NaPoWriMo Day 19: Vallaslin

Day 19’s prompt was to write about erasure, and so I’ve incorporated this into the piece.

 

Her mind was a splintered vortex
– a faux Genesis
where emulation
subverts reality
to creatively destroy

innocence.

Mocked by the ethereal echos
of maternal infamy…
as bloodshed becomes
an inkblot
upon the carnivorous canvass
of civilisation.
It’s meaning debated
while their haemorrhaging life force
is disembodied by decay.

Who writes the story when there is no victor?
barely, survivors…?

Distorted visions
of what is/was/wasn’t/could be…
and now will never be

anything other than Vallaslin;
for scars are glorified
but the memories…

Erase-

NaPoWriMo Day 18: Sick in the Head

First of all, an apology for falling behind. Between spending time with Grim and seeing Akala to then having a broken phone charger I were a tad out of sorts for a few days but rest assured I’m back and firing on all cylinders.

 

The following piece deals with responding to a poem in a different way, in that a response from one poet to another became a collaborative piece between Grim and I.

 

 

No-one seems to think I’m a threat at all,
I guess once again I’ve got everybody fooled,
I’m as raw as fuck when I need to be,
it’s like watching an old man commit bestiality,
fucking a horse without a condom on,
and no lube? Man that’s  seriously wrong!
But that’s the sort of thing on the internet today,
and if it aint on youtube, it’s on redtube anyway!
It’s sick the stuff people record and upload for fun,
Like someone smashing a wine bottle thats up their bum,
people record nonces whilst their touching up little kids,
stick it on redtube it’ll get ten thousand or more hits!
Some people really are sadistic sick little things,
when they watch 2 girls eat shit that came from their rings, and even though i will admit that that one was a fake,
there’s people out there that eat human cock like it’s steak!

If you search hard enough, i’m sure you will find,
snuff mixed with porno’s,

you’ve gotta be out of your mind, if you search for that stuff you’ve actually got to be sick,
and if you claim you ain’t you’re a delusional prick!

 

Everybody’s been asking, where is Maddy McCann?
well I’ll tell you where, with some sick fucking man,
who grabbed her from her parents, as quick as a flash,
got her to a new country performing sex acts for cash,
getting her and others to get down on their knees,
till they die horribly, either from overdose or disease!

 

Coz each and every person is twisted in some little way,
don’t matter if you’re black or white, or even straight or gay, it takes all types just to actually be sick in the head,
and if thats not evident from everything I’ve said,
just take a look at people fucking the dead!

Coz some fuckers just do that shit for kicks,
and if you ask me i think that shit’s far too sick,
and in this world, man, i know i’ll never be too surprised,

how sick things can be when saddam’s hanging was televised!

That’s  the sort of stuff people these days will pay to see,
or at least they’ll download it off torrents for free,
it’s easy for you to find it if you know where to look,
as are Abu Hamza’s sermons,

the sick cunt with the hook,

telling gulliable cunts to blow up things everywhere,

to kill themselves and millions, without a care!
Paedos tunes still played daily in over 100 countries,
probably one for eack kid who R Kelly had their virginity!

Glitter aint much better, he died out in taiwan,
for fucking children from here to Hong Kong!
Huntley, the caretaker, took care of Holly and Jess,
by sticking their bodies in the furnace, to save on the mess!

 

Dr Shipman killed more grannies, than JPS fags,
when he was done they needed multiple body bags!
Or there’s Wayne Bobbitt,

who cheated on his ‘then’ wife,
so she cut off his cock and now he’s scarred for life!

 

Police arrest people just for breach of the peace,
but there’s paedos out there walking the streets,
snatching peoples kids, from right out of sight,
be it the middle of the day, or the dark of the night!

 

Hertfordshire’s only just a small little place,
but they found a decapitated man, all but his face!
A 13 year old can so easily buy a lock knife,
five pounds and one stabbing later he’s sentenced to life,
another stabbing, one to add to many, many more,
yet again another kid bleeds to death on the floor.

 

Twelve year olds selling puff, speed, e’s or weed,

Eleven year olds now, are getting fucked till they bleed,

ten year olds dying because of parental neglect,

nine to six year olds are starting to get wrecked.

Five year olds are getting snatched off from their mum,

Four three two or even one, it don’t matter to some,

coz as i’ve tried to prove, if you aint heard what’s been said,

some motherfuckers are just, sick in the head,

you may think I’m sick in the head from what I say,
but I ain’t  the sick cunt thats doing it, at the end of the day!

 

The Daily Mail print this kind of shit for kicks,

Publishing anguish, tell me who’s really sick?

Everybody’s shocked at Fritzel in Amstetten,

But kids are half naked in Twilight, peeps are forgettin’

These scene kid bitches, led by a Mormon…
…Led to men becoming boys and pussies conforming.

Is it any wonder that I end up in rage
when girls get paid to dance in a cage?
Caged like animals,
Raw meat like cannibals.

Yeah fuck it, my granddad may have been a nonce,

But nature/nurture’s bullshit,

I wouldn’t touch a kid once.

Fear created by the Austrian people,

To control the population, prod them like sheeple.

Freud speaks of Oedipus,

Humanity excreting this.

Shitting on everything we could be just to conform,

Till the day that Fritzel and Hitler become the norm.

They say I’m crazy because I won’t pretend,

Well I’d rather be real, than a fake ass “legend”.

They say they’re legends but it’s bullshit mythology,

I’d rather write my own truths and live life properly.

As I said in back in 2009,

Girlfriend not girlfuck, just a woman that’s mine.

And even though she went crazy,

I’d rather have a lady than call my girlfriend “baby”.

Or how can society manage to escape this:

The fine line between a nice guy and a rapist.

But it’s all good if you’re in those skinny jeans,

I’m the whole fucking show, these bitches just scene.

I’m not here to impress anyone, just be true to myself,

Because spiritual truth beats material wealth.

So you can call me a fag for hating the Kardashians,

But I’d rather make love with a woman than be a dudebro smashing em.

Fuck society, even if they condemn me to hell

Because I’m in love with a woman her name’s…

 

NaPoWriMo Day 17: He Knows You Know, You Know

This one’s dedicated to my grandad Stanley, I use “The Greatest Man That Ever Loved” as a gimmick, but for him it was an everyday reality.

 

NaPoWriMo Day 17: He Knows You Know, You Know.

I remember,
I remember when he couldn’t remember

 

Who,

he was…

… a
fantastic man,
whose playful spirit
remained as his mind

departed.

 

He couldn’t recall names yet knew emotions,
knew kindness,
knew the profound sense of knowing
that dwells
within dogs, children, and souls.

 

She asked him if he was alright,
and he said…

 

“I’m always alright,
I’ve got you”.

 

He asked her to make me a brew,
and called me a young man.
Sweeter to a stranger than many are to friends.

 

He told me we’d meet again,
and we did.

 

One…
last…
time.

NaPoWriMo Day 16: The Game Called Life

For day 16, I touched on the game theme with the “funny old game” that is life.

NaPoWriMo Day 16: The Game Called Life.

UP, DOWN

LEFT, RIGHT

justice rings hollow

when it comes at a price.

A and START

as truth departs,

the cheat excludes the cheated. 

But our world oft lacks an extra life

for whence one is defeated.

 

Yet a coin under the sofa

could serve as a token 

to persevere – with records broken.

Atlantis slowly rises to evaporate despair…

for treasure only remains buried 

if one leaves it there.

NaPoWriMo Day 15: Apology Unheard

Day 15’s prompt was to talk of a villain’s redeeming feature. My take on this however was a little different as redemption remains a question rather than a solitary attribute.

NaPoWriMo Day 15: Apology Unheard

Medusa coils at her own reflection,

for even her heart turned to stone.

Infinitesimal frantic thoughts in perpetual conflict,

can it be said that a civil war has friendly fire? 

Unravelling neurotic notions

is like free-falling

whilst wearing the emperor’s new parachute. 

When reality is a Rubik’s cube in the hands of a tetraplegic – 

all else remains unsolved. 

Yet should Jekyll apologise for the actions of Hyde? 

For even an avatar that’s fraught yet shared

may choose to console as it repairs.

NaPoWriMo Day 14: The Will of a Dreamer

Today I used both the Local Gems prompt and the official prompt, and wrote a message to humanity from the Indigo Angel. 

NaPoWriMo Day 14: The Will of a Dreamer.

If you dream of peace or prosperity, 

as you sail the sapphire skies;

it is an indicator… 

… the glimmers of spiritual symmetry

and shimmering self-reflection. 

“Is it an omen?” – your mind exhales, 

as you shine in magpie majesty,

curating fruitful thoughts that simmer 

in a soup named rumination.

The Indigo Angel has a message for humanity,

concerning moments transcendental: 

Prophecy an’ omens 

wilt remain conceptual

– unless thou hast realised their potential. 

NaPoWriMo Day 13: The Orchard

Today’s prompt was to write a piece in which commonly used phrases are reversed in both content and meaning. 

NaPoWriMo Day 13: The Orchard.

Excrement flies unto the heavens,

upon the devil’s despair. 

For what is the point in hell,

if the earth is already there? 

We desecrated Eden,

and so many gardens more. 

The bridge deflects the darkness 

‘till its foundations are worn. 

Carefully accelerating forwards

to a destination that’s unknown;

tainted seeds create bad apples

– oh how this orchard’s grown.

NaPoWriMo Day 12: A Journey Through the Author’s Eyes

Day 12’s prompt was the Japanese form of haibun that mixes poetry, prose… a journey, the figurative and the literal. It was a very poignant prompt and very fitting, today of all days. 

NaPoWriMoDay 12: A Journey Through the Author’s Eyes

One often writes in the poetic voice, 

as an 

omnipotent, omnipresent,

omniscient…

narrator.

So too, can you 

be

D E T A T C H E D

Yet, art and artist pull you in

as oft push you away. 

The prosaic and hyperbolic 

in flux with academic and formulaic. 

Remember what you’re writing for,

who you are writing for…

why you are writing

for

WHAT?

So this is me, 

Ushiku Crisafulli taking a step back. 

I ain’t so much breaking the fourth wall 

as building a pathway 

to the vessel in which my soul is housed,

and willingly opening the front door to blessed guests and visitors. 

I hope you enjoy your stay. 

Life is a Litany of Varied Experiences,

and the worst one of my life inspired this collection. 

My former neighbour schizophrenic, 

my former best friend a spineless backstabbing scumbag,

and my life put on hold

due to the delusion of a crime I never did not

and never would…

conceive of, let alone commit. 

On the 10th anniversary of being attacked by

an inebriated chav while homeless, and that day itself the day before my biological grandmother’s funeral no less… I were hit by painful parallels. 

12th April was a shit day since 2007 because 

not only were I attacked…

but worse than that, the police failed me.

The hostel had CCTV, witness testimonies, culprit admission, and my statement…

yet the vile fucking pigs did not press charges and dropped the case out of petty spite

because I refused to miss my grandmother’s funeral to speak with them. 

They refused to see me the day after instead.

They waited 8 days to see me… 

only to tell me that the perpetrator couldn’t be charged as he no longer had a fixed address following the incident.

But that’s bullshit. The street homeless are not only often charged with vagrancy… but their committing of petty crime is often a means in which to temporarily escape homelessness, and receive 3 meals a day, sanitation, and a warm bed away from the elements. 

10 years on from that day I were woken by my schizophrenic former neighbour calling me

and claiming I committed a heinous act. 

As an artist here comes the dramatic irony,

as a person… call my broken heart Brock Lesnar

because here comes the pain. 

My biological sister suffered in that same way.

But because our mother was schizophrenic her claims were not believed and she was derided…

and so they both endured heart-wrenching agony that could have been prevented had social services and the pigs been proactive.

Yet this schizophrenic was deluded, but the pigs were nonetheless proactive. 

I were angry and hurt, especially with the unjust paradox slapping me right in the face.

Yet in time I have at least become grateful that the matter was taken seriously even though it was complete fabrication on the whims of neurotic delusion.

But what was harder to stomach was losing my best friend who believed the lies,

worse still because he had a friend that was a scumbag of the highest order that he stood by…

Many in fact, but one in particular that had wronged me;

placed my life in danger with drunk and drugged driving,

and acted perversely towards many women.

When he talked shit outside my doctors the day 3 months down the line that we ran into each other…

I headbutted him and busted his nose in one blow. 

He has my adoptive mother to thank for his life. 

He at one point helped ruin my life…

and yet my mum spared his. 

I’m glad she did too. 

Cos life is LOVE,

it’s a Litany Of Varied Experiences. 

The bad times help you appreciate the good,

and the good help you understand and gain perspective from the bad.

That same day, 

about an hour or so later…

I get a phone call. 

Forensics come back, 

NO DNA – AT ALL! 

The officer also notifies me that he knew from my interview that I were innocent 

but that procedure still had to be dealt with,

and that my former neighbour was now receiving treatment in a psychiatric facility after having 3 months of her delusions indulged… 

much to the expense of me, her friends, her family,

and indeed those of my own (even if this situation DID separate the wheat from the chaff in that regard). 

But the biggest kicker? 

I contact the duty solicitor and ask if she would support me in a civic case for defamation…

she said she only deals in defence, 

that the amount I wished to sue for “wasn’t a lot” (despite being almost double minimum wage for an entire year, and yet still significantly less than the median salary in Britain) and she didn’t believe I’d have much luck finding support for a civic case. 

I found it repugnant, especially given I realised she was happy to take a paycheque at the taxpayers expense defending the guilty, and yet would not support the just… and blaming the Tory cuts (abhorrent as they are) for her own selfishness.

Undeterred, I reached out to charities for the unlawfully criminally accused for support… and they gave me the same spiel.

Tory Britain gave me no justice, but my testimony can help me create it for myself. 

I don’t have to crack skulls or sue to find justice (though if y’all wanna kickstarter or gofundme for a year’s lost wages as a part time chef I’m happy to oblige), I can attain with the truth of this experience, and the Litany Of Varied Experiences… that is my life. 

Today is one year on from the worst day of my life.

But today I saw my adoptive mum and grandma,

I had a meal, chatted with, and saw a movie with my friend Nathan (who I became friends with 1 month prior to me no longer being homeless as was also the case with Philippa whom I love like a sister). 

But most importantly, 

I allowed you to see life through my eyes,

and to understand the worst of my Litany Of Varied Experiences. 

There are many more to come,

and I hope they are wonderful as you all are for taking this journey with me.

NaPoWriMo Day 11: Stardust

Today’s prompt was to write about the future, but I’d also like to thank Kat Rocha for inspiring this one with our conversations today.

NaPoWriMo Day 11: Stardust.

The future is written in invisible ink

upon the parchment 

ascribed to your soul. 

The quill cannot run dry 

so long as you follow the direction of your mind’s eye. 

Intuitive authorship accelerates experience,

and the best way to know yourself

is to be yourself,

that requires you to accept yourself. 

Manifest a new destiny, 

tear out a page, 

scribble in margins,

and make a change.

If the future is written in the stars,

then stardust is the echo of our memories.

Now go out and make some.