Oh’ she can Blow
art by Valerie Vescovi "Red Flute Blue Cat"
The musician.
That horn.
She blows.
Strong and exhausting. Whispering into a volcano. Giving and snatching life. Gripping tender tickles. Saliva and intimate slurps. Love spread without words.
Relaxing. Tension enhancing.
I limbo into dreams under caress. Melodies and silent strokes.
Oooh shit' I feel godly from your notes.
Happy Freaky Friday.
My upcoming book "Mom said go talk to Dad" is available for pre-order at www.grizzlygentleman.com
A Peace in Hell
We all contribute to the collective mastermind. Yours and mine. To produce the fruit we waste and spoil, turning angry at an outsider’s healthy crop.
Knowledge doesn’t exist wholly as one. It’s a contradiction of people and ideas we love to hate and run towards. Hoping they fail but follow their path until we make it our own.
Waterbed
Tears beat down until she was dehydrated. Grey like hood water dripping into a rusty sink.
The crevices of her lips stung when sprinkled with her natures seasoning.
His cracked mentality bruisers glistened with trickles of blood. She smiled as he wiped his off. Then put her hands up in surrender.
“I’ll run you a bath?”
“Why don’t you just run away?” “Oh, you’re drawn to me.”
She sat on the tub. Skin tie-died with bruises.
The water slammed and wrestled around the tub. The faucet hummed, sounds of a cheering crowd. She thought about her neighbors listening through the walls. Screams and fights were gunshots.
Duck! Get down! Move!
Stay quiet or your family pays for the service to wish you were still alive in pain!
“Shit.”
She zoned into her reality, nearly flooding the bathroom.
He rushed in.
“What the hell is taking so long?” " I thought you drowned or something."
She thought-don’t you wish. I do.
He slammed her into the water and held. Marveling at the power of death fighting to avoid the bed it craves. Always a moment away.
Their son ran in with his baseball bat. Swinging how daddy taught him during practice.
Home fucking “RUN”- she vomited up as his blood-soaked bald head fell in.
“He always wanted a waterbed but couldn’t swim” “BITCH.”
But who will help raise our kid?
She stops from the shot love allows.
She stays with a promise of vows.
Let me Love you then Leave me Alone
I come on strong like a love song. Smooth enough for you to want it all night long. Hard enough to make you limp home.
Today’s Asshole
I love my family. I don’t always want to be around them.
I love my niggas but I don’t always wanna be around them.
I love my wife and kids but I don’t always want to be around them.
I love gay people but I don’t always want to be round them.
When I tell my gay friends that straight fathers probably don’t want their sons to be gay, that seems to wake them up more than Black Lives Matter.
When I say we love lesbians and are possibly more accepting if our daughters become one, and date some model looking chic-we get shunned. But c’mon-every parent loves a sexy hot friend to fall on.
What’s straight up crazy is that when straight men watch porn they make sure the ladies are getting fucked good and hard by big dicks.
If you say we have gay tendencies we’re ready to fuck you up, like you’re the asshole.
Even if we disagree, we still need to love, accept, and support. But that shouldn’t make us enemies.
Am I an asshole? Am I THEEE asshole?
A terrible husband, friend, father, family member. A racist?
Of course I am whatever you believe. Just because it’s offensive doesn’t mean it’s not true.
If you fucks wit me, I fucks witchu.
And to that I say fuck you, if your a woman. Fuck you if your a man. Whatever you are- if you won’t allow someone to respectfully disagree, while respecting your individuality.
Thank you all for being fucked up and showing me the way.
Summer Love
Image from Fabolous “Summertime Shootout”
Her kiss was like the sun shining on his heart. Her breath was a breeze blowing sensual incense, heating his love.
His excitement overflowed like spending before hitting the lick. Leaking is common in senseless schemes. Her set up was supreme, with clientele that rang bells for ransom.
She opened her bush, they rushed and left dicks in dirt. Right hands holding what send men to God. Prayers fell mute from bodies convulsing. Out of breath from clutching heavenly flesh giving hell.
What makes a Good Woman?
They are like vaults. Holding secrets even when fingered, opened and penetrated.
Make you feel important, like you’re the only one to EVER HAVE ACCESS.
Make you feel worth more than you can currently afford.
Your turn.
Good Morning?
Well… Not really. This morning, I felt as if I was. I didn’t want to get out of my resurrection chamber. I woke up to shouting self-doubt. Scary as an abusive parent. There is no place to hide because the pain and the scars don’t lie.
DELUSIONAL
Everyone gives up a certain amount of respect. A.K.A. they allow a certain amount of disrespect if they feel it’s beneficial. But it has to be presented that way and understood in that aspect.
POOR PEOPLE BAIT (RELIGION FAST FOOD & DRUGS)
Image from virtueinthewasteland.com
I always thought the symbol Rx stood for (Religion, fast food and drugs.)
From the political side of the tracks, urbanegro’s, are assisted to remain ghetto fabulous through prayer, fast food and drugs.
Oh’yes, minds will race to melt miserable realities.
MMM!!!
Keep me full of it.
Is capitalism the only type of ism that truly works?
The money is louder than words.
Sadly, activists die broke, providing for everyone else. Hope and kind words don’t pay bills. But judging a struggle is thrilling as smashing pussy, or an exotic meal that becomes toilet art.
Open, begging hands and mouths close in greed. When you pull them out, they excitedly fight, squirm, or jump back in. They ignore what they need to thrive and focus on surviving.
They become addicted to help. It’s a non-toxic drug that assists with life and kills slow.
Keep on bringing the smoke.
Keep on getting your weight up.
Keep on paying to be broke.
Just don’t keep on waiting for hope.
INTERNAL REVOLUTION
I am searching for a way to better myself. Skimming through the Bible, Quran, Kabballah, the Alchemist, 42 Laws of Ma’at, the 50th law. The Book of Enoch and every YouTube conscious and spiritual guru.
I’ve tried weed and meditation. Some days I want to get rid of everyone and everything good, so I don’t have to drug through the bad. I get distracted easily. That’s a polite way of saying fooled.
My bad habits are deceptively cool. They make my relationships hot and my love a headstone. I feel I get close enough to understand success. Then I stop and convince myself to be satisfied because I don’t want to fail.
That void is soothing. Nothing is given. Nothing is expected. Failure has no consequence. Until you see the life you created.
WHITE SUPREMACY is NOT A MENTAL DISORDER.
When Black people speak truth, it doesn’t mean we are angry. It means we are smart enough to know you are trying to make us believe the lies and stupidity that allow us to welcome your destruction. Over and over again.
I went to Safeway for groceries, I sensed everyone staring. It happens with every racist event. As if I’m racing to be next.
I think—whatever happens next, they caused it.
Someone asked me “where are all the Black people that hate White people?”
I told them, “let me know when you find one.”
Black people don’t hate White people like they hate us. And if we don’t like them we just stay away. We don’t go out of our way to get involved with, hurt, or annihilate them.
I wanted to say, we only do that to our own.
White Supremacy is NOT a mental disorder. People choose to be racist the same way they choose to be rapists. It’s never an accident.
White supremacy is a racist’s therapy. And I know how to treat them.
They hate. They blame. They kill-US. Their blueprint is get rid of US.
My nightmares say—
Fuck’em Kill’em Can’t live with them, get rid of them. Point blank before you can re-think.
No prayers allowed or welcomed for them. I don’t pray anyway, so to hell with them.
(BLM) PROTECT-OR-PRETENDER
Creator: Wong Maye-E | Credit: AP
Greet my fellow man with open arms-you wish. I don’t know how to live positive preparing for the end. I can fake it. I can lie. That’s not helping me, I shouldn’t be expected to help and forgive when I’m fooled.
You wonder why we’re anti-social. You went from having my back to holding me as I fight and run to stay off it. Our evolution looks like the walking dead.
Black Lives Matter is a sin again because it’s unpopular for Blacks to profit off our own pain. Sure, I sound like a hypocrite, but tell where the lie is.
We lack and trust too much.
Reverse wokeness.
Go-ahead-back to sleep.
Black Lies Matter-of fact. Blame it all on niggers. Receive praise and accolades.
Broadcast in striking detail, neighborhood vets airing out urban flag bearers.
Salute. We never miss a moment to style our own with revenge.
Sharp contrast.
We look terrible demanding justice when the protectors we pay raid and loot.
We love to hate those who hate to love us.
Protect those who protect.
Love those who respect.
Life Long Investment
“Daddy, what’s karma?”
It’s what weak people believe in to make peace with allowing themselves to be taken advantage of.
His father pointed to his head.
So don’t be weak minded. They’re the only kind of people the world will teach for free. Because they seek the wrong information, even if they are given great direction.
CON-NECTIONS
Ladies, do your googles while doing your keggles so your partner wont leave you.
Guys, if you’re too excited, rub one out so they stick around more than a minute.
STILL HISTORY
DON’T SET FIRE TO MY BED JUST TO WAKE UP, THEN THROW WATER ON ME AND SAY YOU SAVED MY LIFE.
NOW THAT BLACK HISTORY MONTH IS OVER, IT’S TIME TO CHOKE, BURN, AND SCREAM FOR HELP.
AFTER IT’S TOO LATE, THEY WILL ASSIST WITH AN ADDICT’S ENERGY AND SAY “WE REALLY WISH WE COULD’VE DONE MORE.”
Why is it accepted to wave a pride banner that says hate doesn’t live here, but considered ignorant to portray Black Lives Matter.
People say they don’t like the organization, as if they represent the entire Black race. Now I understand why White people don’t want their racist history taught. The kidnapper, molester, rapist, child trafficker gene must be a life’s dream, they don’t want us to witness.
How to Become a Terrible, Horrible, Disgusting Man.
Art by Polly Nor
Release seeds to receive joy.
Commit to abandon when love grows. Groom tortured souls.
Explore the science of exotic holes. Examine marrow and chromosomes to sever responsibility.
Burn laws allowing heart. Abuse god’s pleasure to destruct heavens art. WOMANS CHOICE-THE REASON WE HAVE A VOICE.
Laugh at tears. Wash away our prints of existence, invite children into the world we abandoned.
Charge them to thank us for forcing a life we killed morals to avoid.
My name is Abort Man. I have a woman who obeys and gives commands.
You rolled and tumbled. The name I gave you was pain.
We made you. Gave you no choice. I command you raise yourself to survive.
Welcome my child, into this world of suicide.
I got off because you were not part of the ride.
It doesn’t matter what you say. My riches pay my way. I will never be broken. I don’t need to believe in hope for new beginnings.
I bet on torment, and rape-you will carry my name.
DESIGNING MARRIAGE
The day my boss died. It was no different than your normal, sympathy gathering to see who dressed the best with the worst intentions.
I didn’t have any ties to him besides payments I collected for misery that no amount of work could compensate for. He seemed like a good man tho. He had a family he happily provided for and kept secure.
That’s how you know a man has love. But even vaults hold secrets after being fingered, opened and penetrated. I always thought people stayed married because time and age killed fantasies, so, settling became desirable.
We got high on lunchbreaks, to speed up our day and calm our anger from its drag. After work we chased the life, we helped escape. Banging glasses against bar tops that fogged our eyesight and hardened our focus to see just enough to make it home on time. It’s not in man’s nature to understand regret during the act. In this form we are placed at the top of every list of inspiration and infamy.
At work he trained me to set people up for failure in order to boost success and shock employees into improving.
His kids were... He was… His name is, was, Richard Uperman. His nickname was dick up-her-man. And Reach-up-her-man. His wife Lizette-only went by her first name. When she signed contracts, she printed her first name BIG and scribbled her last name as if she was having a seizure.
I saw Lizette and the kids leaving the grocery store a few days after. They had more steaks and sausages than a club on ladies’ night. As we reminisced, I didn’t want to make it seem like I moved on, so I lowered my voice and dropped my face. I gave hugs without really touching, like a foreign friends kiss where lips don’t touch cheeks.
I didn’t want to show I was anxious to escape faster than suicide, so I nodded a-lot and placed my hands gently on shoulders. Then she invited me to dinner. Obligation through sorrow is a manipulation tactic of murderers. How could I say no.
I couldn’t decide what to wear since I hadn’t bought any new clothes since the funeral. My wardrobe resembled the man who groomed me. I couldn’t fit anything outside of Richard’s era.
“What would Lizette think?”
I rushed to Walmart for jeans, a t-shirt, a blazer, and flowers.
When I arrived, I thought I was in the wrong place.
I hadn’t experienced such a mood since before Rich’s death.
Shirtless men and bra topped women. Weed and cigarettes perfumed the house with tones of sex and sweaty crevices. The muscles in my legs revved. My college track years tingled my memory like the gin I was sipping. I wanted to take off When I saw Richard’s regular strutting towards by me.
“Finally, I have you all to myself.”
Richard and Lizette’s daughter was seventeen and had the room open like a mouth waiting to be fed. She smelled ripe as fruit and looked sweet enough to satisfy any appetite. And I have a serious motherfucking sweet tooth. I forced myself to turn away and search for Lizette.
I asked Lizette to have a word in private. She led me down the bedroom’s hallway. Her sons room was first on the left. I grabbed her, shoved her in.
“What the fu…”
My eyes must have been closed because I didn’t see her leg raise. I didn’t dodge her scissor sharp shoes giving me a midwife’s vasectomy. I went down on my hands and knees. She pushed me over and sat on my face, muffling my groans.
She had that placebo pussy. The only pain I felt was the torment of resisting. I half-way pushed with my arms, but once I felt her warm welcome, I pushed my hips up and morals out.
That slurping. That wetness. I was drowning and felt my dream oozing while I was awake.
“OH MY GOD!”
This is why I never cared for religion. How could this pleasure be a sin if it encourages me to call out praises?
Lizette got up. I was dead weight like a man after being rescued.
“I could take care of you. Much better than Richard”
FUCKING MASTERPIECE
I mastered mine and split you in ways only I could repair.
My calm is vicious. It tears through silence. Places you lie to escape. Where dreams and nightmares abuse and promise a new, better, way.
I have mastered the peace of lies like a cocktail. I Know the ingredients.
You chase and drink up everything added in. You lie in pieces aching for the pain to return. Wanting that piece of you to be mastered.
What I took from you made me whole. Thank you.
I try to discard parts that hurt and don’t fit. Sometimes I crack and my peace leaks out.
They say mastery comes from failure. I kept going and collecting until I had enough to triumph. I’m at peace with moving on. I leave a piece of myself with everyone who loved me.
But I only love my masterpiece.