PARNASSIAN SCREWDRIVER

By Alex S. Johnson

(image found on Google image search, used without permission)

A Shwibly Instant Chapbook The Shwibly Press 4/5/2012

is drinking bitter? Then turn yourself into wine Rainer Maria Rilke this chapbook was created between the hours of 5 and 7:30 am on the morning of April 5, 2012 these poems are for Dawne Wing

MISSION STATEMENT OF DEATH JAZZ INTERNATIONAL WE ARE ALL MAD HERE In case you were wondering Quite barmy In the way of the new lucidity YOUR INSISTENCE ON THE RIGHTS OF MAN Perplexes us utterly And you say we dont care That is a lie And mendacity has the savor of death WERE TEARING UP THE SOCIAL CONTRACT It makes our brain bleed All men are not created equal The idea of equality is frankly doomed You have the right of perpetual exile To be marooned On an island with no teeth And a faltering brain Maybe a deflated basketball for company (GO LAKERS) We of the death jazz international hail you as slaves of our postmodern empire a corporate state where humans are cardboard and the price of cardboard is falling WE LIKE CARBON And so we will make more Until the apocalypse angels Choke on your gore

OUR FOOTPRINT SHALL BE GIANT A pool of black blood Piles of skulls will rust in doorways Pol Pot will look like the Tin Man And the Tin Man will stay Put this time We think he may be A homer-sexual Anyway AND YOU WILL PERPETUATE IDIOTS And we will collect your children They will bark when we say, aye, scramble Like eggs on a skillet All idiots will be perfect Until the soup is, soup AND SOAP WILL BE MADE OF YOUR BODIES And tension of yesteryear is the small discomfort of a flea Blooded of you, the ribs and shins and cock and Cunt of you All words shall be outlawed And freely re-arranged In a matrix of total decay UNTIL YOU MEAN WHAT WE WANT YOU TO MEAN The French Revolution will look like a picnic On KEEP OFF THE GRASS Its bad for you and makes you stupid So heres the uberjointa little strychnine Tasty as your babies CRY, TROJANS, CRY As we feast on your seed of your unborn maps to the Galaxies of sperm-squid suckerfish Your chalk statues that were once hissing citizens Are now forbidden, replaced by salt dolls Rushing the solar sea

YOUR SAND MAKES BETTER MIRRORS Its true, there is sand beneath your cities Your cities our graveyards your temples our funerals Your trials endless your raptures snuffed THIS IS THE UNIVERSE OF TOTAL HEAT DEATH And the last sound you hear Before processing will be the most banal Pop, the soft jazzwe of course reserving the really heavy Stuff for those that can afford it This does not mean you And you and you and you NINETY-NINE PERCENT OF EVERYTHING IS DARK MATTER Eat it treat it with contempt Love without respect The way we sneer at roadkill Prepped for Satanic menus NOTHING MATTERS SO MUCH NOT EVEN POSTERITY There will be no posterity The future looks like zero And the bones walking through brains Soft as cheese look Like a painful fungal disease THE PROPAGANDA WILL CONTINUE To itch your radiated corpses And tickle them with wonder That birth was ever an option That rebirth was possible WE WON AND YOU LOST WE WON AND YOU LOST SUCKERS, LOSERS Hypocrite lecteur

THEODICY I. THEODICY, I have discovered Is not An epic poem by Homer Simpson but a serious attempt by Serious individuals to figure out This evil thing Why, how, wherefore Millions of gnashing mouths later said Vishnu they are Stuck between the teeth and gums Wriggling in the Interstices I see them now profound tendentious as a heart attack Blood hissing through their vain struggle These scholars Aged before theyve time to breathe --removes tough stains, grease and dirt-THEY NEED GODS HELP TO GET IT RIGHT But boa constrictors are daedalus fast Singed a whole right through Space II. I am no theologian nor was meant to be I think the angels are right here Scratching their balls and wondering What in the hell is going on I was raised with Hindu comicbooks Where thousand-limbed goddesses Chew creation whole Its a larger system a bigger patchwork

As spume of energy drifts through the holy THE GODS ARE SHARKS JUST ASK MALDORORS FARTING TEACUP And the moon and the sun are swallowed up In a strain of vampire tea Anyway I read the Book of Job And Gods answer still strikes me as consistent With his overall pattern of Fuck youdont take it personally (I wouldnt) (I would) (Fuck you graybeard too) and the rumbling sound you hear is a kosmik blues as digestive process and the rambling sound you hear is me finding a new universe simply better than this tired tracks of desire/lust/anger a more toothsome fit III. Hell is listening To unrelenting deathcore THEY NEED A PROPER FIT And not these grand mal fantasias Inspiring Bath to be better --shoots them in the face --that hurt, that really --here comes the hot jets Ideogram of hearts

Scrambled spacebeard The mind recoils in horror Still we must Fill in the blanks I am leaving a blank here you can fill in yourself If you like that kind of thang Theodicy properly understands it burns Faster than paper the ripple of Atmosphere The air itself hurts when weve been through it Like a diamond from the birthdeath ex machina Forged a million years ago Into a bullet thats still alive Wriggling with health, innit HELP said the derelict machine Stop is go I stopped as green (So help me said the Shark Aching with candy tooth) ON THE SYMPTOMS OF PHILOSOPHICAL SICKNESS On the symptoms of your philosophy: long tread, long teeth, the hair Needs a trim, is so not neat On the results of your excessive production values: go back to red, that is what It is for On the burgeoning of your fruit: Lies, all lies I stopped as new colors Fuchsia Orange Octaroon

Periwinkle L.A. sunset PREGNANT WITH TOXINS --incept of puppetry-I stop and inspect my wounds. They are frozen over as gorgeous bums, flyfreeovernight they may have transformed from repulsive to tender, in the cauldron of Cityscapes engorged without reason they shimmer out propulsive and careless, the way they are meant to be the way we ARE Not imprisoned by arbitrary lines and gridwork right or wrong On the ruin of architects that attempted the impossible spiral: bend On the tree of longing: start a fire with blue apples And blue is the color of my heart, not sad Any more than your hair is a fire That burns not The not sad But it may be sad This too is agreeable I dont need to pinch myself To know this is the dream I chose And there are chimeras to thread The pattern is invisible as The ache emerges Shooting arrows at a target that evolves, as do the arrows Shooting ribbons of sperm at Blossoms of heat NOT Prisoners of the lottery of souls

Earth rusts As the planets seek a new system GORE Is the color of my true loves hair COLORS Branch out among the angels Lapse of neon Lull of wet GRRR start again PARNASSIAN SCREWDRIVER Parnassian screwdriver Roared from a kiln of bees I kiss your Eyes of pagan Chocolate Tenderly Loving up your wholes and Gaps, gel of glass Thighs, esp. The syrup inside Nothing sustains your Radiance further than Beams thrust of sunken Eyedreams Whorled shells of belonging You, my jeweled Muse delicious HONEYKILN!!!

POEM THREE-QUARTERS OF THE WAY THROUGH COLLECTED POEMS OF FRANK OHARA Begins precocious Dada boy Likes evil Likes being evil Does not reject the most insidious Embraces tight some of the theodicy His words evolve Straighten out The early ones are cramped crammed As are some of the later But I havent finished the book yet So fuck if I know All I know is I took a nap My brain was chanting its usual demonic blessings Want desire breaks and blood The ravens had half-chewed past the barrier And I was choking it up These days its harder to nap I get up earlier when I nap I feel dead Anyway theres this Frank OHara Cut down in his prime by a Dune Buggy on Fire Island The year of my birth Satanic Year One 1966 Hardon is one of his favorite words Watch this space

THERE IS ALWAYS A PRICE Justice Kennedy says in his Considered decision lissen here peeps: You are all presumed guilty Every, each one of us Should be treated as guilty And fuck the notion of Innocence As innocence itself will be Proven guilty There will be bar codes on all foreheads And we will long to escape After they ban all the drugs And stamp the medicine POISON Capital demands Insists on shut up Like a fist through humanitys face And nevermind the scary crossbone hairs of the Somalian pirates look over the horizon its a bird its a plane Its the American empire What is it doing well Im glad you asked Its raising a gory head On a postage stamp thats going out To every citizen of the unified weltshmerz Babies will be sorted at birth Scryed through telescopes of DNA Their astrology will be calculated By the drip of chromosomes In a vat crushed by witches With febrile eyes And nevermind the doggy tongue of war Our medicine will cut right through Our vials of silver suns Will make your teeth ache

They way theyre supposed to And people will feel like fish And the nets will be all of us The nets will be you and you and you All the globe a net The lures are us too And the word torture will lose its Harsh flavor What was called torture will be the norm Routine as taxes for the under-represented And free rides for the 1% Who piss on us drifting from golden parachutes Till times cord is cut Like an infants throat WERE ALL MAD HERE SO celebrate the iniquity Evil is the new good Poison is the new blood Taxation is the only representation You heard it first on automatic radio Joe heard it first and stamped his tiny fist On a stack of Satanic Bibles Ye gods what is wrong with you And Josephine said: There is nothing wrong with the God that am godzooks!!! There is nothing wrong with your set But well have to adjust that brain Cut a few wires And halve you with the long train

WE DO NOT HANDLE SNAKES Lets face it, You cant handle the snake. WITH THANKS AND LOVE TO WAYNE ALLEN SALLEE, THOMAS ROCHE, ELLYN MAYBE, DOMINIQUE LOWELL AND IRYNA HARPY