SONG OF THE DAY: Tulsa Turnaround

“If a man’s gonna eat fried chicken he’s got to be greasy” is tattooed across my shoulders in Olde English 800 letters. Ever since I was a kid, and the power went out at our house I grew up in, down in Meherrin, Virginia (the home of Roy Clark), right as that song was playing and Kenny Rogers was singing that line, so it warbled down slow and ominously – “IF A MAN’S GONNA EAT FRIED CHICKEN HE’S GOT TO BE GREEEEEAAAAAASSSsssyyyyyyyyyy” – I hear it in my mind as a warning, and yet also a proud mantra. If one loves fried chicken, they should not be ashamed of the grease on their fingers necessary towards the joy of fried chicken. Just be careful not to wipe your fingers on your Homestead Grays throwback. There’s napkins from Subway in the glove box, get you a couple of those. No, don’t use that towel, that’s my shoulder towel for walking around. Why would you think it’s okay to wipe your greasy fuckin’ fingers on my lavender shoulder towel? What the fuck?

SONG OF THE DAY: Roll Um Easy

IF YOU ARE THE DUDE WHO STOLE MY LITTLE FEAT CD THE NIGHT WE HAD A PARTY IN MEHERRIN AFTER BURYING MY DAD BECAUSE YOU PLAYED IT BY THE BONFIRE IN YOUR TRUCK, PLEASE REVEAL YOURSELF SO THAT I MAY KNOW WHO I HAVE HELD A LIFETIME (and beyond) BLOOD GRUDGE AGAINST PLEASE. My youngest sister refuses to tell me to this day who you are, and she even bought me a new copy of that particular CD, but it just don’t sound the same. It just don’t sound the fuckin’ same bro.

C4SS1NGL3 0F 1'V3 G0T TH3...

cassingle of "I've Got the

Power!" on repeat in first

boss's beat-up pick-up truck

freestyle sonnet #101: A SONNET ENDORSING METAPHYSIC CLASS WAR

lesser of two evils sequel after sequel 
diminishing returns, as the world (crashes) burns 
fossilized remnants, civilized life inequal 
in quality, the rich kids not sharing turns 

with the rest of us, the wretched of us earth folk 
falsely awake to woke marketing angles from 
obtuse directions, choking on digital smoke 
screens, unscrolling intelligence that's hella dumb 

trusting data metrics DNA to devils 
calculating how to skim blood from stoned souls lost 
in techno (ill) logical fog without bezels 
of wisdom to help guide, suffering from exhaust 

because squeezed until can't breathe, then squeezed a bit more 
a sonnet endorsing metaphysic class war 

southside virginia back porch -

native youth wearing tie-dye 

chasing porchlight moths around

abandoned house held up well 

despite decades of neglect; 

passed often, never broke in

aboveground swimming pools used

to mean upwardly mobile,

now Wal-Mart Supercenter

bungee cord holding back screen

door shut from inside, little

grandbaby boy like “what up?”

aboveground swimming pool - sign

of redneck mobility

up economic ladders

J.J. Krupert August '12 #6: "Oxy Music" by Schoolboy Q

understand self-medication, still I stand straight

!∞--☈℧⌡℧∏∑Ж☋--∞¡

h a t e c

so much anger built inside;
designed for demise, but my
dreams still rise as the days break

b b l l a

what shaped me to what I am -
regulation equipment
but cobbled together wrong

c h v z r

junkyard meditations - piece
together jigsaw puzzle
shattered windshields on bench seats

r u s t c

junkyard patinas of rust,
primer, factory base coat
blended into dull palette

d o o r c

I stencil a star on the
unabomber shack door frame
each time I pipe bomb wal-mart

r o d a h

ev'ry back roads bridge over
railroad tracks costs more money
than I make in a decade

t r l r b

them's cutting pulpwood along
logging trail arteries all
over my rundown southside

t r l r a

twisted psychologies come
from walking narrow hallways,
blossoming in confinement

c h v z s

spare part sixty-nine chevelle
supersport back home behind
my mom's unabomber shack

r i v z w

little peach blossom wild child -
natural-born tornado
personality - perfect