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Paranoid:A Chant by Stephen King


I can't go out no more.
there's a man by the door
in a raincoat
smoking a cigarette.

But

I've put him in my diary
and the mailers are all lined up
on the bed, bloody in the glow
of the bar sign next door.

He knows that if I die
(or even drop out of sight)
the diary goes and everyone knows
the CIA's in Virginia.

500 mailers bought from
500 drug counters each one different
and 500 notebooks
with 500 pages in each one.

I am prepared.

I can see him from up here.
His cigarette winks from just
above his trenchcoat collar
and somewhere there's a man on a subway
sitting under a Black Velvet ad thinking my name.

Men have discussed me in back rooms.
If the phone rings there's only dead breath.
In the bar across the street a snubnose
revolver has changed hands in the men's room.
Each bullet has my name on it.
My name is written in back files
and looked up in newspaper morgues.

My mother's been investigated;
thank God she's dead.

Thay have writing samples
and examine the back loops of pees
and the crosses of tees.

My wife's brother is with them, did I tell you?
His wife is Russian and he
keeps asking me to fill out forms.
I have it in my diary.
Listen-
listen
do listen:
you must listen.

In the rain, at the bus stop,
black crows with black umbrellas
pretend to look at their watches, but
it's not raining. Their eyes are silver dollars.
Some are scholars in the pay of the FBI
most are foreigners who pour through
our streets. I fooled them
got off the bus at 25th and Lex
where a cabby watched me over his newspaper.

In the room above me an old woman
has put an electric suction cup on her floor.
It sends out rays through my light fixture
and now I write in the dark
by the bar sign's glow.
I tell you I know.

They sent me a dog with brown spots
and a radio cobweb in its nose.
I drowned it in the sink and wrote it up
in folder GAMMA.

I don't look in the mailbox anymore.
The greeting cards are letter-bombs.

(Step away! Goddamn you!
Step away, I know tall people!
I tell you I know very tall people!)

The luncheonette is laid with talking floors
and the waitress says it was salt but I know arsenic
when it's put before me. And the yellow taste of mustard
to mask the bitter odor of almonds.

I have seen strange lights in the sky.
Last night a dark man with no face crawled through nine miles
of sewer to surface in my toilet, listening
for phone calls throught he cheap wood with
chrome ears.
I tell you, man, I hear.

I saw his muddy handprints
on the porcelain.

I don't answer the phone now,
have I told you that?

They are planning to flood the earth with sludge.
They are planning break-ins.

They have got physicians
advocating weird sex positions.
They are making addictive laxatives
and suppositories that burn.

They know how to put out the sun
with blowguns.

I pack myself in ice-have I told you that?
It obviates their infrascopes.
I know chants and I wear charms.
You may think you have me but I could destroy you
any second now.

Any second now.

Any second now.

Would you like some coffee, my love?

Did I tell you I can't go out no more?
There's a man by the door
in a raincoat.

Mister Media by a Goddess named Sarah Mason






Mister "media"

Mister "exploit my body"

Mister "low carb, low weight, low self-esteem" media

Mister "rape my belly"

Mister "thigh and hip genocider"

Mister "tits and a**, and 12 year old leg dispenser"

Mr. Media

Sir. ahem,

most prestigious profiter of my self worth

the one you sold to me,

in my pink crib at birth!

Sir.

How is it you sleep at night?

while I eat the stars and

Fast on the moon?

Doing sit ups for you

on my

Cold Tile

Floor.

or standing in the bathroom

with my shirt up

wanting my womb and child bearing hips

dead dead

and dead!



You sir,

live between the glossy pages of my

2 dollar and nineteen cent propaganda

a million magazines singing

anorexia's national anthem

rows and rows lining my supermarket

You live in a castle made of cable

computer wirings and satellite dishes

television sets and

you're a cross between Kate Moss and Keneth Lay.

Mr. "Sell! Sell! Sell!"

tragedy, vulnerability, sullen stares

teaching baby girls bruises and sickness is pretty

while you look anything but sullen

******** beaming as you make love to your dollar while I...

while I make love to that ad you sold me

while I make hate with myself

while I make myself sick over some toilet,

or empty because it feels good

while I make love to that addiction.



You see,

we're all getting off, I guess.

It's just that my climax could kill.





-Sarah Mason

17 years old, in her sixth year of battle with Anorexia and Bulimia, Spring 2004





* copyright Sarah Mason 2004 *

First they came for the Catholics, and I did not speak up because I wasn't a Catholic...

Then they came for the Communists, and I did not speak up because I wasn't a Communist...

Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak up because I wasn't Jewish...

Then they came for the homosexuals, and I did not speak up because I wasn't homosexual...

Then they came for me... and there was no one left to say anything...

Silence is acceptance. Speak Loudly.

How long until they come for you?

untitled by S.B.


bang,
bang,
shudder.
I must begin again.
Damn it all to hell I say,
for I must start again.
The endless cycle
of screwing up,
going against the plan.
Gain, Gain, Loose, gain,
its always out of hand.
It's the high that ******** me over,
It's the high that brings me down.
The scales won't tip or flucuate,
They'll just keep going down.
When I am ready,
I will stop.
You can't tell me how.
So shut your mouth,
and leave me alone,
for you havent got a clue,
of what its like
to look in the mirror,
and hate the sight of you.

Silent, but... by Tsuboi Shigeji

I may be silent, but
I'm thinking.
I may not talk, but
Don't mistake me for a wall.

What ugly is by Robert Priest

i put on a man mask
and went among the people of earth
in search of what
ugly
means

many years the word had troubled
me, as i listened
over and over
to some of the approximately
four billion
mouth sounds
which these
animals make

beauty i had come to understand
in stars
in eyes
the silver lapping of the oceans there
but ugly
what did it mean?

unrecognized
never speaking
but always listening
i walked their streets
and cities
i went into their starvations
their work places
deep in mines
i climbed a mountain
and looked into the writings
and holy codes
of their artists

but it wasn't until
i shared a quarters with an actual family
and watched in shock
the upbringing of their young
that i realized
ugly
is what happens to something
you don't love
enough