what can i say? i'm an eccentric woman.

got more soul

than a sock

with a hole.

Friday, December 21, 2007

Tell Tale Heart (Continuation)

Cessation of the beating was beyond my reach. I grew rampant – clutching my ears from the chronic clamor! Convulsions took control of me! Louder! Louder! Louder! LOUDER! I must scream or die! I must scream or die!

“I cannot bear the beating of his hideous heart no more! Almighty God, please forgive me for I have sinned! Forgive me!”

I was possessed by tumult. My wide eyes were met by the vacant eyes of the officers and their scrutiny of me. Their look was similar to your thoughts, reader; Taking my heightened sense for madness!

“You dare not say I am a mad man! I exclaimed vehemently. “Under those three planks lies the source of the sound! There! There!”

The officers looked at each other, puzzled. Yet, they approached the planks steadily. As they got closer, the beating grew haunting and more intense. My hands, my dead hands were placed heavily on my head. Oh God it ached! It ached very much; agonizing beyond my own words.

“Do you hear not that horrible sound? It is unbearable I say!"

They (officers) carried on with their inquiry. One officer removed the first plank. I could not swallow the anxiety. I paced, and I paced, and I paced. I looked out the window into pitch blackness, only to see a shadowy figure walk past. The second plank was gradually lifted. I grew very nervous about their sighting.
What was I to say? How would I explain? Have you any idea? Madmen don’t think like I think. Am I sound yet? Oh how funny I am! Ha ha!
The last plank was removed. I gasped for air, for their reaction I waited for painfully and patiently.
“What were you screaming about? There is nothing there.”

I stopped; and so did the beating of the hideous heart.

“What do you mean? There is a man dismembered in that spot!”

The police officers stared at my pale body and lifeless eyes. What were they staring at? I haven’t a clue! I haven’t a care! I was free, free at last! I was not.

Now at this point, you fancy me mad since the police took me to an insane asylum. You are still wrong for I am not mad! Was I not successful? The police did not discover the corpse! Madmen have no intellect! I have intellect! I should not be here! I should not! Oh how I hated it here! The food tasted like dead corpses. I fed on this food everyday! It was repulsive! Sickening! It sickened my insides! I developed a heightened sense of taste since I entered this mad house. I can distinctly taste organs and lungs, liver and hearts! I tried to starve myself but they avert me from it. How lovely it would be to quietly pass away this very moment.The nights were long and silent. I settled in a tiny room by myself. Lanterns were nowhere to be found. I conversed with myself for hours. Unclear notions massaged my heavy mind. I stood awake for hours and hours at a time. But one night, I was aroused by slightly, heavy breathing. I deemed it my own, and fell asleep. But there it was again. I tasted the air – dead corpses. From there, I heard a low, dull, quick sound. “Who’s there?” I said vehemently. A warm gentle wind crossed me. I stood up abruptly. And there, standing in front of me, was me.

Monday, December 10, 2007


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Saturday, December 8, 2007

RanDome Pt II

A Businessman With No Spinners...

I don't want anything on me - no make-up, fake hair and nails. Nothing. I just want to be naked.


Cherry Red Hair with a Banana flavoured jacket

Villain of Midnight

Sly Slithering Slippers


Education of Sex(es) [Script/Screen]

Dramatis Personae

Penny Dollar
Mr. E. Ville
Rob Banks
Amber Green
Chris Cross
Crystal Ball

Act I, Scene I

The spanking new classroom 212 of Dippy Dodger C.I at Penny’s sex-ed class where the blare of wacky walking twaddle talking TVs is nothing new.
There are 30 seats in total. Penny’s seat is at the back and has her black bag sitting on it.
2 science binders, a math textbook, a stack of lined paper and grubby gym clothes are sticking out of it. Amber Green sits behind her and beside Amber is Crystal Ball. Rob Banks sits on Amber’s other side and Chris Cross is 2 seats to the right of Penny.
Penny’s desk has 3 wads of pink gum inside of it. On her left is a large diagram of the female reproductive system. It’s an old one. It says “Ha ha, boobies!” near the right breast. Beside that is the male one. The overhead is set up at the front of the classroom. The note is covered with a piece of blue paper. Penny is in her seat stuffing her stuff in her bag while Amber and Crystal Ball are whispering.

Darkness. We hear the voices of 30 high school students chatting away at the same time. As Mr. E. Ville demands their attention, the screen is filled with a long shot of the class slowly starting to comply with him. Then, there is a short silence followed by a close-up of Mr. E. Ville.

(loud, British voice)
Today, we ‘umans will be confuhrin’ abau’ doins that many peopuhl complaete when they ah fohrlohrn, board, or inquisitive in some cayses. Can any one of you puny dizzy-I’d strumpets tell me what I may be tawlking abau’?

Long shot of the confused faces of students

(whispering to Crystal Ball annoyingly slow, overly crying voice)
I can’t lieke buhlave I like gave my pantieees to lieke a geeek. I thought lieke only football players were lieke…rich – with like money. Crystuuhla, what should I lieke do?

Medium shot of Crystal Ball touching a crystal ball on her desk with her eyes closed.

(whispering majestically)
Everytin OK, everytin ok.
(Short pause) I see man come to jyu and he say “heah millon dollas.” You rish, you -

(Interruption by Penny)
Medium shot of Penny turned around facing Amber and Crystal with the focused class and Mr. E.Ville talking in the background.

(Whispering slightly loud, annoyed voice)
Can you two clapper clawed clackdishes shut up? I’m trying to learn here! (Taps pencil repeatedly)

When a ‘uman with exwhuy chromozones lawves anotha' ‘uman with 2 ex chromozones or whatevah yor prefrence…

Penny grunts and turns back around
Superimposition of Amber and Rob (whispering) and Penny (writing, paying attention)

(whispering to Rob Banks and Crystal)
Yeah, about like something you can’t like, have! (Amber laughs quietly)
Penny is such a like (pause) such a like lumpish hell-hated harpy!
She’s like a like little know-it-all bug that won’t like…go away!
(Flips hair)(They all snicker)

Whimen awlwayz complayne abau’ somethin’…

Close up of Rob Banks looking into Amber’s eyes with his arm around her.
Penny is half turned around, now listening to their conversation.

(whispers, low-pitched voice)
Ah know baby, Ah know. She just buggin’ like she alwayz do, naw’m sayin’ boo?
(Laughs) She set trippin’ like a dankish earf-vexin’ foot licka. Aha!
But I’z gotz you home fry, I’z gotz you.

Close up of Penny turned around fully and the background of people and Mr. E. Ville.

(whispers loudly, sarcastic) (clears her throat)
You’re not too smart are you? I like that in a man.
Excuse me while I whip this out
(puts up middle finger) (Pause)

Extreme close-up shot of Rob Banks looking surprised.

(stands up, yells)
(Slams desk once with each word) Don’t knowbady talk to me like that aiight?
I’m Rob Banks, beeyatch!
You hear me talking hillbilly boy? I ain’t thru witchu by a damn sight.
I’ma get medieval on yo asss! I just hate you and yo asss face, mang!

Long shot of the entire class staring at Rob Banks pacing back and forth. A Medium shot of Mr. E. Ville now focused on Rob.

(points at Rob, talks calmly)
You; sit; naow. (pause)

Long shot of entire class still staring at Rob sitting down.
Close up of Mr. E. Ville continuing his class.

(loud voice)
Naoow, can anywun tell meh waht masturbation is?

Background noise of the class saying and yelling “Eww!” at different times.

(whispering loudly, irately)
What y’all saucy onion-eyed nut hooks starin’ at, huh?

High angle shot of Chris Cross answering the question.

(loud goofy voice)
Hey, don’t knock masturbation. It’s sex with someone I love.

Extreme long shot of whole class and Mr. E. Ville laughing,
students talking with fresh disgust in their minds.

Close up of Penny with a sickened look on her face

(loud, disgusted voice)
You are one (yells)
filthy little beslubbering common-kissing bladder!
You’re like living doo-doo.

(soft voice, shaking her head)
Jyu nastee, nastee.

Low angle shot of Chris Cross responding

(loud voice)
That’s what I love about these high school girls man;
I get older, they stay the same age (smiles).

Medium of class “Ooh”ing, instigating the problem.

(Clapping his hands, yelling)

Extreme close up of Penny’s annoyed facial expression.

(loud and powerful voice)
Look here you wayward ill-nurtured lout (long pause)

(V.O) Class still instigating, laughing at her insult to Chris

(loud voice)
Class, pay attenshone please!

PENNY (to Chris)
Son – you’ve got a panty on your head. (smiles)

(yelling, slightly ire)
Get outta here. And don’t come back for five to seven days!
Actually, make that the whole year.
I’d like to be Penny-free when being educated about sex!

– Gouyhs, this is thee lawst time! Qwhyyet!

(sarcasm in her whispering voice)
Excuse me while I whip this out…again
(puts up middle finger)

Thursday, November 15, 2007

What Time Is It Mr Wolf?

“A little girl named Jae-eung Lee was found dead 5 km from the outhouse behind her school. She was…"
“Shit,” said Detective Park Doo-Man with a hint of fury. He turned the TV off.
“That’s body number three from last week,” uttered Detective Seo Tae-yoon with a heavy sigh. “The report says that some of the girl’s classmates said they’ve been seeing a mysterious man behind the school for a while. They say that he’s the serial killer. We already questioned that no help fucker witness of the man. Anyway, it says here that there was no evidence left behind,” Park read.
“Killers always go back to the scene of the crime. Let’s go there tonight,” Tae-yoon said with the confidence of an undecided voter.

The wind whistled like a champ. The two detectives hid behind the big rock far from the outhouse. They kept lookout like lighthouses. The outhouse was grungy-looking. The windows were boarded up. The door was broken. The roof was uneven. It smelled like rotting flesh. The outhouse seemed isolated from the world. The detectives waited with not one word exchanged between. No one or nothing crossed their view – until it started to rain. A man exited the outhouse with a bone in his mouth. He scratched his bushy beard. He had jagged nails that could cut through anyone’s dreams. He howled, exposing his sharp stained teeth. He was like a wolf. Detective Park moved his foot to get ready. Snap went the branch. The unknown man swiftly turned around in the direction of the noise. His eyes were beady – and yellow. He started to run.

The two detectives exploded with speed. They ran after the animal. Their feet were smashing the puddles of diluted mud into a million shattering shapeless pieces. The suspect was running so fast, dodging the bullets of rain shooting from the sky. But he tripped. The two detectives, panting like two fat kids, took the animal into custody.

“Why did you kill the little girl?” Detective Doo-Man asked with a vengeance in the questioning room.
It looked more like a dungeon. Silence was squeezed by the neck.
“Ha. She doesn’t belong, that’s why,” the nameless man laughed.
“Why are women here anyway? Huh? They’re not people. They need to be annihilated!”
He started to yell. “I want to taste the air of their non-existence! Their flesh and bones need to be ripped from their bodies first! It’s time for the world order to be restored!”

Detective Tae-yoon rapidly reached across the dusty table and grabbed the no name man’s scruffy neck.

“Listen you piece of shit, you’re going to go to jail forever for the three murders!” He yelled like a lion.
He punched the face of the murderer. He kept punching that face. He stopped. The unknown man touched his bruised and battered face. He laughed again.

“Everyone knows you torture innocent people. So go ahead, kill me,” he offered nonchalantly with a smile.

Saturday, November 10, 2007

Wandering Stress (Guerilla Poetry)

I opened the gate,

Went out of my murky mind

Below the heavens

Janelle Monae - Sincerely Jane

Left the city, my mama, she said don't come back home.
These kids round killing each other,
they lost their minds, they gone.
They quitting school, making babies, and can barely read,
Some gone on to their fall, Lord have mercy on them.
1,2,3,4, your cousin's here round here selling dope,
While they daddy, your uncle, is working round, strung out.
Babies with babies, and they just keep burning,
While their dreams go down the drain now.(While their dreams go down the drain now)

Are we really living, or just walking dead now(Are we walking dead now?)
Or dreaming of the hopes round in the wings of angels
The way we live, the way we die,
What a tragedy, I'm so terrified.
Daydreamers please wake up,
We can't sleep no more.

Love, don't make no sense,Ask your neighbour,
The winds have changed, it seems,That they've abandoned us.
The truth hurts, and so does yesterday
What good is love, if it burns bright explosion flames(I thought every living thing had love, but are)

Are we really living, or just walking dead now.(Are we walking dead now?)
Or dreaming of the hopes round in the wings of angels.
The way we live, the way we die,
What a tragedy, I'm so terrified.
Daydreamers please wake up,We can't sleep no more.
I've seen them shooting up funerals in their sunday clothes (Ya!)
And spending money on spinners, but won't pay college funds (Ya!)
And all you gangers and bangers,
Rolling dice and taking lives in a smoky dark
Lord have mercy on them (Ya!)

Teacher, teacher, please reach those girls in them videos (Live your life)
The little girl's just broke, and queens's confusing bling for soul.
Danger, there's danger,When you take off your clothes,
All your dreams go down the drain, girl.

Are we really living, or just walking dead now
Or dreaming of the hopes round in the wings of angels
The way we live, the way we die
What a tragedy, I'm so terrified
Daydreamers please wake up,
We can't sleep no more.

**Scratching Begins**
Lord have mercy
Have mercy Have mercy
Lord have mercy
Are really living, or just walking dead now
Have mercy
**Scratching Ends**

We live, then we die,
And we never know, thats why
So young, now we're gone
Now are you gone?
We live, then we die,
But never touch the sky
So young, now we're gone
Now are you gone?

Spoken Section:
5,7,8,2,1.Its now time for you to come home, my dear.You've been gone long enough.Thank you.We must come, we must go.

Ran Dome.

I woke up about an hour ago. I'm as tired as BET. The Sun's hiding its face from me right now. Bummer. The cluttered clouds are an airy azure, swallowing my mind's eye like a nightmare. While I'm typing away, I'm gazing outside a dirty window, into the world. It's alive. My fingers punch these damn keyboard keys with perplexity. My fake hair's a mess. My skin is turning white. Time is moving slowly. My eyes have bags full of sleep and unconcious. My head is a broken TV...with no cable. I have laundry clothes to fold. Low and Behold! - The reason why I'm awake.

Mellow music melodies are making their mark. Cool sounding. They flow like ocean water. I've got to get those sleep eaters, but I don't want to. They're all the way downstayurrzah. I'm paralyzed by the soothing sounds swinging in my ears.

Whoosh, Whoosh, Whoosh, Whoosh, Whoosh...

7:30...7:31..7:32......7:45....Dammit man. I'm going, I'm going.


Sunday, November 4, 2007

Soldier's Story (continued)

They walked slowly towards the orphanage. Death was in their eyes. Their footsteps were getting louder and louder. Kofi was panicking. He ran to Akua at the other side of the room. He told her recklessly that the rebels were coming. He was crying uncontrollably, like a broken baby doll. It was yesterday night all over again. The kids were scattered and screaming. Kofi was as still as a windless night. He was a picture. The door was shot down. Angry looking boys and men stood at it. They paced towards the innocent as one.

“Which wan of jou arh workinn foh thee arhmee, ah?” A tall dark man exclaimed.
His right hand man lit a blunt.
“I am talking to you! Ansah me!”
The TV was blaring.

He fired his rifle. Two kids fell on the ground with holes in their foreheads. Blood swam through the room. The army officer walked over. The children and workers moved out of the way. He put his hand in the rich blood. He gazed at his red hand. He licked it.
“Mmm, the taste of arhmee blood.”A young boy soldier stepped forward.
“Let dat be a message to you fools. Arhmy men arh the enemy. If we find jou with dem, we will kill jou like we killed them.”

The boy laughed with his crew and walked away. It was no turning back for them. They stole the innocence of two young boys.The scents of blood and blunts mixed. Akua and Kwame, crying, lifted Nana’s pale body from the bloody floor. They carried him outside into the dark world. Two other boys carried the other lifeless body. Anger and despair were written all over their faces.

“Joanna has brought her African baby back to America today. She carried it to the airport while the paparazzi snapped pictures of her. She made a speech saying I quote: “There are people out there who need our help. Everyone has a job to do. There is a war going on right in front of us and we need to do something about it” She is doing her part, that’s for sure.In other news, Britney Spears has just lost her children…”


Kwame was shooting. The other boys were shooting. They were killing rebel men with clean hands on triggers. They were falling, one by one against the wall. He loved it. The rush was heightening his excitement. He was the BTK killer of Africa. The other boys were smiling.

“Now dat you ah experts, it is time to faze the real world. Those bastaahd rebels arh lurkin in dee woods. Dey arh breackan this country aparht. There will be a revohlution!” Joseph exclaimed.
“Yeah!” The soldiers hollered.
“You,” he pointed to Kwame, “You will be my little seargent.”

Kwame smiled and took a joint from another boy. He smoked it. He grabbed a bottle of gin off of the floor and drank some.

“Now get ready, the village in frohnt of us is filled with dee rebels. We will kill them all one by one,” Joseph smiled.

The soldiers got into position. They got onto the grass and started crawling quietly and bit by bit. They were crawling army style in army clothing. Branches were snapping and leaves were rustling. Their boots were dragging evil with them. As they approached the village, they got on their hands and knees. Kwame had the focus of a Jedi. He never blinked. He never swallowed. He was focused. The group waited. They waited.
They got up and started running like cheetahs. They were screaming and shooting everything in sight – newborns and mothers, fathers and sons. They stayed in packs like murders. The rebels fought back, shooting death at the army. It was a war.

“Kill dee rebels!” Kwame shouted.

The murders shouted in agreement. Kwame entered a house uninvited. He rummaged through drawers and fridges. He broke bottles and chairs. He shot the family portrait. The TV was blaring. He ran to a bedroom. He opened the closet and found a clothed family.

“Get out hereh and get on yoh knees. Face the wall and shut yoh mouts!” Kwame yelled.

He was bloodthirsty. The family of five was on their knees, praying to the heavens for help. Kwame shot them in the head, one person at a time. When he got to the mother, he thought of his own mother. He shot her dead.

“A Fashion Show will be held in New York City tomorrow, right in front of the history museum. Many celebrities will be attending the event – including Tony, the latest celebrity to become a humanitarian and adopt a black looking baby. He is bringing the baby with him. The title of the event is “Accessory Chic”. The theme is of course accessories. Some include necklaces, purses, and small handbags shaped like babies. We will be on top of the event. It’s going to be a war over there…”

Yesterday, after burying his friend, Kofi could not take it. He was restless. Nightmares were haunting him like ghosts. Blood, bodies, and tears were chasing him. He sat up on his bed, panting. He looked beyond the window. The moonlight was still gleaming. It was the early morning. Kofi was miserable. His heart was hurting more than a brain tumor. He wanted to go away. He wanted to run away. These emotions were building skyscrapers inside of him. He looked around the room. Silence was roaming around. The rest of the boys were sleeping. Kofi said a prayer to himself. He wanted the Lord to help him overcome this pain. But he couldn’t wait. He ate some bread from the kitchen and put on a shirt. He left the orphanage and entered a world of loneliness.

He walked along the dirt road/sidewalk, hanging his head. No one was around. Shooting guns ceased for now.

“Where am I goin?” he asked himself.

He walked slowly towards his home village. It took him an hour. The village was run down – fallen trees, broken houses, cracked lights, and dead bodies. The air smelled like demise. He entered his old house. He felt a chill enter his body. The blood of his mother was still there, dark and dry. He walked further down the bullet infested hallway. Her naked body still lay there. Her eyes were still wide open. Kofi was staring at them, waiting for them to move. He would be waiting forever. He went beside his dead mother. He put her arm around him and lay on her bare body. He whimpered to sleep.

The day was young. Kwame was woken up at his camp by Joseph. The gun was still in his now dirty hands.

“I want to kill dem by surprise,” Joseph wickedly whispered.
“Me too; let us go,” Kwame whispered.

He lit a joint and drank some tonic. A murder of them ran hastily from their camp in the middle of the forest, to the front of it. From there, they could see houses and rebel camps behind them. They were ready for combat. They snuck their way into the village. They were quieter than a pin drop. Some of them went into the houses and others went behind. They got their knives ready. Kwame took his out from his pocket. He and Joseph snuck behind the houses. They stayed close to the wall. One foot in front of the other, they approached the camp like carnivores. They attacked. Kwame slit the throats of three rebels. He licked his knife clean. Joseph stabbed the young boy soldier in the chest. Both of them ran back to the front of the house. They split up. The sun was now rising to life. They acted quickly.Kwame opened the creaky door.

Kofi was woken up by a noise. He sprang to his feet, observing his bloody shirt. He bent back down and kissed life into his dead mother. He was alert. He looked both ways before crossing the hallway. He walked slowly to approach the living room. The TV was blaring. He did not know why but he had an aching feeling. He tip toed towards it with his hands curled into fists. Those were his only weapons. If God took him right now, he wanted to see his mother – his dear, loving mother. He turned the corner. He came face to face with a soldier. It was him.

“Ah, a rebel you ah, arhn’t you!” the soldier exclaimed.
“Kwame, it is me, Kofi, yoh brotha,” Kofi said with tears in his eyes.

His reflection stood clueless in front of him.

“Jew ah not my brotha! The arhmy is my brotha! You ah the enemy!” the soldier said in a stern tone.
“Kwame, please, let me talk to jew,” Kofi pleaded.

The soldier said nothing. He just watched Kofi like a clock. Time was running out.He aimed.

“Kwame, do not do dis!”He put his finger on the killer.“Kwame!”

He fired. Kofi was a victim of a soldier of war. His body fell in one motion. It made a thud. Blood splattered from Kofi to Kwame. Kwame stared at himself lying on the floor. He loomed over his brother. He spat on him. He walked over his body and out of the door.

“The fashion show was a success. The proceeds will be going to the items of Africa – children, who are living horrible lives in their war stricken countries. Singer Joanna looked gorgeous with her baby black boy on her side. Actress Rayne has an African baby too. But she was sitting in the audience with it. A war was definitely going on in the world – the world of fashion! Skinny models: Are they good or bad? You decide.”

Soldier's Story

A shrilling shout was cried. A single gunshot was fired. The two twin boys awoke straight away. They put on their shoes and shirt. They ran to their bedroom door. They held each other with a tight grip. To their left, a pool of blood was slowly streaming by. Terror and anxiety scarred their faces. Another gunshot was fired.They ran to their mother’s room without a thought in their minds. She lay motionless on the floor and lifeless beside her bed. She was naked. Her skin was torn apart. Her hair had dark red highlights. Her chest held bullet wounds close to her heart. The stench ruffled their runny noses. Tears forced their way out of their eyes, like vomit.

“ Get out heah now you traitahs!” A man roared from afar.

Two boys and the night appeared in front of them. They gripped their guns with the hands of men.

“I found dee traitahs! I found dem! Ovah here!”

Kwame and Kofi dashed for the front door. Bullets were thrown their way. Boys were sprinting after them. Older men followed behind them.The twins entered the woods barefooted and shirtless. Spikes and splinters cut their shorts and feet. They ran through branches and leaped over leaves, limping in pain. Plants were crushed and crunched. Rebel men chased after them, shooting at their black bodies in the hours of darkness. As the boys ran, voices of the anonymous became distant.

“I think we have lohst dem,” said Kwame, panting frantically. “I think we should split up an--

…”Guns blasted louder than thunder. They came from behind. Kofi started crying
uncontrollably. He couldn’t see. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t breathe. He ran away from his brother. He was running to nowhere. “Kofi! Kofi!”A hardy hand grabbed Kwame’s leg. Kwame fell to the ground.“Be quiyet. I am Joseph. You ah with the arhmee now. You will be safe wit us,” a man whispered. The same man shot a looming rebel dead.
Two brothers, each were unwillingly taken to live in two different worlds of war.


He unclosed his eyes. He felt his face. Waterless tears stuck to it like a child in a womb. Kofi looked up. Luminous lights struck him, shrinking his eyes.

“You cannot stay in bedt all day. It is noon time, uttered a woman worker, towering over his still body.
She was so stern she made the army look gay.
“Ok,” he responded.
“A quiyet one you will be, ah?”He didn’t say anything.

The woman was tall and brown skinned, just like him. She had ample brown eyes with a mole beside her left. Her lips were dark and lovely, full with the flesh God gave her. On her shirt it said “Akua”. Kofi moved his feet towards the ground. He sat upright, like his now deceased mother taught him. He scrutinized this place called the orphanage. Worn out bunk beds with thin sheets were cramped together in the room. Some boys lay soundless – eyes shut and mouths wide open. They looked just like him. Others were cleaning because the drill sergeant told them to. Kofi felt a disheartening feeling. There were no parents, brothers, or sisters. He never saw them outside of his dreams. He was homesick. This was the lost and never found box he was living in; these boys were living in; boys who were nothing.
Kofi watered those old dry tears.


“Get up! Get up right now and take ‘dis with jew,” a tall dark man bellowed in Kwame’s ear.
Lieutenant was his name – Lieutenant Joseph. He was the army officer from yesterday, dressed in camouflage.

Kwame stretched his long limbs and got out of the plain and already broken bed. He yawned. A bad sleep crept onto his eyes, declaring its home there. Kwame was a confident boy back home. But in this black hole of misery, his confidence was caught and never seen again. Through the darkness, he saw little ebony figures moving mechanically to line up. They were holding something long and smooth; black. They were headed towards the door. None of them were his little brother.

“Calm on! Hurry up! Do not disobey me,” The same man roared, louder than a lion.

Kwame took a step to follow the line, but he stepped on something hard. It was a gun. He stared at it and then picked it up. The boys walked barefoot into the daylight. Tinted houses surrounded their view. He followed. Gunshots from afar boomed into the air. The boys instantly fell to the dusty earth. Their brown eyes stomped the floor. Cries of fear were expressed on their faces.

“Get up! Stop yoh whinin’! You ah souljahs now! You ah men! You have to fight dee enamie! Do you undahstand?
“Yes sir.”

After cleaning his face, Kofi sat down on a wooden chair. He was staring into space, thinking like a scholar. He wondered about his older brother. A voice cut his thought into pieces.
“Hi. My name ees Nana. What is yoh name?”
“Kofi,” he responded.“Hawh did you get heeah?”
“I was running frohm the rebels and the people here let me in,” he uttered quietly.
“Oh. My mowda was shot and my dad cooed not afford me. So I am here,” Nana said with sorrow.

He hung his head.The black and white TV was blaring static and news:

“Out of this world singer Joanna will be visiting Africa tomorrow. She is going to pick up an African black baby. She is the latest celebrity to do so. Joanna says she wants to do her part in helping those who need it the most. I know we at the news station are doing our part by reporting the latest news. Speaking of that, figure skater Romeo just bought a new house…”

“I wish sohme one would get me out of here,” Nana cried.
“Me too,” Kofi whispered.
“Do you think that dey know abaht us out there?”

“No. My mom all ways told me dat the world is a shadow to us and ah way of life,” Nana said a little angered.
“Maybe,” Kofi stated.

They both went over to the right side of the room. There was little food, plastic balls, and broken cars. Kofi grabbed the broken car. Nana grabbed a half eaten banana. As he was moving the car in all directions, Kofi looked up through the window. The trees were greener than America. Flowers flourished from the trampled grass. The sun was beaming life onto the vicinity. Men and boys dressed in dark clothing from a distance were beaming death through the window.

“You werh all braught here to me yestaday becawse yoh moddas and faddas did not want you. They hate you. The wished dat you weh nevah born. Right now, ah having break fast with de enemy. De rebels! They have made you who you ah now. They have put jou in this place. Dat is why we have to kill every single wan of dem!
“Yeah!” Some children were already indoctrinated; Jedi mind tricks.

“My souljahs,” he laughed, “I am Joseph. I am yoh mastah. I am yoh King. I am yo God! Togethah, we ah the arhmy Now line ahp!”

The boys lined up with the guns still gripped. Army men walked into the private place. Kwame felt qualm slither up his spine. His stomach rumbled. They had guns and glasses. They blasted hip hop music from a tank nearby and rapped along. They smoked blunts and drank alcohol. The boys could hear wildfire of shots in the background. The war was still ongoing. They were living near death. Kwame fought his tears to hold them back. He lost.

“You see these men; these souljahs? They ah fightin foh jew! You will be like them,” said the cynical sinister.

A blindfolded man was thrown against the grey wall by Joseph’s men. Who’s father it was lingered in Kwame’s mind.

“You – step forward now!” Joseph yelled Mr. Sinister pointed to Kwame’s left.

It was a small boy. He reminded Kwame of his little brother.

“Shoot dis disgrace of a man, dis foolish rebel.” Joseph spoke casually.
The small boy closed his eyes.
“Shoot him or I will shoot you.”

Tears streamed down the face of the unknown boy. Kwame fixated his eyes on the unnerving scene.

“Now”!The boy was static.
“Do it souljah!” Joseph yelled.

The boy was static. Joseph aimed his gun at him. He put his gun down. He raised it again and shot the boy. The small boy was thrown 3 feet. He hit the ground like hail. His body lay inert on the sandy road. Blood was exiting his body erratically. The rest of the boys gazed. They didn’t breath.

“Now, it is yoh turn,” Joseph declared, looking at the rest of the living boys.

Saturday, November 3, 2007

[ Ruminate ]

"Now open wide and let me put the night inside ya" - CEE-LO

"If the rain stops, and everything's dry

She would cry,

just so I can drink the tears from her eye"


She was snortin' and her eyes had bags in 'it - NAS


I love pizza. It's the boyfriend I never had. It's the light to my dark mind. It's the ying to my yang. Call me crazy if you want. I don't care.

It's my favourite junk food. The grease drips into my ravenous mouth like a faucet. The BIG FAT crust clenches my teeth with fervor. The fake cheese gushes out savory sauce as I bite into it. The accepted colour of love. This taste lights my fire. Delicious.

When I'm sucked into the tel lie vision, I bemusedly eat the equivalent of one fridge full of food plus a cupboard multiplied by the drawers of condiments divided by the spices, subtracting salt. It sounds like a lot. But it's not. The number flies by like Superman - that's because it's not important.

Pizza. My most popular one is a basic pepperoni pizza.

I get so weak in the knees/
I can hardly breathe/
I lose all control/
I want it to stay with me...forever!

Pepperonis taste like heaven. They excite my taste buds; jittery and jumpy. It's a packed playground in there. Saliva slithers to the sides of my mouth. It slips out sometimes too. I look like I just saw the sexiest man walk by when it does.

Pizza is so good. I'll love it forever. It can kill me slowly - once and once only. But it's still good.

Thursday, November 1, 2007

The T R A V E L L I N G SKY . . .

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The sunless sullen sky,
grasping its many eyes of wonder
glistening, gleaming, and glowing
when the hands of time
slowly, near each other for a touch of darkness
A tainted picture, travelling west,
to the sundry scenes of the earth, chasing the daylight
Clouds, cluttered with grey nothings
like the hearts of the heinous.
Silence walks in circles,
The wind howls with the wolves of the wild
The sky,
a marvel in the mind.

Wednesday, October 31, 2007

Eckcentrick Coolness

Weird, quirky, uncanny, outlandish, odd and peculiar.

That's how I like my world.

[S t r a n g e] X.


Lovers stare, driftin' off into another world
From their eyes, this boy and that girl
Share a depth from the soul
Like the ocean...

Night falls, the moon meets the sky
The ocean swirls in circles around
Holdin' hands, givin' love a chance,
Share a kiss, and from there...Romance

Drownin' in eachother's love they are,
Like the depths of the ocean
Walk along the sides of the shore
Off into their f a n t a s y.

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Check it owt.

Smooth pleasure

Charming sweet chaos
full flavoured and frothy fun
Endless taste that fits.

The Naked Truth

Unscramble the voice

Eradicate pure poison
BOOM! Take it all off..

Peresopolis Obfuscation (Pg 24-25)

I double twofold two times dare you to figure out what's going on here...
So, he was frequently sent to an oubliette. Sometimes, they installed him in a cubicle filled with the inorganic mineral with 2 hydrogen and 1 oxygen for more than 3600 seconds. I remember when I was a small homosapien with two X chromosomes...
Everytime there was a buffet on the portal, I thought they were advancing to cart off my begetter to gaol.
And the negative reciprocal of -1 times out of the negative reciprocal of -1/2 it was veracious.
  1. "Greetings, is the human who carried you for nine months here?"
    "Negative! Why?"
  2. "Is your begetter home?"

The human with 2 X chromosomes that gave me half her genes went with me to sojourn him.
"Daddy, can I ride on your spine?"
"Terminate it, he is enervated."
"Of course you can."
"Giddiyap! Giddiyap!"

The impecunious man. The dungeon had dismantled his soundness. He had various conditions characterized by inflammation or pain in muscles, joints, or fibrous tissues. All his sparkle he was in throes.
"Come on. That juncture is bygone. Do you want to play Monopoly?"
"I want to take a douche."
"We can hanker after your bath if you want to."
"No! I want to take a really stretched bath.

That night, I loitered a protracted season in the bath. I wanted to be cognizant of what it felt like to be in a cell bung up with H20.
My vertabrate forelimbs, a grasping organs, were corrugated when I came out, like grandpa's.

A TOUCH OF HUMOUR -20 minutes of Hilarity-

VOTING 2007 101

You will be competing with each Canadian citizen in Ontario in a competition called:

Here's how it works:

Each citizen will recieve a ballot with the names of the threen men who have the most maroon mothers in their commercials - Dalton McGuinty, John Tory, and Howard Hampton. The Green Party leader was kicked out because he didn't have enough commercials...or his TTC ID.
On the ballot, there is a box beside each candidate's name. You will check off the box beside the person who you want stealing your money. Here is a brief description of each person:

  • Dalton McGuinty AKA Shit on a promise -- He's a fun loving golfer who always keeps closed ears for the people (it's a condition). He says he won't spend your money on health-care, but on things the really care about...like Halo 3 and autism. He's not making any promises he can keep. He promises.
  • John Tory AKA Smack a Catholic -- A faithful Catholic is who he compares himself to - someone who hates aethiests and public schools. But that changed 5 minutes ago, faster than tax prices. He won't spend your money too much. He'll keep the pocket change for the TTC.
  • Howard Hampton AKA That Guy -- He just robbed me.

On the other side of the ballot is a list of the things you want your money spent on:
(in no paticular order*)

Halo 3
Watering plants
Candy etc.

The citizen who loses more money(from the leader they vote for) than Toronto wins!

And remember:
Money is like healthcare - you pay for it!
- Dalton McGuinty

My Very First Camera Shots

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Testin Testin...
Click Click, I enter the world
Open my camera lens,
See an unknown holdin me in her hands [Click]
A boy approachin me with a man[Click]
Me, developing the photos in my laboratory
And waitin for what this "World" has in store for me..
[Click] Ceiling. Clouds. Colours. Clutter.
My moment of clarity..
The unknown becomes familiar to me
[Click] Colourless squares become
my best nightmare,
The red building, becomes my sanctuary, [Click]
5 fingers plus a palm are my love and liking[Click]
Sounds are my mystery...
Directing my camera to
different positions
In fast motion,I stop...keep those circles
On the black box on a black surface
Depicting pictures of
tall figures,
Similar to that woman I saw back at that tall building..
I let those short curls fall,
and I saw blackness no exit..nothing at all.
[click]Silence..I felt a gust of wind upwards, surrounding my figure
That same woman holding me, fleshy folds on her face moving,
Triggered the round shapes on the side of my face [click]
I couldn't understand what she was saying.
I watched her turn the round shape, moving a sharp edged 4 sided shape,[click]
And move her long support, one in front of the other as if to escape
I escaped the 4 walls, but Im entering something new,
A movie.. A whole new picture..[click]

Monday, September 24, 2007

Jagged Edge

I scream for the dying pain of living, while she smiles a devilish smile. She’s stretching me like elastic bands. My body is tearing, shredding, slashing away from me. Her vicious eyes are devouring mine with crimson hate, grinding their flesh and color. I feel my silky skin turn jagged with spikes of evil. My bones are crumbling and crushing. My feet are shattering and smashing with the ground beneath me. Pieces of me tear away; evanescing into the night sky, like the whistling wind. Her footsteps disappear with my soul. Slowly, I’m mutating into the color of death. Time’s up. I can’t stop it. I can’t control it. It’s coming. It’s here. I’m leaving my peace for war.

Rough Draft -- Comment -- Tell me what you think!

Sunday, September 16, 2007


cautioninfrench & roflyourwaffles

While killing time at a fashion show before his mission at the White House, The Russian man wanders off behind the scenes and starts chatting up one of the models (Catholic mother). Unable to control himself, he spills the beans to the model who, knowing her catholic duty, calls the police.

“911, what is your emergency?”
“I’m calling to report a Russian…”
A short boy, resembling a toddler crawled onto the table, reached with his dumpy hands, and put the phone down for her.
“Vyu can’t dzoo zat, zis not a goud idea,” the toddler whispers with the voice of a 47 year old.
“Why is your voice so…manly? What a little miracle you are. Oh Jesus. Oh Jesus Jesus Jesus…
She does the sign of the cross with her skinny fingers. Jesus.
“It is my rightful duty, as a regular church attendee to do this. It is God’s orders,” she explains in a monotone voice.
“Zi should tell zyu sthat I’m an undurcover 15 year old…and zyour babies’ faaja;” he declares like he was Darth Vadar, “All six zof zem.”
With a puzzled face she utters the words: “No. You are not. Not my six miracles from the Lord Jesus Christ. I do not remember doing you,” she exclaims…with boredom. “The Lord would punish me.”
She falls onto her boney knees, almost breaking them, and goes into prayer with her palms facing the Lord’s home: “I believe in God, the Father Almighty, the Creator of Heaven and Earth and in Jesus Christ, His only Son, our Lord who…”
“Zjot it. Zyu Amerdicans zounds like my dog, Lazzie,” he yells. “And by zee way, we did it in zee back…of the church.”
The skinny woman gasps.
“My muhzer back in Raasha zays zat prayer every time she zees me. I always vwondered vwhy,” he says with a confused look on his face.
“But zat iz not nwhy I am here,” he states boldly while glancing at his watch. 3 pm.
“In half an hour, Jeorge Daab-ah-zuu Bush zis holding a fourz of July party at zee Vwhite House. It iz my duty to explode out of zee cake…naked. Zit iz a gift from Raasha. It meanz ‘we hate zyou’. I’m going to be…aztrippar. I need zyour help. Jow me how to walk zee runway.

Written by out-her-space-13 & mindofteenager

Saturday, September 15, 2007



The trees are naked

coloured leaves sail with the

red, orange, gold, brown.

My Muse.

"That's probably why I was into books so much. I hated coming home." - Truth

Friday, September 14, 2007

Personal Pieces.

My brain blew a fuse like shoes on a landmine
I exploded into the sky; a million pieces
drifting from side to side like long case clocks
It’ll make you stop like bike shocks
I was so angry that they didn’t understand me
Fathom my blues, greens, and yellows like family
One person blamed me, pointing peter pointer fingers
Abusing my mind with cutting edge words like sinner
I went without dinner that night
I just stayed in my room
four walls shaded black with no shadows looming or light
Boarded up windows, a prisoner of my mentality
I fought with myself…the guilt lingered inside of me
I thought to myself, man why would she do this?
Intentions so cruel like Sebastian and the new kid
I cried tears lucid, my heart pierced as my ears
This is nothing new,
My soul’s been wandering for years.

I’m on the receiving end of ill will, when I’d look into her eyes
A vibe so intense that it almost took my life
I send it back with a receipt, ‘cause I feel the same way
The connection was never good,
internet bills were never paid.
I’d punish myself, when I step outside the inner circle
and think they’d be better off without me lurking.
I even scrutinize all the matter of the atoms
Such a misfit I am, like Urkel.
The weight on my shoulders like a middle-class worker
Weighs more than 3 times the weight of mother earth, and
It’s funny, the brawls between us led to my ripped shirt.

Pieces of me, finally fall to the floor
She’s happy; she doesn’t have to stress anymore.

AWKwards WAWKing

I almost got hit by a car while running for the bus.
The red hand was flashing on and off. I knew I had to pick up my sibling so I couldn’t be late. Technically, it wasn’t red light yet, so I thought that I could make it.
Then I turned to my left and saw a car coming towards me fast. Tires screeching and vroom vrooms danced through my ears. My eyes and mouth widened for a split second and I dodged it very quickly, backpack on my back and book and water bottle in hand. Stupid motherfucker didn’t see me. I have the right of way.

“You stupid bitch!”

That’s all that I heard…and it stayed there – only for a few seconds though. That careless driver must have thought I cared what he said the same way he doesn’t care the way he drives. I didn’t care for his words…only that I was on the bus. Almost being hit by a car didn’t faze me for some reason. It happened…and then I moved into the future. I should’ve been scared out of my mind right? I should’ve been crying and complaining like a tween who wants a celly.
Maybe it was that I didn’t believe that I would get hit. Me? No way, you know?
Maybe I was just in the zone…only thinking about what time I would arrive at my sibling’s school. I hate being late.
Aside from the episode, I’m still wondering why I reacted the way I did.
This isn’t the first time I’ve reacted oddly to a bad situation. I find myself smiling or just pokerfaced with a nonchalant attitude when challenges, personal or not, come my way.
I don’t know…
Maybe I was just meant to be different.

Thursday, September 13, 2007

-profile- using slang/jargon/accent creatively

Profile A Profile B

PERSONALITY TYPE: University student PERSONALITY TYPE: Vegetarian
Rebellious Just graduated
Smoker Musically illiterate
Single Quiet
Guitarist Funny

TIME/PLACE/PERIOD: Downtown Toronto; December 4th, 2006: Music Store

SITUATION: These two people are in the same section of the store. They notice each other.

M: (soft spoken) What a crux, eh? (nervous laugh) It's like looking for girls here in Downtown Toronto, ha ha...
F: (rolls eyes in disgust) Why I always gotta fined tha stupid mothafuckas who thank they funny? You thank you funny?
M: Damn. Only 21 more days till Christmas left. Tomorrow will be 20. Calm down. A crux you are. What music are you looking for?
F: Well, since ya askin'...
I'm lukin' fo this dope ass CD wit wicked instrumentation and melodies, naw mean? Tha lurics and beetz are craaayzee! I just don't rememba the artist. I only know how da CD cover be lookin' like.
M: Right. All of that is great. I'm just browsing for any music...that...has singing.
F: What? Datz it? I need a fuckin' ciggy right now...
You might as well be lookin in da what-da-fuck section of this sto' naw mean?
M: (Looks at guitar on her back) You play the guitar?

F: Would I be curryin' it if ah didn't? Straight up sloppy dawg...
M: Sloppy?
F: Yes foo! Yu deaf? Stoopid? Choose wun.
M: I'll take deaf for 200.
F: Ah shit, I needz ma ciggy.
M: I needs my vegetables.
F: Dang, yu wun uh dem peepuls that eat like carruts and grass and shit righ?
M: Vegetarian. They're called vegetarians
F: Whateva. Well, ah gotta get to ma class. You know how it is, big things poppin'.
M: Right.

Wednesday, September 12, 2007

Bus Stops Anonymous

Don't ask me about the title.
Subway Day

The subway. Clean windows, dirty seats - moving pictures and still images.
I haven't been on it in a while, so I don't even know the stops well. I was constantly looking at the map like a crazy person - my eyes widened and my mouth open, staring into space like I'm retarded (no offense). It was hard for me to see though; sitting down and looking up at a whole bunch of coloured and colourless heads of hair.
So...I got bored. I had no music on me, games, that new technology shit...nothing. I decided to just look at people's faces and examine them like a coroner does with dead bodies. Like some girls, I just pointed out misperfections.
Too skinny. Her nose is too long. His hair looks like it has lice. That dude really needs to get his teeth fixed. Ugly this, ugly that....
It's so easy to point out the things wrong with people...when you're not telling them about it.
So...I'm still bored. So I'm lookin' straight ahead...watching the scenary go by like a slowed down bullet. Trees look like scribbles of green and lines of brown, and the clouds look like a mix of white and blue. A biracial person who doesn't exist.
This blonde-haired, long nosed, big footed, freckle faced lady (I told you it was easy) was staring at me. I know I'm gorgeous, but damn...do I have a car on my face? Jeez...
I find that shit so rude you know? When people are just watching you like you owe them something. Or as if you're supposed to give them something. That is just not cool. Shut up and colour! Bazootie.
Finally, she looks over to the ad for covergirl. Good...because she needs some of that shit on her face...Bitch...ok I don't mean that but it just came out. I have a swearing problem I'm recovering from so...bear with me.
My stop comes and I'm pushing my way through this crayola box of colours to get myself off the subway. I've got to meet someone here so that we can go to an appointment.
Man I hate waiting long...it sucks. I can be impatient at times...and this time, is the time.
I was over at the stairs, staring down like I was about to jump. Would be cool if I couldn't bust my ass. I was really lookin' out for the people I was waiting for.
I swear man, I waited for like...30 minutes. And then finally she comes. She explained herself and what not, we talked a bit, and we still waited. Why? Because I had to wait for my siblings. Goooooosh. Yup, trying not to say the Lord's name in vain.
They come waaaaaaay later and then we take the bus from there.

Oh there's more...but it's not important.

Tuesday, September 11, 2007


Ah, finally! The family barbeque is here. I was growing shack-wacky for a minute, mang. Staying inside all the time with nothing to do is just not my thing. My family is…diverse, if you will. You’ve got your spangers, those “I have money but I’ll ask you for some anyway” folks, the shady and sheisty but pleasant family segotias, the happy-clappy ho…stesses with big bazooties, and the never ending number of nuff nuffs who act with bozocity and need to learn how to shut up and colour! They’re always mean-muggin’ someone, especially if they don’t get their fukubukuros at New Years. Ungrateful motherfuckers always want to be surprised with gifts. Then you’ve got me, the barbeque stopper who’s baaaaalllin all the time with maaaad cheddar and hates when religious MSN users, like those amongst my family, say Laugh My Ass Off outloud…like that shit’s funny.

Monday, September 10, 2007

Canucks, those CRA-ZED bastards..

Yoooo guy like, why you stealin' maad cheddar from me?


what's really good?

Stream of Conciousness

"Hello? Hello!"
"Who is it?' Christiansen asks, but I hardly hear him.
"Hello? Hello! I'm yelling. It isn't that the connection is bad. It's crystal clear, there's no static at all. But no one's there, just silence.
"Sir, who is it?" Christiansen bleats, but I shove my hand toward the cop to shut him up. I don't hand up because I realize it's not quite silence I'm hearing. It's breathing. Someone's breathing.
"Who is this?" I ask, trying to control my voice. "Who is it?"
And then a Roman candle of relief explodes in my chest as Kevin's voice flutters into my ear, tremulous and tentative:

Continued by moi:
"Kevin? Kevin! Kevin, say something!"
"Hello? Hello!"
But he's gone. No more breathing. The pulsing sound of the phone is the onlt sound traveling through my ears. I felt obliged to keep the phone to my ear, hoping Kevin's voice gets in the way of the phone's humdrum voice.
"Sir, who was it? Who called you?"
"Shut up!" I said out of frustration.
I cried a brook of tears. They slithered down my face like a snake preparing for an attack. I felt nothing though. I glanced down at my chest and saw only my skin glistening with tears and my shirt turning darker shades of grey.
"How could I have let them out of my sight?" I said to myself, disappearing into my thoughts.
I snapped out of it and took a glimpse of Christiansen. His mouth moving, but only a defeaning silence let loose.