told him how sorry he was and how he would make this square with him. He handed him a large LOUIS VITTON track sack and offered him a SEVEN STAR.

The day was hot and dry. The air felt dense with human essence and commerce. The friend clutched the sack and said goodbye to SING. He put up his left hand and pulled a scooter to drift him off quickly to the airport.

Perhaps the friend had not been a friend to Junior. He’d left his childhood friend who proclaimed himself a WANG scholar many times over to die at the hands of a madman wielding a COKE HAMMER.

The terrorists would go home and Dan Rather would forget all about the family from HARDWICK. The doctor who first looked at his X-RAY SPECS backward would regale friends and colleagues of JUNIOR’s peculiar anatomical malformity.

Junior was the most remarkable man. The HOST with brutal certainty encapsulated him forever in CRYSTALINE resin. His story would never ever be spoken as those who collect such things would go to no end attempting to acquire this monolith of genetics. Junior was cast to glow in the eyes of those who would never tell his tale again.

The HOST would die and leave his collection to inspire the BODY WORLD global phenomenon. The family had managed to dodge many syncretic moments that would have been perilous.

They didn’t die at the hands of early 80’s men wielding assist rifles thanks to the magic of ballet.

DEDICATED THE LIFE AND MEMORY OF

JOHN WEIJA JR. 1976-2017

TUWAYNE URL GRAVY FORESTER 1976-2023

LANCE RAMBO DE LOS REYES 1977-2021

KNOW GODS JUST WORK LDLR

[savagesneversleepnyc]

THE HEAD OF THE STAFF INFECTION

As we cross paths

And laughed so easy

The drips of drops that time unwinds to us so kind is in infinite array as we display our colors too as BIRDS OF PARADISE

ARE WISE TOO shake a bit of plumage and groove to the BE BOP and JIVE as we SHUFFLE and RUFFLE feathers more clever from DEVINE PIGEON

KINGS AND QUEENS

WHITE PASS OVER HEAD

SUBLIME GREY AND CLEVER

Hungry for a bite of PIZZA as we on the block ALL ARE TOO

DEE TWO RAMONE

BLITZKRIG BOP

DONT STOP

THE BODY ROCK

UPTOP on the block COMMANDER SPOCK has got NEPTUNES VENUS DE MILO GOES TO COLLAGE

ON LOCK DOWN

AS WE CRAWL UP THE WALLS

WITH A SAWS ALL

AND FACE AN INJUSTICE

SYSTEM OF A DOWN THROBBLING

GRIZZLE and a TOOL of

FAITH NO MORE…

7:24am MH KNICKERBOCKER BK NYC….

OGE IZU 314

[savagesneversleepnyc]

QUEEN GIANT POPLAR TREE

The leaves have crackled as I rolled for days now… and somehow the foundry fires still burn hot as the scrap is gathered and hauled in carts that toil over shattered sidewalks…

As BOBCATS spin on slick rubber tires and skids pulsate to rail cars and lines…

The OWL of ONDERDONK blinks twice up top… to spritely heights quicker… to release a left claw to fall as well into the BULL’S EYE of the creature it’s been having keen designs on.. as watching passing by…

For on the Ave as the meadow’s shady embrace defends from dense trees that are all now buildings and concrete that we can clearly see…

But the roots and the boots who knew to make homes and sully more clever were like the OWL too at the top of the HART. The odd… off keeping pleasures that we harbor… so gracefully as humming a simple melody we hear in the breeze whisper through hair of the

QUEEN GIANT POPLAR TREE

3:54am 11.3.24.00003 OGE HOD NYC

For more on the oldest living thing in NYC, please read:

[savagesneversleepnyc]

CATACOMBS OF FOLK

Electric folk know a hope that atoms beam from towers and satellites of love in orbits we pray don’t collide with each other

Much like each other as BEEz BUZZ Inna HIVE to ZIPP OFF so quick for a sip of nectar that will be cast into the QUEEN’s cauldron in SPITzzz

Line and honeycomb gather WAX and STRUCTURE so sturdy the pollen and breeze all hum a HURDY GURDY MANz tune and wait in cold snaps for BULBS to BLOOM

RATS both flat and very much chasing the banks of curb cuts and can with PAPA JOHN z PIZZA, CHICKEN WINGS and old cans

JUNKIES catch winks of slumber down under a shady rest that they love best as the EVIL DOPE the BANG lifts bones from gutters that their eyes called a pillow

Pigeons in shoals roll up blocks in flocks that flap flippantly giving guano grottoZZ that OTTO brought a whole pig on a stake and smashed up some palates for his fat piggy the bake

Bird is the word is bond under tones of subs and hero’s who HOGIE the ROLL off

CHOP CHEESE KISSES WHISPERS LIKE GAUNTLETS WORN TO CAST CHIVALRY IN THE FACE OF COWARDS SO DOUR TO SPEAK TAKE AND BREAK A WILL UNDER A WHEEL WE CAST OFF TO LOX THROUGH ISTHMUS MOST PERILOUS

Trains and crews smashing hammers and buttons on third rails in darkness from DUST to DAWN

AS DARK DAYS PASS and the lines crash in and out of every artery over the polished cold rolled steel with a clack and spark that ARC over COVENANT folk who live in the shadow of these very old catacombs beneath our feet always

KING FRIDAY would wave as the bandits sped off at full tilt up the WEST SIDE HIGHWAY and chuck heaters at meat packers on the filthy curbs that monsters observe a BALL and CHAIN and SLICER a frustrated DELI MAN could punch in RAGE and face the pounding of his

ANGEL HEART that BLOOD like the BLACK KNIGHTS Amputated limbs are CHOP WE QUE and BARE THEE WELL IN OUR ARMS BIDING FAREWELLS TO ALL

WE SEE BEFORE TAKE THE WHEEL TO DIVE SHIP TO THE BOTTOM…

INTO THE MIDDLE OF THE KRAAKENzzz EYE …

9:18am NYU NYC SKOOL OV TEEFz 10.23.24.00003 OGE

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TO TOMAS.. then to note…

“Sitting in front of the old YELLOW CAB BROKERAGE... the city was founded on a BUBBLE of commerce between people seeking tremendous PELTS and FURS.. and the profound over VALUATION of TULLIPS in HOLLAND... it's just one sliver to see out of a many sided hydra of stuff... but OUR value... what we offer to give or sell in time of effort... is never something to DEVALUE.. as we are intrinsically INVALUABLE as we can generate the things or most scant mass that are of the highest possible value.. simply helping an old lady to feel safe and not wander... as we remember the OLD WAY THAT FORBADE the discarding of our ELDERS… as we will be them soon enough and can only hope and pray we meet better versions of ourselves we Foster’s in their YOUTH…

The medallion of the YELLOW CAB was a thing of phenomenal value when I came here still.. An immigrant could come work a lifetime for 16 hours a day and PAY OFF the 500-750$ K LOAN, buy a HOME and raise a family to be born to better walls then those which we came…

The bulbs that DYKES held safe from the sea so brines and cruel would turn to ashen compost and spoil like the promises that TRADERS, TRAPPERS and LEADERS would make before GOD and MEN… only to BREAK THEM ONCE COMMODITY OVER ALLIANCE breaks the DEAL… but in BREAKING and TAKING a thing that isn’t correct we step into the ether of EVIL and FORGET… THE EXCUSES AND PROMISES and FAITH that those who chose the name of the ROSE to be spelled out in LATIN…

But as flowers bloom and wilt and AMED dreams of the TIGRUS and EUPHRATES to wash away the guilt… for choices and too many voices guide the stumble down the prime rose gang way to face white Cliff and proclaim our intent to stay or jump head first into the BAY… But silence only rolls as waves crash upon GULL’s chirps and LEMMINGS who do not plunge to rocks as the DODO’s and FROTO’s will be saddened to BILL and BOW to all the GOLD kept safe behind catacombs… BY FIRE BREATHING DRAGONS… for the speak the fire and hold the coin that burns in the same breathe is a LIE… QUID PRO. THIS FIR THAT. ALL IN TOGETHER… before we FADE TO BLACK.., or turn FLOWERS or MEDALLIONS that never held their WORTH…

10:21am 43-24 JACKSON AVE LIC, YELLOW CAB BROKAGE CO, NYC 10.19.24.00003

OGE IZU 314

ogeizu #uziego #drzen45 #nycartist #nycwriter #nycproducer #nycmentor #nycartthugglife #artthugovgotham #artthug #EXCELCIOR

[savagesneversleepnyc]

1399

Like ODD numbers tumbling endlessly inward in absurd coalescence of obtuse

Shoes the cobbler hobbled from HARMAN to scar the soles and face the music to his ears and chase another set of souls less boundless then the PIGEONS on the stoop

Spitting WOO in subtle dribbles of out of sync COOS

Calling back the 1 3 9 9

Eloise eclipsed the fruit stand and dismissed her vicious clogs to harbor her weight up the block with no socks and denim so venomous the cloud grin interest in rain drop on her palisades GEOGE WASHINGTON chopped a tree to lick a fruit and SMACK the BIG APPLE back to JONNY to seed. Untouched places erase the evidence and shoes heavy like sign posts. Alternate side sweeping and the legs up on the KNICKERBOCKER platform swarming with tiny BEES off to lessons and chocolate milk served up fresh by Devine sweet smiling lunch ladies… ALL WHO SERVE TO EARN LESSONS LEARN A LOVE THAT KNOWS NO THANKS ONLY ANOTHER SET OF HANDS TO FILL THEN SPILL INTO THE NEXT AS OUR TEACHERS TEACH THEMSELVES TO BUILD A FIRE

DESPITE THE TINDER BEING WET

8:17 am HIMROD y MYRTLE bench

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NEW APOLLO

The lady would ask her son so distinctly if he wanted cheese cake after lunch. My mother would make a note of her thick BROOKLYN BROGOE.

The NEW APOLLO would be a temple of memory until I faced it many years later. I’d spent many years wandering downtown hoping to find it organically.

The OLYMPIAN known as APOLLO is an ancient form of BEAUTY. Music, poetry, light, vanity and ART, would all be things of their dominion. The NEW AGE that would be born of the sacking of this beautiful and pragmatic culture world assimilated into unified forms of new faith.

Much like the sages of old chose HEMLOCK over blades of hate, the old gods would choose to fold inward as well. The new sages would be told of a singular GOD of LOVE and LIGHT. A ONE WHO would eclipse the images and topple the pillars erected in their name. A great flood of blood and fire washed over forms of all shapes and cultures as the major forms of the NEW WORLD moved in unison to command a hand over all that it could supposedly save and take their land.

Many Pilar’s stood but the tenants of APOLLO never changed no matter what language or form that were taken. In pure paradox to a love supreme the forces of kings rode out and sought more land and glory the return heavy handed with. The brutes of change rain down words and arrows that threaten a hand that waits as another extends open in demands.

This LIE of FEAR is not FAITH. Greedy kings need moats and castles to keep them safe and dry from the world they enjoy the fruits of as the ones who labor endlessly in toil and harvest are left high and dry… with bellies full of empty ROYAL JELLY WORDS not FOOD.. On high taxes for crops their mouths are not allow to chew, for the boot on the nape of the neck of the crowns desires are the SALT LICK provided.

Once the fields grow sick from LIME and invaders fires scorched earthen march forward the small folk know to take a knee. As they are simple and wish only to be free. To this hand or that, it makes very little sense whose name is spoken of most high.

As kings and queens dreams require many things they are privileged to know and grow ambivalent to the needs of any other than the ROYAL WE… but the SOUR GRAPES they taste make BITTER WINE they KEEP and sip as the KHAN’S HORDE bang down the door.

4:06 am Hod YARDIE 9.6.24.003 OGE

PART ONE

DUEX

AS we grow old and slow it’s a thing of beauty to BEHOLD our NEW FLESH FOR OLD timers eyes…

But, the NEW APOLLO of our old form looms like a hand we seek gloved tasks. Our hands grow too fickle and brittle to play second fiddle to any and all who fall in our laps from STEAM ENGINE sleeper cars to CONCORDE jet ambitions, our fruition of state is greatly diminished as we finish the plate of LIFE we are invariably served..

But in our last supper of great consequence we eat humbly in a CONCORDE place of PARAMOUNT relevance, we wince in haste to taste the institutional gruel we fool ourselves into calling an elevated form.

As APOLLO HEIGHTS and flights of stairs in MOSCOW hostels we traded DEAD KENNEDY tapes for PSYCHEDELIC KREMLINS on the ARBAT street of dreams as the fading eye of the IRON CURTAIN drew sleepy…

PHANTOMS chase the living giving them bad dreams and supreme experiences. DOGS on short leashes with bleached teeth chew BONES of dried HYDEand JEKYLL, transformed into BASKERVILLE hounds who strut up avenues in CHELSEA.

Cold veins pump cold iron of cold plasma that boils in our toil to warm our keap. PEAT from the old bog is fragrant and dense as we collect our scrapes to throw in the pot and give thanks again. As tiny mouths sing the song of the family out of tune and squeaky, a tiny dust mite, mighty healthy sips from our pores more eager then a BEAVER to patch up a DAM.

As TALES of APOLLO and all cascade as shadows of points of light that we suppose them to be far away but touching our eyes with shards of DREAM GLASS that our DEMI cast off to the SEA.

As water to wine and coin to bread, we wake and labor but hunger for sleep and to be fed. A truth that fills our belly with stout fuel for the long road we must SLAG… for the DAWN we BREAK in NEW APOLLO’s name is a thing to behold be it a bebe’s first cry or the final gasp of air receive before returning into the LIGHT… 5:08am Wyckoff y TROUTMAN as the BIRRIA TACO truck closes for the night at last

9.6.24.0003 OGE

[savagesneversleepnyc]

DROPPING INTO CHELSEA

TURNING PRO ERA

To place any task we seek to complete on the map we must first have eyes to ever plot the course. Understanding the context and timing are imperative.

As the perilous decent from the crest of the copping drips, it’s abundantly clear what a void of concrete truly is… a bowl or round shape containing liquid, solid, gas or nothingness is defined by many attributes that we may overlook.

In allowing our mind to see the DIXIE CUP sitting next to a toothbrush, certain constants are assumed. Mostly regarding the volume and simple morose parameters these objects we discard populate.

However, a BRUSH is a TOOL that is not of function when not in motion. It’s exists in stasis without PURPOSE. We discard the TOOL once it becomes WORN and ANTIQUATED into DYSFUNCTION and DEATH. However, despite discarding what seems so small and of so little consequence was a huge matter to the many minds, hands and hearts involved in its BEING, EXISTING or MADE.. REAL as a thing of VOLUME in SPACE TIME…

Designers, directors, fabrication, mechanics, labor, shipping, trucking, transit, retail, exchange of CURRENCY.. to your mouth.. a GREEN bristle tooth brush with a YELLOW handle is a choice we seem to pull from our heart as we gaze options a person presents in a store or context we engage and choose to use… but that BRUSH is an infinity of things we never see or even stop to consider the complexity of…

INVERSELY the DIXIE CUP is a mass produced form that is made of repurposed living TREE FIBER that once stood watch for millennia over a quiet and loud expanse of TIME and SPACE. Rain, animals, wind and lighting called over the very smallest of fibers that reached ever SKYWARD toward blind LIGHT WATER and GAS to pass time in RINGS of more fibers into infinite expansion.. UNTIL the RIGHT moment when the RIGHT HAND took the TOOL and CUT a living thing down and TRANSFORMED it in SLAGGING, HAULING, SAWING, KILN, MILL, YARD, SKIDDER, FACTORY, BOX, TRANSIT, RETAIL… EXCHANGE of our currency at the TIME when the PRICE IS RIGHT to BUY and allow that BOX of BITS of TREES, BEES and BREEZE to sit next to our BRUSH…

The CUP all alone is like a TREE still in many ways… be it flat as a page or thick as CORRUGATED matter the TREE lives in fortitude as a fibrous thing of many RINGS and CIRCLES that seem to NEVER CLOSE…

As we see the CUP EMPTY, a certain choice exists… THE CUP, is very much a functional object even when it is empty as it can posses the VOID or NOTHINGNESS that its inner perimeters populate… however the volume that extends beyond the RIM, LIP or EDGES of the cup extends into INFINITY… if we fill the CUP with all the water in the universe the universe simply spills out around the CUP….

BUT… if we in INVERSE fill the CUP with SOMETHING of VOLUME like LIQUID into the cup it will spill out INFINITELY until the volume has become a ZERO, VOID or NOTHINGNESS…

THE CUP AND THE LIQUID

THAT SPILL OVER IT ARE STILL

IN SPACE TIME DESPITE

NOT LONGER SHARING OR

POPULATING THE SAME SPACE

AS A CUP FULL OF LIQUID

BUT THE LIQUID WILL EXPAND

INTO INFINITY AND EVAPORATE

THE VOID or ZERO or NOTHINGNESS that replaces the LIQUID or VOLUME in TIME and SPACE… BOTH HOLD EACH OTHER IN PERFECT BALANCE.

The entirety of this exercise is to make simple examples of objects we know and understand. It is also simple to see liquid spilling and GAS air and VOID like SPACE where one thing is not populating the same SPOT…

If we see the CUP as OURSELVES and the LIQUID as all the entirety of the UNIVERSE that we cannot ever know or see the complexity of it is possible to see one point… US … I ME WE THINKING creating an image of US as a cup in our mind… the image in our mind is REAL in that we in ST are creating it… if we cast it of clay and cure it correctly, it will be a thing to hold and consume other things of VOLUME.

The things of VOLUME that we consume are REAL and much like LIQUID and ZERO that populates its absence nothing is created or destroyed… We can only image things in a very FLAT positive and negative form at this point… THE VOLUME of the MATTER we put IN and OUT of our CUP all has INFINITE values much like parameters of the CUP or BRUSH themselves…

However, much like the dimensions of these objects, the VOLUME or LIQUID or ANYTHING REAL IN SPACE TIME HAS INFINITE VALUES AS WELL…

I assert that when humans consume positive and negative volumes of matter in SPACE and TIME this will create an ATOMIC VALUE to a person’s existence.

This volume would be impossible to assert completely as the infinity of ways to perceive or PROVE, DEFINE anything are INFINITE as well… BUT… it is simple to pour two color liquids in a cup and see one become more dominant or the two colors blend in synthesis…

ALL THINGS BEING ONE, US, THE CUP, UNIVERSE and BRUSH…. As well as the ROOM, APARTMENT, BUILDING, CITY, PLANET and INFITE EXPANSE OF THE UNIVERSE as far as our mind can STRETCH…. When humans consume POSITIVE and NEGATIVE ideas, these things that do not take up actual VOLUME in SPACE and TIME can have a very profound effect on our perception of WHAT IS REAL…

If we choose to see major events that are commonly agreed upon as the result of something else or perhaps nothing at all, it is needed for these components to EXSIST in a very simple CONTEXT in TIME and SPACE… one does not build a FIRE in a RUBBER DIGNY to stay warm in the rain… this would be a simple example of the obviously INCORRECT and UNBELIEVABLE two things being REAL in TIME and SPACE…

As a young man I recalling stating that:

“ANYTHING IS POSSIBLE, IF YOU CAN CONTROL THE CONTEXT OF HOW SOMETHING EXISTS IN TIME AND SPACE”

This is the DREAM WE are TOLD as children in whatever place we are from hopefully. WE are shown a mirror by a hand who made US at just the RIGHT moment in ST and LEFT us LOOKING AT US in a MIRROR we can see our OUTLINE, PERIMETERS and the entirety of the UNIVERSE beyond our image and the boundless SPACE beyond the MIRROR’S EDGE…

We can be anyone that we choose to be. Look at yourself and be free to chase boys and girl and tots and dogs on wheels and bikes and cars and LIFE… but we need TOOLS like words and clothes and shoes to protect our SOULS…

That is all for today…

We have a place where we put our SOULS and the feet we stand on will only see things with the shoes that we choose to put on. So please select a pair of kicks that licks the pair they smells of cheese in the breezeway….

5:14am HOD YARDIE OGE IZU 314

Attempt HANA OGE THEORY OF ATOMIC TRUTH IN PROOF SIMPLE FORM

KONX OM PAX ORDO AB CHAO GLORIA EST MAXIMA REGINIA ET ETERNIA INFINTI

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8.15.24.0003

INTUITION

When insects swarm around the flame and the many eyes we know spy upon the blaze face our hearts we start to know how to MOVE

Into a question and perilous tumble forward exploring the boring and valid points that are presented.

Much as the flame breaks light into darkness as sounds clamor like cymbals of the emperor’s court crash … the steps of tender audacity slid into each other as book ends determined to contain many volumes…

Discourse and more absurd banter would summon LOCUST and LANTERN FLIES and COCKROACHES on boats carrying SPICE, RICE, OPIUM and RUM… a vessel of bone and blood that seeks the stomach not so empty to thud and pump from VENTRICLES and AORTA that explore the highest and driest peaks or the SPELUNK under dank rocks to touch STALAGMITES that GNOMES DOMES CALL HOMES

The precious precipice or perilous paraphrase or pursuit of happiness we wave goodbye to and kiss on the lips to keep warm when a Flint to spark embers is wet from rain. Or the BIG BAD thing becomes two and we sit stuck as GLUE in the crease to feast upon our FEARS that are slow roasted and CHEERFUL… Or the hand that reaches back to assist rather than snatching and grabbing and having more than it hands can lift…

PROMETHEUS greeted CONSTANTINE

ANGER greeted AU BON PAIN

MAVERICKS break on HAMMER HEADS

in KELP BEDS hiding fat SEALS and ELLS who’s current is 93 times more shocking then JAWS dangling from the TWIN TOWERS by his STEEL TRAP cold snapped upon a WELDING LINE that the worker abandoned in ON without ample time.

GRAVEL and travel lead to CRUSADES and blades of IRON that forged upon ANVILS that ring true as our hearts beating pulse real in our tiny ears… SO

INTO THE NIGHT

WE DIVE TO THE BOTTOM

SEARCHING FOR LIGHT

DESPITE KNOWING WE MAY

NOT NEED TO BE BACK HERE AGAIN

OR TOUCH THE ROCK

THE SWORD WAS DRAWN FROM WITHIN

EXCELSIOR EXCALIBUR ETERNIA 314

3:15am HOD OGE 314

[savagesneversleepnyc]

THE EPIC MIRROR

As trucks thunder under the windows sill

I awake in a cross eyed moon beam slip through the blinds and cast a shadow my feet don’t care for… so up and at them to begin a new as once a moat was full up in the very same room.

The LION plays with the ball

As the darkness wraps and claps traps shuttered from explaining why smoking COCAINE is OK, while being a devout derelict is a SIN… winter’s breathe recoils in far off clouds echoing thunder and hail that peppers the ground below like heretic who are STONED.

The rubble had been quiet for all but a fort night and try as they might hope for a murmur to sneak from the crevices of choices and pain that employ pushermen to take ever penny then try to explain directions back to the CRACK SPOT. To pawn shoes under a snowy staircase to a bum for a FIX like the worst I man knew did…

Avoiding the ELEPHANT FART

in the room as the

BASOON TRUMPETS TIMPANI CYMBALS

CRASH AMEG STRADIVARIUS

EXPLODE obvious craters that all

Too quickly become our EYE HOLES

That ROLL BACK into noggins and pretend to smile and CARE, but instead look past and keep it moving… as choosing to engage the CAGED ANIMAL makes anyone go toe to toe with the version we hold up so proudly but live in profound TERROR of being actually SEEN AS…

The hands of the master are old and brittle

The hands of the clock with a point in the middle

The point at which we see the numbers and entirety of all infinity

Collapse into a hole next to a

SPARROW perched upon the

GRAND FATHER CLOCK’S NOSE

INTO the eyelit that pulled a crew on sails that were tattered and torn from the gale

INTO SALVATION from the stasis of pain

INTO lifeboats we construct with JUNK we scavenge on rocky points

INTO the way back to our place and safe keepers who KRAKEN at DAWN with

TENTACLES OF LOVE reaching SKYWARD to caress the mighty fish and frigate so delicately to become a LEVIATHAN

THE HEART OF DARKNESS POUNDS LIKE THE DRUM UPON THE PHAROH’S YACT

The EVIL thing that has besieged an epic mirror I see reflecting back at me

Pinging shards of precious illumination down long deadly shafts to peel back the meaning of HIEROGLYPHS of SPHIX breaking bread

With CATS BATS and LITTLE GREEN MEN

YOU tattoo a green man or two on your head so I find it not off or odd or any sort of coincidence that it was on your NUT when I awoke. To find. You furious GEORGE that a UZI of LOVE sprays shells that put HOLES in excuses use to justify taking

ONE MORE HIT

JUST ONE MORE

BEFORE WE DIE

or

DEAD EACH OTHER RATHER THEN SAY HI…

2:30am YARDIE HOD OGE IZU 314

(Upon awaking to argue with a mate struggling with many forces and substances)

[savagesneversleepnyc]

THE ANTS OF HAMMER HEADS

THE wee folk know only small boroughs

That are islands floating amongst sewage in a NEW AGE erected atop the OLD

THE bones are ground and pounded into the blacktop with the cries call at dawn and the mighty steel wheels squeeze over bridges and through shafts crafted in TOIL

MIGHTY structures and audacious statements of form rise all fall but the humble strong hands of the men having a sandwich upon a HIGH STEEL GURTER while being condemned to live and die in a GUTTER

TO believe in the pearl at the end of a line or atop a skyscraper we dove into the current or climbed the turret.. to reach perilously for the RING or thing in the darkness we find that sets us FREE

FOR as birds take wing and we sing the song of the family in the gentle hum of the hum drum life and labor we savor each and every step allowed the power and wisdom to be PROUD as the those who KNOW will ACT ACCORDING to an OLD WAY that believed in EACH OTHER … more then the LORD OF THE MANOR who grows sick and confused as they wait in FEAR of the SIRENS CALL to the scuttle the ship and allow the REAPER’S SICKLE a taste of the GREED they FEED UPON just as the SHARK swims and grows slim seeking fishes and seals that taste oh so delicious….

6:46am ONDERDONK Y DEKALB

OGE IZUE 314 NYC

FIN. BOOK 2

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THE TWO TOWERS

BIZ Y OGE

Inside a lonely and sad place two towers began a long walk down a hard path.

The faces of those who laid the bricks were thick with sad hearts too, for their folk had to walk through endless fires and arduous labor.

These many steps would allow only the strong to endure and pass. But in doing so, a very hard mind would be formed that would not see these towers as functional but oddities to endure and attempt to keep content.

But as my own mother would loose her her cool and plead for the boy to cease running the BARREL GUN of PRADDLE words I could spill out of the windows of the CIVIC. The intervals between lamp posts whizzing by would be a tick of waves I would boundlessly observe. To hear and see the spaces and waves of connection that gave them definitions in the empty space in nature they populate.

The other tower was a flower grown in a small and strong planter. His eyes were held behind walls and long walks to LILLY’S OF THE FIELD. The hard folk were of an old way the two towers shared in a place the OLD WORLD became anew. In a perilous time of many hands reaching they stood PARAMOUNT and held up a catch they sought honest coin in SHILLING.

But the law of the jungle made the tower supremely powerful. The simple faces that he and his brother would create were characters that they made into HEROS and VILLIANS on the block under RAINBOWS, SHARKS and CARS….

The men who would be the flawed GODS to hand off the tabernacle were like old dogs who had been to HELL AND BACK. Both lived a path of kindness and simplicity. They were not folk who society paid in coin but in honor of service. For the great work exists beyond anything that could be MINTED.

But cemented in labor and heart are the ART of faith to labor and living things of all sizes.

When a time came and both TOWERS chose to look up and then look within and begin to toil on the true work of intent, they discarded all that wasn’t of service first. Cast off on blocks before KINGS, QUEENS, PIT BULLS and UBERS. To extend LEE BOWERY, BIGGIE and the sacred SHARKS upon the walls to crawl into minds and run amok. Like a fungus in an old home that makes TERMITES scream in delight, like a triple bypass patient grabbing a third spoon of BERNAISE’ … the GRAVY of flavor was thicker and sicker than EBOLA holes and droll ATOLLS of MISSIONARY devotional, belted out with bellies full of FIRE.

The VIKING fleet had all been left to toil and the BIN MAN had taken old ALEX to sleep with the SHARKS in TOO DARK PARK. The WOODSIDE and WEEDGATE and BQE HOBOs who lived under the bridge. The stragglers that were many crispy BENJAMINS and hugs in STUY TOWN in service of real IRISH WOMEN. As I was born backwards too and grew up in reverse.

The honor of shipping the kind ladies of our ISLE to leave a ISLE the boot of the CROWN stood firm on our necks to DIE UPON or LEAVE… so to ELLIS and WOODRUFF and KNICKERBOCKER we came. But from those houses we shook hands in the flesh and made sure that we saw each others eyes. As the old way commands that sincere acts are done in a way that is TRUE beyond words and only deeds. Each of the QUEENS who’s lives and hearts are allowed a bit of stew and stout bread upon DONEGAL to CORK are the only meat my heart will survive upon as the bad folk circle and into wildness we must retort.

The hands of the old clocks are wrapped so carefully that they slip off to rest and pendulums stand still.

Upon the green and blue mossy rocks of LOCHS that hide deep secrets we are thankful stay cold and old. A little old lady takes a cane and slips out a back gate to step barefoot on the unctuous peat harder row to the garden and chair. For they all earned a way back on the steamer the QUEEN and crown were so sure they had succeeded in driving the IRISH from their own land like the imaginary snakes that an imaginary man banished.

The very name of the same GOD they all knew was a tool and LIE they quite successfuly poisoned like the land and the booze they gave in lieu of bread. The yolk of liquid slavery would be a blanket they wrapped us in tight so the embers of the fires our faith and family were cast to burn up and float up to the sky… but the old way was too deep in the same earth they stole and would never turn to clay, ash, ember or dirt…

In the mighty GOTHAM a different exodus had occurred and left the other TOWER to watch the spoils of his folk lead them to leave them to keep the watch. As the haves sat fat and cozy on lazy boys in Long Island sounds, the workes all died but the work lived on… For JEAN MICHELLE, WARHOL, HERRING, BOWREY and RID all did a thing that must be remembered in endless canvases and panels. The city is a jungle too with rules and mighty steel whales that set sail upon third rails of HI VOLTAGE CURRENT…

The mighty would fall harder and fast the longer they held a smile and crossed digits that GRIFTED and gifted shame to our folk.

So we picked up our HAMMER and smashed the AXIS at the very center of the wheel we turned upon the STOCKADE of our yolk… As we are SAVAGES who run naked in the moon covered in ROTTEN FISH SLURRY at a FOE whose masts we saw breaking at dusk. For the ISLE we charge blindly to defend is our smile and message that a HEART OF GLASS deserves a proper fortress and MOAT full of EELS so fat, we make pies and fry them out back.

4:03am YARDIE HOD OGE 8.11.24.000003

[savagesneversleepnyc]

THE LONESOME PIGEON

As the flock stalk in fluctuations upon

Filthy porous surfaces of perverse waste

And fancy footwear clamoring by in flippant haste.

Tasting morsels of refuse we use to loose contents that make sense to rinse twice and cut once prior to exposure to flames and pearly whites…

Atop the KINGS coop on STAR ST who would rule over the high point of this islands spread and said words on ROOF. A young fighter named IRON MIKE was said to have come to my block many times and held court with the KING. He would travel from BROWNSVILLE as many others would to from all corners to seek his council and behold his sublime brood.

This KING has mostly returned as OBI WAN did in pure SUBMISSION TO THE FORCE. But of course he could be still ticking and kicking out on VAN SCILEN Ave and FAR ROCK watching old shows on transistor tube sets that the orderly’s unplug but he always RESETS. The scene will play the SKY and NEWS and perhaps HERRIOT will turn up with an extra tub of apple sauce and speak of LADY SING THE BLUES. As orthopedic shoes play taps on LINOLEUM BASS DRUMS as whistling, one eye, ELLE DRIVERS pile up higher then bills families of folks still alive watch empty out pockets and HEARTS..

BUT ALIVE OR IN REST the crown upon STAR ST, that RAY speaks to me of is a BIRD FLU of good news. As he understands I too am a pigeon who struts and pecks to pick up SPEX I spit back into peeping baby bird’s peeping hungry beaks… As the HOBO JUNLGE slithers like an AMOBA afloat upon the PACIFIC expanse of endless liquid continuity from TONGA to PERTH to TASMANIA and GNOME AK… where the woman eat SEALS and speak with EYE LIDS that’s give subtle nuance to the dance to avoid the POLAR BEAR upon the ARTIC HEATH… The rains drops fall as we all remember a lad who was too mad and bad to stay in his coop and came to be set free by the KING here. It’s hard to say when last his feet stood upon that roof and asked hos majesty of the LONELY PIGEON was ready to be set free too. As the KING would always allow his folk to choose and never use a nuse longer then his fingers could cast the FEED… For a kindly man named SAL DAMATO had seen a thing in this lad he had to BET THE FARM on and allow this ruff tuff create to breathe fresh air under starry sky so far from the BRICK and CRIME. To become a legend and ascend a throne only a villain could seek or ever own.

SAY HI TO THE BAD GUY

As the gavel smacks the stand and all RISE and EXHALE. A pigeon would be only as free as its belly of fuel will allow its wings to sing songs that claws use to mock the earth below. So into another COOP and another RISE and FALL and REDEMPTION of ALL.

Our eyes wander to the clouds and 747’s slip by every 30 seconds of so… Perhaps his laps will lead him one day to return to the ROOF and place where he was allowed to behold the KING’S court… WARBLERS are urban PIGEON KEEPERS… keepers of a winged create most distain but remain as NEW YORK as PIZZA, BAGELS, BOOBIES and CRACK…

(In humble honor of the WARBLERS of NEW YORK and the mythical king of this small faith who a young IRON MIKE TYSON was said to visit often. Mike would have been quite young but to bless our block with his heart and that of the respect for protecting our discarded scraps the LONELY PIGEON collects and shares with its friends…)

5:23 YARDIE HOD OGE 8.9.24.000003

[savagesneversleepnyc]

THE MAIDENHEAD

EYES SPY A CEILING ABOVE

AND A MEANING WE PUT ON

OUR FACES THAT TAKES US INTO

SPACES WE PLAY AND TOIL HOPING

ONLY TO FIND REST AND WARM GRUEL

IN A GULAG OF OTHER COGS WINDING

DOWN INTO A POINT OF REST

EACH RISING AND FALLING IS THE SOUNDING OF THE MIGHTY BELL

CAST TO LAST FOR ALL TIME YET

CRACKED UPON THE

FIRST HAMMER

KISS

RING THE

OLD TIME STEP INTO

BOOTS AND PARKAS THAT ARE

DIPPED IN A RESINOUS FATTY MEMBRANE

AS THE ECHO OF THE BROKEN BELL’S

REPORTS CLAPS OFF EARS RINGING

IN FEARS AND HUMBLING THE ODD FOLK

TO DROP A HOE AND STRIP NAKED

ONLY TO PLUNGE IN THE TORRENTS

AND WHITEWATER UPSTREAM

POUNDING AGAINST A CURRENT

THAT CARVES FACES INTO GULLIES

AND UNSULLIED SALVATION OF BUTTERFLY STROKES TO MATCH

THE COHO IN A DEATH RACE TO SPAWN

AND TRANSFORM WHAT FLESH THEY HAD

LEFT TO PROTON AND ATOMS ON A PLACID

RIVER BEADS DOWN THE GULCH FROM

MAIDENHEAD

3:26am HOD YARDIE OGE 314

maidenhead

in American English

(ˈmeɪdənˌhɛd)

noun

1. Archaic

maidenhood; virginity

2. the hymen

The repurposing of old world words and expressions is an archaic revival of syntax. The reclamation of antiquated lingo is a device of transformation into assertions we have moved away from in the modern era. The rebirth of old words allows us to be PURE, VIRGIN and UNSULLIED. To remove the brutal and ARCIAC context that is sewn around the collective assumption of this old world expression.

The use also is an attack on those who would RAPE and violate a persons barrier of purity in HUBRIS. Such behavior is a severe and savage thing to take from a person and to then hold. This exchange is permanent and shall bare the highest level of consequence. Not all acts are flat or round but to take in haste and hate is beyond the blindness of kindness I am permitted to levy.

To forgive is sublime, but to turn a blind eye and lie in acts that TAKE a thing that cannot ever be returned, are acts that will be repeated should incursion, termination or expulsion be presented. To shake from the weight of act in consequence is the true MARK OF GUILT. All are allowed salvation, but to knock TWICE and still spill LIES is the PROOF required to rule over acts beyond comprehension. Those who act without consequence shall face the same acts upon themselves in no half measure.

3:48am ON MAIDEN HEAD, PURITY, CONSEQUENCE

[savagesneversleepnyc]

NEVER TRUST A PUDDLE

Upon any block or curb a tiny bit of liquid or condensation may gather prior to vanishing into the ether… a puddle may catch one’s eye and cast a gaze back inversely…

TO smile back or grimace a response so honest we claw at the day GLO anti FREEZE smelling of alkaline mines upon a acrid plain that is brittle and fickle to crackle and snap under DUNKS of hoofed boots as mountains upon NEPTUNE exude secluded glue that’s spooned up by MARTIN and baby HELMET folk aboard a PIE SHAPE LID or DISC that sips of COSMIC VAPOR and SPACE GRAVITATIONAL ARC welders attached by humble GROMMETS that WALLACE and MICK RONSON told a STAR MAN would suffice.

Tricycles often spin out of brown clouds of MOON DUST that ANGELS and DEMONS prance and gyrate like EPILEPTIC GIRAFFES laugher at watering holes upon CIRCIS dark half

RADIOACTIVE particles cascade infinite spectacles that fracture into prisms given by kooky mathematics folk as a joke to elaborate the perilous joy of FRACTALS as diving as deep to the bottom of the puddle as diving into the infinity inside the patterns of nature a computer VOMITS back as a colorful vortex or OCULUS can see…

So

BE THE PUDDLE SO FILTHY

AND EYE SO BLIND TO MISS

THE COMET’S KISS UPON

TAILS THAT ANNIHILATE

ALL MATTER UPON ITSELF

AS THE DROPS EVAPORATE

OUR SKILL AND ABILITY

TO MAKE HATE FUCK OR KILL

IN A HUBRIS OUTSIDE

OUR OWN WILL

5:45 am 8.5.24.00000003 OGE

[savagesneversleepnyc]

THE FU IN US

THE FU OR PURE RAW AND UNDILUTED ENERGY IS A PROFOUND AND MOST TIDAL FORCE.

When we look in the world around it’s all too easy to gaze into a glass box of mental focus and ignore a bubbling context. The blinders are but a glance off and our responses are mined and sold as GOLD or INTUITION VAPORS.

In such a vibrant and vapid void of any point we could possibly EXSIST in space and time exists a profound micro and microcosm swirling about us. As tiny mites and BOEINGS take flight to JFK and LGA over ear we fear the CARTE BLANCHE.

To be thrown like a stone so far away from HOME ALONE on a perilous rock.

Stripped of all possessions but wits and never quit pitted against the raw FU of NATURE.

When we lie so still in our box we are lost in the paradox of looming and looking at anywhere but where we are wanting in some more profound way to not BE PRESENT AT ALL. As we crawl walls and stop caring while standing and caring about the anything else who else could be on the other side of the screen?

AI seeks to coddle and throttle up our response engine and engage a charge into a perilous fall into a submission of WILL. If we allow a static thing to understand our CHAOS, it is profoundly simple for that STATIC SYSTEM to assert and control us all more effectively and with less effort.

In a system that precludes certain given and accepted NORMS, many other underlaying forms may EXIST be shifted too with TECTONIC force that can all way or violently shift a base assertion. Such would be the case in a natural disaster or situation of human conflict. Like rodents we scamper as the fire burns and turn into living things that are not HIDING anymore but trying to LIVE in a real world we look at yet CHOOSE not to engage.

As floods and blood spill for WATER, OIL, and ARRABLE LAND, we stand back and point on one side or another, so certain in what the BOX SHOWS US.

The forms and words can be presented ever so carefully in a manner many may think to know but always show very predictable responses when TAPPED ever so gently.

Like a LION who’s belly is fully of GAZELLE JELLY we NAP and DREAM as FLIES we care not to BAT that BUZZ around us. The VULTURES, HYENAS, MAGGOTS and SUN will strip the KILL we nap in gratitude of. But in sleeping we allow a SPACE for others to HAVE AS WELL..

IN NATURE we can only posses what our hands and bellies can hold. The endless endlessness we seek to hold is not only not real but is already gone by the time we DIE and pretend those tons of things are what defines a LIFE… AS VANDERBILT SCHERMERHORNS and ASTOR TRAPPERS were KEEPERS, they HIDE behind a strong door UPTOWN and while the RIOTS burned the BATTERY and killed many many friends… They drank WHINE and CRACKERS and made pompous laughter…

To have is to hold and to hold is to know

To know is to be present and that is FU TOO

As ENERGY IS NEVER CREATED OR DESTROYED… WE EMPLOY SIMPLE MINDS TO TRY OUR BEST AT ALL TASKS… but BASK like LEISURE SUIT LARRY in GUCCI LOAFERS and a matching CHAIN.. maintain the FACADE of our TENEMENT..

CATWEAZEL BURROWING mole holes up on ALLISON in DONEGAL upon a thatched roof SANDY put hands that were hard, kind and sublime… to latch branch to hitch and give tiny eyes a bit of rest and crusty bread with STEW…

FU in our CORE expands and contracts in humble HEART running back down SYNAPSES in a TOUR DE FU… until we out ROLL or BOWL out the frame we are given and EXIT to the CARTE BLANCHE OF INFINITY… and enjoy our ROSES on the CHANZ DE LEZE in CHEWING CORDE EN BLU.

Fu (character) (福), meaning "prosperity", "fortune", "good luck", "blessing", or "happiness" in Chinese

4;53am 8.5.24.0000003 OGE IZU 314

IN THE WAY OF OGE

FU is pure output RAW HAPPY JOYFUL FORTUNE LUCK