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You can’t stab an earthquake.
Don Vinyl is in the hospital getting the pin out of his leg. That’s
what going to the East Coast will do to you. The East Coast is one big
suction cup sucking the art out of The West.
You know me, you let me lie to you. A car pulls in the driveway. I
silently change rooms. I knew it was you. And just like always, a knock
at the front door. You look in the window and knock more. Now you think
that I could be sleeping. I get there before you do, on the side of the
house where my bedroom windows are. You stand and call out my name.
There’s a thin wall between us. You’re puzzled and wondering. I’d like
to know what you’re thinking while driving away. I love you.
You know you have it rough if you’re a fat speed freak.
Golden Boy Escort (used to be Persian Boy) …Alexander. Tell him you
heard about him through Kato (Winston Tong), Arturo and Bruce. He is
located at Trinity Plaza.
OK! I admit it – I steal opium suppositories out of people’s assholes!
House of Pain,
Boy of worry,
Your place of torture,
My place of learning.
Dear Santa,
I’m 6 years old and that’s as old as I’m going to get.
Johnny [Johnny Genocide]
Today 24 years ago I was born. I turned out not as expected. Rather
than an ivory success came only another welfare failure. But in
retrospect my parents sure did
waste a fortune on me. I even shamed and embarrassed them. Father
actually traveled South and even affects this stupid accent – always
fitting in. My mother is a recluse and an atheist. My mother is very
dear to me, as are all who have innocently suffered. As I told a shrink
when I was thirteen, “I’m a round peg in a fucking square society.” I
may as well add that my sister Lesly takes care of babies and doesn’t
say NIGGER! She’s a liberal.
PS Geza have I told you my feelings for you?
See
It was like this when
We waltz into this place
A couple of pop-ish Cats
Is doing an Aztec two-step
And I says
Dad lets cut
But then this dame
Comes up behind me see,
And says
You and me could really exist
Wow I says,
Only the next day
She has bad teeth
And really hates poetry.
New fashion: lipstick AND kneepads
Chartreuse penny loafers
Russian Cossack hats.
78 trashbag dresses with fishnets.
Day-glo Chinese smoking jackets
BUT – we need financial aid and more drugs!
My head aches, my stomach growls, Anne mumbles on and on about
seduction and guilt and chugging men to make them horny.
Was I ever worthwhile to know?
I’m running scared, yes I admit it. I can’t be around a lot of people
because my heart races around and nervousness sets in. Quite an
uncomfortable feeling, never pinpointing a thought, always searching,
never finding. Oh yes, ha, ha, I hide it so I look pretty on the
outside. But too much “dust” and my dreams come within reach. It’s weird
that I agree with you even while you change your opinions. I’m scared
of mirrors, but I have plenty in my bedroom. There is nothing but me in
my reflection and that I’m over-clothed. Cautious of all strangers and
close relations. I sit and watch and see all the planning. I wish I
could find peace with myself. But I can’t. So run. And the faster I
run, the better I am.
Don’t fight it all…just give up and face the truth of destructive
love and enjoy real happiness forever. Loving life ‘til it ends.
There was a carnival calliope playing in the background. Nobody here
was paying any attention because the record player was skipping over and
over. I thought everybody was fighting with each other. Everyone was
cooking the same dish, but following separate recipes. The phone rang
one too many times and got disconnected; the door disappeared and
didn’t get answered. Geza is thankful the toilet still works.
Nervous, jumpy, can’t wait, general attitude passed back and forth.
I’ve been waiting around ‘til the break is over. When it is, the dishes
need to be done! The noise will fill the void.
This world is manipulated by money-grubbing, stink-pigs. Now what
they’re doing is poisoning the earth beyond redemption. Poisoning
everything: birds, cows, cats, children (even though I hate children).
It’s a fuck: so beware vile bush dogs because we aren’t fooled by this
ridiculous sham against humankind and history. Fuck, you think we are
dumb? Do you, assholes?? There is no concern for quality & art,
rather to make more money: bigger car, bigger house, bigger box further
away from the decaying cities. Tax cuts. Police protection. The status
quo. Big business buy-off. Deadly nukes, chemicals dumped in the air
& sea. The shitty list goes on and on. Now listen sexless executive,
brainless redneck, sinister fist-fucker, boring clone-fag, pimply cholo
stank, kultureless dirt, If you dislike my habits and diversions just
keep it to yourself. Down with air conditioning.
[Many entries focus on Geza (pronounced
"GEH-zah"), a striking, slender drag queen. He was one of the two
apartment doyen-dealers. A contemporary describes "her" as about
5'-10", high cheek-boned with full lips and wide, warm, caramel eyes.
Thick, black hair cut just above her shoulders but worn moussed in a
punk pompadour - when not under a wig. She might accessorize with a
sheer, red scarf around her neck, and favored showy rhinestone jewelry
and makeup. The lip-prints above probably are hers. She never wore a
tee or dress shirt, preferring some delicate knit top. She loved mini
skirts, little more than fabric scraps
or a converted tube-top barely covering her ass. She
pulled ragged fish-nets over her skinny legs, pushed her feet into
pumps. She fought all competition for attention. The following six
entries were written for or about her.]
Dear Daughter Geza, There is some problem with our communication,
your bitchy old mommy Lawless is on the rag, with no sleep, no drugs,
an ear-ache and a totally fuckin’ bitchy attitude and when the hell are
the Dilaudids gonna get here goddammitt?!? After all, I am the mother
of the original ska-goddess – you – so I deserve better fucking
treatment than this!! I want drugs, food, alcohol & a box of
tampons NOW! I want it all now, do you get the message, daughter dear?
I hope so cuz if you don’t I will never help you pay off your drug
debts and your angry landlord again!! Affectionate messages and
ordinary greetings aside, I hope you will arrange me a decent burial if
I die to day which I sure as fuck feel like doing…I don’t care if you
have to dig the hole yourself, if you let my cold corpse lie rotting
behind your refrigerator for longer than 2 days, I’ll never haunt you
from my grave, I promise you that! And I know that without my bitching,
cussing and acting like a dry old cunt & just being a nuisance in
general, you, Miss Bitch, will lead a very dull and boring existence
and it’ll be like that drugs or no drugs. YOU HAVE NO MANNERS! Well, no
more time for friendly lines and words of motherly affection, I’ve
wasted enough time on you already. I just wanted to remind you of the
drugs I want and the respect I DEMAND! On your knees!! Lovingly, Mommy
Lawless
Geza has so many people surrounding him, always humans & bullshit
& drugs. A lot of these people mean well but they’re too confused to
try to help themselves. Some pretend to mean well & they’re really
leeches & snakes. I don’t want to see it all explode into more pain
than you dreamed you could experience. Get out of here!! Move,
whatever, or wherever. GEZA I LOVE YOU AS A FRIEND, a friend’s love is
hard to find & you know it. I’m begging you to stop this before it
kills you...It’s your life, don’t end it now, you’re too valuable a
person. - Mommy Lawless
Well Gez-ah, It’s (hold yer breath) Lawless’ Birthday!!! I want lots of
crank buried in the center of my banana cake. At the risk of sounding
picky, please wrap it first. By the way, I’m 22!! - Mommy Lawless
I thought you were a handsome person and shy just like me. No, the fact
is the opposite, you’re bold; bold and strong with feelings hiding
behind the face painted with make-up and age like wax fruit. Pretty and
hard to eat.
Hungarian Pervert, [Geza] In all my days I never quite met a girl like
you. It must be those voluptuous blossoming breasts. Only you would get
me involved in a near-drug-bust, not to mention running out of the
house in a trench coat and a wig…so when I ask you to marry me on the
French Riviera, you will have no alternative. Yours for as long as you
want me (a long time I hope). Your lips burn through my heart.
John [Johnny Genocide]
Feeling like you want some fat nigger to pump his thick gray sperm into
your gullible little love/sex pocket. Casually you gawk about to examine
whether or not some lucky spy has seen that little string of spittle
hanging from your little spittle flap cunt. You think you mean
something, that your life has some sort of fundamental significance,
but your hopes lie slashed in some alleyway a product of your childhood
delusion that somewhere somebody nice is going to marry you for your
face or your hole or any Goddamned thing he wants as long as he can be
happy with your obvious shortcomings. You want to regain the innocence
that was lied to you, your mother lied to you! She pushed you forth into
this predatory world to fight for little scraps of nothing. Private
punishment your only friend. Pain accompanied by music. Surrounding
yourself with happy things only makes it worse for you when the fall
comes. Don’t hide behind your makeup, fashionable clothing. I can see
behind those useless walls of skin. Fool yourself – there’s no one left.
[The group filled two notebooks and entitled the second, "The New
Testament" on the front endpaper. Paul, Geza's lover and room-mate, may
have written the following entry in the second. The diaries end sometime
in December, 1980.]
It was all so vivid then and all the spy talk we loved hearing, talking
about nothing except death. And the music that we heard before anyone
else. Fast, it’s so fast. And the fag clones upstairs who tried our
patience until it broke up the family. Luckily mom [Geza] got the
landlord to break the 6 yr lease and give up the deposit. Everybody
wines and dines us. Paying to get in. Sometimes interrupting mom before
her morning coffee. Ugh- she hated getting out of bed those last few
days. Someone was always filling in for her. Crawford is stray again as
when we took her in, and Randy is ready to kill. Everybody is dying to
get in and nobody died to get out. And all were too young to know
anything else. Mom used to say, “Where’s this new thing?” New things to
mom were anything that was pretty, a new soul that had no place to go.
Somebody who was poor like us.
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