Upcoming Publication: "Where the Hood at? Man's Great Question Solved"

Over the years many intellectuals have asked perhaps the most precient question of our time, "Where the Hood at?" Now, for the first time and thanks to several months of deep investigation, in which I lost contact with my family, friends, even my own children going ignored, their feeble cries for sustenance put aside as we all withered under the relentless yoke of my passion, all this waste, all this death, all this suffering, but now culminated in my seminal publication, due out this autumn, "Where the Hood at? Man's Great Question Solved by Recource to Grecian Methods, Namely that of the Pythagorean School, Incorperating Elements of Dadism, Sadism and Hegelian Notions of History." The book where this most fundamental question shall be answered.

When DMX first queried, he doubless expected, in some far corner of his almighty concious mind, that the answer to his puzzle would be found, naturally, in geometry. Of course! For is it not the preserve of the shape, the mighty abstract forms made concrete, location of universal space, and, so it follows, the enigmatic location of the Hood?

Like Arthurian Heroes of yore I followed the sage words of DMX, my cyberage Merlin, as he pointed me towards the Grail that was the Hood. Though, unlike Arthur, my quest was not to be found in the forests and glens, marshes and moors of ancient Albion, No! It was to be a mental oddessey, and so I cut myself off, reaching for gnosis, trancending space so I may look from above like the noble eagle whose entrails I so carefully read, and see the seat of the divine, the illusive Hood.

And now, for your delectation and delight, yonder diagram below illustrates the summation of my efforts. As you can observe, the Hood is in fact located in the last vertex to the right of any irregular triangle.

fig, A: The Location of "The Hood"

What secrets lie there, immortality, trancendance, gold, hennessy? For the answer, seek out my upcoming book, "Where the Hood at? Man's Great Question Solved by Recource to Grecian Methods, Namely that of the Pythagorean School, Incorperating Elements of Dadism, Sadism and Hegelian Notions of History."Available at all morally decent bookstores.

Adeui,

Barrabas

poem

Seven bridges approach the planet Uranus

And the god Nebuchadnezzar watches in delight

Dragging the hangman by his feet

Forty wheels, each of sixteen spokes, and ninety pulleys,

Power the absolute tide of Gilgamesh

Batteries and substations, canons and wires,

The god rises to his feet

And takes his first tentative steps

The cherry blossoms over the substantial ether of the fullness of existence

And the peach is consumed by the god

While this is being imagined by a pug

A grasshopper transmogrifies into Hercules and overpowers the little dog

The tsunami travels up a river contrary to the flow

And a masturbating baboon laughs and splurges its pearl jam upon the greatest of poets

Morrissey

He was the best of men, and the worst of men

A blustering and arrogant Ghandi

But

Jimmy Saville violates the moral structure of the universe,

A perversion and a pervasive penetration into the fabric of space time

He is truly the worst of men

His taste is poor, his face abominable, his cigars cheap like used teabags

Saville is a trumpet of desires, a man who sounds his own concealed horn of base physicality

Lord have mercy

Six men eat poo poo in a circle,

Drinking tequila and liquefied worm faeces

These are queer men, aboriginal felons, hawks of deepest purple

And they are the tyrants of galilleo’s mathematics

What can be done about their wizard’s spell?

The most ancient of magic

Poo magic

The precise distance from 19.5 to 72

The great dali, alive and well

Coasting the tide of a thousand suns

Finally transcends into bliss

The snails and butterflies

Lift him up into the heavens

To dwell in nothingness and everything

What love and hatred this man has

Déjà vu

A hideous creature, with wings and

Memories that occur

Contrary to the synchronisation of divinely appointed space time integers

They poke into the wires of constancy and like

An octopuses eight limbs strangle common mental decency

Now let me speak of another

With post-post coital indifference

The one upon a chimney plane

Firing gaseous black, and fumes!

Sulphur and the charred remains of the dispersed atoms of Hammurabi

Each man,

Has an atom of him in his body

Truly

All is one

Here the cord is mixed with a different fibre, contrary to the laws of Leviticus

Leviathan and the crocodilus

A gentle foe

Let him not cause within you the oddity of a-synchronicity

For this is the throne of the spectacular bush

George Bush

The reincarnation of Richard the Lionheart

Who dives into the chorus of

Men singing in waveform voices

At a resonance of 40hz

The frequency of god

Wave, screenplay

Wave

ACT I

Wave by Frank Sinatra plays, its romantic cadence echoes throughout the room.

--Show in black and white--

A man with tortured eyes wearing ball gag stares into the camera, his face is pressed down against a wooden table and is partially obscured. He tries to scream, but his tongue is clasped tight against the gag. The room is darkly lit by a barren lightbulb.

“The fundamental loneliness goes, whenever two can dream a dream together” croons a whimpering  homosexual voice, in time with the track.

The garglings and screams of the man continue for another forty seconds. His eyes light up in realisation, as if something has entered him.

Slowly a knife emerges from stage right and slices the throat. A mighty gash appears and a deluge of blood drips onto the camera.

--full colour--

We are in an LA police station. Mercer a bitter, recently divorced homicide detective discusses the details of the murder with his superior.

“looks like he was fucked to death” says Mercer to the Sgt.

“his ass was all cut up”

“the slice to the jugular must have finished him”

“Christ, who would do that to a man”

The police sergeant pauses for a while and considers the photos.

“Christ indeed” replies the Sgt.

ACT II

We are at the end of the working day. Mercer leaves the station in a poor part of urban LA,

The night is cold and a man huddled behind a dumpster calls out to Mercer.

“spare any change”

“please”

Mercer walks on by in the snow.

ACT III

We are once again in the station. Mercer presents the photos a second time and is discussing the murder with his superior.

“the autopsy showed that the man was in his late forties” says Mercer

"white american"

"he's probably local"

There is a pause and the sergeant looks at him,  but this time maniacally . 

“You dumb bastard Mercer” says the sergeant,

“can’t you tell who it is yet?”

The Sgt then begins to hum the tune of wave to himself and Mercer finds he is being dragged into a dimly lit room. His face is pressed down against the table, a ball gag is thrust into his mouth.

--show in black and white--

“The fundamental loneliness goes, whenever two can dream a dream together” croons a whimpering  homosexual voice, in time with the track.

Mercer is painfully sodomised, tears stream down his face, and yet his ears are enraptured by the beautiful track. The knife enters from stage right.

Before the moment of his death Mercer sees the face of the devil in the whites of his own eyes, he knows at once he is condemned. Anxiety fills his final moments as he contemplates the infinity of hell. 

--Repeat ad infinitum--

THE ADVENTURES OF FLAHERTY AND SPICE

Father Flaherty the Franciscan friar feverishly and forcefully feasts upon feculent faeces, forcing the fetid form past his quaking lips. He looks to the sky as he prays to god the almighty, his cock erect, his eyes piercing the clouds. Each bite he takes he becomes more aroused, his cock swells ever larger and his heart beats faster. As he reaches a crescendo his priestly bell-end begins to pulse and vomit and semen are expelled from his body simultaneously in parallel lines which stretch to infinity. The ritual of purification is complete.

Flaherty proceeds out of his cloister in a dream like state, shit still smeared across his lips. He is filled with angst, and this very angst takes form:

He beholds a man, his face is decaying, maggots fill his eyes, his tongue must be about 20 inches long and is a deep glans mauve, indeed it looks like a hideous contorted phallus. Flies eject from the mouth as He (the urethral tongue) speaks a few words

“In the jungle the air is humid and hot, the trees kaleidoscope in shades of greens and browns and yellows. The sound and cadences of the river pulse in sine waves, like the crystal water itself. This jungle is home to many creatures but here we are focused upon the times and destiny of but one.

In the water is a carp, its face comical, its antenna pulsing and searching for food and enemies. The carp moves downstream towards its congregation, for this fish is a shepherd unto its flock, or indeed its shoal. It wears a purple robe, finely crafted by the lobster craftsmen of the shore, the finest tailors for two hundred parsecs. 

It wields in its miniscule prehensile fin a sceptre encrusted with a diamond as big as the carp’s head. This sceptre is a wand, and a magical tool of the ancient carp messiah.

But lo’ a hawk drops from the sky like a dead fly and consumes it”

“Now I see” replies Flaherty

Fingers and hand

Tangled ganglion, fingers, appendages of activity, poke the mind of god. Fist is block, sponge, flanked and mounted by five sticks. Organelles of functions, divide my mitosis, rather like frogspawn. Property of a nincompoop. Absurd devices prehensile. Silly. Fingers and hand. God's joke.

winter

Crisp winter snow, boulevard flanked by stiff parallel trees

Digit like, bleak fingers rise to touch a pale sky

Hunched under a wheely bin a downtrodden man covered in ice

His beard wire like, brown and grey, the eyes stare up at the birds

Pardon me, I ask, would you like a cigarette?

There was no response, for he was dead

Words from a Homeless Man

I don’t think you can count being a beggar as being part of a counter cultural movement, I said to the leper. He had fruitlessly tried to argue that each era had its own revolutionary cultures, which all, regardless of look or circumstance, consisted in entirety of irredeemable ponces, and that intransigents such as he were the Wildes, Lenons, etc of this era, clothed in filth but with the self satisfied look of great intellectuals or babes who’ve shit their nappies.
Empty globe eyes and the dumb nose of the dog pointing upwards in anticipation to catch a fractal raindrop maladjusted in decemtum. Young men dressed as contemporary fairies walked past with pompous look of the freshly sodomised. Flowers sprout around with hippy fronds in Technicolor. The beggar was adamant and I had a French bus to catch. A Parisian, always artfully late, belching smug. I wondered why all the homeless wear berets and paint their faces like mimes. He doesn’t silence, so I hobble him and let the plants have him. Vicious geraniums. And why is the bus stop a log? All about are insects going about their daily business, beetles in suits buttle to the office, ladybugs get into place as secretaries, woodlice the builders. And the growing flowers cover all.
 Above it all I walk away from a similar but different beggsr to catch a train made of Belgian chocolate that travelled along sugar rails. Halfway to Nashville I ate through the coupling bars and caramel cables and accidentally derailed my carriage, which turned to glass about me, shattered and became water which fell around into an oriental mud river, with multicoloured villages sitting, living on houses raised above it on stilts. They plot acts of global terrorism with plans that are 50 years old, and one day they will pull it off, very bond villain, very peculiar, the sound of a rolling metal tongue, lightmares and nightning, blue and silver flashes in the desperate void. Black is the colour of between space-no colours so objects in the way, you look out and see the void, what exists before and out universe. It is sterile, changeless, produces nothing. Then it gives birth to creation. Rapid expansion from a point, almost like human birth - why so similar? Conspiracy? Fragmentation becoming severe, ideas dissacoiate like alien limbs in zero gravity, spaceship logic falls at the first hurdle and has to be put down, is in a bad mood for another week, weak fool to try and waste his hard effort on the futile endevours of men and of mice which always reach maximum termination at the back of the microwave and are governed by an inhospitable terror bird, code named squark, who actually squonks, the sound made when two frogs are forcibly pushed together until rupture, similar to how the polish monarch of 1153 used to wear shoes with frogs on the sole and jump about his palace yelling ribbit, until he was assassinated and his dynasty supplanted by pagan planks of wood who were later overthrown by papists, but not the papists of andulasia who were not-o-rious pederasts and big biggie fans, instert component B into slot F, gyrate with your partner then separate for two beats, on choral medley strip off and assume intercourse position alpha, and recite mantra of the lecturous, later found as recorded on a stone tablet by a dystopian empire run by a puppet government of humans rules by physic rabbits, who use them to fight their principle enemies, chicken, pig and cow.

-The deranged rantings of the man I met at the bus station.

He was homeless and raved, but I saw that there was an evil in this homeless man, he drives others to his state, entraps them, swaps with them.