Wednesday, September 5, 2012

Bartleby Says Fuck Books



Whos bout to get lit up, you really talking shit about my get up?

I just hold my gun sideways, See who can't get up
Bitches ain't shit, and a bitch that get hit, don't say shit
Know how I lost half my hand in nam, fucking charlie everywhere
Flashbang, pyonyang poultergeist take my AK,
soft little boy hands, screaming save me,
dumb deaf and blind boy slippy quick boot knife bumrush
on the way up, hit the lay up, barber blade the sanguine serenade
arc en ciel vapeur connecieur tronchont salutont enfont gerscon debutont soundomme soux coup salon
sickly my viscous cursed jungle blood lamented in the fresh incision made upon that god damn charlie
the only fire in my eyes was the reflection of dread man dugaul, he wore a queer mustache... pompador
For even were the gracious lucifer to endear me of deathly kind, cold, callous, apathy; utter deafness,
The fluctuating writhe body of this quivering indolent fool took from the heart luring bestial noises:”:”:
those of a weak, meaker, lonely isolation that emmenated from lost and forgoten misbegotten people,
oh charles dugal how you lost it all, figure if a frenchman father find a friendly friend dog
and you treat a bitch right, is allright, figure beat a bitch if she start to bark at you
but charlse she ain't but a don't ain't bout to do but maybe run in circles barking,
Mamba always says as a man should be reading, right handy is a newspaper, simply to russle the mind of the dog, preemptive motherfuckers, throw a stick, just that quick motion of your hand, confuse the dog, whenere it be moving dog bout to be running, paper just adds a whole dimesion do it;ambivalence

reaper wraith harvester hands kerchif pocket locket skeet sock gunpowder crack rock and loose bullets
flail and thrail on the big man see the hands goin for the quick rail angle dust ice or snow don't know
chinaman hands going for the 2 way static sadism says I dont need to grab the semi automatic
just jingle the jazz, quick sick nigga bitch slap the jowels, quarterroll right, have to turn out the lights
those ripe eyes lied in his sockets freshly juiced, one haphazardly pressurized to failure, the other twitching, impaled by a shattered nosebone, he made a call of a dying wildman, somewhere between crying, screaming, and choking. he flailed, slowly losing conciousness upholding no shameless dignity,
he started to cringe and contort, reaching deep into his plethoratically pitted pants, fingering at a small opening, gracefully pulling out a bag of that good old medicine, knowing that this was all he had left, and that this was enough
A smile came to my face, as if the whole world was operation to this man , fear began to coarse through his trembling sweaty body, and the euphoric recall brought life to this mans breathing, the air from his mouth spraying a soft blood mist, gently painting this mans body, playfully, carelessly, and slowly
I say bangkok, if you be breathing, you breath my name,
you know my name, you hear someone scream it from the woods everyday
you know what he said

bawtaw bee


I shot that man in the leg and I tells him \
My name is Bartleby

and I picked up his radio, and I go talks on it says

My name is Bartleby

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