Back On The Home Front
Copyright © 2010 by Juventino Manzano. All rights reserved.
A Visceral Meld before the ecstasy w/the Mad Masturbator & the occasional and apt comment from the Slave Trader
Well I used to stand for something
now I’m on my hands and knees
traded in my god for this one
he signs his name with a capital G
Holding up a carnival side-show mirror to polite society, spitting in the face of moral authority right and left, porn’s persistence/resilience is a testament to the Other Capitalism: harsh, flagrant, unretouched by euphemism, seen in all its exuberant nihilism and reverse-cowgirl triple-penetration ass-to-mouth creampie vivacity. Contemporary hardcore finds its niche in the reciprocal dream and nightmare turns of “liberty on the march”-patriotic gape in lieu of gore…Howard Hampton
Slave trader smiles at News from the Front…
“I always knew the Americans would bring electricity back to Baghdad. I just never thought they’d be shooting it up my ass.”
Who am I kidding? I mean the sound the scene is all this played-out beaten ol’ mad witch broom zooming out and everywhere and nowhere and so what? And this music is taking me to the other side all right I mean I am flying at a nice pace with the notes of this Spacemen 3 record that Mike lent me and I wonder what drug he was on the first time he heard it… could have been the LSD or the crystal meth or the cocaine or the mushrooms or the weed — what could it have been? — and here I sit watching this shit and dissolving into the actual vinyl record that Mike had lent me… and I mean these guys were doing drugs and all that is so obvious and what the fuck are we doing anyway when we are not doing drugs? Yeah, so this shit, this infinite shit, same reaction every time no matter what high or time it is… tapping into that primitive brain baby and rocking that shit the fuck out warped and wounded wandering around in alliteration… so I was thinking that this is really good — the sound of confusion — that was the sound as I entered the third world pet shop named after a magical monkey. The sound was birds, fish, monkeys, lizards and what seemed Noah’s ark that we’d been looking for. And they charged admission later on after my visit or otherwise I would never have entered that hellish place I guess I did it ’cause I had an hour to proverbially kill and didn’t want to spend money and here I am waiting, right, so I go in there and it is wall-to-wall fish, well at the entrance is the pony petting zoo along with some chickens and a lizard or two in order to help violate all different species of not-men — and I walk past all this to where the aquariums end and the even more exotic pets are introduced like a new TV show. And there they are — man’s little cute cousin and these babies have diapers on and someone told me that in order to get these cute little bastards into that cage required the death of the parents, as they, like most human parents, would not give the newborn baby creatures up unless dead, so these parentless beings sat wearing diapers with these little hands that were just too human and one looks at me as the other one, lethargic, lies down by the water dish not looking so good and the other looks at me mutely and says nothing and I seem to feel that everything I ate today which was not much considering I had smoked like 10 cigarettes at the porno store and had eaten a Snicker’s while roaming the aisles waiting for the sperm to build back up, was coming back up the way it had come. So here I am feeling sick looking at the monkey’s hand and next door the iguana who looks doped out — his tail with a slight yellowish undertone to it — and smelling the monkey must not be cool and what the fuck am I doing here I was just eating some exo-skeletal wrapped little ball of energy when some fool snatched me up and dropped me into a bag and sold me to this monkey joint as per the sign and what the fuck don’t they know I am fucking old? They are young and this one is throwing up liquid that looks like baby snot lime green flaked with the shadow of something darker splatting on the floor and people start screaming and then regain their sense of propriety and they move on admiring the monkey “que padre” they say and move around the vomiting man like a shadow avoided for the sake of mom — like a crack, dig? And I am throwing this shit up I don’t even recognize and wondering how it got to be that way and when did I let something that would turn into that in my body. I shivered and glanced one last time at the monkey’s hand not wishing for anything and back out on the busy pedestrian mall I saw a fool with a baby leopard chained to a rock wearing a muzzle, wondering quite obviously and delicately what the fool commanding the rock would taste like….
Feeling like shit I drop by a downtown porn store and the clerk points out some running shit on my shirt like those eggs in that Dr. Seuss book and I don’t even flinch at my unkemptness I am looking for the new Mongolian Cluster Fuck Orgies number 17 and checking to find out the status of the Plaster Face which according to the website of Under the Concrete Productions was due out today or tomorrow I forget and I am anxious. There is bit of everything in MCFO #17 that I have heard about or read about but the most convincing voice of reason and respect had to have been Mike, who said, and I may misquote accidentally but never intentionally “grab your fucking lube, dude and blast the fuck off ’cause you are going to come like there is something waiting to receive you and you are propagating your own planet and blast this load to the point of no return, that is what the women say, but then again why would they say anything that has real bearing when they can confuse you with the dark hood of accusation and apathy.” And that is what Mike told me and I told Floyd and soon everyone knew that the yellow DVD indeed concealed about 20 sins most mortal. And lo and behold people who could seldom wake before 11 were crawling to the porno store to stock up before the Sunday porno ban (so called “blue laws” made it available only after 11 and with a ration cup and the bottle you had been issued) and I was lucky as well, as some other clerk calling for a mop, my clerk hurried me and I came out with more debit then I entered with.
Back at the box watching the box showing Splatter Face starting with the conversation of what I perceive to be good catholic girl gone bad and she is eating ass like the virgin had commanded her to and I could see the bible that Floyd had brought me in order to show me the Apocrypha and I turn up the volume on my wireless headphones which allows me full mobility as this activity can only be enjoyed to fully appreciate this like it is the most important, this god, not worrying.
The writer takes a big buzz break seeing what else there is to be said of this matter or is all a hyper inflated balloon that we have dressed up as boogies when in fact the boogie we see is only the reflection of our own shadow under the sun.
Reminds me of those Mexican comics that can defend themselves as morality tales but while they are writing and illustrating these morality tales we may as well make them as pornographic as possible to sedate the masses and imprint unto their brains their own self perpetuated enslavement… but who am I talking of this when am as enslaved as all the rest of the ones roaming the postindustrial landscape filled with know-it-all and professional scarecrows, clubbers living still in the glorious 80’s, punk rockers. All of it devoid of meaning all symbolism sucked dry by corporate masters who are always looking for the fastest ways to enslave us….
Slave Trader’s Poem
The Brutal Rape of Value
He grabbed her fucking hair and pushed her to the ground
Straddled her face and deposited what he had, where on
She withdrew her pink blind initial acceptance with a gasp
Waste shined on her hair and face, his thighs slick she did not notice
the weapon was no longer in the shape of a dick
a dollar sign fist said it all and she shined briefly
then went out slick unaccepting, inert.
At this point I would not deny anything… watched DemonLover again and watched masturbating as the boy typed in his father’s credit card number to insure the fate of our anti-heroine…. At this point I would not doubt anything and not question anything, everything is suspect…. Could be that hyper real TV mentality that has us fixated on our doom wondering how long we can push it. How long can it continue on without tossing us off…. One more monkey, one more car, one more horse-fucking internet starlet…. When did it all become so exposed??? The flood gates are open and there is nothing left to hold back anymore and we have our diversions and diversity — our equality in disparity and our so freedom-loving selves…. And All of us demanding the comfort that we can buy as time grows short and the end is nigh as they all love to say — we all get so excited about our labels and our judgments and we don’t know if we have any basis on which to stand since the universe itself is so amoral — and what do we do about all the existential questions? What about them? Are we to be sated only in the visual realm like fools shown gold apples that cannot be eaten and accepting them even when there is no other food available?
Slave Trader smiles at…
Iraq Vet Accused of Stabbing Wife 71 Times (ITALICS HIS)
Thu Feb 23, 8:51 AM ET
FORT LEWIS, Wash. – Army officials have recommended a court-martial for a Purple Heart recipient accused of stabbing his young wife 71 times with knives and a meat cleaver.
Spc. Brandon Bare, 19, of Wilkesboro, N.C., was charged with premeditated murder and indecent acts related to the mutilation of his wife’s remains. On Wednesday, Fort Lewis officials said post commander Lt. Gen. James Dubik agreed with an investigating officer and referred Bare’s case to a general court-martial.
Bare remains held in the post’s Regional Corrections Facility. No trial date has been set. If found guilty, he faces a maximum of life in prison.
Bare had returned to Fort Lewis from Iraq in April to recuperate from cuts and internal ear injuries in a grenade attack on his Stryker brigade unit in Mosul. He was there as a machine-gunner with the 1st Brigade, 25th Infantry Division.
His wife, Nabila Bare, 18, was killed July 12. “The murder was premeditated, deliberate and savage,” prosecutor Capt. Scott DiRocco said in January during Bare’s Article 32 hearing, similar to a preliminary hearing in civilian court. “He did not stop after he killed her.” STOP WHAT?
Bare’s lawyer said there was nothing to show the killing was planned. “What this looks like … is an act of rage, or some sort of other unexplainable act,” defense attorney Capt. Patrick O’Brien said.
Witnesses testified that Bare had enrolled in treatment programs for anger management and combat stress after his return from Iraq. He had said he was having trouble controlling his anger and didn’t like his wife going out and partying, said Michael Collins, a nurse and case manager at Madigan Army Medical Center.
A day before his wife was found dead in the couple’s kitchen, Bare told his rear detachment commander Capt. Mickey Traugutt that he was taking a new prescription that made it hard to get up and that he had missed a treatment.
SO much flesh… everywhere this conglomeration this franchise of identically functioning bodies all sweaty and stinky and wiped asses with just that touch of smell after a hard day of walking the mall looking at all the goodies and I went there to freak out cause I was feeling so far away from society I thought I would go to church…
… and there were hundreds of people looking at things and munching on snacks and carrying too much weight and consuming just breathing and the air was infinitely recycled conditioned shit that feels like it has much essence as flat soda and I stood there transfixed watching all the people thinking how they all wanted a sleek fast car, a DVD player, cell phone, iPod, computer, big screen TV, a big nice bed and no worries and someone to pick the hair out of the shower drain and how everyone wanted everything with the least amount of work that could be done to get it at the lowest price as though the earth is some sort of Santa Claus here to produce more fucking plastic bags and we know things are bad because no matter what you buy they want to give you a fucking plastic bag no matter what I mean I bought a fucking lighter and they were trying to bag the fucking thing… and anyway after wandering around the mall, including the obligatory visit to Spencer’s Gifts looking at funny-to-one-of-the-zombies-t-shirts and becoming thoroughly depressed at the pure fucking inaneness of it I went back to my pad sniffed poppers, drank, snorted, smoked and had 5 orgasms to some porno rentals and finally went to dark sleep.
Slave trader cackles in vague glee at…
“In the history of the world, the true test of a civilization is how well people treat the most vulnerable and most helpless in their society. The sponsors and supporters of this bill believe that abortion is wrong because unborn children are the most vulnerable and most helpless persons in our society. I agree with them,” Rounds said in the statement.
Fucked up again with the goddamn thing I mean who was to know that it would pop. Anyway recovery from that shouldn’t take too long. In the meanwhile received another order for the bootlegs and had already copied them and had finished the covers some time ago. The doll had burst at the god damned wrong time and ouch that had hurt… anyway someone had lent me something called Visceral Meld and I had watched it flipping channels between it and the news even though it hurt my eyes. Same old same old.