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Copyright 2004, K. W. Brown
----------------------- Experiments in Cut-Up That Lead to Some Kind of Sense Following the examples originated by Brion Gysin and William S. Burroughs and utilizing the power of the modern desktop computer. Please take note that these cut-ups are productions that began by jumbling up and then became the works you see today by writing connections and doing a kind of editing. They are therefore not true cut-ups in the sense of a jumble of words and phrases that only makes some sense from time to time. I have some of those, but they will be on a secondary page called Fall 2003 for PeteAnother Father or Mother singing lullabies ----------------------- But that bitch, always in the mind of permanent war-making, one night the wife buys herself a knife from three women standing against a possibly bloodstained rendition of an art nouveau poster: “Bubble bubble flay his schnubble... cut his prick, and schnack his glubble. Who comes to us tonight seeking an end to Axis Mundi?” “Vagina Monologue, Agente Provocateur.” Screeching sound of patriarchy being stabbed in the back! A man walking out of grocery store after participating in CONSUMPTION: All laws of peace are on hiatus. He has purchased an all plastic, petroleum based industrial wall sealant by which to attach a Dancing Pole in the basement for his Underground Strippers. All things become clear and powerful, all things in break down Love him when he has fixed Axis Mundi for his women to slip and slide around glubble-wand. By an entire process of elimination, a reverse appropriation of values sneaks around the door jam while He plays with himself. Beautiful Can Can beauties blanket dark evening with their hot bodies: “Buy this! Buy this! Consume my body-object!!!” Calloused toes rip blood vessels into heartache. Can Can. Can Can. Control him young lady put his schlong in a schling... rubbing their shaven legs in locker rooms, his mind was once Daniel, familiar, and then Daniel tries to push her skirt up and he is Dick. Dead flies, abundantly fruiting, smack against the deflowered wall, flying out of her sheath straight from Beelzebub’s asshole: “Do you like them? Do you?” Schlongisticus is covered in flies; maggots, spontaneously generating from eggs laid three days before the flies even existed, burst open and make their way to his piss slit seeking the center of his rotten self. “I like it... Yes! I like it... Don’t listen to me!” He slaps the beelzebub-cunted wench away, this is certainly the failings of evening fun. Now there is a job: He knows he must find out about the man who wrote the cancan... ...forward into infinity... Friends linked arm in arm. Hip to hip. “Woman! Suck me. Two women! Suck me, fuck me! A whole gift of myself to you. Schlong da schlong schlong schlong. “Give me that Good night ladies.” He looks up... from grocery store where he was buying apples, and affixant for Axis Mundi, shopkeeper is running into basement screaming. “Provocative women are talking up above the world tonight...” He hands Dick a DDT soaked condom to heal his maggot ridden cockus stupendous. Dripping maggots that turn to flies before they can hit the ground... flies with face of stripper that gave them birth without birthing. Grocer walks back with sincerity to the city and the streets of woman. He did not have what it took to take on the Vagina’s power, to be eaten with the maggots. No, he was always crying and hiding under tables, He will not even stare, not a one glassy-eyed waleye, will the shopkeeper send at a true goodnight lady. From the heart universe of selfdom, torrent tears cry a river to her legs drifting back out into red linens and sanitary napkins. “CONSUME ME!” Her neck hair rising terrified. “Your legs are your enemy! Higher, higher!!!” ...flwapp back to finitude... “I was watching friends make out in the kitchen... No, I was making friends watch out in the kitchen while I hid in the pantry, ‘Can you see me? Can you see me? Just look at me once, please. No don’t talk... quit looking at me you are too god damn obvious... wait, “Do you love me? Do you love me? Ohhhhhhhh! Do you love me? Sneak me out of this pantry, you vulcanized vagina, and I’ll fuck you little girl.” Make me watch out in kitchen with friends, neck hair rising terrified in images drifting through two dimensional space: clitoris absconditus, where is the clit? A giant centipedal raptor with 100 legs and talon clad wings flies up at me... “Schlong is wrong,” it screeches in the blood curdling language of the quiffe. His mind in a state of permanent war against provocative femme fatales, he smiles with the nuclear teeth of morning into infinite repetitions of squashing the clitorpede into submission... “Watch out for strangers... Watch the legs. Are you watching? Can Can! Can Can! Yes, you can: kick turn kick turn... asses in the air... You can’t see me here in the dance-pantry with all my can goods; you don’t know who I am as you bend over the stove and reach down into the oven. You like it most when you don't know my name. Just look at me once, please! Turn in shock horror to see pantry filled with Virginia Ham gone insane flying up and down destroying all can goods... KICK MOTHER FUCKER!!! KICK, MOTHER FUCKER! Hams kicking out, Legs kicking out into sounds: Daa da da da da daa da da da da da daa da da da da da daa DA DA DA DA DA DA DAA Legs kicking out into blanket dark evening sounds. Legs sliding glorious... Legs sliding glorious up and down in evening rum virgin islands. Beautiful Can Can beauties. Canned Ham, Canned Chicks, Canned Salmon... LEGS OF HAM, lines of women. Crying orgasm at Axis Mundi: Love my body, fuck my throat, my heart, my lungs, my spleen!î All legs kicking outwards around the Schlong that speaks for them, that calls them, that says they CAN CAN! From deep in pantry at basement door, “Look at me once, please, love all things in break down, break fast kitchen hiding parlor trick... provocative ladies not allowed... Out out damn frop!!! I love all things in break down heart universe but the Vagina is not thing but VOID. I fill the hole but love the things... Love me. Mind fades into star night carousel: I remember... yes, oh sweet leather cock ring bad boy... Momma with the belt swiping at his knees, music fades as piano strings CAN CAN thwumps and strumps like my nails on thigh, my piercings on nipples... hang me up into blanket dark evening sounds. Ohhhhhhhh!! Do you love me momma? Take your Schlong like you CAN CAN MA MA. Ohhhhhhhh!! Do you love me on the no-face cunt, my pink little freak is Sun Tzu with fervor for its old pantry: In here, sonny, we're tired. Please remember what you do with that fixed axis--lay it up and down with pretty rum shots all leveled out--CAN CAN leg ass, leg ass, leg leg, leg ass... ass projects forward into infinite erectile functioning: Remember my face forever! Rendition of an art nouveau poster crapping out the fructose flies for cosmic banana extending up down, in out anal cavity (aka DIRTY VOID): Respect your enemy!!! Dick Schlong yells in resentful relay pattern with his opponent ramming himself deep into the (w)hole before any more flies flit out, ripping apart sidewards. Axis mundi schlong image disappearing into salvia leaf, fluttered out in ass wide across the linoleum. Selfdom torrent tears lubricates a vending: CONSUME CONSUME!!! Sell the pussies, sell the holes, sell the fish tacos, sell the pornography, we’re making it to Vegas and Ann-Margaret-a-GoGo! Different vortex, same space. All things ripping apart sidewards. Image disappearing into space. Uterus in mailbag, two dimensional uterus. Birth spot of noiseless child: Womb is leaning backwards as inquisitive men interrogate her about her opinions concerning the current state of the war against schlong poetics: the Vagina Monologues, self-appreciative femme fatale and agent provocateur, takes a dim view of squirting opinions like any adolescent cock spewing a load after a morning hard-on rubs one too many times against cotton briefs in English class: poetics is the province of Schlong Soliloquy... I blow maggots from two dimensional fuck machine at him BASDds;sd jfawerjwr Ah! you see gentlemen: this woman has lost most of her personality. She sleeps like a crippled cow laying utterly on her face. Unfortunately she was not fucked nearly enough as a teenager. and now she believes herself to be the living embodiment of the femal sex organ. Her slutless background has given her a soft meditative scent in her hair and space-age Uterus mailbag, two dimensional slit birth spot of noiseless children. Our diagnosis: return to sender!!!” Spiked heels draft faces of horny young Schlong’s... Sun Tzu realizes that he is his cock, and his cock is rock music in a sunlight deaf dreaming hazy bitch of heartbreak if it does not get back into a hot, wet vaccuum. Living in the pantry cave becomes boring. Enough of mother’s hams kicking him all the time--must get out from beneath the pantry skirts where the linear nylons stacked on top of each other jealously wait for him to become his schlong and stop being a momma’s pussyboy. His waltz is clumsy but his rock is hard with a Scottish breath. Back at home, Mother Hams begin kicking him to bed. “I’m tired of this shit!” He puts out his cigarette under her salty ruffles. “Don’t touch me!” She screals, “No! Touch me... Don’t touch me! No! Touch me... Don’t touch me!” Up-and-down in evening rum-cum virgin islands, Schlong-Tzu envelops his momma’s hams in nylon prisons: “Consume momma! Take it, wear it, be mine like every girl will be in these velvet underpinnings.” Velvet legs rubbing soft muted against each other. “Hey baby!” While Donating an egg, I found out about the man who wrote the can-can with his erection as women, unfucked but wanting it so bad, stood leaning over in the pantry, women in pastel panties, posed this way and that for Schlong-Tzu... “KICK MOTHER FUCKER!!! KICK, MOTHERFUCKER!” Hams kicking out, legs kicking out into sounds: Daa da da da da daa da da da da da daa da da da da da daa DA DA DA DA DA DA DAA!!! “You got some perty gams. C’mon... I’ll fuck you with this dildo! I wanna watch you purr.” “You might not even recognize your clitoripede anymore. Don’t impede the flow.. let me go... LET ME GO! DA DA DA ...” Women in pastel panties, posed this way and that for Schlong-Tzu: the pen(is) music to the Art of Whore. ----------------------- Cut Up----------------------- ----------------------- Next or Last SectionGo on Cut-UP 2 (Under Construction) Go back to Table of Contents for POESIS |
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