SUPERCOOL

> >>À KIND OF TRAP, TRIPPED! > >>Beneath the A-bomb-blasting sun---- > >>Flowers so precious, > >>For they are the flags of God. > >>And where do I stand with God? > >>I race to escape His displeasure. > >>Prostrated on a tile floor-- > >>Marching to the corner store > >>Dressed to the nines. > >>I was a punk, > >>I am a mod > >>Living to save the ravers. > >>If I ever stop I fall into my grave. > >>Easy! > >>I can't tell, > >>Told until loveless > >>All over Supertown > >>Nothingness in the middle of everything. > >>Everywhere. All the time. > >>This is not a secret. > >>This is obvious to everyone. > >>A living moralty play all day, > >>All my life. > >>So I breathe, > >>I'm real, I'm real, > >>I love my life. > >>On earth looking at stars. > >>On drugs looking at stars. > >>We are starlets. > >>Thanks, thank you, I'm grateful. [2001]

SPORTY SPICE IS YOUR ONLY FRIEND!

I know it's not wrong that she only feels comfortable when everything---everything---is wrecked, but see, you see, Our Sporty Spice is pretty fukkin' vulnerable tonight. Yes, she's even asking God why He has to be this way, and yes, she knows the answer already, the only answer even possible: The Usual Nothing.

She asks anyway, maybe pretends that she has at last got the attention of Someone who never paid attention to Us before ("God in Three Persons, trapped!" she might exclaim, only if.)

Now, in a backwater, from the furthest reaches, out of East of Nowhere, way outside, here comes the Umpteenth Anti-Christ, and now Sporty rings out a worldwide alarm, no one nowhere does not know and all us fux pay no attention. In this New Now, it's left to Our Sporty Spice, she saves Western Civilization (which she worse than despises) again, and Now, most likely, she's horribly damaged in the effort, and sadly, Post-War, these specific symptoms, her Fuckin' War Injuries soon become The World-Wide New Emblems of Occidental Female Sexuality.

Sporty sells Stupid Sad Sex to YOU for decades and--for then, for now, for always ever----Look Around----SS has without killing one worthless Alpha Primate-Image-of-Highfather-King-Christ-Holy-Ghost AKA the Anti-Devils Kill Squad, she has from yesterday, until today, and going forward from here toward what? The Stupid Sick High-Hilarity Fact of all of this is that, you might as well face it, chum, Our Sporty Spice has without any effort at all taken over almost all of this in every way Wrong and Worse-than-Worthless So-Called "Spaceship Earth." [Please Kill Me!]

And for then, for now, and always and ever...witness the True Last Collapse of the West...certainly this is...finally...at last [!]...most truly...Sporty Spice World!

Get bent, ya Flowerpots!

NOTEBOOK EXPERIMENT

YOUR ANSWER! FROM AN EMPTY SKULL IN A DESERTED AUDITORIUM
In this atheistic foxhole at the Siege of Babylon, of cigarette-machine revivalists, all over Home-Front Supertown----Dogfaces compare wrist-scars and arrest records while the world-champion worst-ever stand-up sit-down wake-up fall-asleep comic ever drowned at sea, devoured by sharks. Thank God.

Under surveillance for suspected crimes against humanity, I prance, flit, queen my way through deathcamp-sweet-deathcamp. Pop an escalator and we're all smiles for the executioner, pop a decelerator and look out world! We're avenging ageless all-agers striking hyper-dramatic freeze-tag-like, action-figure poses.

A Mighty Fortress is Our Hysterical Wretch.

SHAM 'PIOUS' POEM

>>>>FEELING KIND OF FUNEREAL
>>>>Me, ordinary axe-murderer.
>>>>I must enjoy a rocknroll atmosphere. I love to love ya baby love to whatever oh baby yeah.
>>>>Leaving Cloud-Cuckoo-Land, destination La-La Land. I see it all.
>>>>As long as it's hallucination, man, I've seen it all. I'm your hip priest.
>>>>Jesus is cool! Smoke dope in church! Maybe a mustache would help.
>>>>Maybe Fu Manchu-style would ensure street-level credibility.
>>>>This Mad Dog 20/20 is the Blood of Christ.
>>>>This Little Debbie Snack Cake is the Body of Christ.
>>>>The Sign of the Cross----Our "X" on a Mystery Contract----
>>>>Through a looking-glass, darkly.

DRINKING THE KOOL-AID by Cleophus Beasley

Jim Jones Party
Current mood: chipper
Category: Religion and Philosophy

Several friends of mine and I actually did this in the early Summer 1991...

Items needed fer a Jim Jones Party:

1. Several packets of grape Kool-Aid
2. Water soluble benzodiazapine tranquilizers (We used Ativan), crushed
3. Sugar
4. Punchbowl
5. Dixie Cups
6. Ladle (Optional)
7. One copy of "Guyana Tragedy" (Ours was a VHS tape)
8. Space on the floor to lay down on
9. TV
10. VCR (To play the video)

On a kitchen counter, in a punchbowl, combine all of the grape Kool-Aid mix with sugar (To taste), crushed up Ativans, and the appropriate amount of water. Stir. Arrange the Dixie Cups on the kitchen counter in neat rows. Pour the Kool-Aid into the Dixie Cups, using the ladle, until gone. Fast forward the movie towards the end, to the mass suicide part, then hit "play". Have guests drink the Kool-Aid while watching the movie. Once the Kool-Aid kicks in, enthusiastically urge party patrons to lay down on the floor. Fer added shock effect, arrange fer other people to come over to the party later, after everyone is passed out on the floor, to make the "discovery"!

THE CRESCENDO OF DOOM

SPORTY SPICE: "I'LL CURSE THE KING" "I'LL RAIL AT ALL HIS SERVANTS" PUBLIC SHUDDERS; FBI CALLED IN; ACLU RALLIES TO SPORTY'S DEFENSE    

Hi! I am Cancer! I am Plague! I am epidemic! Bjork said, "If you don't stop complaining/You'll face an army of me" Well, so far we're a corps, three divisions, SS/US Corps and after assembly tomorrow with our allies LOS ANGELES, ASTOUNDING/ANALOG, WORLDS OF IF, DARK DECEMBER, VAMPIRELLA, X-MEN, DOOM PATROL TEEN TITANS, et. al. it looks like you will face an army group of me. Call us: ARMY GROUP SENSELESS. Ciao! --S.S. 9/16/2001

AGAINST THE TOWN/SEVENTY-TWO HOURS CRUSADE

"So I've temporarily been condemned to FLESH and in Midwest United States no less----yes, it looks like a time to find knives and ammo and random objects of our affection but this is the Two Thousands, we do acknowledge that fact, so I, Sporty Spice, hereby decree a modified Kill-Spree where *sigh* NO ONE IS KILLED....

"So, so Posh Spice is SO disappeared (Scary won't return calls and Ginger's busy with United Nations. Baby is irrelevant.) Posh is just GONE and she was the best of us five!" [Don't even dare to demur! Sporty is talking about HER MAYBE-DEAD GIRLFRIEND!]

"In a random city, my first objective is the Kids and I will find a way to 'Win', if not with a Rockstar Girl, then we commence a Whispering Campaign, we can't miss! 'Your parents are wrong about everything! Pay NO mind to the Sick Sad Creeps!'

"And there're Pretty Girls everywhere you look, follow them and soon you'll find the Simulacrum of Posh Spice...she could be Twelve or Forty, whatevs--spend Real and Intense Time with the New Posh, brainwash her with the TRUTH and when that's over walk away, walk hundreds of miles away----the horrifying worthless town is changed for the better, I, Sporty, am maybe happier and Our Real Power is ever-spiraling UP...."