Health Nut, Tight Butt

Eating right, Outasite

Look at me I’m a winner

Getting thinner, always thinner

How many carbs in that

Wouldn’t want to get more fat

Pants Smaller

True life baller

Feeling good looking better

“where do we go from here now that all of the children have grown up???”

Beats bouncing bass from the ever present ear buds that adorn my sweat drenched head

Indeed: where do I go from here…

A yoga master guru all knowing specialist in the art of aura told me the

Reason I had hit a plateau, wall, peak was that I just wasn’t clean…

Clean? CLEAN?

What choo mean.  Not Clean…

And she sent me, Disciple of diet, to a place where magic happens, where wonderment happens, where clean happens…

Come to find out it’s where shit happens too…

“Healing waters” read the discrete door…”come in and be cleansed”

Ushered into a small waiting room where Filipino women in pure white smocks wandered to and fro

I expected to hear farting noises but there was only gentle tinkling water

Pictures of Jesus stared down at me…

I picked up a pamphlet entitled “The Urn and You” and read a charming short story about an

Ancient commoner ridding himself of demons by sticking a gourd up his ass and flushing them away…

“What in the hell am I doing here”

My conservative Jewish upbringing began scolding at me…

“Fuck it” I argued back

“Ive got tattoos so I’m already in violation…I’m getting healthy!”

I was lead into a small ante room by a statuesque blonde who’s only mar was a gigantic crucified Christ

Hanging between her supple breasts…

Disrobe, put this towel on, and position yourself on the…she commanded

The … was a sort of medieval cum modern bathtub in which one reclined with ones feet lifted out in porcelain stirrups leaving one’s derriere hanging naked and alone suspended over a huge drain hole

Once laying in this most unholy of contraptions the woman returned to the room carrying something about 2 feet long in her hand…

It was a Wand

Not a magic wand…

An Ass wand

Once I was schooled in the ways of impaling myself on this plastic intrusion I steeled myself and

IN IT WENT

Now i’m laying there, connected to a skinny finger of shame

Horrified and yet strangely

Mortified at the same time

The buxom princess of analease opened a panel revealing dials and buttons and knobs somewhat steampunk and wonkian I couldn’t help but think of poor fat Agustus stuck in the chocolate tube…

Soon I was filling with water like some

Disgusting water balloon

Gripping the sides of the sybian like device I was overwhelmed with shame as the

Queen of Queefs

began massaging my stomach

Eliciting a a string of firecracker like farts that went on and on and on

My dead Fathers face filling my thought bubble…

Remember son, its not polite to pass gas in front of the ladies”

OH DAD YOU’D BE SO PROUD I cried out and

Began to shit my brains liver and spleen out in front of the nice lady who acting as if I wasn’t a disgusting hobo uncoiling my poison hot-snake in her pristine white ceramic…hell it was a basket of em.. and the explosive farting noises just kept on blasting

While she talked about the weather and about Jesus and about how

“Oh MY you must drink a lot of coffee judging by your texture…” Sweat stood out on my brow

I wanted to run

Wanted to hide

Wanted to die

Sitting in the most vulnerable place I’ve ever been

Plop plop plop

Rubbing my tummy

Plop plop plop

The heavy smell of candles and incense a mockery of what was really happening

At the end she tells me to “Clean myself with moist towlettes” in the bathroom

I feel like the sad drunken sorority girl cleaning herself after pulling a train

Every wipe doing nothing to reduce the Shame, the shame, the shame…

So I stand here now,

Just telling you the tale makes my starfish cringe

and share I must my wisdom with  you…

It’s better to be fat

It truly is…

 

 

©2012 Harry Fagel all rights reserved

Out on the street

Hands in pockets clench fat cash

Strangle the life from each bill

Eyes poppin’ on Presidential faces

Thumbs drummin’ on wickety sheets of papers

Here size does matter

As elsewhere the

Thicker, more cylindrical cock you got

The more you get respect on the block

Cash is more than king

Its the only thing that matters

Gotta put 22’s on the g-ride same as putting a

Baby grand in the lobby

All about the stash here nothing has changed in millennium

Worship is still in full effect

The deity is Dolla’

Looks, brains, talent are secondary to the meat in your pocket

More you got the more you get

Period

Hard to sell hard work and dandelions to demons

Hard to say the street aint nothing but a wasteland

Down here the truth is a clear as the zeros and ones

All about the cash Baby

All about the cash

Rip it, earn it on the back, sell the smack or tax motherfuckers

Really don’t matter

Its a microcosm of the glitterati

Instead of mansion it’s Dolce

Instead of karma it’s what you get

Instead of love its loving things

Like all the temples that have been raised for the greenback

We blow through town

Lock our doors and drive a bit faster

Street flashing by and by

Head home to MTV and Survivor

Money isn’t everything unless its

Everything

 

 

 

 

©2009 Harry Fagel

How do you stem the tide of murder in Latin America

Where heads rest on bus stops and car hoods and sidewalks and the

Unavision shows scared people graphic accounts of drug lord slayings

Sicarios roam the streets and watchtowers of Mexico

Blasting and shooting and stabbing and skinning and cutting

41,000 murdered since 2006

There is a report

Somewhat classified

That spouts information every day

About the killing south of the United States border

Everyday narco-traffickers leave messages in Spanish for

Other narco-traffickers that warn of more violence if

If

If what I am not sure because like some hell-born machine that

Feeds and feeds there is no end in sight

Instead it is a comic book gruesomeness that permeates the land

Carloads of heavily armed hitmen that kill police and government and rival fellows with

Equal and terrifying vigilance

Analysts here in the States cite the movement of Cocaine and Heroin and Marijuana

North and the movement of rifles and grenades and rocket launchers and Barett .50 caliber sniper guns South

Claiming it is only a matter of time before the damage spreads here

Almost as if there is some saran-wrap, plexiglass, teflon shield around Estadas Unitas

That has kept this maniacal game out thus far but that is cracking and eroding

I cannot help but envision

Apocalypse Now

Colonel Kurtz speaking of the balance between morality and will and the absence of judgment

Yet in this place it more and more seems evil for the sake of evil if Money is in fact evil

I am not sure I only know that it marches on

Funding haciendas and expensive prostitutes and seed money and fat white power

So cartoon, so exaggerated, so insane and so devastatingly real this sick capitalism of supply and Demand Our WAR on drugs is not a war it’s a money making motherfucking venture for the very Wealthy and once farmers turned entrepreneurs

This one kills that one and the whole family and that one kills this one and the whole family and the Banded stacks of greenbacks rise and rise and a Lawyer in L.A. snorts another line and a crackhead in Michigan puffs another rock and a Dr. in New York City enjoys a long healthy bong rip and the 14 year Old son of someone you know dies on a shit-stained toilet with a needle full of black-tar jammed in his Vein and I don’t know how you overcome this billion dollar baby this massive industry this pie in the Sky fucker of chances do you Legalize it or D-criminalize it or make possession a capital crime or do you turn and hide your head in the sand and hope your kids fly straight or do you pray

I don’t have the answer but I think the questions are important because the murderers are not finding Jesus they are not backing down and the spin cycle is just beginning to fire up and I know the kids from Jersey Shore are teaching the babies how to be behave and the party goes on and on and on and on and

We are one more Spring Break away from

Armageddon

 

©2011 Harry R. Fagel all rights reserved

There was a risk

Certainly

In drinking all that coffee so late

So late into the night

Even mixed with booze it

Courses through veins, arteries, capallaries

Sinew

Beating a pattern on the inside of my skull

Hieroglyphics spelling out

Deathchants and rainbows

Fingers spasm and shake

Eyes fritter and pop

Teeth grind and in the end its

Asleep awake at the keyboard

Poetry singeing the plastic

Morphing the letters into looping nothing

Here again

Caught in the turmoil that is the

Mind awake

Searching and sweating

Cursing and reviewing

Random discourse set in the fiery lightning that

Connects the dots of my thoughts in this

Swirling madness of

Alertness I reach and reach and reach over and

Pummel, destroy,  and finally obliterate the

Snooze button.

 

 

Copyright 2010 Harry Fagel

So here we are!