Cremation Diamonds
CREMATION DIAMONDS
Every word I write’s a knife’s advice.
A pawn’s advance.
Payday.
A lended ear’s end.
A playdate with mayday.
The beast that eats beats rose in cracked streets.
Scrawled.
In the setting west unsettled and incivil.
A convincing lie told with gusto.
Confidence, man.
LISTEN TO THIS (IT’S US)
PERSONNEL:
g: Anthony Percoco d: Joan Darwin v: JQD
TO PERSIST
He couldn’t sexually function anymore but he kept Beating.
Hated all the tattoos on the young gals.
Lazy camera angles.
The voices now.
Vixens fleeting.
He’d tug, tug, tug.
Without secreting.
The secret’s in the sauce.
The child’s lost in bleeding.
EARLY LIFE
Painted caves and wagering slaves.
A tongue wagging.
Accented enclave.
Lascaux.
Chauvet.
A barter a bet.
A beckoning bay.
Creation costs.
Destruction’s a must.
HER FATHER DIED YESTERDAY (WORKING THROUGH IT)
A symphony of chewing.
A full restaurant.
A blessing.
All she could want.
Thoughts thank and sprung forth.
Sprightly.
A sprig of parsley and a swig of Pepsi.
THE COUNTING OF KILLED CONSCIOUS (THE SELF’S LAUGHTER)
A TEXT IN EATING OF ITSELF,
A FAILED TRY,
LEXICAL SPRAWL,
SPORTING FUTILITY,
BOUNCED SOUNDS,
GRANDILOQUENCES,
a TRAP and a MAP,
a GUIDE to DECEPTION,
AN ARTIFACT.
(for hip-knowers)
Mostly,
a Spell and an Anti-Spell,
(to be witnessed and understood)
A VALESCENT CONVENING
(to be loved)
CLEAR VICTORY DREAMING
(released doves)
each and all
(played simultaneously)
→
raised
roused
realized
(and recursed)
by
(the accused)
JAMES QUENTIN DEVINE
aka
Hercules Suede
aka
STIHILIST
→
“I love you,”
in both ears
(so it’s even)
(INCLUDES INSTRUCTIONS FOR REPLICATION)
Invocation (Cannibal trinity)Manifestation (Identity statements)Negation (Self-destruction)Transformation (Violence/erasure)Revelation (Devil/God sequence)Banishment (Flee)Seal (💙 and →)
Cannibal!
Cannonball!
Corporal!
Ultimately you are a machine that keeps yourself fed and your balls drained.
(Ideally.)
Don’t have balls?
(Okay.)
You’ve got some rocks to remove.
(Right?)
Can’t relate?
(Right.)
A muse’s fate.
(Fine.)
Fury.
(Clues.)
You’ve got a uterus to use.
(Come on.)
Some shore to soothe.
(Right?)
You’ve got some claims to disprove.
(Come on.)
Come on.
(Come on.)
Come on.
(Come on.)
You probably want your tits sucked on.
(Your move.)
Or something.
(Whatever dude.)
Pyramidal Louvre.
(Ooh.)
Tripled.
(Up.)
Stop.
(Contortion.)
Pop.
(Lock.)
Some orphan.
(Okay.)
Morphing.
(Morphine.)
Mutant.
(Pollutant.)
Means nothing.
(Nada.)
Lit-up.
(Bambaataa.)
Butane.
(Blown.)
An ocean.
(Alas.)
Sounds different spelled-same.
(Okay.)
I can write every word.
(No way.)
I can call every name.
(Go ahead.)
Invoke the sword.
(Slow play.)
Gunplay’s the game.
(Low pile.)
Nothing I fucking say
means anything
so
stop paying attention.
(You don’t say.)
Everything I say is everything and you need to pay me.
⤵︎
(Exchange.)
I am god mastress the whip.
(Self-same.)
I am black leather.
(Yes.)
Bad vinyl.
(Yes.)
Zipped.
(Oh.)
Paid trips.
(Check.)
I am high heels.
(Hell.)
I am high as hell.
(Hey.)
I am images.
(Hell.)
I’m a carousel.
(Okay.)
This is over.
It’s all done.
Nowhere man.
No one.
(Nothing.)
Everything to say’s been said.
Finished.
Finito.
Right said fred.
Ha-ha.
Fun.
Fuck you.
Shirt’s see-through.
(Shit.)
NOW MY REPUTATION’S FUCKED.
We’re all on the same slide.
See to.
(Maybe I’d like to.)
We’re not all on the same side.
(not at all)
You and who?
I’m an exhaustive typist.
Slashed diarist.
Wiped on a hellride.
I will fucking kill you.
I am sickness.
Darkness.
Divinity.
Mundanity.
Endless tension.
Sightless.
Lossless.
Avoid me.
(Adjust.)
Walk away.
Just walk away.
It’d be easier that way.
I dressed this way for a reason.
I told you.
Everything.
I fucking told you.
I said it all.
(Everything.)
Right out loud.
(Out.)
Rejection’s reason.
The lightbeams aren’t even even.
No.
Not at all.
One’s blinkering.
The other’s plundering.
We’re all fucked.
Pilfer’s plucked.
Weather’s thundering.
Have another thing.
(One more.)
Another thing.
One to ponder.
(1-2.)
Float higher.
A question no one’s asking.
One to wonder.
Thoroughbred sire.
Splashy.
Sought.
Prize horse.
Sperm god.
A lofted liar.
A lancer.
And me?
I’m in a little Spanish home.
It’s so romantic.
Divine feminine.
Femme fatale.
Flit frantic.
Boyish manic.
Forever child.
You’ll never begin.
You’ll never manage.
Broken-homed.
Unmarriage.
I’ve been before.
I’ve been born.
An open store.
Print them all on T-shirts.
That’s the idea anyway.
Every single fucking one of these.
What did you think we were doing?
Ha ha ha ha ha.
Please.
Given space the body will find its own music.
Leave some in.
I’m a device.
I’m a djinn.
I am a dumb genius.
This is the worst shit ever written.
Copy?
Floppy penis.
Coprophagia.
They’re just words.
Shit.
I don’t mean this.
All hits.
As-is.
Leave it in.
Every single fucking one.
I meant it.
I mean this.
I am hatred.
I am meanness.
I am mountains.
I am Venus.
I am monzy hollow fillings.
I’m an order at a salad shop.
I am chopped heads off rotting.
Chopped off heads rotting.
A prison vehicle.
Hottentot.
Z-List.
(Fuck.)
I’m it.
I am self-aware.
(I’m a baby born in jail.)
I am mockery.
A crooked carnival.
(Fair.)
An unwon lottery.
SO—
I hate myself so much more than you can ever imagine.
(It’s tragic.)
I slaughter me.
(Blotter bleach.)
Said try me just fucking try me.
(I’ll walk into the ocean.)
I’d love it if you would.
(Drip-dry emotion.)
The crying mammal.
(Wept.)
In want of suck.
(I can’t keep up.)
Everyone’s got needs.
␡
I will fuck you up.
I mean it.
I mean it.
I mean it.
Repeated.
Repressed.
Perfect.
Possessed.
Peacock’s collar.
Holler.
Up and about.
A cock of a feller.
(Shut the fuck up.)
That’s too much.
Enough.
A trough.
A piss.
A scuffle.
Roughness’ rustle.
Every letter used.
Every song sung.
Keep it scuffed.
Fuck it.
We’ve done enough.
Tough tits.
Hard commits.
Tiki drinks.
And that’s T T like T-T like look at those titties.
(Binocular periphery)
Focus grouped and designed by committee.
(Voyeur video.)
Designed in a lab.
Personally I purchased my abs.
An epitaph’s a script for a slab.
A stain’s the curse of a slob.
(There is a cost for everything.)
Satanic.
(Clauses.)
Crimson-clad.
(Red lanterns.)
A cloudy head.
Lifted loud.
(A)
True believer.
Your deceits will never be forgiven.
Nor forgot.
You’re a fucking loser.
You’re a deficit.
Shit.
(Dubstep music plays to no one in a piss-smelling bar.)
Neither pipe nor cigar.
Just put it in your mouth for the look of it.
Licked split.
Like it matters at all.
You left a life and you took a pic.
Heaven undone.
(Underneath everything.)
Clouted click.
”Was it worth it?”
He screams.
Gripping the gun.
Knives for never.
Nether for no one.
The Herbst Appliance.
A contrivance.
Clamped-shut.
Compliance.
Gums gutted.
A gape.
THE LOWER HAND OF LOVE (SLOW)
I felt your presence. I knew you were going to kill me. I knew the blow was coming.
(Your plots have always been obvious.)
You could have done it cleanly. Could have been a tight five.
(You ought to have been previous past-tense finished.)
You got me in the ear instead. Ten hours later I’m still alive.
(Long-time coming.)
Ragged breathing and bleeding out but still here.
Every second’s infliction as death nears. All there ever was. Loss of life.
SINGING:
You don’t have any money, honey, so put your gun where your mouth is.
Soft palettes and watercolor.
Crimson vermillion scarlet ruby.
A wave.
A runner.
Standing still in a starless movie.
Unflourished.
Pleas held.
Posed for photos.
Cradled.
Gravecrawl.
In childish posture.
Perverse simpleton.
Exemplary imposter.
SATISFIED?
The end of people and their bodies and noise.
The entire earth a silent factory, self fulfilling.
Satisfied.
PUNKSONG PANKRATION (CHEMICAL RECREATION)
Can’t keep a gait straight.
You’re not passing.
No one’s buying it.
You’ll never last.
It’s too late.
QUESTION MARK
A mysterious text appears.
It presents itself.
As suggestions.
Persuasion.
Paranoia.
Perhaps passion.
Of some fashion.
Irksome.
FOR COMMERCIAL USE ONLY (888-666-4444)
I go outside.
In one of my outfits.
A stranger takes a photograph.
Of “me.”
Some me he or she sees.
They.
Them.
Thinks they’ve seen.
A camera flash’s freeze.
Unnerving.
I don’t know if it’s art. For personal use. For display. For wireless global transmission.
I don’t know if they think I’m somebody. I don’t know if I am somebody.
I’m not trying.
It’s just like this.
Aura’s real.
Get close and I’ll prove it to you.
I SAID
COME HERE, NOW.
SIT.
or
DON’T —
I don’t give a FUCK.
I’m not here to tell you what to do.
I’m not here at all.
But if it’s a picture you want?
There’s an agent to call.
A scratch to make.
Satan, Satan.
On the take.
DIE LIKE A DOG (LOVE SONG)
“Rambling, incoherent.”
It denies itself. It defies.
Negates. Dies.
Suffering in public.
The artist’s trust is in the trickery of budgets.
Watered down diet ass is what you ordered and piss is what you get.
This is what you get.
TO REVEL IN THE HATRED OF AN AUDIENCE (THE TWO-WAY MIRROR)
Good luck never hurting anyone.
They’re all gone.
Number blown.
Malfunction.
Chairs thrown.
Off the charts.
Uncharted.
The bumblast of shit sharted.
A clash of words gathered as clouds.
What’s less it’s worth little more than a busted mouth.
Bust me out.
Pass me the file.
Jailbreak.
Tearjerking crocodile.
Trajectory deflected.
Denial in all things.
Omertà.
Shut your fucking mouth.
You shut your fucking mouth.
You should know better. Should have. Null disclosure. Silencio. Unwanted apprentice.
Ascended contestant. Disposal. Unrepentant. Unrecognized. Disguised.
Predictable.
Deceptive.
Read this in any order you’d like.
Or preferably, in total chaos.
DEFICIENT, DISORDERED (THE BOOTS THAT YOU ORDERED)
The perverse air of surveillance as a car approaches.
Judgment low in the engine.
Or worse, some electric hover, government-mandated.
Perverse air of surveillance?
What if—
Perverse surveillant air.
(Ah,)
Thaaaat’s better.
Yes.
Keep them both in.
Yes, yes.
Ha-ha.
Really reveal all the secrets.
Show them.
Show them all!
Reasons to motivate.
A croaked fashion illustrated.
Hold me, fold me, crease me.
Read it sideways and upside-down.
Release me.
It’s an instruction manual for something.
(Right?)
A sermon.
(Probably.)
Crooked and cross-wise.
Since you are holding a bag of demons, may I then ask you—
Do you like your new map to the moon?
Burn it.
The playing of two-twee a tune.
(1, 2, 3, 2)
Bury it.
(I hate myself too.)
Saccharine, sugary.
(What else is there to do?)
Offer it.
Does it feel good on the tongue?
Excoriate it, excavate it.
Silver moon and golden sun.
Find yourself in it.
(You get to a point where you’re just saying shit.)
Find yourself irritated.
(Do you ever get to any point?)
None of it means anything. Nothing does. Attention spoiled. We give none.
AN HONEST JOB
I saw the hunched older man in his baggy faded burgundy crewneck T-shirt tucked high in indigo denim jeans, brown braided leather belt, the type of jean-and-belt combo a man who shops roughly every 20, perhaps 25 years owns, the utilitarian dungarees of a man immune to cycles, clothing old enough to vote, disinterested, allergic to persuasion, unadvertisable, unassailable, a man who knows what he needs to hear and be told when he’ll hear it and who he’ll let do the telling, a sensible man, a man so unlike me.
I knew his mind instantly.
(I am psychic.)
He’d just left a tidy modest white pick-up truck with his name etched on the side in what may-or-may-not-have-been Times New Roman, I don’t know, they’ve got all these new fonts, right, all this proprietary shit, man, you know what I’m saying, it looked like Times New Roman, alright, I mean it looked like he probably did it in MS Word ‘98, look, I think it was Times New Roman, okay, and on the side of the truck in plainest lettering was a name, his name, the text LOS FELIZ HANDYMAN, and a phone number.
Eyed hid in a sun-bleached ballcap’s low lid, he moved with determination into a comely bungalow, presumably his worksite, cautious to scrape his round brown boots at the doormat before entering.
Look at that!
And all I can think is — God Damn, every now and then you do still see it — the Living Ghost of Work that (Maybe) Makes Sense, honest labor that just might add up, a day’s work for a day’s pay, but us, the rest of us really are committed to various forms of increasingly desperate and callous financial crime forever, huh?
Huh?
Huh.
You in on the take or getting taken?
This is a swindler’s world.
Hell, who knows.
Maybe that guy went in there and killed an entire family.
Splattered them the moment I was out of earshot.
Gut renovation.
Know what I’m saying?
I don’t know him.
(I’m not actually psychic. That was a joke.)
I mean—
(If I could read your mind, why would I ever tell you?)
You can steal some other guy’s truck.
(I can.)
Some Other Guy, right.
Very other.
Some loner, alcoholic, no friends, no family?
Type of fella that could swing a hammer but just couldn’t keep it together?
Yeah, you could kill him easily.
No one would know.
Fuck’s gonna care?
Some landlord?
Please.
Or hell, you could go find the guy’s sad-sack hovel of a home.
Take over his identity, his licensing.
Just start driving.
Pushing that truck around, with your new name on it.
That’s you now.
Picking up jobs and killing killing killing.
Criminal depiction.
Daggers for diction.
Killing your way across the city until it’s you and the final victim.
I should have known that guy was up to some shit.
EN BLOC
I need water not wine but it’s what I’ve got that’s wet.
Have we met?
I forget.
Canned evil. Sparkling.
Evil can. Evil.
Dumb stunt.
These girls are old enough to drive?
Fucking goes quick takes forever.
NO, NO, NO, NO (NO)
The sad sound of attempted discipline failing.
An unsurrendering child.
Refusal.
YOU WERE BORN ABLE TO DO IT AND YOU FORGOT
All a posture parlor trick.
Gaze and gesture.
Trap and trick.
Chant it.
Clapping.
AUTOMATA
I’m rolling blackout.
Head gone.
Good riddance to the thinking curse.
Slink across the concourse.
Slutty little slit of a moon cut crescent.
You need to make films.
But you’re afraid of being █████by the Forever Image.
A silver screen torn and tarnished.
Stamped.
Forever.
Controlled.
For what you said before.
How you acted.
(Were you directed?)
Have you thought about it?
Have you introspected?
Have you done the work?
Are you all clear?
Healed?
Forgiven?
Ass-ended when the head rears.
ROAMER
A wounded hand’s trembling claw clasp on canned wine.
Fingernail dirt and gum grime.
Ain’t seen the shower in four days time.
Holes full of clothes.
And shoes too.
Soles all walked through.
A sniff an animal whiff of himself.
Pits.
Heavy meat souring.
Expired bath.
The breath.
Mistimed wilderness, firing.
“They always smell good when they look like they’re going to. I could tell from her hair,” he thought to himself.
“Only things is . . . I can’t tell if anyone has a job anymore.”
VFM
Vulgar fashion magnate.
Death incantate.
It all depends what you can and what you can’t take.
MEPHITICUS
Typical millennial.
Dogs as proxy children.
A ruined relationship duct taped with rent.
A foreclosed future and nostalgiac nausea.
“Some slut in a jeep.
Some whore in a corvette.
He knows what he did.
He can sleep outside,”
she said.
“I thought we were past this.”
Her arms cross.
The body leaks.
Disastrous.
“You need to stop killing people.”
Smells awful.
Stinks to high hell.
Worse than shit.
Pure guts. Wafting entrails. A hovering ghost.
WHEN YOU SAID FOREVER WHAT DID YOU REALLY MEAN?
Hollywood dead bleeding out.
Leeches leaving.
A blue sky for a reddening evening.
Lair bare.
Or fucked with clothes still on.
Whatever your perversion.
Anything goes.
And often.
Your blood revolts.
Life rejects you.
Ejects you.
Eventually time corrects you.
Illegible in your own mind.
Out of place and over time.
DECEIVER/DEVOURER
Do you want to actually meet the devil?
Do you want the full reveal?
Do you want to see what god sees?
Do you want it spoiled?
Rotten?
Peeled?
Do you want the recipe for the potion?
Fuck I feel seen.
(We’re all gone soon.)
Surf the flood.
Float the monsoon.
Flee.
💙
(write your wrongs and read the room)
→
EX-PLANETARY
The text functions as a kind of grimoire or spell-book that:Announces its power
Denies its power
Through denial, manifests power
Destroys itself
Is reborn through destruction
