You friggin' assholes!
Thanks for leaving your
garbage all over the fucking
place!
How would you like me to crap on
your face? Huh? How would you like
it?
Sunday, May 14, 2006
Wednesday, May 10, 2006
New Reviews for the Hilton Hightower Book
Look at these reviews of the book. Reviews like this come in daily.
"I like to read this book while I'm taking a crap. The pages are of a very fine consistency for wiping my ass." -- Jason Edelman, Literary Review Union
"People like this Hightower fellow really have their dipstick in the oil of humanity. Now if someone just had a match." -- Dick K. Fellows, Chaos Poets Club
"If only this Hilton Hightower had important literary friends in high literary places, we might actually embrace him, or even see this terrible poetry published in the pages of Poetry." -- Maria Constance, Crimefighters and Killers International
"I like to read this book while I'm taking a crap. The pages are of a very fine consistency for wiping my ass." -- Jason Edelman, Literary Review Union
"People like this Hightower fellow really have their dipstick in the oil of humanity. Now if someone just had a match." -- Dick K. Fellows, Chaos Poets Club
"If only this Hilton Hightower had important literary friends in high literary places, we might actually embrace him, or even see this terrible poetry published in the pages of Poetry." -- Maria Constance, Crimefighters and Killers International
Everything
Everything
in this
goddamn
motherfucking
piece of shit
fucking world
sucks a fat
fucking dumbshit
goddamn
dick.
in this
goddamn
motherfucking
piece of shit
fucking world
sucks a fat
fucking dumbshit
goddamn
dick.
Monday, May 08, 2006
She, the Poor Boone Girl Was Returned, Unhurt; or On Frontier Slutitude
Daniel Boone's only job was to flush out a path
so the frontier colonists
could pass over.
He set out to slashswingslashswingslash
his way through thorny underbrush and tangled briers.
He was fittin' to hedge out the Warriors' Path
between Cumberland Gap to the banks of the bloody Ohio.
He took thirty big guns and mean sawtooth killers
with him to murder
any natives that stood up to halt the progress of MAN.
He had a mind to establish fortification wherever
in hell he liked.
This happy white man established himself on
the banks of the Kentucky.
Despite rumors of kidnap and capture,
his daughter (who was known to be a lethal combination of
loose hips and strong frontier spirit)
ran off with a gang of Shawonoes.
Several of her frontier lovers joined
Boone in pursuit of the girl and her
"captors."
John Floyd joined the crew, too, for he owed Boone
a certain debt, and he was a notorious ass-kisser.
After a several days journey, hunting and tracking
the natives and Jemima Boone,
Daniel stumbled on them,
(they being completely unaware)
killed them,
retrieved his daughter,
and returned her
to the lust-filled arms
of his frontier comrades.
so the frontier colonists
could pass over.
He set out to slashswingslashswingslash
his way through thorny underbrush and tangled briers.
He was fittin' to hedge out the Warriors' Path
between Cumberland Gap to the banks of the bloody Ohio.
He took thirty big guns and mean sawtooth killers
with him to murder
any natives that stood up to halt the progress of MAN.
He had a mind to establish fortification wherever
in hell he liked.
This happy white man established himself on
the banks of the Kentucky.
Despite rumors of kidnap and capture,
his daughter (who was known to be a lethal combination of
loose hips and strong frontier spirit)
ran off with a gang of Shawonoes.
Several of her frontier lovers joined
Boone in pursuit of the girl and her
"captors."
John Floyd joined the crew, too, for he owed Boone
a certain debt, and he was a notorious ass-kisser.
After a several days journey, hunting and tracking
the natives and Jemima Boone,
Daniel stumbled on them,
(they being completely unaware)
killed them,
retrieved his daughter,
and returned her
to the lust-filled arms
of his frontier comrades.
Saturday, May 06, 2006
You Little Hemophiliac, You
Little
Tsarevich Alexie Nikolaevich,
your disease
let Daddy in
the door.
He tore it open
and full bored the Romanovs
to their very funny
end.
Tsarevich Alexie Nikolaevich,
your disease
let Daddy in
the door.
He tore it open
and full bored the Romanovs
to their very funny
end.
Upon a 200th Anniversary, or How Poetry Sucks
Poets are all scum.
I've never met a poet that
didn't deserve to be dragged
into a hot street and scrambled
like an egg.
I've never met a poet that
didn't deserve to be dragged
into a hot street and scrambled
like an egg.
Friday, May 05, 2006
Nomenclature of Tzara, the Cut-Up Adversary of
I destroy the drawers of the brain and of
hell to heaven, restore the fecund wheel
and the imagination
of every individual.
Of a universal circus to objective
forces social organization: spread hand from
heaven to hell, my eyes from demoralization
wherever I go and cast my
hell to heaven, restore the fecund wheel
and the imagination
of every individual.
Of a universal circus to objective
forces social organization: spread hand from
heaven to hell, my eyes from demoralization
wherever I go and cast my
A Poem Written from the Perspective of the Mouth on a 63-Year-Old Woman Walking Around the Mall
By God,
I can eat a lot of
ice cream.
I'm a big fat mouth,
and ugly too.
I mean, look at this
shit. Have you ever
seen a mouth so fat
and nasty?
I will go at this ice cream
cone like this old broad's
never eaten before.
And trust me, ice cream's
not the only thing she
has me attack.
I also ravage her husband's
ears. That bastard's constantly
in need of a lesson,
a good what-for!
and I give it to 'im.
And those fuckin' kids.
They always need it, too.
I can eat a lot of
ice cream.
I'm a big fat mouth,
and ugly too.
I mean, look at this
shit. Have you ever
seen a mouth so fat
and nasty?
I will go at this ice cream
cone like this old broad's
never eaten before.
And trust me, ice cream's
not the only thing she
has me attack.
I also ravage her husband's
ears. That bastard's constantly
in need of a lesson,
a good what-for!
and I give it to 'im.
And those fuckin' kids.
They always need it, too.
A Monkey Urine Synopsis
Everyone wishes
he/she could be great.
But no one
is.
Everyone sucks.
Especially you.
Yes, you.
No one likes you.
he/she could be great.
But no one
is.
Everyone sucks.
Especially you.
Yes, you.
No one likes you.
Thursday, May 04, 2006
Fistfighting Dante
Let me tell you something about
Dante Alighieri.
The only thing divinely comedic
about that pansy
was his glass jaw.
I mean, what a pus.
The guy couldn't take a punch
to save his life.
Dante's Inferno, my ass.
Dante Alighieri.
The only thing divinely comedic
about that pansy
was his glass jaw.
I mean, what a pus.
The guy couldn't take a punch
to save his life.
Dante's Inferno, my ass.
Karma's Revenge
MFA students
all think they
discovered reckless
sexual behavior.
You punks deserve
every sexually transmitted
disease you get. It's karma's
way of paying you back for
writing all that horrible
crap.
all think they
discovered reckless
sexual behavior.
You punks deserve
every sexually transmitted
disease you get. It's karma's
way of paying you back for
writing all that horrible
crap.
Monday, May 01, 2006
Might Black as Night
Have I put it into your head?
. . . blood was on her mind,
she was hell-bent,
and quivering with fire
a nightmare portrait
fisticuffs
and empty emblazoned,
full rage
like a tire fire
instigated with motor oil
circle mind
black wisps
it was slit or kiss,
death or depth of
flavor
in madness and
rituals of remembering
prokaryotic assemblage.
A butterfly flits across the room.
Flit. Flit.
A butterfly flits across the room.
Flit. The dog leaps off the couch,
catches butterfly, knocks butterfly
down, traps butterfly, tears off
butterfly head, eats.
Where have you gone Steamy Nix?
And where will you go again,
and when?
and then, she was back up again,
pushing and biting
lashing and pumping
fist after fist into stump
of meat and biscuit,
a urinal cake of dilemma
washes over her heart,
as a fountain of desire
pushes her onward
over mountain night
and into desert morning
mourning the loss of
Johnny, Johnny Liver J
a stump of raw
and a pump of blaw
and he pushed himself over
snowy night and snowy dawn
of day,
with a mouthful of guts
steaming every smile
he gives,
a fist in the heart of his eyes
Can there be forgiveness
in the consumption of a liver,
such as this?
He smiles his steamy smile and
knows above all knows
that this is not so.
The liver is an organ of vengeance,
built of tissues of revenge,
assembled of cells that long ago forgot
the meaning of compassion.
You push me, Mr. Bank Manager, to force
my breath up close to yours,
and crumple your tie in my hands,
and issue this warning thus,
I've separated many men from the world
of the living, and I'm fixing to liberate
another if this deal doesn't go my way.
But I scoff, it's another day.
I roll over, the deep scar,
the impact of red hot sword fire
deep into my cage,
has already been repaired.
You know this is all true,
Mr. Silencio.
. . . blood was on her mind,
she was hell-bent,
and quivering with fire
a nightmare portrait
fisticuffs
and empty emblazoned,
full rage
like a tire fire
instigated with motor oil
circle mind
black wisps
it was slit or kiss,
death or depth of
flavor
in madness and
rituals of remembering
prokaryotic assemblage.
A butterfly flits across the room.
Flit. Flit.
A butterfly flits across the room.
Flit. The dog leaps off the couch,
catches butterfly, knocks butterfly
down, traps butterfly, tears off
butterfly head, eats.
Where have you gone Steamy Nix?
And where will you go again,
and when?
and then, she was back up again,
pushing and biting
lashing and pumping
fist after fist into stump
of meat and biscuit,
a urinal cake of dilemma
washes over her heart,
as a fountain of desire
pushes her onward
over mountain night
and into desert morning
mourning the loss of
Johnny, Johnny Liver J
a stump of raw
and a pump of blaw
and he pushed himself over
snowy night and snowy dawn
of day,
with a mouthful of guts
steaming every smile
he gives,
a fist in the heart of his eyes
Can there be forgiveness
in the consumption of a liver,
such as this?
He smiles his steamy smile and
knows above all knows
that this is not so.
The liver is an organ of vengeance,
built of tissues of revenge,
assembled of cells that long ago forgot
the meaning of compassion.
You push me, Mr. Bank Manager, to force
my breath up close to yours,
and crumple your tie in my hands,
and issue this warning thus,
I've separated many men from the world
of the living, and I'm fixing to liberate
another if this deal doesn't go my way.
But I scoff, it's another day.
I roll over, the deep scar,
the impact of red hot sword fire
deep into my cage,
has already been repaired.
You know this is all true,
Mr. Silencio.
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