DoG of MaN

Jon Jon Jesse!

Jon Jon Jesse!

Thirteen- a post human fiction.

Poor little Scummy, he got nothing but a raw deal from the moment that he came out of the gate. His family tree was an assortment of losers, geeks and deviant miscreants!!!
Scummy is a genetic-jinx. The sidewalks, they were smeared with frozen logies, like so many vulgar crystalised oysters on the day that little Scummy was hatched.
The sun didn't even attempt to pierce the immense cloud cover. It had not done so for weeks! The steady drizzle had given everything the patina of decay. Moss was hanging from the street lamps, giving them the appearence of sinister muppets. Rivers of goo ran sluggishly through the gutters. Sliding Down the streets like a hocker from a sinus. This was the world that greeted little Scummy as he slid down the uterine canal into the lighty-light.

Hey candyass! Listen up! Because your pants aren't getting any bigger! And they christened him little Scummy. And from the instant he plopped into his vale of tears, his momy could sense that it was to be something far worse for him. from the moment the toddler was toddling, his was a psyche with a sharky precipice, Scummy's existence was to be a trauma-rama beyond the usal. why at the kids-kennel day care franchise were mumsie dropped him off he was despised, taunted, hunted, and tortured by all of his little toddle-mates who should have been his little -pals.

Even the nursies held him in contempt. By the time little Scummy was in the kindergarten he was being force-fed the sand box. He kept all of torment to himself. By the third grade he was jack-ass drunk. The poor little weasel had to hit mumsie's liquor cabinet in order to make it trough recess. By junior high school he was a total outcast, living in a loser's rock and roll fantasy.
Poor little Scummy should have stayed in high school, but he just couldn't stand up to the abuse. He was conntinuosly derided with a variety of taunts and insults. The little children would follow him home and encircle him chanting "Dyke! Old maid! Dyke!" Scummy would nun home in tears. Now he is tirty, but he feels like fifteen. Now he works as a data-entry geek for a variety of temporary agencies. He sits on his jive-ass-jack-ass rump in front of a computer, typing all day long as he styffs his blemished mug with dunkin donuts. Day in, day out, day in, day out!

Poor widdle Scummy is so bored that he fell in love with a whore. He's such a chump that he tried to change her. She told him that she loved him too, and then she fleeced him out of all of his loot! Scummy was a basket case!!! So Scummy hit the street with his thrty-eight and went gunning for her pimp. But little-widdle Scummy was terribly near-sighted. He animed, fired, and missed. Little Scummy bled to death in the gutter while the moon was reflected in his blue blue eyes.

Spartan Breakfast

The light was more clear than i thought,

it felt strange woke up in a world, in a place.

The sky showed dreams, draws, dates, confessions

and inscreptions of love.

Rome was like that, i just remembered it with a bunch

of art in everywhere, philosophers, painters, lovers and

gossip people on the streets.

I was starving, my stomach said "brunch time"(as always)

wherever kind of food could stop

all of this tornado of emotions and memories from Rome,

the warriors can make me come easyly, butjust only one

could stop it.

In front of me was a beautiful body laying down, with

a sexual expression taking place in the hole room,

a color red wine sheet was rolled in him, showing part of

his chest and making wind touch it and crashing his smell

in my face.

Could said it was feeding me.

Thanks Sparta, thanks Pop Hostal.

12:00 pm ( Madrid-2009 )

...The problem..

Surely, I said, knowledge is the food of the soul; and we must take care,
my friend, that the Sophist does not deceive us when he praises what he sells,
like the dealers wholesale or retail who sell the food of the body; for they praise
indiscriminately all their goods, without knowing wha are really beneficial or hurtful
neither do their customerknow, with the exception of any trainer or physician who
may happen to buy of them.
In like manner those who carry about the wares of knowledge, and make the round
of the cities, and sell or retail hem to any customer who is in want of them, praise
them all like; though I should not wonder, O my friend, if many of them were really
ignorant of their effect upon the soul; and their customers equally ignorant, unless
he who buys of them happens to be a physician of the soul.

If, therefore, you have understanding of what is good and evil you may safely buy
knowledge of Protagoras or anyone; but if not, then, O my friend, pause, and do not
hazard your dearest interests at a game of chance. For there is far greater perilin
buying knowledge than in buying meat and drink...

-Plato, Protagoras

The cat in the hat ( version mia)

Something i would like to hear after you,
the little voice inside my boot...
tss.. tsss
" is she, don't let her go"

Who is in there? i asked with fear,
nobody answer, is my head i guess.

But im wonder what my friends might say,
whatever they would say, i don't care.

Now, the voice comes from my suitcase,
it must be the little over weight...
tsss.. tsss
"you better don't forget how strogn
you'll be there"

Who is in there? i asked with strength,
nobody answer, it was my head over again.

My body shiver just thinking in her,
what a great moles she will wear.

spit it out...

Three wishes i got, the genius was the woman in my mind,
it makes me feel aware in earth, insted of live in dead,
is this crazy woman that i got, that i contracted,
what i whished in my bed..

My first wish was: " get out of my dreams, and get into my bed.."
(it seams like my wish is not here yet)

The second one will be: ....." let me drink more of that whiskey, let me
smell it, feel it in my throat, in my tongue, i would like to get hangover,
sick, tired... and awake promising us don't do it again"..

My third one it will wait, this third one doesn't wanna lose you yet...