Posts Tagged ‘the voice of the doomed’

American Grafilthy

Edaurdo Jones

11:00 am – I’m Awakened; by an angry Verbs bitching, about being behind schedule.

“Wake up you yellow -bellied bastard we’re way behind schedule! Pack a bulb for me and Slimmy. Oh, by the way Catlin spilled the last of your ether all over the blackjack table.”



My mind is being plagued by dreams, lately. It’s the same dream night after night. In the dream, I’m seated at a desk on the beach, the Ocean is in front of the desk, the waves are towering 100’s of feet in the air. There is no storm though; it’s a bright sunny day.  My thoughts are extremely lucid. I’m writing in this dream. I’m working on something of epic proportions. I can feel the words pouring out of me, I can see them on the page, but I cannot read; what I’m writing. All I can do is hear the keystrokes, the roar of the ocean, and feel the emotion of the words, as I gaze out at the sea.

The water in the ocean is crystal clear. I can see giant fish swimming through the waves. It’s as if they are suspended in animation at times. With every keystroke the waves grow larger, but I am at peace. There is no fear, but rather a comfort I cannot describe.

What does this mean? I’ll be damned if I know. What I do know is; I do not like waking from this dream. It’s as if I feel I need to finish, every time I wake up, I try my hardest to get back to it. But as many of you know, it is nearly impossible to find the exact dream; you just awoke from in your subconscious, once you venture back into it. But for some reason I’ve had this same dream for 7 consecutive nights.

If anybody can help me figure out what this means, I invite you to do so.  It must have some sort of significance. Why else would I continue to dream the exact same dream night after night?

I decided to go for a trip down memory lane today. I started reading through some poetry, I wrote over the years. I used to enjoy writing this stuff as experiments. Nothing I took too serious, but re reading allows me to get inside my head, and see where I was at mentally. This one right here I wrote in the throes of a meth amphetamine bender. So here, I’ll share some of my thoughts from  when I was really out of my mind…

Wash these sins from my soul as I grow old

Step out of the darkness into angelic light

Let it engulf me whole

Danced cheek to cheek with the devil across Hell’s coals

It took it’s toll

More than twice trying to make men out of mice

Scars on my heart strings from the slice

A being not some waste of life

Work became my wife

You only need to fuck the trife

Burn my mark on times wall

Not some neurotic flash in the pan

Crushed in the palm of a hand

No longer balancing on the edge of a knife

Began living life

No more tears to cry over the snakes lies

Only the heart less truly dies
Just another one of society’s lies

The winner never cries

Up through the abyss

A bus I could not miss

Karma sealed it with a kiss

Dreams are for living

The rest is for sleeping

Regret all the weeping

Thought fate was fleeting

Hope kept getting deleted

Forgot where I was seated

Intoxicated on the depleted

Needles in my feeble brain

Death pumping through perforated veins

With a heart full of pain

Watching souls twirling down the drain

Abel should of slain Kane
Neurosis induced by psychosis

Touching lips with death’s icy kiss

The show that couldn’t be missed

Who really got dissed?

That’s the part everybody dismissed

Soul churning watts pouring through the skies

While destiny hides in a disguise

Can you decipher the snakes lies

Tongue twisters spit until tongues blistered

Talk about wiping the bottom of the pipe

Foul ass tripe

Listing the mights

Should of, could of, only if he would have……..

That’s what drove him mad

Putting ambition inside of a glad bag

Sleeping with soulless hags

Laughing while he brags

Broken dreams are what he drags

Judged by the chrome on the mags and the size of the bags

Just couldn’t drown that bastard’s sorrow in the bottom of a bottle

Take your foot off the fucking throttle!

The bridge is burnt

you should have turned

I knew I should have left at that last right

Bad health from time kept on the shelf

Doesn’t matter if you just let it shatter

Who’s the fucking Matter

You want it served up on a platter

Climb the Goddamn ladder

Or do you got a weak bladder?

Pockets can only get fatter
Lint gets scattered

When your madder than a hatter

Trying to dissect matter

Over the laughter

Where’d he go?


Down that lonely road

Only if he listened to what was told

Always so bold

Discovered that Hell is really cold

When you start thinking your old

They definitely broke the mold

What happened to the code?

Lost it about five miles down the road

Trying to spin midnight into gold

On nothing more than a prayer
Tip toeing in the beasts lair

Different songs we’d sing

Had we known these things

To busy grabbing for rings

Thinking the merry go round

Not paying in flesh by the pound

What is that sound that’s coming from underground?

You can still hear it from the top of the mound

Listen it will help with the decision

That seems to be the mission

Only if he stopped wishing

He’d see what’s been missing

Into the wind he just kept pissing

See its really feces

Just tear those miserable meeses to pieces

Then it all ceases

Foundations are laid under wonder

Can’t you hear that thunder

Reality got plundered

Sniffed through a hundred

Bloody nose hose and an armful of hoes

Recipe for the Woes

Deceit only grows

That’s all he knows

Watch the trouble bubble into double

Time to adjust the treble

It’s on another level

Hope you brought the shovel

Or did you leave it to the humble

I may stumble but I never tumble

One too many cocks of the walk got smashed on those rocks

Drinking cheap wine on the main line

Jelly fish spines go in boxes made of pine packed in Lyme

After they drop a dime

That’s not the crime

It’s the times

Read between the lines

Can’t you see the signs?

Juggling minds is what you’d find

But Justice is always blind

Who’d you loose your mind?

It’s your call

It might fall off that ball

Over the long Haul

How high did we build that wall

It can never got too tall

Smothered by mothers
Fighting with brothers

Following others

Sucking on the udders

Little pig’s getting awfully big

From filling rigs

Insides soft as rotting figs

All the graves we dig

Ambition is a fatherless child walking in the wild

Riding the snake as the earth quakes

Learning about life’s mistakes

Scraping a Chevy’s breaks

Is all it takes

Then you awake and see the fake

Commotion is the motion that stirs the ocean

Broken backs laid them tracks across the cracks

Would of dipped instead of slipped
past cracking whips

You won’t get sick from just one prick

Skins only so thick

compared to a brick

Mountains crumble under bundles

Stomachs rumble

when it’s not rare the cupboards bare
can I do it my way?

It’s not a question just a suggestion

To clear this congestion

Who’s honey really is money

It always smells funny buddy

When waters so muddy

Those aren’t wishes
They’re fishes rotting on dirty dishes

Just bitches every time she misses

never sealed with kisses

Can’t be submissive on the issues

Or they’ll miss you

Boo Hoo

Is that you still feeling blue about what to do

Get a clue or come unglued

Screams splitting the seams of the American dream

Murdered on a triple beam over CREAM

Because the schemes of fiends

Planted the seeds of dirty deeds

the earth bleeds unease

The Malt-Liquor –Butt- Naked- Booty- Bash

In the spring of 1999, I met a character, that I would push every limit imaginable with over the years. There are types of personalities that just click, souls that have been together for a hundred life times, repeating the process of life and death over and over together throughout time.  Verbs and I share this sort of connection. I cannot even remember who actually introduced me to this lunatic, but I remember the first adventure we ever partook in together like it was yesterday.

The 90’s were a time when I thought LSD might as well have been a miracle health elixir. I really don’t remember a day; I wasn’t ingesting it by the handful. I’d wake up and eat quarter sheets for shits and giggles, then take off on my bicycle down High street to get into whatever adventure I could. Along the way I’d spin out every person I knew on LSD, sometimes people I just met as well. There was a time when people would be just walking down the street and run into each other completely out of their heads, and be like, Oh, I see you ran into Eddie today too, huh?

On one of these adventures I ran into Verbs, there was a sort of instant connection, it was as if we knew each other forever and had just been reunited. It turned out Verbs loved acid too. So we quickly gobbled down a few dozen hits, between me, him, and this kid he had with named Lost.

Somewhere along the line, right around the time the acid was just kicking into high gear, during that beautiful crest you hit as you’re beginning to peak, Verbs and I decided we needed to get rid of Lost. So how did we go about this? We put him on a Greyhound bound for Cleveland.  Probably not the nicest thing in the world, just tossing him on bus with a head full of acid, but hey, we wanted to get rid of him, so why not ship him far away from us as possible. Lost was actually from Cleveland, so it’s not as cruel of an act as you think. We just cut his trip to Columbus short.

Spring time in Columbus is mating season. It’s honestly my favorite time of the year to be in Columbus, thousands of girls exploring their sexuality, unhindered by parental control, for the first time in their lives. The minute that first week in the spring hits, they can break out that little sundress, and when that first gust of warm spring air hits their box, they go into heat. Its true of all animals, spring time equals mating season.

I needed a way to capitalize off of this gift from Mother Nature. A house party would be an excellent way of doing so; unfortunately I was living in a tiny studio apartment. I was discussing this plan with Verbs, when he told me his girlfriend was going out of town for the weekend that Friday. We could have the party there, provided we cleaned up the mess, and hid any traces it ever occurred.

Now every good party needs a theme, one that will give the party the proper vibe. The whole purpose of this party was to get drunk and laid. So I had the perfect name in mind. I’d run into Nasty and Broken-back earlier in the week.  Broken-back had got his name by passing out on his roof drunk, and rolling off of it, onto a BBQ grill that lay below, breaking his back in the process, hence the name.

Anyways, I’d inquired into, what they’d been up to, since I’d last talked to them?  Their response was “Shit, homie. It’s been nothing but malt-liquor-butt-naked-booty-bashes all week.  This would be the perfect name for our party.

Every party needs a flier, a good one, one that draws attention. Now here is a small problem, this is going to take away from the progression of this tale, but it’s very important to clear this up, as it is very relevant to the story. There have always been arguments over who actually came up with the idea for this flier. Mostly because we threw a follow up party to this one, and the fliers were along the same line. So Steve and Rita always try and say the fliers were their idea and we made them at Rita’s house. Well that is true, but only for the second party. The first party I have to give credit to Mabel for the fliers.

Mabel was this mountain of a man; he weighed in at around 400lbs, and had a pension for extreme perversity. The kid was a porn junky, you’d go in his house and he’d always have porn scattered everywhere, as well as a group of rather unusual sluts, he’d have performing all kinds of depraved sexual acts, in exchange for drugs.

We were all brainstorming up ideas for the flier, when Mabel says.

“Why don’t we just take a black marker and write over the page of one of these magazines?”

It’s a brilliant idea; I mean sex sells, so if we’re trying to get people to come to our sex party, we might as well have people having sex on the flier, right?

Every great party or event is sponsored by something; so I decided we needed a sponsor. Not that the sponsor was even legitimate or anything it just sounded professional. So we decide who better to Sponsor a malt-liquor-butt-naked-booty-bash, than Olde English? So of course, that goes on the flier, along with security provided by Nasty Nate. This was my way of avoiding any waves with Nate over stealing the name.

We ended up printing off close to a 1,000 of these fliers, wall papering the entire campus in smut. We’d spell out crude phrases like “Get Laid” “Ass” “Pussy” and all other kinds of vulgarities. Over the course of the next week this campaign caused more than a few accidents on campus, from drivers being distracted by looking at our porn campaign. I’d also be assaulted by a group of bar burning feminist for degrading women. I had handed them a flier unaware of their political views, and they chased me for three blocks kicking, punching, scratching, and hurling bottles at me, for being a pig. They obviously could not appreciate the creative genius behind this party.

Now every good party needs music; so I’d handle this by getting DJ PRZM to spin the dirtiest booty house on wax, in a tag team set with DJ Self. This would make the message crystal clear, “Do you want to fuck?” Because, we certainly did.

I’d spend the day of the party buying every liquor store on campus out of 40oz. bottles of Olde English.  After all I claimed the party was sponsored by them. By the time I was done we had four 50 gallon barrels full of 40’s.

Verbs decided that there was no way we could let anybody in the house. If something got broke or stolen he’d have to explain to his girlfriend why. So we took her dressers out on the porch to set the turntables up on. This would work as a makeshift stage. We locked all the doors, and the restroom policy was one at a time for the girls, with Verbs supervising their movements, the guys could use the bushes, problem solved.

PRZM and Self arrived around 9:30 and began setting up, by 10 the first 12 inch hit the platter. Before long the music was drawing in freaks by the drove.  The message was clear, the party was here. Within an hour the entire yard was filled up with people. Music is a powerful thing; it can make you feel any emotion when properly delivered. It didn’t take long for the people to get into the groove.

The entire yard was overflowing with people virtually fucking the speakers to the 4 count, girls were getting topless and pussy popping everywhere you looked. The vibe was a simple one SEX. I don’t know if it had to do with the vibe, or maybe it was the fact I probably ate a half a sheet of acid during the course of the day, and popped handful of rolls, but at one point I was butt naked swinging my cock across the porch to the music. I was a man possessed.  Possessed by sex!

Once I was back in my clothes; a big booty freak who appreciated my performance pulled me aside, and feverishly began sticking her tongue down my throat and grabbing my cock. I wasn’t alone, it seemed like everywhere you looked couples were disappearing into the shadows, fucking behind dumpsters in the alley, or making out in the bushes. I’d definitely achieved the vibe I was going for, as the hours went on it just kept getting crazier. Mind you we’re right there on campus, this party isn’t taking place out in the woods, or on a farm. This hedonistic orgy was happening on the front lawn of a highly populated area! It was turning into a smashing success.

I have no clue when or how it ended, because I left with the big booty freak I’d met, in order to go back to her house and really get loose. I’d awaken the next the day tangled up in the sheets, and slip out unnoticed. I spent the rest of the day helping Verbs clean up the mess. Unfortunately we forgot to clean up one key piece of evidence. We’d gotten distracted and decided to go get a drink at a bar, and well, we ended up leaving Verbs girlfriend’s dresser out on the porch with the flier for the party taped to it. She’d arrive at the house before we returned, and found it there. Once Verbs and I got back it was far too late. We found everything he owned on the porch. Life is all about beginnings and endings. This would be the end of him living with his girlfriend, and the beginning of his adventure living with Mabel…….

Today is the birthday of my good friend, “Nasty” Nate Marchese. July, 11th of this year, also marked the 4 year anniversary, of the tragic end to my good friend’s life. Not a day goes by, that I do not think about Nate, and the memories we shared. I decided it was better to share a story about Nate, on his birthday, rather than the day that marked his death, because I found it a more appropriate way to celebrate his life. It is also my present to him for his 33rd birthday.

I had originally written this story 4 years ago. But, I let some hack edit it. They completely took liberties with my voice and basically ruined a great story. Why would I allow someone to do this? Well, I was still wet behind the ears and was trying my hardest to break into writing more seriously, and honestly my total lack of technical skill, when it came to grammar was hindering this. So like a fool, I let someone destroy my emerging voice. A hard but good lesson learned. Now ,that I’ve grown into my own, I feel it only appropriate to pay tribute to Nate the proper way. So here it is. Happy Birthday, fat boy!

The birth of the Saint.

Many a person has asked how I got dubbed “The Saint.”  To tell this tale, we have to travel back in time to the year of our lord 1997.  I’m a wide eyed and young 21 year old, who’d just begun my adventure on the road. I’d also just touched down in Columbus, Ohio. I was living on the campus of one of the biggest party schools in the country, and was taking full advantage of the location. Drugs and the college experience go hand in hand. So I figured, somebody needs to be supply these kids with drugs, might as well be me. I’d surely be able to make friends that way. I didn’t know really anybody, but my roommate at the time, and his friend Hosh. Hosh, was this compulsive liar type. The kid was always telling this bullshit story, about how his dad was some high ranking Mafioso, in order to look tough, and impress people. Everybody knew it was bullshit, but he kept telling the tales. He also claimed to have tons of hook ups. I mean he did know a shit ton of fiends. So I figured, I could at least take advantage of that, and make some money.

I’d previously lived in Cincinnati. That’s where I first arrived in Ohio. But I had a taste for breaking into veterinarian’s offices and animal hospitals, to procure Ketamine to sell at raves. To make a long story short, one night the pigs caught me and my partner, breaking into one. I got away and he did not. I figured the heat was on, and I needed to get the fuck out of dodge. So I moved to Columbus. I did have more than a few hook ups in the Cincinnati area. One day I got a call from one of them, asking if I could get 10 pounds of regs for 10 grand in Columbus. They said they’d split the profit off the sale with me, if I could, of course I said, I’d see what I could do, even though I really didn’t know anybody, but Hosh.

When I went to Hosh with this proposal, he assured me he could handle this– no problem, and would hit me up later that day after he talked with his people.

A few hours later; I get a call from Hosh screaming and crying that he’d gone to talk with some people, and they thought he had the 10 grand, and beat his ass senseless, in an attempt to rob him. He also wanted to know what I was going to do about these people beating his ass! I wonder why he wasn’t calling his Mafioso daddy. That was the first thought that popped in my head. Of course I knew why, the guy didn’t exist. He told me it was this kid named “Nasty” Nate and his friend Chip. I knew Chip. I used to work with him at this pyramid scam business. You know the type that says if you build a team of 5 members and follow their patented system, they’ll give you your own warehouse full of overpriced knockoff garbage.  I never bought into the whole concept. I just needed a job and money, and these people gave anybody with a pulse a shot.

Now I really didn’t give a flying fuck about them kicking Hosh’s ass. In fact, I wanted to kick his ass for almost getting me involved with these assholes! Now that I’m older and wiser, I probably never would have done, what I was about to do.  But at 21, I figured I needed to make a name for myself, if I was going to be a successful drug dealer. I needed to show people, they couldn’t even think about robbing me and get away with it. So I asked around about this Nasty Nate character.

I asked several people that I knew about him, and every last one of them said the same thing. “You’d have to be completely and totally insane to fuck with Nate.”  Perfect, what better way for me to make a name for myself than to confront Columbus’s leading bad guy? I for one never realized, what the name I’d earn or the infamy that came with that name, would be what it was.

Later that evening; I’d been out at the bar drinking Strong Islands, sniffing meth, and eating rolls. So I was pretty pumped up, and over flowing with both the liquid and chemical muscles, I’d need to handle this task. So at 3:30 in the morning, I made my way to Nasty’s house to confront him on his own turf. I knew where he lived, because I had to pick Chip for work on a few occasions. I made my way to his house.

Once there, I took a few deep breaths, and made my way up the two flights of stairs that led to his door. The staircase was littered with empty beer bottles, cigarette butts, crack sacks, and the over powering stench of stale booze, urine and vomit.  Once at the door; I gave it 3 sharp raps.

Chip answered the door, drunk and stumbling with a puzzled yet happy to see me look on his face.

“Yo, Eddie what’s up dog? What brings you here? Man, you missed it we fucked this dude up today!” He exclaimed as he showed me his bloody and mangled knuckles.

“I know, that’s why I am here. I want to talk to Nate.”

“Sure, come on in.”

Now fear was definitely the fuel that was pumping my pistons, anybody who goes into battle and is not filled with fear is a fool, never underestimate your opponent. But I was remaining calm as a duck on the water; it’s all about controlling the fear. Any yelling, or anything like that, is an obvious sign of fear.

Chip invites me in, and brings me into the living room to meet his Nastiness. He explains he knows me from work and I want to talk with him. Nate’s response was a simple one. “Why the fuck does he want to talk to me? I aint buying none of that shit, and I sure as hell aint trying to sell it.”

My response was “I aint here to sell shit. I’m the guy you tried to rob today. I can’t be having that.”

Nate just looked up at me and said “Either you got to be the stupidest son of a bitch to ever walk the face of the planet or you’re just as gangster as me.”

I didn’t know where the hell this was heading and I was already planning out my attack in my head. He’s sitting down I’m standing. Kick him in the face, grab the 40 bottle on the table smash Chip with it. Then the unexpected happened. He hands me the 40 and says” Drink up Jimmie the Saint.”

I obviously accepted his offer. Over the course of the rest of that evening and well into the next day, I’d sit and drink with and get to know Nate. He explained to me the whole reason he’d done what he did to Hosh. He hated Hosh for all the bullshit gangster shit he always talked and decided to pull his card. He also told me he liked me, because I came to his house on my own, with full knowledge this probally wouldn’t end well, and did it anyway, solo. Nate and I were cut from the same clothe, I’d proved that to him.  We’d become the best of friends and he’d introduce me to my Columbus family. The best group of friends I could have ever possibly hoped to make. A family that would live the stories that I now am telling and make me into what I now am.

The name Jimmie the Saint comes from a movie called Things to do in Denver when you’re dead. This was Nate’s favorite movie. According to Nate I was the epitome of the main character Jimmie the Saint. Me coming to his house all alone in the middle of the night, to draw my line in the sand, was definitely something my big screen counterpart would have definitely done. I owe a ton to Nate Marchese, without him I probably never would have gotten half the respect I got in Columbus. I miss him greatly and really wish he was around to share the spoils of my success with me in the future. But he is not. So now just like in Things to do in Denver when you’re dead, I await to be reunited with Nate and have boat drinks in paradise.  Rest In Power until we meet again. Boat Drinks………

In the spirit of exploring new and original voices; I’ve decided to add a page to my blog strictly dedicated to the work of emerging voices. I feel this is a necessary step to build momentum for the launch of my new site.  This will also give us the opportunity to test different styles in order to see what direction the site will be heading in.  I invite anyone who would like an opportunity to showcase their work to a larger audience to contact me with your submissions.  Submissions are open to artists of all mediums not just writing.

The first person I will be showcasing on the “Other Voices” page will be the amazingly talented Popeye Squirm. Mr. Squirm is an up and coming poet from San Luis Obispo, California. I invite you to check out his work  on the Other Voices page now.