Wicked Smile

August 16, 2011

The gray wired stem cell recedes as your infected fingers touch it.

Look at the first thing you hear and find the weak spot and torch it with your flame broiled tongue.

Lick it.

Tease me with your green-clouded carcass and my tight gray eyes loosen slightly enough to absorb your fantasy.

My fantasy.

A crowd gathers and gathers watching. Looking. Gazing.

At us. At you.

At me.

Your over qualified charms releases it’s grasp and backs off.

A clear candied sludge covers my smile. Your smile widens and you laugh wickedly. Wicked.

It’s my face. Whispering sweet nonsense. Mumbling my monstrous innocence. Crying for something I think you have.

I want.

Come here before you go. Sit on my jellyfish clammy lap and try not to fall off and run away.

From me.

Go now, dear lethargic lethal lover.

Go.


Suck My Poem (reprise pt1)

August 1, 2011

Sleepless in New Jersey. Catatonic.

 

Careless. Reckless in my mind. My mind.

 

Count my fingers to pass time.

 

Count sheep at 2 in the afternoon.

 

I’d count my failures but there’s too many.

 

I’m ok.

 

You’re ok.

 

Stuper dooper.

 

Hands wander over my belly into my tight shorts.

 

Quick tug to make sure it’s there.

 

Light a cigarette. Ha. Always light a cigarette.

 

Sleep 10 hours straight then go out then come back and take a 3 hour nap and woke up 5 pm yesterday.

 

No sleep yet. Almost. Sort of. Kind of. Ya know? I know

 

Oh . . . I know.

 

Doze. Wake. No focus. No nothing nada.

 

Try to eat. My stomach is bloated from the water and anti stress tea I drank to make up for the coffee and / / /

 

Ever contemplate death mr Goodpeoples? Not me. Well, not by my own hand.

 

Sex is a foreign country. Relationships are memories so far buried it’s like I’m reading someone else’s story.

 

Not hard to understand myself but I always ask why am I like this? I know why. Sometimes I just won’t tell myself.

 

27 trips to the bathroom. Or was it 30?

 

My best thinking is when I am in the bathroom or on my way to the bathroom or on way back from the bathroom.

 

Pay my rent so I can try and sleep. Waiting. Still waiting. Wabbling.

 

Bullets of words blast through my my my my   . . . .  and hit you softly.

 

A parade of sweat falls everywhere. . . anywhere. I’m burning.

 

Tired.

 

Until.

 

What?


T.N.T. Jackson : The Greatest in Blaxploitation Flicks

July 12, 2011

“Her name is Diana Jackson, but you can call her T.N.T. When T.N.T.’s brother is killed by ruthless drug dealers, the beautiful young karate expert goes to the most dangerous part of Chinatown to find the killer. In trouble with the law since she was 13, T.N.T. wants no help from the pigs; but she does befriend a Chinaman named Joe, whose impressive martial arts skills prove useful more than once. In her quest for the killer, she’ll meet the white drug lord, Sid; Elaine, his bitchy girlfriend; his suspicious Chinese assistant, Ming; and Charlie, his handsome black assistant with criminal ambitions of his own. Before her search is over, she’ll find herself making love to Charlie, trading insults with Elaine, and fighting criminals while nude and in the dark. Just call her T.N.T” – Internet Movie Data Base

 

 

 Blaxploitation movies. Blaxplotation is a film genre which emerged in the United States circa 1971. These exploitation films were made specifically for an urban, black audience. The word itself is a portmanteau of the words “black” and “exploitation”, and was coined in the early 1970s by the Los Angeles NAACP head, and ex-film publicist, Junius Griffin. Blaxploitation films were the first to feature soundtracks of funk and soul music and they featured a primarily black cast. Variety magazine credited Sweet Sweetback’s Baadasssss Song, released in 1971, with the invention of the blaxploitation genre while others argue that the Hollywood-financed film Shaft, also released in 1971, is closer to being a Blaxploitation piece; and thus is more likely to have begun the trend. – Wikipedia

 

Blaxploitation films were an off shoot of exploitation “B” movies that have been around for years. These were movies starring black people, made by black people and catered to a black audience. The themes and setting usually revolved around crime in the ghetto. Through the years the audience broadened to any race. Despite the b quality and sometimes bad acting these movies became cult classics and are still loved today.

 

The most popular of them were the one’s featuring black women. The more well known were the blaxploitation movies starring the gorgeous and talented Pam Grier. In my opinion the best Pam Grier movies were directed by Jack Hill like Foxy Brown and Coffy. They also featured cult icons like Sid Haig (House of a Thousand Corpses) and Antonio Fargas.

 

I recently went on a female blaxploitation binge like Get Christie Love starring Teresa Graves, Cleopatra Jones starring Tamara Dobson and TNT Jackson starring Playboy Playmate Jeanne Bell. TNT Jackson is by far one of the greatest movies of the sub genre.

 

First of all besides being a bad ass in general, TNT Jackson was a karate export and the movie takes place in China. Basically it’s a revenge movie. I love revenge movies especially women revenge movies. This is a sexy black karate expert badass woman revenge movie. I was hooked before I ever saw it years ago for the first time. She goes to China seeking the people that killed her brother. Action ensues from the beginning and keeps going until the end.

 

Jeanne (sometimes credited as Jeanie) Bell (born as Annie Lee Morgan) was the first Afro-American Playboy playmate in October 1969. Under the name of Jean Bell she even graced the centerfold (another first). She went on to enjoy a brief acting career, working on such films as Mean Streets directed by Martin Scorsese starring Robert De Niro and Harvey Keitel and The Klansman along side of Lee Marvin and Richard Burton. It was TNT Jackson that she did her best work in her fist and only leading role.

 

She was TNT Jackson. She showed what she was made of as an actress and a woman in this blaxploitation movie directed by Cirio H. Santiago. A great under rated find.

 

 

Jeanne Bell’s personal details-

 

Born          November 23, 1944 (age 66)

St. Louis, Missouri, U.S.

Measurements          Bust: 34″

Waist: 23″

Hips: 36″

Height          5 ft 4 in (1.63 m)

Weight          117 lb (53 kg; 8.4 st)

 

If you’ve never seen Jeanne or TNT Jackson google her and rent or buy the movie and have a great time. Yes it’s slightly campy and over the edge but so much fun.


Writing

July 9, 2011

Writing. I write even when I’m not writing. I have so many stories, ideas, blogs and books written in my head and a small portion of them are half or a quarter written on paper. Not paper. In Word documents. Unfinished thoughts, ideas, blogs, stories and novels. A writer writes all of the time. I used t write the way I thought and spoke. Now I speak and think the way I write. Sometimes my actual thoughts and spoken words use correct grammar and syntax more so than when I write.

 

Not everyone is a writer but everyone has a story worth writing. Everyone could be a writer. I believe everyone should write. Don’t be afraid. It’s just putting words in front of each other. Write what is on your mind. Write what happened. There are no rules. Some say that there are rules and a proper way to write. Blah.. Fuck grammar, syntax, spelling, punctuation and big words. If you can’t be creative then don’t. Just say it.

 

We all have live a rich life. Not always happy. Not always miserable but something worth writing about. Some of us struggle with day to day living and survival and it’s worth writing about. Some of us are happy and enjoy life with occasional struggles worth writing about. Right?

 

A lot of my friend send me poetry and prose that the usually keep to themselves and sometimes even hide away. These pieces of writings are some of the best I’ve ever read. I’ve published a few on my wordpress site and they even got more readers than I get. So much

 

Of all of the arts I’ve tried and even excelled at, writing is my favorite. Something about seeing what’s in my mind on paper or on a document or blog makes me happy and fulfilled no matter how bad I feel or what the topic is. I have this innate desire to share my thoughts and feelings as often as possible online and I enjoy positive and negative feedback. I am self-absorbed and like to be in charge. Writing is perfect for my ego. It satisfies my need for instant gratification. It’s one thing I can do without depending on other people. Complete control.

 

Whenever I get involved with projects whether it’s art, music or business partnerships I am the only one that has my heart in it and the others tend to fade out. They have their own dreams and lives to live. I can’t expect people to blindly follow my dreams and goals. So I write. I write. I write.

 

I may never be a best selling novelist or celebrated poet but I have people that read what I write. People like you. You must want to red what I have to say of you wouldn’t be reading this now. I guess there’s the partnership. There is also the completion of my writing. Once you read it my writing becomes more than just self indulgent self absorbed ramblings It is a complete work of art.

 

I thank you for that. I thank you for making me who I am today; A writer.


A POEM: Solutions & Survival

July 4, 2011

Back to the up all night and no sleep routine. It’s an old act I developed in high school or was it college? Not a stand-up comedy routine. Could be at this point because if I don’t laugh I’ll cry.

 

Cry. Soft whimpering cries. Loud screaming cries.

 

No dies. Not yet.

 

Tired wired eyes. I doze off then wake up. I wake up I doze off.

 

I tried to eat my worries last night and I couldn’t keep them down.

 

I’m hungry then I can’t eat. Can’t sleep. What can I do?

 

My body rejects my denial and forces me to think. Think. Think

 

I slept earlier yesterday after a panic attack. Anxiety attack. Anxiety went into cruise control and got into an accident with my insides and outsides. I was inside. Inside.

 

I slept yesterday. It was a dream. Not the sleep. It was dream to sleep. The day before I slept. Slept early. Awoke early.

 

Productive. Creative. Happy. Happy.

 

Today and last night and some other nights the pains in my face drove me to a painkiller. Kill the pain. Kill pain.

 

Kills pain. I can’t sleep. Can’t sleep. I dream of sleep. Dream sleep.

 

Remember the night owl I once was? I wanted to be? Proud to be?

No worries.

 

Worries. Problems. Dilemmas. Solutions.

Solutions.  Think. Think man, think. A Solution. Solutions.

 

Solution? Not there yet. Not sure I’m anywhere yet. Had one or two or three or more. Solutions. Each solution is kicked out of the way by a bigger worry. Bigger problem. Bigger dilemma.

 

I cry. I laugh. I get outraged. I am sensitive. Sensitive artist. Bah.. Starving artist. Bah..

 

I go away for a minute. Two maybe three. Minutes. I am surrounded by love and sex and fantasies I make up as they float through my dreams.

 

I get home to an empty fridge and a coffee table cluttered with reminders of my worries. I scramble for solutions. I do what I can to solve the worries, problems and dilemmas.

 

Productive. Creative. Happy?

 

Not sure. Doubt. Hope. In between.

 

Go forward. Move ahead. Back to the taxi. Whip it.

 

Maybe I will. Whip it. Whip it good.

 

I win even If I lose.

I survive. Survive.

 


Live Book Reading from Yellow Socks Video

April 29, 2011

Now you can read it yourself. Just click the Yellow Socks cover pic.


The Fabulous Photography of Isabella Angelina

January 31, 2011

Isabella an extremely talented photographer. I wanted to share her work with you. I love the way she captures the personality or feeling of the subject and infuses her her own feelings of the money.

All rights reserved by Isabella Angelina

boys

girls

hallway

home

old.days

boots

piss

somebody


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