My obsession with human meat never ends----its texture, its nuance, the way it bends, folds, spindles and mutilates. Call it erotica, call it clinical, call it pathology, call it a disease, call it Asperger's. Call someone who gives a damn.
PUG HATES HIS NAKEDNESS
reviling the mirror perversion, mecury blasphemy, this stain, this ache, this blot on his soul. Pug is true to his stigma---chases those parked cars, bashes his fool nose in—pokes, heaves. Pug huffs and crawls,
humps cruel linoleum. Climbs, laughing, cursing his forsaken flab, his opaque, his fishwhite. Mounts porcelain face first, groans, retches---cascade of resentment and broken expectations. Puerile dream. Shuddering, Pug natters, ugly powdered hailstones, pelted with psychic pains, learns no lessons, hands over his head, sputters, rattles. Blessed Mess, Immaculate Decline.
Muscles grind, constrict and Pug bites at the strings of a liquid rainbow, vivid filth. Permanent stains in toilet, in sets color, decoration. Bitter bane, gastric walls of acrid hues...shit tube wells in revulsion, forever a graffiti salad. Pug heaves, pulls remnants of spew away from his flat, unrequited face---Pug pelts off-sterile white with his drudgery and existential bathroom woe. Throws darts at his own eyes—conjures thorns for your braincake.
Hitting the floor with a meaty pug thud, Pug whispers curses to his dull, limp pallor, throws hatred and disdain toward his genitalia dangling sorry---exercise in vile science Pug cools head on cold appliance---fever broken reverie, indulgence suicide. Pug hates full-on, jealousy smashes bugs in multitudes------
The notation on the back of “Pug Hates his Nakedness” says it was published in PSYCHOTRAIN. My association w/the Hyacinth House Gang was pretty incestuous and at one time I acted as an assistant editor (a role that mostly entailed running around trying to get the cheapest xerox jobs I could)---I may have popped up in PSYCHO, BROWNBAG PRESS or CROWBAIT REVIEW at one point or another....I'll trust my own notes. This also appeared on a spoken word tape I did with KEVIN HIBSHMAN around '93 or '94.....the piece really doesn't lend itself to Spoken Word, but I really didn't draw that kind of distinction back then and I'd read any damn thing live or on tape. Live and learn....