HONDURAS – At approximately 11:45pm last night, the General Coordinator of COPINH, Berta Caceres was assassinated in her hometown of La Esperanza, Intibuca. At least two individuals broke down the door of the house where Berta was staying for the evening in the Residencial La Líbano, shot and killed her. COPINH is urgently responding to this tragic situation.
Failing to extract intelligence from me, they went after my next of kin. My sister was away on business, making the rich and famous more so, or helping flash-in-the-pan short-timers maximize celebrity-market-value before the inevitable Shoe dropped. Public Relations. She was good, very good, a myth-maker/purveyor with a future in the pantheon of major leaguers: Homer, Dante, Shakespeare, Howard Cosell.
My father came up from Florida.
“Hey, kid.”
Three figures appeared at my bed-side around 4 AM. Short Man; Tall Surly Man, ‘Dr. Personality;’ and a Thin Woman. Long white lab coats aqua scrubs. Young doctors, I assumed. Residents.
“This is him. Here’s his chart,” Dr. Personality.
“Amazing,” said Dr. Short Man.
“Freak me out,” Dr. Thin Woman.
“Not everyone is born with anemias of this sort, like this guy…uh…Mr. Engel,” Dr. Personality perused my chart. “Sometimes it just happens. Toxic exposure or something like that. They see it in kids in war zones.”
Part One: Happy Birthday!
I had no idea that anything was even slightly ‘amiss’ other than awareness of a ‘slight anemic condition’ I had to explain to shocked doctors who would do double-takes after glancing at results of routine blood exams, on the few occasions I had them, and begin to stammer ‘nonsense’ about ‘emergency rooms’ and ‘immediate transfusions.’
First music video I produced and directed. A message from Palestinian refugees of #GazaCamp to world. Featuring G Unit co-founder and Rick Ross Maybach Records affiliate Bang Em Smurf and Mid East analyst and author Moe Diab.
— Siraj Davis
Because I could not stop for Death
He carjacked my Mercedes.
I did not fear his epithets,
Nor crave his white-gowned lady.
I’d buried myself — long — ago
Death wasn’t — even — spooky.
Languid — dark — and hop-head slow —
He seemed less grim than kooky.
I sold my — soul — long time — before
Death — purchased his — black — Lugar.
I am The Man — Death is my whore,
My cheap-by-the-pound-of-flesh loser.
Oh, yes. That “freedom thing.” Of course.
Can’t tell. Classified. Guarded secret — of the stage.
Call For Submissives!
Feb 14, 2015
FIDUCIARY FOUNDATION OF THE ARTS
Bill Harvey’s Bar and Grill
1600 Cord Meyer Avenue
Angleton, NJ 00799
FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE
The literary anthology, Mishuga Americansher Zeitung, (MAZ) is now accepting submissions of fiction, nonfiction, water, non-water, prose-in-verse-format (“poetry”), photography, graphic design and art for its 2015 publication.
Wrote a buncha stuff? Took real nasty photos of your drunken friends? Send it to /dev/null!
“If everything is permissible, there can be no value,” said Nietzsche
“Heh heh heh heh. Heh heh heh heh. Eees so reee-deee-kew-lous!” replied Ricky Ricardo
“My god, Mr. Whipple, what are you doing? I’m calling the cops!” screamed the innocent bystander accused of shopping.
It’s too much, this free-fall collapse of everything always, I’m starting to crack. Ain’t nearly as tough as I thought I was. Got the following message on that pain-in-the-ass Linked In ‘social networking’ site (with networks like these, who needs enemies?):
Campaign trails
Tai Chi, Thai Stick: Hash and Cheese to Go (hold the Mule)
