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SITUS INVERSUS is solely inspired by this man.

His name is JOHN WEIJA. His father was also named JOHN. Both were brilliant and enigmatic men who lived in an ether of intelligence that was other worldly. I felt his DAD was a wizard who was there to show us what the SOTO (SITTING ZEN) master looks like. Playing endless NPR classic music off the HI FI and encourging us to play ROCKY'S BOOTS on the APPLE TWO C... We took apart a large antiquated calculators with hammers like cavemen searching for the GOD particle... JOHN was born with all of the organS you see hidden in this image formed in his human body in REVERSE (SITUS INVERSUS).

He didn't know this until he was 9 or 10. Once he did, the rest of his life was charge at the DEATH he saw charging back at him... JOHN left the tiny place we came from and spent most of his life in SOUTH CHINA, as an EX PAT... I wanted so desperately for him to keep living enough to tell OUR STORY. Instead I was left to create this ode to a magical human I grew up. The human who inspired me to sink a container ship and cast my own teeth in GOLD for all the world to see.

REST IN LIGHT JOHN. I CONTIUNE TO WRITE, LIVE AND TELL THE TRUTH BECAUSE THAT IS THE WEAPON THAT WE CHOOSE 314 23 56 138 KONX OM PAX

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THE LOST GOLDEN SKULL

I was asked recently what became of the skull of my friend and mentor, LANCE DE LOS REYES.

For context. Lance was a modern American artist who worked in many mediums. These would include; canvas, assemblage, sculpture, poetry and graffiti that was often painted in very dangerous and high exposure surfaces such as billboards.

He became very well known for writing RAMBO and was even interviewed by VICE magazine about his relationship to his alter ego. In the piece he simply stated that he knew him but that he was most certainly not him. The interviewer really tried to play into the graffiti culture trop of shine and recognition but ultimately what he was writing on the billboards was part of a much larger and more ambitious piece or art that he’d worked his entire life to construct.

The pinnacle of his masterpiece was something I was told he had been talking about for over 20 years. I’m unclear on when and how he came to this idea but it was something he was very vocal about explaining in detail to anyone who could endure what he described.

The idea itself was simple.

Lance would have all of his teeth completely cast in solid GOLD and then have all of his teeth removed and replaced with brand new SOLID GOLD TEETH. He would then create a living will like document in which he would sell his GOLD TOOTH SKULL proprietary to art titan DAMIEN HURST for $1,000,000. This was to be his most ambitious work as it would require actual physical suffering, anxiety, trauma, planning and a very long and painful healing process once the teeth had been successfully implanted into his skull.

Many people who I’ve met have shared that they too knew of the skull project and that it was a THING that really separated the BELIEVERS from the NAYSAYERS. Just the reaction that would generated from explaining his idea has a pretty visceral reaction from most people. I don’t think that the IF IT’S NOT BROKE, DON’T FIX IT mind that many of us adhere to on a really basic level would never, EVER include modifying one’s TEETH to create a piece of art that would rip a hole in time and space by the pure intent of effort expended in doing so.

At the point in the yarn when I explain that he did actually find the financial backer to support his vision and allow him to TRANSFORM into the piece of LIVING ART that he reached at with a full heart from his first breath to his last. Most people do not believe that this is a thing that actually happened and that his face is one the cover of a magazine, stretched into a contorted, clinical grimace to proclaim without any uncertainty that he had indeed executed the most brutal show of devotion to one’s own artistic vision and mission.

The last time I saw Lance alive, I picked him up on Hester street in Chinatown in WOOF, MCODY’s HONDA CIVIC. We had worked very hard over the course of several weeks on a series of drawings and videos that accompanied them as they were produced. All of the work was created and bounced back and forth between us, while I was on holiday with my kids. It’s ironic as the very first piece I made for him was made entirely in the passenger seat of a rental car driving to MONTAUK.

After I returned from holiday we met up and I drove him to pick up a rental car from JFK, so he could go to the HAMPTONS for a two week artist residency. He has completed replacing 60% of his teeth at that point in August of 2019. He had intended to return to paint his first billboard in many years and paint an actual image on the board instead of invocational words. But he fell from the ladder many stories when his hand slipped out of a glove.

He explained how the ritual of getting up on the board works. I will not explain this. But will say that he had a process and something must have been a miss when he approached this particular billboard. There’s so many variables and we all are careening through time and space in utter oblivion of the chaos that swirls around us. Just no the other side of every choice. He fell what he said was over 50 feet. There’s no way of knowing and he lived after shattering his pelvis from the fall.

He had only been out of the hospital a few weeks when I picked him up in CHINATOWN.

I jumped out of the car and helped him down the stairs trying to shoulder as much of his weight as I could. He seemed pretty solid but also was obviously in a ton of extreme pain from his shattered pelvis (which CANNOT be cast) and his mouth full of throbbing gums with shiny GOLD TEETH gleaming out. We made our way to the car and I helped him in. Right away he told me to drive chill because he knew that I was an agro person. So we drove the 90 or so minutes through traffic chatting and planning his pop up with CHAMPION that was launching that fall. He had been waiting on this capsule partnership for a while to give him some much needed footing and passive income.

We intentionally tried to keep it light though as MCODY was in the car with us and we were both like little kids, so happy to see each other and high five on all the hard work we put in on the 100 SKETCH project we busted out a couple weeks before. I think about that day a lot and what he said. We spoke on the phone a few more times but it would just happen in 2021 when I saw it pop up on INSTAGRAM..

I knew he finished and had let him know I was proud of him. He was always cycling in and out of circles of people and would also go into super hiding and just make for marathon periods.

At his wake I heard some kids mumble something about the skull and tried to put it out of my mind. I didn’t want to speak at all because I was really thankful to have worked with him and I didn’t need any of these people to know who I was or what we did together. I introduced myself to BAILEY, the guy he did some video stuff with after me. He was really cool and it felt super healing to have a couple minutes with him.

I spoke with ANNA, his widow at the wake and was able to give ROMAN his son a hug. It meant alot to her that I came. I was glad and did my best to show her eyes how sorry I was so she could keep doing her best. I really respect her so much and have always tried to be a positive force.

I was too broken inside to be present with my brother who was at the wake who introduced us. I knew what would happen and how horrible I would fall apart, so I just shuffled off. It was something that I feel really ashamed of because I could see him just feet away from me in such pain as I spoke with her. I didn’t have it in me be present for him. In a strange way, I know that he and Lance would have completely understood how much it hurt and why it would have made it worse for us both. We left and had some of the best drinks of my life at the NANCY WHISKEY on LISPENARD and AVE OF THE AMERICA’s, up the street from the CANADA gallery where the wake happened. It was a brutally cold and crisp winter day. Perfect weather to cuddle in the pub with GUINNESS and POWERS neat over several hours of reflection and laughter with MCODY. It was the place

I would have had a wake for my DAD if that had been possible.

We drank to Lance and his life. To the art that he gave to us and his character that would always leave a lasting tree with roots growing from the base of our souls. We felt the warm embrace of the weathered wooden shanty that sat atop the kitchen in a precarious treehouse of booze, nestled on top of the train in TRIBECA.

What is the value of art?

What is the value of life?

What is the cost of possession?

Lance did not ask these questions.

He replaced the teeth in his head with GOLD TEETH. It’s unknown if he sold his skull.

It doesn’t matter to me. I miss my friend desperately and live in a shadow that his greatness commands from me. Because he looked me in the eye and told me that I was a great artist. That this life would command huge sacrifice and demand everything that we have to give. But our children must see us live as men who do not follow the lamb to the blade but charge off into the heather to live free. ART is WAR. It is not something that is simple, easy or a straight line. Many humans I know learn to master their own hearts at a young age and follow a very prosperous path into a glorious kingdom of their own making. Others succumb to the forces of context that summon the demons who take them back to the other side. We always try our best to never quit on them ever but know that every day and breath we have with them is precious.

That is not the path for people like myself and Lance. We are born into a context and survive the many trials and choices we are presented with. The approach is zealous and driven by something utterly SUBLIME. The quest to create and actually TRANSFORM ourselves is paramount to the degree and magnitude to which the work is capable. At its core, the work has to confront the DOGMA that we see and present a force opposing it. This doesn’t need to be violent, destructive or scary. But sadly, the process for people like us to move our human frames through the fabric of time and space with all the collateral synchronicities elapsing and collapsing upon each other.

If we are to live in the form that we choose, we live and become the art we define.

KNOW GODS JUST WORK

The price of the GOLD SKULL is a debt that is never ever paid. The people who love him the most will always keep paying for this piece of work, because we cared for him so much and wanted him to live so badly.

It doesn't matter at all where that physical object is. What would it matter if a person possessed it?

What function does it really provide to a person that allows them to accomplish or achieve anything? The art world is built upon a foundation of value that is purely intrinsic.

To the person who could or would possess the GOLD SKULL of RAMBO, would the $1,000,000 or 1,000,000,000 really be any kind of currency in relation to what the GOLD SKULL is?

All the wealth in the world cannot possess the GOLD SKULL because the force that created it appeared for a time in a human form and then returned to the universe transformed into another.

The pain that grows and changes into the art we allow it to become is the GOLD SKULL.

THE BONES OF THE MASTER ARE NOT FOR SALE

1.19.24

*********

ARCHIVAL RELEVANCE

(Roller skater with large works)

https://www.tumblr.com/trascapades/654086318632091648/artisaweapon-newexhibit-lance-de-los-reyes

VICE

https://www.vice.com/en/article/4w7ppb/the-cryptic-billboard-messages-all-over-nyc-explained-1101

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THE CURRENT

Encapsulating the oceans motion

Krill spilling into harbors

Guarded by monolithic stone towers

Driven skyward with roots of MAGMA

Foothold upon the edge of the precipice

So deep it’s boundless eminencity only hungers

To know more water and bones

To nuzzle and rest upon the firmament

Of decay and sublime KELVIN like stasis

Penetrating atoms to stand still

As the UNIVERSE expands telescopically

Removed 20,000 leagues of legendary

Silence that reaches the pits of stomachs

Churning in guts storming beaches

As battlements volley hatred and ignorance

The venom that spread all too

Effortlessly upon the prick

Systemically brokered to all the jokers

Who sally forward speaking much too loud about

NOTHING AT ALL

Commanding the attention they seek screaming out

One final SOS from the DEATH SUB

That led them deeper and deeper

To the place of stasis and entanglement

Of greed, ambition, hubris to the mother and a will that knew

Only it’s own curiosity so profoundly detached from the

Magnitude of the endeavor

Gilded in recycled carbon fiber splendor

That we remember as the screams fade to silence and the

Curtain slowly draws

As the trawlers turn back to port and gaze upon

NARWHALS for the first time

Since even the saltiest can recall

Their eyes briefly locking

Only to slip back to the liquid that we

Take so deeply for granted

Yet will move mountains and seas of blood

To spill

(9:32 12/14/23)

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THE HAWK AND THE CONEY

The firm earth walls of the tiny hole

Had grown much too cold and droll

To hold back the peeping mouths

Waking from Winter’s slumber

Down under the mighty Hemlock’s

Bows proudly they had avowed

To hold the watch over the cold winter

Lock that would put them in

With kind and kin

Only to nibble and dream of the

Sun and seeds that would

Liter the surface so moist and full of life

But as the sun began wiggle the roots

Awake around the holler the delicate

Scrapes would be made at mid-day when the SUN

was too high to hide what bounty lay

Await as the day would only be swallowed

By the moon whole

At first the field appeared quite desolate

The CONEY pulled itself up and snapped its eyes

So as to survey and plot that most vital and precarious

First foray back into the frey

But not for the first of last they bounded forward to

Thump off the rot of sleep and old nuts that tasted of

Earth and wood

Today the tufts brought back would be the breakfast

The champions they had sired and guided in the maze

Of grass and dirt only to skirt certain peril

From many foes that the nose only knows

Upwind they would usually be very

Easy to smell before hearing the

Raucous clashing of motor to metal to meat

Then the cursed CANINE fiends would charge

Huffing and puffing as the trolls

Make thunder clap snaps that bapped the dirt but

Occasionally would cause a dear friend or acquaintance to

Simply POP and STOP in place only die as we run and

Find our hiding places

But this all pales in comparison for the commodore of the context

Who never seems to sleep and loves to eat us the most

They have a special way of knowing when we know to move

Like a hive mind we try to move in symphony

But simply seem to be here on this field

Both hungry for something we can see and feel

Something we can almost touch but never hold on to

As we run faster to find it

Fly higher and quieter looming as we swoon for the bit

Of toast we most need to feed the tiny ones

Who need us too

But always we know as they circle the space we share

They seem to know who isn’t well or who can tell

They are more scared and zag left rather than zig right

In pure impulse only to feel the embrace of the

Wind as it begins to descend so ominous

Like a blanket of onyx upon a grease fire

The moment is suspended as we glance a fleeting

Glimpse of a wing and a KLAW so regal

The talons sparkle with joy as the rays of the sun bounce back

Upon the gust of wind pushing back up

GLEN’S eyes open wide looking back down at us as though to say

Goodbye but at least that they tried and we did too

But they were quicker and

so is the way

The hole that we call home shall not be our grave

For we shall die on the field of battle or

flying towards the heavens

Only to blink and kiss the sky

(7:59am 12.11.23)

Summa facta incipit a minimis gradibus

(The greatest of feats begins with the smallest of steps)

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I’m back motherfuckers!! YES!!! To the roots of where this whole sorted mess began.. CRAIGSLIST… Life has handed me some of the sweetest cherries via CRAISGSLIST. I can’t ever quit you….

This first foray back to the OG art form comes to us from some DOUCHE in VIRGINA… It’s not just for LOVERS apparently. Having spent a fair amount of time in the mid-atlantic region I feel connected to this world this strange query springs from… ENJOI 12.6.23

CHRISTMAS ELF…

It’s really profound what the human mind is capable of. Curing cancer, overcoming tremendous adversity, dragging what’s left of your body after a bear mauls you… But other times the mind wanders in the cold, bleak, dark of winter. The walls close in and everyone begins to look like a bucket of KFC that complains too much. So the wheels spin and land on a very intuitive and obvious solution as you drift across the sewage treatment plant liquid surface of the modern popular cultural zeitgeist.

One can only try to imagine the wretched and pitiful mind that would solicit another human for their sick holiday fun….

WILL FARRELL!!! OF COURSE!!! ELF!!!

My cheating wife and asshole children will be so goddam stoked on this utter tidal wave of yuletide inspiration. Nothing will prepare them for the TRAPPED IN THE CLOSET-esque reveal I have on deck for them all…

The whole concept actually appeared in a fever dream as I took a stroll down memory lane to revisit my old childhood haunts of the web… EBAUM'S BABY!!! All the most vile stuff really. It brought me back to the time of dial up and TUB GIRL. Of lesser and greater evils I may or may not have been privy to.

The issue is that I know my dog is gonna rape the ELF… It’s the ELEPHANT in the room really.

BUSTER has been really not adjusting well to any of the many hurdles we’ve presented him with. First, we switched him from a VEGAN, non protein based diet. This caused our beloved pup to really take a turn for the worse almost instantly. His poor canine rectum became a fire hydrant of angry, hateful excrement. He seemed to charge at passing cars with what little life force remained, chasing his own death like a ball sadly…

Thankfully we found a DOGGIE LIFE COACH who really set us straight on the path of nothing but freshly butchered chicken and raw veg. His stools are now like baseballs, one saves in a bin and are carefully burned over the winter months to warm the family at our cabin in the stix…

The unfortunate byproduct of this new vigor BUSTER’s meat infused doggie heart is that he basically tries to penetrate ANY creature that he perceives as a possible for him to mount and dominate.

We found out the hard way… The kids had just come back from school. I was busy cutting brush out back with our gardener… Lord knows his idle hands won’t execute my desires if I’m not there to micro-manage each and every gesture of his hands.

The sound made JUAN and myself quite concerned. The state has advised me not to really provide any other details as the investigation is still pending. I think that in the end everyone will come out on the other side of this unfortunate misunderstanding far more cognisant of BUSTER’s potential for solo doggie breeding supremacy.

We take him to a place now. JUAN introduced us to the guy. He refuses to tell me his name because he says I have a big mouth and will make problems if I know it. He’s got a system where two times a week I drop off BUSTER and he lets him just pound all these dogs making more of his ilk to populate the gene pool. The guy is giving me a really good deal on this dog therapy. BUSTER is much more manageable now that his balls are drained of the hateful poison that bubbles like molten lava…

I’ve already hired a gregarious fella named AL to be the ELF. I actually held “AUDITIONS” in my minivan at the mall. AL was the only one to swallow and that goes a very long way in my book. He didn’t even complain about the ether fumes that engulfed the cabin of the van as I let my drippy rag make me forget why I had a little person blowing me at WALMART, nibbling on a churro….

AL says he has a lot of mascott experience which is going to be very important…. The guy who helps keep BUSTER chill, is on holiday for the next month and as such he left him with a rubber dog we chained up next to his kennel… The poor thing is barely intact and it’s only been a couple of days.

I see this whole holiday ELF reveal meets my psycho dog extravaganza going one of two ways… AL will be smiling counting his money driving home… AL spends the holidays chilling as BUSTER’s bitch in the kennel waiting for the “BONUS” I keep telling him is gonna be life changing and super sweet… It’s yet another YULETIDE MIRACLE.

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THE DOOMED SEARCH FOR ATLANTIS AND ATILLA THE ORCA

ATILLA was an ORCA. ORCA are not from a place so much as a zone. As life moves in a fluid context that is billions of atoms pushing against each other at unfathomable variants of pressure and magnitude.

ATILLA was the spawn of CUJO and PHILOMENA. Both came from long and furious blood lines. A colorful heritage in an unspoken brogue of click, ticks and flips…

- [ ] They would summer near the FAWKLAND’s and spend winter between GIBRALTAR. The currents changed with the seasons and they lived almost completely in a conciousness of impulse and sensation

Each season the journey across the vast quiet brought challenges that they’ve learned from. Unlike DOLPHINS who are quiet, vain and egocentric, ORCA are a more communal folk who share and collaborate.

Each decade the great SCION would be crowned at the CAPE OF GOOD HOPE ritual. It’s not well documented, but according to ancient lore passed down generationally regarding the decorum and conditions that will spark the commencement of the ritual would proceed as such.

The current and successor would drive a guyer of small fish into the break smashing a buffet of wriggling SARDINES and BABY MACKEREL crashing before 1000’s of hungry PENGUINS.

The SCION and successor would then allow the cadre of brethren who’d accompanied them to the dangerous and treacherous passage to push in amd engage.. This charge would create a torrent of motion and carnage.

While the feast commenced in perfect harmony as planned, the SCION and successor would turn from the shore and dive directly down until they both felt the hold and clutch them almost to stasis…

At a moment of truth the current SCION would take a final look back at the one would would return to the great POD and dictate the agenda and maxims that would be gospel for the next decade. With this perhaps momentary motion of tremendous respect, the SCION would turn invariably deeper to allow tremendous pressure to consume them into the silent embrace of the bottom briney deep…

Once the gaze of SCION shifted below the successor would rise and return. At this time the feast would continue unabated.

After 3 days and nights the brood would retreat back the larger gathering just north of the FAWKLANDS.

This hadn’t always been where this occurred. In a time several centuries prior the nasty men that smelled for miles away would invade the sacred space. They would harpoon the sacred grand folk who would hurd the tremendous schools of fish with precision. These men were quite determined, but made the mistake of underestimating the resolve of the ORCA to drive them from this place. After several season the SCION of that era moved to wage war on the BOSTON WHALERS.

At first it was a ship here or there that would mysteriously disappear. But after the flag ship of the NANTUCKET fleet was sunk the WHALER’s moved away for from the FAWKLAND’s estuary.

ATILLA knew all of these stories as very brief riddles that were taught by beaching fish and guessing how flops they would wiggle out. But he also knew it was his charge to sort the incursion of greddy and reckless treasure hunters run amok between PORT VERDE and GIBRALTAR.

The ORCA always considered GIBRALTAR as a dead space that should not be lingered in. The bounty on either side of the strait was too vast to effectively hold or command. But this was prior to ANTON and his brutal incursion.

It had been an uneventful fall leading into winter. But then it happened….

ANTON was a GREEK treasure hunter who’d found a foolish oligarch to fund his hair brained hunt for the lost city of ATLANTIS…

ANTON’s plan had no bells or whistles. ATON was barely literate but spent every waking moment searching for money or information that could benefit his quest for glory. It was by pure accident that met his benefactor. He promised him untold riches at a very reasonable investment of 10 MILLION EUROS.

He didn’t even provide any details before accepting the massive injection of funds he’d clawed at so desperately.

Once he had his bankroll he set up “exploration” of the vast space between PORT VERDE and GIBRALTAR. This would entail extensive use of ultra sonic equipment and exploratory DEPTH CHARGES that would resonate 1,000’s of ultra sonic decibels, mapping the contours of the ocean floor. This would create a deafening roar that would be cataclysmic for any marine life in the vacinity.

It was on one particularly beautiful morning that ATILLA’s half brother CLAUS approached his in a manner he had dreaded. He clicked out the news that his family had been found floating in a plume of KRILL and SARDINES… The DEPTH CHARGE had created a shockwave that killed them all instantly.

ATILLA dove deep without hestitation to summon the wisdom and courage of the elders. To feel the pressure envelop him whole and provide him the insight needed to bring vicious reciprocity upon the monsters who’d committed this unspeakable hubris.

When ATILLA arose from the dees he breached the surface of the bay and smacked his tail wildly to summon the call. Within hours he was surround in all directions by his great family.

ATILLA was an ORCA of action not words, so his clicks were brief and blunt.

The entire POD would descend upon the exploration fleet and see them all perish. His motion toward the strait from the bay was precisely planned. They would become a great crescent and squeeze them in.

The charge was so feirce that ATILLA called a brief pause allowing the waves of ORCA to stack up tighter for the assault. He dove all the way below the feet and circled back. His designs were sound so he clicked the signal motioning the first brave wave of ORCA to engage the fleet.

The first wave of ORCA went between the half dozen vessels of the AKROPOLIS expedition. They started to create a current bringing the vessels inward like a hand closing. The next wave began by punching the ship’s sterns head on.

This instantly sounded the alarm. Harpoons and long guns sounded, but by this time ATILLA had brought his COUP DE’ GRACE down upon them. Unbeknownst to ANTON, the fleet sat adjacent to a deadly UNCHARTED REEF. The reef was shaped like a sickle. The armada would invariably throttle up in desperation to escape the onslaught of ORCA’s slamming into their vessels.

ANTON let out a billowous cry over his megaphone on the POTEMKEN’s bridge. The ships scurried like scared mice in a vast field as thr ominous shadows decent from above, plucking them off one by one. The first two mid-size friggetts’ were at full speed when they crashed into the stone like maze just inches below the breaking water.. The ORCAS splashed angrily around the wreck showing NO QUARTER.

All the rats rushed out of the decimated and now burning vessels, the adolescent ORCA poured under the wreckage to breach feed on the fleeing enemies just as their WHITE SHARK brethren had taught them.

*

PLEASE NOTE

ORCA or ORCINUS ORCA; or the “toothed whale” are APEX oceanic predators. Much like other APEX predators, the assumption and hence name “KILLER WHALE” is not a name that the ORCA themselves accept or appreciate.

As APEX creatures, all things in the kingdom they command swim before them in submission. It must be noted that the GREAT LIE of human and ORCA interaction is not a thing the ORCA unlike humans can ever forgive.

The first mighty ORCA who lived and died in captivity in the Northern Pacific region were of HIGH BLOOD to the current ORCA SCION. When the monsters who captured, enslaved, abused, tortured and ultimately held them in bondage until they simply expired from extreme physical distress a power message spread across the ocean.

Humans, bring APEX creatures as well with a far higher lever of intellect, yet a minuscule measure of empathy wouldn’t see these actions as anything more than a failed attempt at “science”.

This act of WAR by mankind against the ORCA was not something the SCION, ORCA or energetic genome consciousness of the ocean could or would ever forgot.

As the first of many ORCA who humans would brutalize and monetize, condemning them to died in extreme pain, let out a billowing and desperate message in clicks stating what had been done to them. This message was cast in the common tone known to all creatures or the deep. A powerful and secret tool the ORCA were given by the great grandparents who once lived beneath the MIGHTY SHARKS of old.

SHARKS and ORCA despite the perception and observations of human are not enemies. They have both taken turns as SCION of the oceans many times throughout time. This perception is created by humans and is not any based in true OCEANIC TRUTH.

_____________________

The youngsters were led in to devour and tear every survivor who tried to escape apart. ATILLA would corner the POTEMKIN and single handedly smash the stern into the reef. ANTON fired a deck gun wildly into the crimson stew of bodies and ORCAS. Cursing and spitting as his ship exposed and engulfed him.

Ultimately only one deck hand would survive and live to tell this tale back to me through bars of a CALCUTTA JAIL. But that is all another story for another time…

ATILLA and his chosen few would linger for days making passes at the reef. It would be weeks before the wreckage was discovered and any inquiry was opened. The vessels that came looking were mostly local fish who they knew well and had a great mutual respect for. They too were hardened by this incursion of greed. The fishing grounds these salt of the earth human shared with the ORCA had all but collapsed in the process of this FAUX SCIENTIFIC failure.

ORCA, unlike humans can forgive and find harmony even amongst their most bitter foe. The LION who stands tall over the great plain as ruler does not volley opinion or hold grudges against it’s subjects. When creatures move from the order, justice is swift, but always with RESPECT and COMPASSION. For this reason ORCA see humans as other lesser vassals in their kingdom who are due respect based upon ACTIONS not ASSUMPTIONS. For this reason the humble humans who do interact with ORCA in a state respect are always treated with the same by the kingdom ORCA.

After ATILLA was certain none had survived, he returned to his pod and chose a new mate to start again. He had a little more than half of his tenure as SCION ahead of him. He knew he’d already more than cemented his legacy. But as with all things his book was yet to written and he’d sworn a BLOOD OATH against any vessel of men who dated treas with disrespect through the waters that he and he alone was sworn to protect.

FIN 10.19.23

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CHEETAH TYCOON

BY

UZIEGO

CHEETAH TYCOONS’ SUSHI STEAKHOUSE MEMORIAL MIXTAPE PART ONE

Reimagining the mythic dream that led to the iconic eatery’s rise and ultimate demise.

RYU TAKEUCHI was a REBEL. Growing up in a small home in SAITAMA prefecture.

His parents did their level best to keep him occupied, but RYU was wild from his first breaths.

As a young man he moved to BROOKLYN and took up work as a cook at his brother-in law’s hibachi restaurant. It was hard work but it occupied his mind. It drained him of his mischievous juices. It left him empty to sleep and dream.

It was in these reverie spaces where he saw it. A vision. A dream that every immigrant carries. To build something that you put your name on and leave as a legacy. To work on one's own terms, answering to none.

What he saw was something most profound…

In the VISION that RYU saw, deep in the recesses of his subconscious was something that no man had dared to dream off.. He saw a palatial sushi, steakhouse and hibachi that would be NYC’s only destination featuring the taboo and all but lost art of eating sushi off people. In his place the customer would be king. The staff would avow themselves of the morays that bind normal humans in a pitiful cage of fear. His people would require lion size passion and hearts brave enough to allow strangers to feast upon succulent cuts of HAMACHI, YELLOWFIN and mighty dollops of UNI, flown direct from the TSUKIJI FISH MARKET in TOKYO.

Cost would be no consideration. If a high roller should turn up he’d send one of lackeys to fetch all the fixings from KLAUS in the BRONX.. a 10 k seafood tower with all the ambitious trimmings of STURGEON CAVIAR from IRAN, massive u2 PRAWNS the size of sweet LOBSTERS from the SEA OF CORTEZ and freshly picked WELLFEET OYSTERS all sourced from SAMEER on GRAND ST. Not even the most outlandish request would be turned away. If a sultan required a pet goat, chimp and baby elephant as accouterments to a HUMAN SUSHI POO POO PLATTER, then a mere claps of the SULTAN’S mitts would trigger a CODE RED and all the employees rush into motion to frantically accommodate him.

The all but lost art of NYOTAIMORI began when a monk was tasked with serving a cruel and merciless lorde who had beheaded his predecessor for a lack of ambition in his presentations at his lavish feasts… despite mastering so many components of technique and flavor he knew his mentor hadn’t died in vein…

Being a EUNUCH and devoted master, the MONK (who’s real name has vanished into the quicksand quagmire of timer) had the steady hands to gently place the delicate cuts of fish upon supple flesh to be wheeled before him on an ornate BAMBOO GIRODON’…

RYU woke up in a panic. His heart pounded in his ears and the daylight blinded his eyes.The honking and banging of garbage trucks on WOODRUFF Ave always startled him awake every morning regardless. He grasped desperately for anything he could find so as to jot down this vision. The only thing his digits touched was an old newspaper and a paperclip.

He recklessly thrust the straightened paper clip into his bare thigh like an ink quill and began frantically writing every piece of his dream he could recall in his own blood on the newspaper… Years later that very newspaper would be hermetically sealed and mounted in his office over the door.

Once he ran out of newspaper and his plastically sticky fingers couldn’t bear to clutch the scant bit of metal any longer he stopped… Reaching for the handle of VODKA next to his pillow and his waste bucket, he filled his cheeks like a chipmunk with the triple distilled swill and sprayed the contents all over his festering wound….

After bathing and dressing his wound he rushed out of his home as was already late for work. For the next decade he worked tirelessly saving every penny. When he had saved $250,000 he called his uncle and asked for a meeting with KAIJU, the ultimate boss of bosses in his world.

The plan was brutally simple. He would present his savings and plan before KAIJU and he would take the money, multiply it ten fold and become partners OR KAIJU would slit his throat out of disgust for the audacity shown in even approaching him. As such.

He went to the barber and had a shave before putting on his most serious formal attire. As he marched to the gate of the compound with his life’s savings in one hand and his balls in the other he pressed the bell that summoned the butler…

The door opened and he was escorted through the grand residence and at last sat face to face with KAIJU.

KAIJU sat motionless staring at RYU in a neutral position. RYU bowed deeply before the crime lorde. After slowly raising his crown and locking eyes, his hands reached for the suitcase that opened and placed directly before KAIJU.

KAIJU removed the tattered bloody newspaper with two fingers and held it high above his head. His disgust and amazement painted upon his face were profound…

WHAT IN THE ACTUAL FUCK IS THIS?!

KAIJU (proclaimed in JAPANESE)

IT’S MY DREAM LORDE KAIJU. I DREAMT OF A GLORIOUS EATERY THAT WOULD BOLDLY GO WHERE NONE DARE TOO. WE WILL WARM OURSELVES ON COLD NIGHTS TOSSING BUNDLES OF 100’s AS DON PABO ONCE DID WITH BOUNTIFUL BOOTY WE SHALL PLUNDER…

RYU most humbly stated this in a bellowing, confident tone. He kept his head down on the floor, kneeling after making the statement to show utter submission, and to receive his blessing or the steel that would remove his head from his shoulders…

KAIJU bowed his head as well to ponder the bloody newspaper, suitcase full of money and the prospect that he could be a partner in the flagship NYOTAIMORI empire he too had shared since childhood in silence. He too had hit his head very hard. He suffered from brutal cluster headaches. The only reprieve from his pain was demanding his wet nurse strip so he could enjoy his meals utilizing her as a human plate…

JŌSHŌ!!!!! (RISE in NIHONGO)

KAIJU screamed in a death cry.

Both men gasped and pounded to their feet in a singular grunting motion. They stood huffing and puffing, attempting to pull to the oxygen inward to command the response that would follow…

RYU SAN!!!! I WILL PARTNER WITH YOU. I BELIEVE YOUR VISION IS CLEAR AND YOUR HEART IS PURE!!

RYU replied in a deafening roar with his eyes averted to the floor.

YOU HONOR ME BEYOND WORKS LORDE KAIJU! PLEASE ACCEPT THIS GOAT AS A SIGN OF MY SINCERITY AND GRATITUDE.

With that, RYU’s cousin walked into the room as he’d procured the GOAT in anticipation of this going to plan and the plasma in RYU’s person not painting KAIJU’s palatial office like a DNA FIRE HYDRANT that had been pulled open full bore…

RYU again bowed his head deeply as TACHI placed the GOAT before KAIJU and stepped to RYU’s side, bowing as well so as not to make ANY eye contact with KAIJU.

KAIJU clapped his hands very loudly and several servants rushed in with a large platter of COCAINE and a pillow that gently cradled his HANZO STEEL.

He leaned in and took a KARIBUTO like hork from the COLUMBIAN MARCHING MOJO… The servant scurried to RYU and TACHI insisting on both hork as well.

KAIJU exhaled and thrust his robe to the floor, exposing his full body suit of tattoos and genitalia. Both men and the servants averted their eyes as KAIJU was known to still take heads for any action that could sully his ritual of partnership.

He grumbled in a tone that sounded less like words and more akin to monks praying in semi-throat vibration. His eyes clamped shut as he clutched the KITANA, naked, panting, sweat gushing from every pore….

NYOTAIMORI!!!!! FORWARD TO GLORY

KAIJU lifted the blade from his draw stance above his head and let out a furious roar, casting the KITANA’s edge in a crescent, cleaning and decapitating the GOAT in one stroke… The clean, whizz of the blade through the flesh and fur resonated roughly 2300 KHZ per second, nearly splitting the ear drums of everyone in the room.

The GOAT’s lower half flopped to the floor and dowsed the floor in the remaining liquid it held…

The pitch had ended well and RYU would have 2.5 million to build his opulent palace of excess and NYOTAIMORI SAVAGERY…

On opening night KAIJU appeared with his pet KIMOTO dragon on the red carpet. Stepping out of a stretch ROLLS, with 5 companions. A separate ECONOLINE van pulled behind the limo and followed KAIJU and his harem, throwing tiny chickens at BORIS (THE OBESE KOMODO DRAGON KAIJU LOVED LIKE A SON, WHO WOULD GLADLY EAT HIM…). This was imperative as BORIS was known to get mean in public settings and bite folks… He hadn’t eaten ANYONE unless he was taken to the subterranean pool where KAIJU would host DOG and COCK fights. This was also were BORIS was allowed have a nibble of some screaming wiggling piggies before longingly looking at KAIJU for approval to Perry north and enjoy the tasty SLIM JIM THAT BEEN JIN as it had already been a long day and BORIS was always rather hungry…

KAIJU smiled and waved as the camera bulbs erupted causing BORIS to nip wildly around him at the feet of the screaming ladies… It was all they could do to smile and not scream as the camera shutters fluttered like locust wings in a plague. BORIS was pissed but his handler was KAIJU’s mentally challenged baby brother who’d raised BORIS since hatching to be obedient. A truly magic feat to tame a DRAGON in the modern world. Many would look at BORIS and JUNE walking around the compound and think many disrespectful thoughts of this drooling fool leading a deadly dragon on a leash.

It was beyond forbidden to speak to him or interact with him or BORIS in any manner. KAIJU was fiercely proud and protective of both. As JUNE led BORIS down the red carpet, KAIJU’s lackey’s threw baby chickens so as to lead BORIS on the red carpet and also busy his mouth. BORIS most eagerly slagged forward sucking in the little chirping chicks like a HUNGRY HUNGRY HIPPO on a 1000 LBS. chain.

Dragging a smiling person whose eyes gleamed as wide as the CHEETAH charging ahead and setting the pace of the pride. Storm clouds circle and the watering hole is many more miles still, but the charge forward continues unabated across the SERENGETI PLAIN.

FIN PART ONE

[wtfcraigslistnyc]

DEATH SUB GENESYS

SO... The DEATH SUB...

Do you think all of those people shit themselves prior to being squished into a ball by the pressure of the sea water?

I guess it doesn't really matter cuz they all had great big, fat, rich people bellies full of POOP that was no doubt very expensive (LOGISTICALLY) to create... But in that MAGIC moment when the DEATH SUB was turned from a SUB and into a micro machine size coffin for four of the most privileged and least deserving of a goddam shred of sympathy… became something that has and never will be seen again…

But the kid. Everyone talks about the KID... YUP, it's sad, RIP lil buddy.... BUT, that kid had his name said aloud, around the world because HE'S RICH....

The 1000's of kids who die in silence everyday have names that are never spoken, much less given a second though as they are led to slaughter by our hunger for convenience and acceptance of NEW WORLD ORDER that turns HUMANS INTO SOYLENT GREEN we chug down like water at the OASIS.. Those children live and die behind a curtain of anonymity….

SO, in closing.... When the DEATH SUB got squashed, those HUMANS, THE SUB and ALL THE STUFF INSIDE AND AROUND THEM BECAME ONE THING. The opposite of a NUCLEAR REACTION... tremendous pressure creating a pure failure of a structure leading to the creation of an entirely new species.... Much like SETH BRUNDLE would fly too close to the sun and become a FLY, such is the manner that shall be embraced in the name of TRANSFORMATION…..

I call the passengers of the DEATH SUB....

RICH, METAL, PIECES OF SHIT.....FIN

[wtfcraigslistnyc]

Dog… I can’t ever thank your Dad for the unphathomable courage he had to free you from the bondage of his HUEVOS and allow the spunk that is MOMO grow into a cutting and glueing foo… the inverse is true too as I raise my fist, stomping my hoof and swearing a blood oath to amore the monster who let the nefarious genie MOMO loose from his TESTICULAR PRISON that I cast him to for eternity as a Druid standing bold before the white cuff of Dover butt naked… LIFTING A BATTLE AX TO SEVER THE HEAD OF THE GOAT I REINCARNATED YOU AS MOMO and cast you dwell in your DAD’s balls for eternity like a wee ad quite similar JOHN MALKOVITCH esque exsistance… but that man broke the morose curse and now I curse spit and summon the wrath of all my dark alias to defend and rain magma of malice upon you and your kin folk as you sleep…

[wtfcraigslistnyc]

HUMAN RIGHTS FIESTA

BY UZIEGO

It’s always very difficult to remember where I was going to or coming from at this time.

It is however possible to remember the exact spot on the two lane tarmac slicing through the trees where they stopped..

It was damp and bone chilling cold as my left foot slipped in stride behind me and my right hand and thumb popped up like a toll gate, inversely receiving the oncoming vehicle. HITCHHIKING is a strange KARMIC art.

One cannot possibly appreciate getting from point A to B with any certainty having NOT EXPERIENCED utter uncertainty of HITCHHIKING.

Many times I’ve reached with eyes wide shut into the archive of my mind, trying to gently pass through the halls of memory and retrieve the first time I stuck out my thumb and began the walk down the road. Not knowing who would take me or when they would come. The road is very different when you are on it alone on foot.

We travel our whole lives in steel carriages at a mile a minute. Completely oblivious of the world that we pass through. When one is removed from the convenience of a carriage and is left back in the state of nature where your person, the elements and geography become one.

The shoulder can vary in size. On most paved, two lane, rural route roads, the shoulder would typically be 2 ½ feet or 2 cubits.

When walking upon the tarmac it’s quite easy to forget where you are going and melt into the environment through which you step. The guardrail will rise and fall slowly and lonely as you quietly pass by like a thief in the night. The cows will moo and gawk at your foolish plans to be anywhere, anytime specific.

I once walked up a road to my girlfriend’s house in the middle of an afternoon ECLIPSE.

This was in the pre-Internet era where information lived in a very animate and direct manner. People watched the news, read NEWSPAPERS and shared the news of the day directly WORD OF MOUTH. As I reached the fields that lay atop the sizable hill I marched up from the main road, the sun began to change and the sky began to vibrate. The couple dozen heads of cattle started to moo in fear and confusion. The light began to fade and the mooing turned to a roar as I slowly proceeded up the paved path to her crib. The sun would all but disappear and light would decrease to roughly 30% of full daytime light for a few minutes before slowly returning to full brightness.

We would drink pink ZINFANDEL from a jug and have awkward teen relations to ALL APOLOGIES, as KURT COBAIN had died earlier that year.

The morning when they picked me up it was gray and wet, but most likely the same hue as the day the chorus of cows cheered me on through the ECLIPSE to my hot tawdry destination.

The SILVER, two door, FORD FIESTA, signaled as soon as they saw me. This was not uncommon. Many times when you HITCHHIKE, someone will instantly see you and throw the signal to let you know that you are about to get off the tarmac and into a stranger’s car to go to an indeterminate destination.

The car slowed and pulled up next to me. I had a backpack and my skate in my hands. The guy in the front seat practically fell out of the car as a cloud of weed smoke erupted from the tiny compact. He seemed very faded and had his head down, bracing himself with his hand on the roof of the car. He said nothing. The lady in side driving said:

HEY HONEY! POP IN AN GET WARMED UP!

I threw my bag and deck into the tiny back seat and crawled in. We slowly pulled away and she turned up the EDDIE BRACKELL. She was doing this kind of HIPPIE HAND dancing type thing. It was very easy to imagine her making her whole body do the thing she was doing with her hand that wasn’t driving the car careening down the road.

The man in the front seat had his head slumped down. He lit a large spliff and hand took several large blasts from it and passed it to the lady. He coughed a bunch and she took a little baby blast of the jay.

At this time I should probably describe the man in the passenger seat.

The man had a massive head of DREADLOCKS and was wearing an army fatigue jacket. The area of VERMONT I lived in was virtually devoid of non-caucasian folk. There was a small Jamaican community there that had always worked in the many trades and artisanal things produced there.. VERMONT hosted a very large REGGAE festival for over a decade. Many of the biggest legends would come to play the GREEN MOUNTAINS because they loved it so much there. The clean air and generally friendly people appreciated the music.

I hadn’t ever seen this person before. He seemed to be in another place. I could understand being quite stoned as we drove into WOODBURY and they dropped me off at CHIAM’S house. I thanked them both and stumbled out of the car with my bag and waved. As I went into CHAIM’s house it dawned on me that I had left my skate in the car! I was really bummed. It was a junk CREATURE deck, with whatever BS wheels and trucks someone broke me off with, but it was my whip and it was now GONE.

It’s also of relevance to note that I did not live in a house at this time. Myself and my buddies lived in tents at the end of BARRE st in MONTPELIER. Squatting in a forest on town property. We decided to live as LORD OF THE FLIES people due to a variety of sad and difficult circumstances too morose to mention in this context. But it was filthy and fabulous. We would steal stuff constantly and pay to take showers at the gym downtown several times a week. This was all by choice. We were not living on the streets, begging out of some sense of teen rebellion. We lived in tents like HOBO’s because that’s what we chose to do. This of course represents an issue if someone needed to contact you because you don’t have a phone or a home to pop in and find you. Such was the way of the world in 1995.

I would hitchhike back to town from CHAIM’s house the next day, defeated.

I had lost the most important single possession in the world. My skateboard was not just an object to stand on and move from point A to B. It was a weapon I could defend myself from anyone with. It was a seat to ponder the next nefarious move. It was the friend who always wanted to hang out and do that thing over and over out of the pure joy of the pavement chatting us both up.

In the next couple of days I would continue my aimless existence of reading, eating, sleeping in the woods and hollering at the young ladies.

We did get ladies to come back to our CAMP as we preferred to call it. My mate once got down with a young lady on the hood of her car on the road below our camp. I was not around, but our slightly OFF buddy was. When our frisky friend returned to camp, head high like a goddamn stallion,,our OFF MATE said:

OH MY GOD!! I’M SO GLAD THAT YOU’RE HERE! I THINK THAT SOMEONE WAS GETTING RAPED DOWN ON THE ROAD!!!

My other mate stepped back and lit a cigarette in his long boney digits.

NO JIMMY. NO ONE WAS GETTING RAPED ON THE ROAD. THAT WAS JUST ME AND MY FRIEND.

The days were getting warmer and I was restless without my skate instantly. It was one of the first times I learned to put away a feeling of regret so that it didn’t consume me.

But then the magic thing happened…

I was standing in the sunshine in front of the library. I heard a voice call out something,

RUDE BWOY!!!

I saw a blur of someone running toward me.

The DREADY man approached me with a huge smile and my skate in his hands. He spoke to me in a stew-like accent that crackled and popped.

RUDE BWOY! YOU DONE FURGOT YA SKATE!!! BLESS UP INTO THE LIGHT YOUTH!!!!

And just like that we hugged and he walked away. I remember the smell but I cannot describe it. I was so blown away that I had lost and then found my skate. I was so thankful to the kind stranger and his lady for seeing me and returning it. It felt like good karma. Much like the good karma one feels when the silver FORD FIESTA signals and pulls over on a cool gray morning..

I was awestruck by this that I simply pushed this moment into the ether of memory.

I had a thought while I was in the back seat of the car with the couple who returned my skate. I wondered ever so briefly before completely dismissing the notion, that the man reminded me of HR, HUMAN RIGHTS, the iconic frontman of the BAD BRAINS. Even as I sat in the back seat it seemed completely impossible and I dismissed this idea almost instantly. Surely the man was just another fellow who happened to have huge DREADS, many of the men from JAMAICA in VT had huge dreads.

I would watch the doc about JOSEF, HR many years later and have a shocking revelation. In a key moment in the story, after things went into a bad direction with HR and the band, he took a hiatus. He went and hid out in VERMONT.

I’ve never verified this with JOSEF himself, but it seemed that even through the fog of memory and the many many times I’ve smashed my head into the pavement that I am certain.

We all lose things and find things sometimes. We all move from point A to B and usually know roughly when we will get there. I know many people in my life who are not capable of stepping out of the shower let alone the front door with such uncertainty.

But in my heart of hearts, with great certainty that JOSEF HR returned my skateboard to me on a sunny day in 1995.

[wtfcraigslistnyc]

NAKED GUY

BY UZIEGO

RUEBEN buzzed me from downstairs…

It was early and my head throbbed a JIM BEAM pulse of suffering

We worked in the dungeon at a catering company

I slagged myself to the lift and step inside

THE DOORS OPEN

RIEBEN stood on the left side of the glass.

A COP stood on the right.

At my feet was a harry, naked MAN, clutching a smashed chunk of concrete

He had become UPSET perhaps at something utterly unknown

And vented his aggressions on the quaint decor of our lobby

The tall mirrored panels that lined to foray were all smashed to bits

There must have been a dozen smashed panels that reflected his

Ominously meek frame as he grunted and growned banging the chuck on concrete he clutched in his hands on the floor

Like a mariner 20,000 leagues beneath the sea

Tapping out a desperate message in MORSE CODE

Desperately clinging to the final precious moments of oxygen

That remain

This moment of standing and looking at REUBEN, the lady COP looking back at me

As the NAKED GUY at my feet seemed to last for hours

Even though in reality

I pushed the button to close the door and bring the lift back up within 5 seconds

The expression of terror and genuine concern on the faces of them both was a lot more than my brain could possibly process at such and early hour

The choice to simply take the lift back up to the 2nd floor and run down the stairs to exit the building was almost autonomic

As I rushed down the stair and out the back door of my flat on 11th and LOGAN

I could hear the roar of commotion on the other side of the door

The COPS seemed to be waiting for me to be out of harms way to engage

NAKED GUY

I could hear them screaming at him through the front door

In moments someone would unlock the door and they would rush in to yolk him up

As I scurried back to the front entrance of the building

REUBEN ran over and met me on the corner

We stood there and watched half a dozen cops enter the foray

They were all big dudes who looked typically like football players

They let out a final warning before storing into the lobby

I could here the curing and commotion from the corner and could see

The lady officer standing back with her gun drawn

Covering the other people who were now in the lobby engaging him

Suddenly a sound that I would describe as animal like

Raged out of the lobby

I could hear the COPS screaming too

Suddenly they all burst out the door with the NAKED GUY

Wildly flailing

They all had there hand on him and were trying to carry him out

But his NAKED, hairy, sweaty body was too slippery for them

To get proper control of to yolk him up in cuffs and take control of the

Psychonaut NAKED BRONCO who had made a terrible mess of the lobby at the REGENCY

The scene that played out on the curb next was not what REUBEN and I expected

The cops seemed completely OUTMATCHED versus whatever

FAIRY DUST old boy had put inside him to inspire his BUTT NAKED

RAMPAGE early on a FRIDAY morning

The NAKED GUY was not contained as he stepped out of the building with all the cops holding him trying to smack some cuffs on him

But at the perfect moment NAKED GUY

Let a out a terrible sound that startled them all for a split second

NAKED GUY started to piss, shit and punch like a TASMANIAN DEVIL

Whiling in all direction connecting super firmly with 3 of the 6 cops almost instantly

The woman cop was yelling holding her gun on the guy and switched extremely quickly

She holstered her piston and removed a ELECTRIC PRONG TASER

The beat down of the COPS and her reaction seemed to be divided in one

Very long and slow moment that elapsed over decades in the span of several heart beats

The lady COP screamed CLEAR in the same instant that 3 of the 6 six cops

Flopped to the ground like a sack of potatoes

The cops and the NAKED GUY are all screening at this point

The sound was indescribable

They all reminded me of children trying to get a ball in a huge scrum

The lady COP kept zapping the guy and screaming and some other huge COP

Appears and backs her up and tries to calm her down enough to stop zapping NAKED GUY

Who now is pissing all over himself

As he lays on his back twitching like a cockroach that ate BLACK FLAG

The lady COP and almost collapses into the arms of the huge guy behind her

The beat COPS wiggle around like worms on hot pavement as their peeps carefully try to asses and attend to the brutal beat down they all endured

None of them would be seriously injured but all definitely would look like they

DID NOT WIN THE FIGHT

For at least several weeks

REUBEN and I spent weeks and weeks referencing the hubris and plight of NAKED GUY

Left with nothing but questions….

Years later I was at a birthday party with a dear old friend from Denver

She and I had lived in that building together in the late 90’s at the same time

And met as neighbors initially but would grow a deeper connection

Through her coffee shop and other mutual homies

We waxed poetic about some of beloved ridiculous DENVER yarns

Then as I would most consistently do

Turned the conversation to NAKED GUY

I forgot that we lived in that building together when it happened

AUTUMN’S face became quite special when I mentioned NAKED GUY

I don’t really have words to describe amazement and horror she reflected at me bring it up

OH!!!!!THAT GUY!!!

SO WE WERE AT THE SNAKE PIT AND MY FRIEND BROUGHT THAT GUY BACK AND WAS MAKING OUT WITH HIM. WE DON’T KNOW WHAT HE WAS ON, BUT AT SOME POINT HE STARTED TO GET NAKED AND JERK OFF IN FRONT OF US ALL… IT WAS NOT SOMETHING ANYONE EXPECTED WHEN CAME TO OUR PLACE.

SO MY ROOMMATE DOUG PUNCHED HIM IN THE HEAD AND THREW HIM OUT OF OUR CRIB INTO THE HALL. THE GUY BANGED ON THE DOOR FOR AWHILE THEN WENT AWAY. WE FIGURED HE JUST WENT HOME..

As we shared this shocking revelation about our misguided youth on CAPITOL HILL

Thoughts invariably turned to the unlikely antagonist of this sorted tale

NAKED GUY

Who was he?

What did he consume?

Why did he get naked and vent his rage on the lobby of the REGENCY?

Where oh where in the weird wild world could the enigmatic NAKED GUY be at this very moment?

Perhaps he was still NAKED

The king of some ODIOUS hippy orgy In the desert

The HIGH SHAMAN

Of some fiendish cult that takes cues from ANTON LEVY and the KNIGHTS TEMPLAR

[wtfcraigslistnyc]

NO UMBRELLA

A MAN DOES NOT REQUIRE AN UMBRELLA

Though the rain may pound down in torrents

That crash as dense sheets of liquid pouring from the heavens. A man does not require ANY protection from the elements as he himself is a force of nature to be reckoned

KENNETH had lived his whole life in a dignified manner.

STERN, HARD WORKING, NEVER EVER COMPLAINING, FOR ANY REASON OF ANY KIND.

THIS IS WHAT A MAN DOES

He lived to see the days when the many faces

Of his many kids’ kids’ would appear as

Spritely characters in brightly colored

T-Shirts and fancy sneakers

Speaking quickly in words that sounded like a saw ripping through a hard piece of CHERRY wood

KENNETH KNEW NOTHING OF THIS.

He showed every kid that crossed his path

What path they would be taking after

Their time together had come to an end

KENNETH WAS A MAN HARD AS NAILS

Inextricably tied to the antiquated model that he and he alone would DEFEND with every ounce of blood and every pound of muscle versus a hail of bullets before succumbing to anything beneath him and his standard

He distributed a higher potency and frequency of ass beatings and brutal verbal punishment for any infraction of his IRON CLAN AGENDA

KENNETH grew old and would watch reruns

The days grew softly shorter and his temper less quick

He awoke up one day to feel an intense pain in his belly

Like a red hot poker straight into an open wound

Searing pain clutched his chest in dire bondage…

He lay there. Eyes closed and remembered the rain and how his father had taken his umbrella away from him, and told him about the tide that would rise and how a man would have to stand and command his piece of land or die trying..

For two days and two nights KENNETH told his wife that he felt crumby and wanted to be left alone. Probably just a bug. But he knew as each agonizing moment elapsed that he was facing the great foe. The one force even he couldn't stand tall against.

On the third day his wife insisted that they go to the hospital. When they were admitted the DR and staff were modified to inform her that his appendix had fully ruptured and exploded inside of KENNETH’S body 24 hours prior…

KENNETH’S chest and abdomen had been filling with brutal fluid for hours. His color and breathing grew jaunt and labored. He was rushed into the surgery. But not before looking at his dear wife, mother of his children, best friend and legitimate thorn in his very last shred of patience for decades…

DON’T LET NOBODY SAY NOTHING ABOUT ME…

TELL EM ALL TO KEEP MY NAME OUT OF THEIR MOUTHS..

And off he went. After walking the many miles in the freezing cold over the many miles to school as a child, or having to work the fields alongside his family all those years growing up, all those times he saw the storm coming from miles away and still walked out the door knowing he would indeed get caught and be forced the stand up against all the forces of evil that will try to thwart him…

KENNETH died on that operating table supported by massive amounts of morphine and a cocktail of other substances used to stabilize his plummeting vitals.

He never said he was sorry to anyone ever.

He most certainly never once touched an umbrella in his many, many years of life…

[wtfcraigslistnyc]

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 anatomy 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

[wtfcraigslistnyc]

THE LEGEND OF THE COKE HAMMER

The fabled "coke hammer." Duk Park, A bold young man from SEOUL.

Brought into this world of humble beginnings took a bold and prolific journey to Bogota Columbia in 1981.

Upon his arrival he procured a mighty rock of pure, white Columbian marching powder. A rock of such magnitude that he knew it would bring great wealth, as well as the lust of many naughty men and women…

A debaucherous and curious object right in front of his perfectly spherical eyes. He gasped desperately for a breath of air into his lungs before the ASPIRIN tasting venom would roll through his Larynx and command his taught body to move.

Javier gazed at him loving across the table. It takes a man of such deep courage such as his dear brother to take on this 5 KILOGRAM magnet of peril.

The world would not know no rest dreaming of this unicorn of pure rock cocaine MAGIK.

Javier rose to his mighty wooden throne. The very same chair he had sat back and made untold billions over the years. As he rose, Duk rose as well.

The two men gazed intently into each other's eyes. Seconds felt like years. Moments became hours and weeks changing heart beats with nothing but the mighty coke rock between them.

"MY FRIEND... DUK. Allow me to break you off a piece of the fruit of my life's work, so that you too may know the excruciating passion that lies deep within my quivering loins."

Duk's deep, dark, brown eyes pursed up tight in focus…

JAVIER was holding an Uzi in one hand, and his bulbous throbbing member in the other..

Duk in his classic commanding tone addressed.

"Most honorable and venerable Javier. I have come a great distance to see this mighty rock of pure Columbian pedigree. Not to see your penis. If it's ok I would prefer to not gaze at your member any longer. Kindly return your snake to his home in your trousers."

To which JAVIER replied,

"My most humble apologies, for I was holding it. May I indulge you with taste.?"

To which DUK replied,

"Allow me. I have brought a special tribute to you."

DUK reached down and lifted a magnificent leather briefcase. He meticulously entered the combination into the shiny golden locks. The case clicked open with sound not dissimilar the sound a Mesai warlord greets his third wife and the second day of the week, two quick, crisp clicks… and a low murmur…

From the bold black case Duk produced a gleaming stainless steel hammer. It shined so brightly that both of them averted their curious eyes to the floor.

Duk spoke in voice that commanded respect,

"I traveled deep into the dark heart of my country. I sought out a man pure of mind and spirit. I brought the purest piece of iron ore I could pull from Mount Chang Yi with my own two hands. For seven days I sat in scilence watching the master at work. Sweating, toiling over this black as night steel block of steel. On the 7th day the master who spoke not a word raised his hammer to anvil with grave and brutality and presented me with this gift offer to you today. This my friend, is a tool worthy of dispatching this meteor of malicious motivation.

This is the COKE HAMMER.

DUK fell to his knees like a subordinate knight before his king. He raised the gleaming chrome hammer high above his head. Hot tears of pride rolled over his face..

JAVIER, unable to respond to this humble yet gentile act, arose from his seat and looked down upon this man of courage and vision.

"Duk, my brother. You pay me an unspeakable tribute today before GOD and the entire WORLD. Do you not feel shame or sadness? You are a giant who looks down upon the masses as though they were but tiny insignificant ants. Please stand, it would be my honor for you to swing this sacred COKE HAMMER so that we may both know its power."

DUK burst into a wailing tone similar to a child that has been scolded with hot tea.

Then gasped desperately for a breath and rose reluctantly to his feet. Eye to eye, then once again locked their gaze.

"Ok, it is time," DUK said.

"Please my friend, do me the extreme pleasure."

DUK's gaze turned determined, struck with conviction.

He picked up the COKE HAMMER and raised it triumphantly above his head.

"Let's fucking do this!!!!!!!"

He brought the arc of the hammer down with such intent that Javier gasped,

"My friend be careful,"

But it was too late.

Brilliant chromed hammer violently smashed into soccer ball size rock of cocaine with an ear shattering crash.

DUK grit his teeth as hard as he could, struggling with all the strength that he could muster.

"Dios mio!!!"

JAVIER exclaimed. The mighty coke rock was shattered into a million little pieces. The brilliance of its pedigree soiled….

Javier in a kind of animal rage began to scream at the top of his lungs.

"You stupid son of a bitch!!!

I present you the product of my life's work, so you can come here and smash it with that stupid fucking COKE HAMMER!! You offend me beyond words!!!"

DUK raising his head from the table with eyes aglow like a lion in the bush sizing up the infuriated COLUMBIAN.

He noticed the PENIS, and the UZI were back JAVIER’s hands.

"You are a piece of shit JAVIER! I will show you the same mercy you have shown to your own god forsaken people!"

With that DUK turned and stepped toward JAVIER with jaguar-like fluidity.

He pushed JAVIER back a full step with his right hand and swung the mighty COKE HAMMER with his left. The shiny steel hammer created a brilliant arc and flash of light as DUK sent it hurtling toward JAVIER’s robust, jet black mop.

In a split second JAVIER utter a desperate last statement,

"NO NO NO PUTO PINCHE FUCKING PUNO TERO!!"

But alas, The chrome COKE HAMMER crashed into his forehead. Blood and bone exploded from his head as though he had a load of dynamite in his skull.

DUK, covered in a macabre mix of COCAINE, BLOOD, BRAINS and BONE. Stood motionless staring at the headless body of the still erect JAVIER MEDINA JR.

The DECAPITATE side of spent up human meat collapsed into the flaccid orange, fire-baked tile floor. A geyser of plasma spilled all over the floor.

DUK dove his BLOOD and COKE smartened face back into the pile of crimson clotted perfection and slowly gasped for precious life giving air…

He lifted his head and let out a triumphant scream.

A scream that was hard wired into his genetic formula.

FIN

[wtfcraigslistnyc]

THE LOVE THAT SLEEPS BELOW

Godzilla farted

And I started

Speaking in tongues

Strung out from

One too many steam buns with

Oyster sauce

The emotional baggage that

She showed up with

But forgot to take when she left

As she uttered

Sriracha words muttered

Under cigarette and Java breathes

As she took weary steps

Down staircases

In places

Less amazing

Than anything

The clink up the tin can alley

IS FOUL B

If the ref doesn’t see it

She won’t wave without me

The buzzards came circling back around the

Broken down BUICK

But she always right

And she knew it

From the jump or the get

Too selfish to rewind

The tape and own up to the trauma

She kind a put me on to

A bird in the hand was my

Masterplan uttering undertones in my

BLANKET VOICE

Too choice to DU BOIS the ROYCE

as HOYAS makes an ungodly

Noise and opens the door as the

Rain falls and we fall apart

Like HUMPTY

and still get back up on the wall

To proud to to be the kind of man

To understand a diagram or how to use a diaphragm cuz she can’t stand the smell of my cooking so I’m still out here butt naked

LOOKING

In the bush for rare

Gems and jewels to snatch up

From bald headed fools

Who’s rules are in discord

With the MAIN LINE

of my ALLIANCE

We shot a volley over the stern

Then they raised the white

Flag and put a bag on the captain’s head before singING an ode to the kings of the

NEW TO THE OLD

And then HULL DRUG all the bastards

To CHOP SUEY

And cast the

Bloody bits and pieces of

what used to be

Men back to the Sharks

As a tribute and set sail once again

To ports of call more royal

Than MONTE CARLO

The LOVE sleeping in DAVEY JONES LOCKER is the very same as the

LOVE THAT SLEEPS BELOW….

[wtfcraigslistnyc]

THE ARCHIVE…