㉊ ʟᴀsᴛ ᴛʀᴇɴᴛᴀ ɴᴏᴡʜᴇʀᴇ (𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐨𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫)
1. CIRCUITOUS, SEUSSIAN
Should I sunset the stack?
I’m getting nil views.
Null.
Alack.
Numbening in their number.
Dumbening as a thud and dull deaf blind and bummed.
We all fall on.
Dying birdsong.
Buckshot exit.
It all feeds into itself.
Compounds
Collapse.
There is something in the blood that portends death.
I can’t pretend.
Only portal left.
I NEED A CAMPAIGN.
Perhaps a subscriber drive’s the thing.
Public radio irritating.
Interrupting.
Beggar’s function.
A beleaguered braggart brought to kneel.
A heel thyself.
Aesthetic appeal.
Oratory.
Explorations.
Apologies.
Overinformatory.
Infirm.
Commitment-worthy.
The treacherous stretching of readerly patience.
I’ve been eagerly waiting.
2. Starved of screens the ferals gnawed their fingers to nothing
Busy nights and lazy days.
Hollow-rung insincere praise.
Sisyphus stoned alone.
Petrified.
Pushing.
Uphill embittered and backward.
3. GING-HAM SEER-SUCKER
I’ve got a checkered present.
Paisley past.
Nightmoon hover.
Fading fast.
Alleged murderer.
Eligible bachelor.
One letter off from a literal bastard.
Peasant louse.
Unbuttoned.
Unpleasantly loud.
Patterns pucker.
4. A POP.
Mark your door and your house may be spared.
Son of amram or saudi aramco.
See to the the sand to the rivers’ overflow.
Lengthen your stride and keep apace. Mount a steed and sneer your face.
I’ll fell trees til you feel me.
Pape over everything.
Smeared fae sees. Smoked pollack. Draped up and dripped out. Appalling.
5. EATEN OR OTHERWISE (Pig farm fuck machine story.)
I know this guy looks like Elvis or a pro wrestler or if Elvis was a wrestler (or maybe a manager? — sometimes managers are retired wrestlers, or injured ones) and he’ll come outta nowhere sometimes like from behind-a-bush or wherever, some side street swerve, and anyway he’s Got Stories, people call him “Boxcar” from the train-hopping days, he carries a machete, he also makes shoes, anyway — he rolled up on me the other day (months ago now, actually) and told me a wild-assed story about being in Vegas, as he often does, as he often is, and Apparently Somehow (in Vegas) he came upon a side-business in which there exists a mutually symbiotic (Editor (Deceased): that’s the only kind of symbiosis isn’t it?
) relationship between A Casino (to remain unnamed) and A Farm (utterly unknown) in which the casino’d trade its uneaten meals as feed to the farm’s livestock, who would thereby become the casino’s meals (eaten or otherwise), and as it turns out the farm was having some difficulty getting the pigs to eat the leftovers as briskly as they’d like, so [REDACTED]
was tasked with solving this by the casino bosses, and as it turns out the pigs’ll eat better if the food is “agitated” so to speak, i.e. moving, life-like, what have you, and so What They Did was they found what were described to me as “Fuck Machines,” thrusting automatons fitted with dildos, and the pigs quite liked to eat the old meat this way, the dildos stripped away, straps aside, tossed to the floor, dismounted, Bobbit’s nullification, you feel me, and thus a great array of So-Called “Fuck Machines” were assembled for the feeding of the pigs, which led to the accumulation of what was described to me as a
“huge pile of dildos, probably 200,”
which were summarily black-bagged and jettisoned — apparently an employee had suggested attempting to sell them as a lot on Craigslist — “fuck that, not worth it to have to meet that person”
being the ultimate collective decision — so the whole bag’s worth had ended up at a Goodwill (fake dicks likely discarded as per policy).
The Earth Is a Pile of Spare and Spailed Dick.
Odds Are you End Up on the Killing Floor,
Groveling Wolf.
6. Sylph
Help I’m running out of perfume I’m dying.
He said as he sipped from the kerosene jug.
Arrows tipped in blood.
Eros stripped of lust.
The lost child of the west left to beg of the dust.
The lord of bad words.
Misdeeds misheard.
Combed hair and culled herds.
I can show you how a cult works.
You walk like a trick boy.
Ass end like a truck.
Something spanking new.
Something I’d like to fuck.
7. LINDA & JAMES
I can feel my mother and father fighting inside me.
I never knew them together.
But I can sense their dissonance.
I never knew him at all.
But for disconnected phone calls.
And hazy suggestion.
Kids at school would ask, then hector.
Listening’s scarce where a lecture’s pleasure.
Last of the latchkey lousy.
Time’s forgotten.
8. LONG DROP
Equine gallows,
Appaloosa nooses.
Quarterly drawings,
Hanging thread loosely.
9. LITTER YOUTH
Occupant of others’ world.
Struggling.
It’s troubling.
There are only so many words.
You run out of them.
Quickly.
And away from them.
Swiftly.
Start inventing them.
Iffily.
But people’ve had enough of the old ones.
All that listening.
And prefer absence.
Or simplicity.
So,
10. SUSPIRY
A LONG SIGH buy-an-buy.
Anansi’s known to bite.
Cantankerous stank of an angry oldman.
Hand to the cloud then fall down cold.
Chaparrita I’m sorry.
I must apologize.
I’ve been casual in my cruelty.
Tell-all and all told.
I should have been much more direct.
11. OPTIONS
Men’s Central Jail or central casting.
God’s smirk is everlasting.
Open revolt and closed captions.
Carried interest and tallied caskets.
Tapped text.
Sapped of merit.
Slop.
Lowest.
Common.
12. A FRIEND OF MINE DROPPED OUT OF BEAUTY SCHOOL BECAUSE THERE WAS “TOO MUCH MATH”
I’m easily dismissed.
With a whisper or a wisp.
Va va voom Bitch.
Check the volume and wish.
13. I PLAY MUSIC IN A BAND CALLED SCALED ALPS (WE AREN’T PLAYING)
I come in pieces.
And fall.
Roaming a cliff.
Earth angel.
Scraped.
Scalped.
Ape.
14. The last remaining human animal capable of masturbating to its imagination.
The stars have struck, stricken sickly.
Abdicate the throne and the scabs fill quickly.
Waltzing, flatly:
Just might find your name with a strikethrough if I don’t like you.
A zero’s a humorless numeral.
If I don’t come for your job a computer will.
15. I FED THE PRECEDING TEXT INTO AN “A.I.” THAT JUDGES TONE
The emotional tone of this text comes across as dark, cynical, and confrontational. The use of phrases like "last remaining human animal capable of masturbating to its imagination," "stars have struck, sickly," and "scabs fill quickly" creates a sense of despair and decay. The mention of finding someone's name with a strikethrough if they are not liked and the reference to a zero as a humorless numeral suggests a sense of hostility and detachment. The final line about a computer potentially taking someone's job adds a layer of ominous and foreboding tone to the text. Overall, the emotional impact of the text is one of bleakness and a hint of impending doom.
𝐂𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐇É
𝐆𝐎𝐓𝐇
𝐁𝐔𝐋𝐋𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐓
. . . THAT’S THE JAMES QUENTIN DEVINE PROMISE ! ! ! . . .
🖤🖤🖤
16. Blue(Z)
CLICKLICKLICKLICKLICKLICKLICKLICK—
A jittering jig.
In seeking oblivion you found no end.
Black suits you.
And blue, too.
Sprawling pollutant.
Door-dimmer.
Spayed ace.
17. OBJECTION: RELEVANCE?
Music is the accountancy of an animal’s walk.
Two legs or four.
All that remains is to surf the flood.
Flip the bird.
Grip the board.
Dig your claws in.
18. NOTES FOR A BOOK ABOUT, YOU KNOW, LIFE, AND EVERYTHING
Denuded, lauded bare, badflowering.
Why I stopped styling.
“Men dress for men women dress for women” etc. nonsense
.
Multi factorial . . .
Ultimately this resolves to power.
This comes in many forms.
Some seek attraction.
Some seek to intimidate.
Some seek stealth.
Some people just want to stunt.
The staged life.
LIKE ANY OTHER CRIME SCENE . . .
19. YET ANOTHER WAY I GOT RICH WAS
THROWING WHAT WERE TERMED ‘Romance Parties,”
in which attendee-participants were allowed only to wear black, white, or red.
If you thought yourself quite special you might dare imperial blueviolet,
but you’d need some gall.
20. THE CHARIOTEER
Vehicular ego.
Rolling and regal.
Ruinous rust.
Grisly legal.
21. VMERICA
Gun drawn on a dead body.
Dicks drawn on a passed-out face.
Let me out!
Let me out!
Let me out!
I fucking hate this place.
22. DIG ME
You drive me to the grave.
I’ve already dug it.
Dug in.
Leak’s begun.
The ship’s sinking.
We don’t care to plug it.
You don’t dare to love me.
And you shouldn’t.
23.
THE ABSENTEE HOST
Near-dead industry.
On the brink of extinction.
You blinked and you missed me.
I blanked on your history.
We’d met but it’s mist to me.
As with most.
24. NICKED NAMES (THIEF OF PRINCES)
Being something of a far-flung floundering leaf-fiend.
Black sheep of bleak means bleating.
Impermanent marker of meaning.
Bled-dry bedrid.
Catch a beating.
Barehand.
Bareknuckle.
Stick and shuffle.
Snuck ‘em.
Knock-out.
Fuck it.
Comes out of left field sometimes.
Triumphant shields’ shine.
The violent shimmering glint.
Of a rite divine.
Climb the nighttime.
High in the hours.
And low in voice.
Bring you close.
Hear me:
They call me “Scary.”
No really.
No really.
Scary.
Scary.
Tell me:
Are you feeling cornered, or worse, ordinary?
Four of one and fine of many?
Strafe and parry.
Party.
Pray precarity.
Dare me:
Catch a stray and live barely.
Results vary.
Very.
Very, very.
Landing, squarely.
Feral unfairly.
My lay-fairy’s en route to an early.
Surely.
Aloft high urn.
Incoming calls spurned.
Scorn of scourge earth’s turn.
Siege engine burned.
Burnt.
Surge.
Surge!
Pummel a tunnel.
Ransack the rubble.
Setfire hovels.
Holy sites lowered.
Leveled.
Under.
25. GUNS DRAWN (FROM MEMORY)
Execute me for my crimes.
File me down with saws and sines.
The flash of recognition in your eyes.
Voice muzzled in disguise.
Worrisome son.
Where have you gone?
26. SPRING FWD:
Time changes and its toll is telling.
Clockhands on the chess pieces.
I’m playing other games.
I walk when the sun’s low and the trees are lit up.
Golden hour princeling.
Twilit emperor.
It’ll be illegal to be like this soon.
Hell it already is.
27. REVERBERATIONS
I’d say you got me wrong but you’d have to get me in the first place.
I lived too long, and I did it young.
Acid hasbeen.
Prequel to a rugpull.
Telegraphed.
Tells.
Tales told.
And pulled.
Ponies yanked.
Reins and bits.
It rains a bit.
In spurs and spurts.
Sound-damp drench-down.
Wettened wit.
28. EVANGELISTA
I woke up like this.
You asked for it.
Through hardships to the stars.
Add an asterisk.
29. NOTHING NICE
When Lucian’s head fills the guillotine.
Everyone — AT LAST, THANK GOD!, AT LAST — says what they really mean.
It’s nothing nice.
But the cut is clean.
He bleeds topaz.
And aquamarine.
30. ADVICE (WARRANTED)
Whatever and whoever you are, there are people who will hate you for the fact of your existence. This is non-negotiable. Permitting this to distract you from the tasks you have set about is a choice.
𝐉𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍 𝐃𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐄 / a / k / a
JQD is a self-taught integrated media company founded haunted and enchanted in 𝙻𝙾𝚂𝚃 𝙴𝚁𝙾𝚂, 𝙲𝙰.
“Thank you . . .
Thank you.”
💙
𝐌 𝐔 𝐍 𝐃 𝐔 𝐒 𝐕 𝐔 𝐋 𝐓 𝐃 𝐄 𝐂 𝐈 𝐏 𝐈