EEEE tea peas-icks - joe

Amid the explosions I heard the moans.
Torturous grins of pleasure exist in dungeons where the mice squeak with relative glee.
I can’t distinguish groans of pain from moans of pleasure.

Guhdunk

What was that?

Kaboom

Staff sergeant says it was an unexploded mortar. I thought it was a cold man falling off a wet pail.

Even when it’s quiet I feel the vibrations in my skull. Rifles and stifled screams, plush soft hand grenades warm with desire. The vibrations grow and spread from my head down to my throat. Sometimes I scream at night.

Everything in this damned place echoes, especially fear. Can I make a confession? I humiliate victims of abuse and take lots and lots of photos for friends back home. I hear rape in my ears but it sounds like rubber boots on dry gravel. This land needs more lubrication, more blood.

Sometimes the prisoners sing, and I sing along but nobody hears. I don’t want them to anyway. The fans are helicopters and I wait for them to carry me away or at least shoot some rockets in this stale prison. Men speak like apes, too many “Acks” “isheeels” and “allahs” bouncing off clean concrete. Did I mention the mice?

What was that?

Are there children in here? Why? So this is what it sounds like to be ashamed.










The nights are too dark. The lack of light makes up for the surplus of sound. They are emitted from the tired hungry guts of dark mustaches and head dresses. If we treat them like animals they cry, if we treat them as queers they don’t. I fucking hate a man’s lips out here, all dry and red. They can’t wait to get their mouth wet but they wont admit it. Iraqis are homophobes so let’s torture them with bananas. Oh and don’t forget the camera. And the leash. Is this gay? Make that bitch sergeant Lynndie England hold the leash. Yeah now it’s not gay at all. Let’s pile them up and rejoice in front of the choir.

Aaaaah lay lew yeah! Oh yeahhhh ppphhhhuuuukk BLAmmmm.mMM~!!@##!


Trumpets pour out of their veins like angels from cloudless cities and diesel engines turn over like hungry stomachs. Deliveries are made; more humans than food I’m afraid. Entertainment, photographs, postcards for the kids, rubbing the prisoners down with petroleum jelly and forcing simulated oral sex. Crispy pink panties for the face of a terrorist. Bedpost crucifixion and electrocution. I doubt Jesus cried like a fucking pussy though. Christian homily, eternally boring, show ’em don’t tell ‘em. This is what democracy feels like, broken eardrums and synthesized identities. ALlaH allah! If I could laugh louder I would.


Oooh yeeaah. Mmmmmm. Oooooh shit that’s it. Don’t stop--don’t stop--I’m almost there. Uuhne mmmph mph uh hu huuh huh I can feel you. Get down now. Get down NOW. Strap it on you mother fucker. Hold it in your hands just right. Uhhh lock and load, pack in your ammunition. mmmmhmmm go go go go go!!! Go!!!GO!! FLANk right, blue team go go go! Oh fuck yes keep it going.




Bush. The shape the mouth is a loose blistering vagina. President Bush. Gross. Bush is really a worthless suffix, like a baby crushed under rubble. President Bush. Maybe a deaf person would think I’m saying press-in-then-push by reading my lips.

What was that?

Oh yeah.
I am so.
Sorry.

But yeah I’d do it again if I was promised earplugs.