Monday, April 25, 2011

Cold Deaf Ears

  Every morning gunshots and rifle fire in the caballo del sur projects like bell toll. El jeffe wakes the kids up and the belligerence just spills out onto the streets.

Busing had led to mountian of racial tensions starting with the padre pajaro boys walking the three blocks down to the palmside ghetto, wearing black threads and chains on their jeans they woke up and paced five deep to the bus stop running Colombian immigrants to the police state P.S. 306.

These kids brought with them nothing but inbred brutality. The few mothers that came to watch their kids get on the bus, hoping for a future were helpless. One of the Pajaros took his quarter thick chain stolen from likely the back of a pickup truck and wrapped it around the neck of a pregnant colombian tore her frame to the ground and put the tip of his boot in her mouth, pulling the chain taught he stomped her skull into the pavement untill the jaw came unhinged, this only after her neck broke. One of the boys chased down a runner and stabbed her in the coroted artery, slicing her wind pipe and then stabbing her twice in the thigh.

The kids were all younger than eleven, but most had weapons, shanks, knives, and switchblades. But for every cut on one of the older pajaro boys it seemed another of them was broken. One pajaro held carpenter pants and his only weapon was a hammer, which he used in the cranial induction of blunt force trauma on one of the most courageous memeber of the zapatitos, so called for their social status given by the ones that wear shoes. Bodies were left at the stop and all 15 children had been beaten to death or stabbed and left bleeding, they did manage to kill the man with the hammer with a lucky shiv through the genitals.

The Zorillo Zapatos, the class acts of the young colombian cartels were all taking time to brush off their one suede or leather jacket before taking the grease to the hair. La pasión de la familia had the crew running at the start, the few elder members who had shots on the grounds took fire with semi-automatic pistols, trying not to hit the children. By this time los pajaros had hit the streets and were running up the alley to race 5 blocks to the nearest subway, but two zorillo brothers, Santiago and Gabriel had taken their fathers beaten pickup and army grade rifle with the gunner in back and took to the streets, they drove slow and shot all 4 dead as they ran away. Still the tragedy had taken roots, and this day would live forever in infamy. They pilfered the bodies for cards and money, and with the names and adresses of the hooligans, Santiago and Gabriel swore revenge.

Using the drivers licences they found the little abandoned projects not far from the bus stop and threw their choice cacophony of Molotov cocktails into the windows of the projects, taking open fire on the masses running out of the chaos slowly cutting down most everyone of them, with the marksman taking cover behind the shallow bed of the pickup and the driver keeping his head low, they were able to keep on rolling. This anarchy was the blood of corruption, with most all politicians hoping that the poor will just kill themselves off. Every minority knew this, and they knew life was only a deathwish, every struggle for power or even sanity would be met with cruel and brutal opposition, so they took it upon themselves to be this opposition. The two brothers took liberty to the pajaros, killing without regard to sex or age.  Most of the men of that sect had been drinking since dawn as if to fight of another day of unemployment, and with their once government owned projects burning the alcohol would seemingly once more turn into firewater. Never tequilla, but always with the petrol, crude if possible, these fires spread into conflagrations, and the towering apartment complexes stood as pyres, an effigy to the forgotten day 9/11. The poor were seen jumping from the balconies, and some newsmen even caught pictures. The two boys somehow made it back to protected turf where they locked down all sidewalks and roadways with derelict cars and rifle fire.

The boys were regarded as heroes, with photos taken and press ran, it was shit like this that made it into my hands every morning, somehow still supporting the presses, not worth my money, but someone who was kind enough to litter the paper in the basement of the apartments where we play Domino. Sadly it isn't ironic anymore that nobody reads, most people i know dropped out of school and squat in the apartments, with what little money coming from welfare or supplies stolen from the red cross. My project was a majority black one and they had simply been out gunned and out manned by the infestation that was crawling around over and under the annals of the breadth of the decrepit cradle of civilization. We still all had our guns and some of the gangbangers flew colors, but for what it's worth, they held no power over anything besides a few ramshackle crack dens made of abandoned tin roofing and re-purposed welding supplies putting up walls in alleys and bleeding those out who wanted in. Nobody really came into that society save the local de facto lord and denizen of powder who would drop a brick off at the front gate provided they had a briefcase hanging with locks on both the briefcase and the handle, of which both sides had the key, and with a two briefcase setup the man was able to come check and collect the briefcase and then bring a respective and relative amount of cocaine back into the den. Less and less every week it seemed, i still think it's amazing that the cartels still had value for paper money, but they did, and that was that, cash is cash.

  My family was really just a bunch of very dirty hookers who called me daddy because i let them sleep in my flat when it rained. I didn't care because i would loiter and congregate in the basement with Jethro and Cedric while we usually threw dice or played cards for foodstuffs and what little drugs we could find, usually upstate mid-grade marijuana and abuseable pharmaceuticals, the crown jewel being Codeine syrup with respects given to the benzos and amphetamines, and still less to the mixed bags of unknown substances; we never saw the heron bone down in the sewers.
    We called it that because it was always dripping, the foundation was crumbling, and the one light above the celling flickered constantly with the train running adjacent shaking the building every fifteen minutes. The mold made the walls look gangrenous, deep with silt and covered in filth, it looked as though the dutch had been enjoying themselves before we inherited this shithole. We had a table, and where there was once a place for washing machines we removed the broken ones and had a trough to collect the water, dirty as it may be it is still the only potable water we have since the city killed the sewer to the inner socialites, for irreverence to the system apparently. We still all got along fine, figured we had no chance of escaping the city, with unruly death paroling the city looking for stray ambling money and anyone who would be keen enough to pull a gun.

It was early, and the game was gin rummi, nobody had the balls to lose so we stood at each other in stale mate, bullshitting about what we were going to do that day. Most everyone making jokes about how they were going to fuck my women and i would retort with a joke about how their dick would fall off. We ran through the bets taking and losing untill everyone had gotten just about drunk enough after a fine sampling of some beet liquor made from fine sugar beets grown in the now useless public facilities of the adjacent metro station, as well as some other dry rations bled out by the facetious welfare system keeping all of the minorities crippled in poverty and perpetually unemployed. Amazingly the sewers were the real mecca of civilization now, and every so often a shipment of magic mushrooms would come up from the depths and today we stood staring at a quarter ounce of shrooms, a fifth of beetliquor, and enough food to eat for a week.With rationale all but gone, i offered to lose the game to keep the food enough to feed my hookers who really never made any money. Cedric and Jethro both agreed, one taking the mushrooms and the other the fifth, and with morning dole out dissipated we returned to our respective dwellings to make sense of the world.

I cook up grits for the women who are always hungry, and pour them some water taken up from the basement with some purple drink powder to keep their spirits high. They all look the same to me, my vision is dying, my hopes are dying, this is impossible to relinquish any sort of comfort without having to know that it will be ruthlessly taken from you any chance anyone has. I look at my women, most of them find comfort with me, and i find comfort knowing young women are less likely to be involved in brutal homicide while honestly taking up the position of the grandiose pimp. Only the young white one looks to her bag of pills she says she won off of a rich suburbanite for a quick fuck, and i tell her that mixbag is probably just tylenol and midol, maybe some antidepressants.

She didn't care and eats them anyways. I can't stand the sight of glassy eyed ungrateful hookers. At least she doesn't eat.

Wednesday, April 20, 2011

The Godfather

 Today was the day, All Saints Day,

 The man was going to make his speech in public, like Saint Marys day parade. Vidrio Banesqueo the all colorful public figure of the spanish news and also member of the infamous Santa Maria Heroina coup taking the drug cartels into the hands of a few young missionary who would smuggle the drugs into the states in bibles, the boards thick like rubber, the books made their way into the southern states, profits bought corruption within the central Mexican govenment and the seige took effect when they took to the tunnels to take kilos of powder undercover. All things they called were the mexican pharmacy. All cartels took that name, and the socialism covered the indifferent pill bottles of acetaminophen shipped in code holding number so illicit cocaine and morphine based substances. The children of poor farmers took to smuggling hashish, and the  topography of the mountian range near the arizona border led to ziplines capable of moving tens of hundreds of kilos into caves and caverns in the Arizona desert. These made their way across America through green carded refugees exiled to the desert lands. The border towns of LA broke out into riots as the gang war took over all ghettos priorities. Every race so poor as the only option was to take up arms against the insurgency. Infighting killed out most of the previously established American gangs, but the remaining blacks fight ceaselessly against the Mexicans near the border stealing escorts and killing immigrants. The suburbanites had connections with madmen who would negotiatie with the cartels exchanging amphetamines, ketamine and pcp, for the heron and  cocaine in question, this trade became know and the KAMP triad, the veterenary facilities corrupt into the ketamine market, the pharmacists and meth labs controlling the amphetamine and pcp, the heron coming from the asian smuggling rings. This coalition armed the youth and protected the warehouses like churches in france. Some youth had taken to impractical kamikazi style warfare aimed at the heads of traffic, some coups taking up to twenty lives to kill one made man, these were sporadic, and the kids took honor and homage to their families, most of them Italian mafioso hopefuls. The mexicans bred like rabbits and the natives had nowhere to run but natural economic holocaust, eventually bleeding out a new, independent mexican state taking confederacy in america, adopting the same guerilla tactics that were seen in Tijuana and other border towns.

Old "NAM vets took to mortars and collapsed many border tunnels while snipers took out drug runners while bikers stole vehiciles under cover. But the war was brutal. Those in the northern states watched while the distracted army of the US fought communism overseas, with nuclear missiles threatening all of the verdant arbor of Indian Eden. Up here, the war calmed down and the puerto ricans held everyone in a black market showdown will all the willing succumbing to death in the form of KAMP or violence, and with this status, the italians took over city politics to kill mindlessly every drug affiliate known to man with no brutality law saved from more and more exemption.
Today was the day for peace.

There was none. '

The godfather was shot in the head before the speech was made, the italians car bombed the projects and killed thousands of poor puerto rican immigrants, and with this, the disease had broken into little slice of hell. We live in Hells Kitchen, and a kitchen it is.

Sunday, April 17, 2011


 "BERETATATATATA" burstfire clips on the scene of my den, damn ho must ave got abducted else i can't find no reason to why they find us, denzien crack fiends take that Methamp to chase em on motor bikes, racin down murciellago boulevard brandish gatstraps automatic tag team killin the riders and the tires, she crashes deep hard into a dear tree, and the cripples can't move, Jaxo flips a roach in their gas tank and closes the cap to run for the 5 seconds it has before the car explodes, engine still running but sputtering. Robbed car only amounted 67 dollars and a few jippo jappo peices, dirty as hate, so they stay, they burn the paper in the pyre, and stare at beauty, dumbfounded. Ain't no police in unsanctioned zones, takes an hour for anyone to show up, and my bikers all ready back to the crib to start running. They do.

    By now it's about 3 a.m and i know Roxy is still workin and suzanne is probably sleepin in some motel, so i run back to the trap in the jag and pick my little girl up, tell her i got the man, and she's safe. When it's a game of pimps and ho's, every pimp knows never to kill a ho, so they sit like sheep. Only seems white men needen powder and a good fuck come aoround so late, some of em twice, so she rolls in bout 500 a night, with Big Rig goin around the country playing fetch and crop on his Maryjane wonderland he tosses up deuces every time and keeps on rolling. Tasting shrooms from the burrows and cutting the ripe. rolling underground with the forest militia, thrown out in the wilds like animals. Now my ho's are safe at home and i can finaly rest, Tyé still methed out and noddin like a gremlin, starin out the upper door windows, sitting on the stairs, porchlight on blacklight, little lumineers and colorful globes lighting up the pathway.

 I don't see anybody dead, so i walk right up with my bitch in my arm and take her to the warm indoors sitting fancy with red checker carper, soft corduroy antique couch from my grandfather, bloodstained red velvet was always my thing. Police never come but the phone it always rings, I let my ho's gripe for a while before i tell them i'm done with it, and hit the schnapps, laying down slow with deaf toes, cold blind and numb from the weather. Fireplace smoking we light our blunts with it, mine pure green, the ladys and Tyére smoking white lace pure. "figure we tossed enough rock to kill a few militantes. " slowly and passively mulling my thoughts as though we had anything else to do but slang and bang all night. Bookshelf windows like bulletproof armor, my son sits in the crows nest, a nestled corner of the attic with perfect street view, with my corner block hopper always calling cars on the 2 way. Gunner is sharp, keen, and well witted. We throw him a Garand and the man is a top shot. always pop the tire, damn fiends get angrier every day. Could swear i should've cooked the crack with absinthe and arsenic. metal detector tazer/sprinkler brings the pain on any trespassers, ham usually takes down the sights from 3 blocks down. and Gunner an just aim and shoot, self defense. A lock up is a lock up ain't nobody comin in without a warrant, vacuum bags and bulletproof floor safes. By nightfall, most of the product is moved, at night the real hustlers bring out cardboard craps tables and roll bones for scraps of powder and deathhash. Most of it is snatch and grab, but no nigger i've seen ben able to outrun the speed of a bullet. kneecaps first, mercy second. We always put them up in a shopping cart and have dem Ho's push em out into the streets, 9 mile down hill for the riders, coasting steady ready to die. The streets are barren, cars never think to enter cold north Allegheny,  everybody knows what goes down, they take the bypass. The raging ghetto of peices and poverty reigns still, and war rages at every hour of the day, flamboyant ostentatious negros playing true color gangbangin tracks get ousted on old 86, every fiend in the state of the york trying to drop it all on the line for the gingercrack. Snipes got hold ups between billboards, hammocks and a treestand holding clutch positions pointing guns out of holes for eyes, stay in touch with the hamm, just killer green to calm the nerves, some of them popping pills, all of them militiamen trained in the art.

Gangs rule York, the york is all colors and pride, Mexicans and puerto ricans hold cock fights, the niggers play craps and the bangers just kill people. The true money comes out of the clubs, all mobs and mafia, the asians running the one train of pure bone down from port city, the fabled land of international impunity running bone for the "hospital". Most non affiliated whites have left the scene doing only white collar capitalism extorting the few old rich, the new died out do to the drug war, ingrained and implanted from Mexico.

It took six years for the mexican mafia to overrule the previous standing gangs of york by pure blood lust, belligerence , and crank, straight from the sewers they own the underground network of trafficking gone unnoticed by the police. The higherups of the mafias fled back to china or italy, and the Irish back to boston. All of them practically powerless over the new regime. Mexico had legalized drugs in an effort to quell the civil war, and with that, their only cash crops turned to drugs, and their only intention was to cripple the populous of the united states. The restless abandoned were the first to go, most died within weeks of the begenning of the free KAMP giveaway, a so called reatsie with mexico calling KAMP the cureall. Honestly it made people into hopeless delerious speed freaks. One man i know was chasing cars like a dog and honestly just started stealing them, the cops were all corrupt because the latinos had majority rule and all the irish fuzz went eastward where they rule with the iron fist and heavy hands. With the chinese controlling the far east exports the price of opium was always on a cataclysmic rise as all of east asia experienced a 1920's era heroin rampart, so hardly any of it went to the states. Mexico was number two, they cut poppy with dirt and china white and the disgusting chinese candy was now laced with Methylfentanyl. With their clans all taking opiates to the dome every day, the pacifism showed when the poor would riot and the leaders would stay in the underground. Wars became brutal, as hundreds of people were dying every night for their cause, and York slipped into Gang run anarchy. People would lose all initative to work or do anything productive and the economy simply stopped. The drug trade was all black market and every nations GDP would slowly plummet. Only in mexico were there efficient taxes run by the cartels bringing money to the state and essentially controlling the American drug trade with applied eugenics regarding Gregor Mendel and genome splicing. With this dope they were able to corrupt the government and the general workforce, and the war would still rage between dogmatic Americans and the second amendment and underground terrorists. This all still happens to this day. Still we stand with a small outpost of rural farmers and underground chemists who produce the classical drugs and bring them into the hands of the outcast and the bourgeois essentially creating an underground movement for peace and pacifism, as most small towns are negligible, the cartels and the mafias pass them over for the main hubs of import an export, thoroughly maintained through the port cities mainly, LA, and NYC. The rebels who fight for confederate rights and wish to see all states laws abandoned are fairly well met with the complete lack of police, after all police became bought out by any of the major crime families, people no longer feared or resented the law, as they were just glorified gang bangers.  This meant to a rebel the police were kill on sight. And that we did.



Chasing off the letter i pulled out on the negro and sent back down the stairs and took a rubber around a sprey can of Jerri-freeze, and with that mans hair still burnin, dipping death like cold sherman, old woes and misrery underacomplished next to confusion, hair glowing in embers i shoved that spray can in his mouth to incite the flame, watching the fire encompassing his hair turn into a massive fireball, with flaming j-grease burning like petrol, i cracked their bottle of 151 and breathed new life into the flames, masterfully vaporizing the alcohol into a fireball, tumultuous conflagration hit the gas leak pipe loving the oven, trying to bathe his grease locks in that scherm bucket,with juice a flame this man scarred by his interest with hustling, getting a bit of the bustle from the city now. WIth the bottle drained i slip the rubber of fluid into his mouth, tied with a knot, due class, all rubbers being pinholed, the leak spewed up hisnose, and the fire raced down to the bomb and almost took his jaw off, rigormortis practically held the explosion inwards, with fire and blood rearing out his nose and ears i feel acomplished, his one true basefiend trying to outdance the pants of gingercrack, i took with the case and the base, allready cut, downgraded to mexican dope lords, Nafta and the unions made pardons state wide, and the corruption took me down as main stream slinger, hooked up with hot dice, and clean price homebrew. I feed their wretches. Insolent filth. I don't really give a fuck about what my dope is cut with, i can always tell if it's straight when it's just white powder, crystals are honeslty the only way to smoke Ginger, most niggers figure that scherm is the only solution, taking death with death, but clean is cut up with Ket and PCP.

None of what i did was murder, below the waist excemption for attempted, and honestly there is always a good chance a man with dreads with burn his grease down to the curl and burn like a sadist. Cops really don't give a fuck, they really just say let the negros kill themselves. So it leaves it down to street authority, one man mob boss, gun for hire, jet strapped for every chemical desire, always play it high low.

I got back in my car and burned the gloves, trash action lawsuit reposessed my tight and bloodstained leather, fingertips shaved down to dullness, all revocable and random delerious witnesses gettin the show done for me. Every time. This time i had too much dirt crack to hand out for free, i got some little dopeboy mexican street peddler a gift and i tells him christmas came early. No doubt the bag will kill him, see if he knows the 10 commandments all hopefuls should take as the bible.

I run down the alley lookin for Jezzy, and i see her suckin some mans cock, not even lookin, mans mind is space, hit with slick tounged dreams, soft like the french, i whistle and she does her magic, deep throating with head massage, works every time. This old white capped  man shared a look of mutual respect with me and he tossed her a twenty and a five, looking kind of sad i just tell that bitch to get in the car.

I take her back to the brothel, leaving the other girls to work, and i take my cut and i start to break the base open, strapped with the hard ducks in the safe, tippin to my lady for excellent work of course, I tell her get that rider of yours come down to flip some base, we need to put it on lock down, old string rope zipline from the bastion of justice. Scales always even, tell him to stay strapped, knowing nobody would ever hurt Francis "Hellhound" Defo, meanest crack lord since Nixon, flippin base at dirt cheap knowing addicts can't tell if it's cut, euphoric recall runnin wise of sly base, filled up some vials of KAMP, bleading Ketamine, Amphetamine, Morphine and PCP, call it the death rocket. it's a gift for the neck scratches and the ones bangin on the door like zombies. Just put the old dogs down, nobody gots the money so you know they just get some pimp treatment in the limo get their hopes up and get abandoned at the park. Most of them shoot up to the air, leavin them breathless, literally. World is rough, my boys had to go the same way, pain is suffering, why let the sick be weary.

Drop was set and safe, with Tyréno strapped at the house, all money is runing dog door if the chaps can make it round the back, all the lights off. fiends all shuffle through the back allys of Allegheny, got that underground railroad going, one candle in the window. Tyr practically knows every base fiend on the north side, trippin and trappin, easy going, easy knowing. read the faces of the belligerent, dope that speedball for em.

  Knowing the philly street life i know that the weed stays brown, so i ride 80 down 86 and find my boyo standing sully at the weigh station, passin bricks like midas shits them. lace weed comming heavy yellow sundried afterthoughts, nature's mako waves inheriting the werenocht like dolphin chatter, sets it up on the ham, not taps, algorythem and radio confusion lets us keep our sanity. meets me in the middle half way with the case, i shell him out 4 vials of k amp and a key of ginger for 5 key hemlock heat grass dutchess, fresh from the forest.  The only dancer i need to taint the bikers, who knows what he's cooking up anymore, probably nature shrubs snuff and jimson. Tell by the smell of the briks it had taint. How much Jimmy you drop in these sacks? Bout a quarter Key, even. Damn spliffy, leaves still whole? "Yezzir" he say all tweaked out, already tryin to take a chip off the old block. That'll do me good man, i'ma have my lady run you some hashish for the arabs.

So i dip back to the safehouse and filter down these keys into hashish, devils brand, sun and moon, cooked up with white or yellow, saving the bubble and making bricks of delirium, cut it down sellin keys sayin they're prayin for Santa Maria, the jane gets cut down into mostly powder, roll up a few scherm blunts for the deathly ill folks and toss em up in original casings. Gifts for the girls, who play the fool for straight dollars, no I.O.U no Drugs, no fun, always the rule. they always match and hand out one of the necroweed blunts to the violent, tells em they love it. Easy fuckings, every one of em. I catch up with Sunshine and Sally D, and threw a few good books up in blotter, on sale classic pages of classic books, flipping the j weed quick for schwagstars wanting to rep their click and look cool smokin ditch, sunshine is pure bubble, others gets the mad taint, but it makes the cut for potency, got most of the streets all the way up to harlem fiending for the sunshine but runnin base means rolling deep, uptown the niggers stay strapped and don't mean nothing but to fox with the boxman. Straight and easy the playboy hustlers respect the fact that i ride with lovely Jezzy makes the dick hurt with her teeth, most otherwise these men done be fucked out, always a good time with a dirty girl.

"Brando, aye Marlon" bulshitting was this negro named Klondo he likes a snatch n grab but his title was tight, so in the car we got murder in the back with the garrote, always keepin it down, rust etched flayed electrical fencing, running like a jumprope with batterys. Ain't shit was raised cause he knows what happens, got to give your guns to the girl and we weigh out and pay out. some pimps is strong, some pimps is stray, either way, all bout the yay. Colombia was his only friend today, with about 4 oz fresh white, probably cut, so i cut him a good brick of sunshine and took the coke out to be baked up. CHB, Creedencespice Heron Bone, make you see the devil then find god, only when you come down and your in the same place you were. I ditched old homily and drove back with that bitch on my dick, traffic laws and everything.  Got home and the safehouse ain't burned down so Slow wasn't cookin tonight, praise jesus. I flipped out some free bags to the homies holding it down for Allegeny, my army stands steadfast. Old Jaguar gets respect for the being and service of death, we all want to die. Drugs make us fiends and we all smoke the green and lace like lingerie almost invisible within the trichromes, calls it duneberry spice. Sprinkle the magic mix on the key of bud shining and sell it discount to the trappers lookin to stray the game from hard rock. And with this, we hustle.