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

got more soul

than a sock

with a hole.

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.