#savagesneversleep

[wtfcraigslistnyc]

THE HAWK AND THE CONEY

The firm earth walls of the tiny hole

Had grown much too cold and droll

To hold back the peeping mouths

Waking from Winter’s slumber

Down under the mighty Hemlock’s

Bows proudly they had avowed

To hold the watch over the cold winter

Lock that would put them in

With kind and kin

Only to nibble and dream of the

Sun and seeds that would

Liter the surface so moist and full of life

But as the sun began wiggle the roots

Awake around the holler the delicate

Scrapes would be made at mid-day when the SUN

was too high to hide what bounty lay

Await as the day would only be swallowed

By the moon whole

At first the field appeared quite desolate

The CONEY pulled itself up and snapped its eyes

So as to survey and plot that most vital and precarious

First foray back into the frey

But not for the first of last they bounded forward to

Thump off the rot of sleep and old nuts that tasted of

Earth and wood

Today the tufts brought back would be the breakfast

The champions they had sired and guided in the maze

Of grass and dirt only to skirt certain peril

From many foes that the nose only knows

Upwind they would usually be very

Easy to smell before hearing the

Raucous clashing of motor to metal to meat

Then the cursed CANINE fiends would charge

Huffing and puffing as the trolls

Make thunder clap snaps that bapped the dirt but

Occasionally would cause a dear friend or acquaintance to

Simply POP and STOP in place only die as we run and

Find our hiding places

But this all pales in comparison for the commodore of the context

Who never seems to sleep and loves to eat us the most

They have a special way of knowing when we know to move

Like a hive mind we try to move in symphony

But simply seem to be here on this field

Both hungry for something we can see and feel

Something we can almost touch but never hold on to

As we run faster to find it

Fly higher and quieter looming as we swoon for the bit

Of toast we most need to feed the tiny ones

Who need us too

But always we know as they circle the space we share

They seem to know who isn’t well or who can tell

They are more scared and zag left rather than zig right

In pure impulse only to feel the embrace of the

Wind as it begins to descend so ominous

Like a blanket of onyx upon a grease fire

The moment is suspended as we glance a fleeting

Glimpse of a wing and a KLAW so regal

The talons sparkle with joy as the rays of the sun bounce back

Upon the gust of wind pushing back up

GLEN’S eyes open wide looking back down at us as though to say

Goodbye but at least that they tried and we did too

But they were quicker and

so is the way

The hole that we call home shall not be our grave

For we shall die on the field of battle or

flying towards the heavens

Only to blink and kiss the sky

(7:59am 12.11.23)

Summa facta incipit a minimis gradibus

(The greatest of feats begins with the smallest of steps)

#uziego #nyc #savagesneversleep #wtfcraigslistnyc #comdey #craigslist #uziegoart

[uziegonyc]

CASTLES OF CLOUDS 

THINK BEFORE

YOU BUILD

CASTLES OF CLOUDS

IN THE SKY

WITH ANYONE 

OTHER THEN 

YOU ALONE

#uziego #savagesneversleep #nyc #davis meltzer #nycwriter #brooklynwritere #brooklynwriter

[savagesneversleepnyc]

THE SPIDER by UZIEGO

The spider

He weaves his web

So succinctly

Scaling high

Awaiting the fluttering

Feast of flesh

Lay in wait

And salivate

Tendrils tenderly

Intertwined with

Tumultuous hunger

Plucking upon the line

A hiss and and hop

And across the web

to the spot

Of stasis

In the entanglement

Enchanted creature

So fair

So ripe

So perfectly

Frozen

Awaiting

That

First

Bite

#uziego #savagesneversleep #nyc #videoart #savagesneversleepnyc #nycwriter #bizzid #brooklynwriter #flipagram #handmade

[wearetanzen]

I love these dudes. I'm stoked to see @portalsmetal open for suicide silence in 2 weeks in Chicago. Hit up my boi James for tickets (he delivers/no tax/navy seal). And there's some cool stuff happening with @eightysixhappiness and @tanzenofficial this month (tba). #savagesneversleep 😃👌 (at Township)

#savagesneversleep

[noagediet]

Quick and dirty punk mix for the hardcore heads. Recorded and mixed live at HEARTS OF DARKNESS studio Brooklyn NYC for SAVAGES NEVER SLEEP NYC. All music is the property of the artists.

#SoundCloud #UZIEGO #PUNK #MIXTAPE #SAVAGESNEVERSLEEP

[savagesneversleepnyc]

LBS INDELIBLE or HIVE MIND DIE

The weight we take is often too great to forsake all the many steps and ways it makes haste to step to.

Innocuous intent smells of fresh baked breads we walked through fallow plains with bare feet so discreetly. Sneaky with bellies hungry like tadpoles that glow after eating raw sewage. The new age was upon the dam and the COHO ROE was untold upstream.. AS cohorts revert into red clay dispite endeavors splendid in design.

Caravans cannot handle the damage of the plan to roll out and employ auto biographies they plagiarized and took for granted all in one stroke. Broken hopes sling muddy balls at walls taller then whales being brought up on deck to hack and illuminat e the filth they wallowed in as blind moles…

Portions irrationally spaced out of places we waited on hand to eat feet with open eyes. Hearts exploding in confit emotions vastly injested innocent but irreverent, irreversible entanglement of aborhamt behavior abound

Persephone’s lips tasted sweet like rubbed rubarab cocoons festooned in flaccid elastic bands stitched back in place by two hands

The sorriecfantasy was more vastly irrational but whole easier to execute in a less sincere context. The algae covered rocks waved goodbye to the high tide as nets dug below, stirring the pools slowly and low as leaves fall and turn back to earth sky and die to smile again

The black bear was unaware of the hawk and the mouse and the family in the little house just outside the gates he never wandered far enough to meet. But the smells and the sails tips dripped in seagull jelly and arctic char guts. He would await the sound of the voices then hide in pride inside the cave he made safe in no small bit of effort.

Proteins slow to burn into dreams as the winter eases back and the buds break through honey cold branches at the licked kiss of sun rays in spring. But ant sleep too and knew the ARMY and THE QUEEN were far too mean to touch the sky or see outside the HIVE MIND

$7:45AM J TRAIN TO Bk 4.18.24.0000003

#uziego #savagesneversleep #nyc #videoart #savagesneversleepnyc #nycwriter #bizzid #brooklynwriter #flipagram #handmade

[savagesneversleepnyc]

THE GONG SHOWS

(Thoughts on COMEDY, HIP HOP, HARD WORK and RESPECT)

I had come to DENVER in the FALL of 1996 on a GREYHOUND BUS. The trip was relatively uneventful. I watched a braggart kid from CONNECTICUT who ran his mouth the whole way get yolked buying drugs on the street outside the station in CHICAGO. Those places were very dangerous in the 90’s at every stop. It was a cheap way to cross the country, but it would lead a person through a gauntlet of bizarre dead-end places where the dirty dog stopped to collect the living attempting to find greener pastures.

GREG had talked me into coming. I saw him that summer and he was quite pointed about the perilous state of my plight should I choose to not leave NEW ENGLAND and get out west to escape the headaches and severe DOPE CRISIS that was breaking like a wave at NAZZARRE. It was the 90’s and things were seemingly very prosperous and the severity of QUID PRO QUO was profound. CREDIT, LIFE, DEBT, and CHOICE all loomed as they impeached the president and I went away from the dark strange world I was raised in and got on a bus to build a thing in a blank form.

Our doings would lead to a myriad of things and alliances. VICTOR IZITT aka PRIZNA 101 aka DJ RICOCHET, our roommate, and I formed a GRAFF crew quickly with some other kids and would throw our first parties in 1999 as 314 BREAK CORP with our mentor ED SANTIAGO aka NRG BOY. This event would feature many of the crew mates who would charge at endeavors they found clever and proliferated to levels of dopeness to deep to touch here in any correct manner.

COUNTDOWN was held in DEC in 1999 at BUMP AND GRIND cafe on 17th and PENN in DENVER. CLIFF T, the owner, and our big brother let us use the space last minute as our initial plan fell through. The BUMP AND GRIND was a coffee shop, bakery, and drag brunch destination of over 15 years in DENVER prior to much of that type of culture being more mainstream. CLIFF had lived in NY in the 90’s as well as had taken the gritty attitude of DETROIT where he grew up and fused it with the NY roots he came to earn. His hard work supported many of us and allowed a real family of artists and outsiders to gather around a father figure.

GREG and I would riff. It would lead to him pursuing comedy and eventually our collaborations in this space. We threw events in different spots despite the stigma of music and comedy. I was in two HIP-HOP groups at the time and GREG was running the SQUIRE LOUNGE open mic that lasted over a decade. We were speaking on the GONG SHOW I had thrown with BABAH FLY of BUGABOO, one of the two groups I was in. The show had been a cool idea but the spot was some odd biker bar in a pocket no one even knew existed. While this may have been sick if we wanted to stage some COCK FIGHTS or perhaps get that FIGHT CLUB we kept hinting at starting in motion.. But BAD IDEAS tend to stay stagnant for good reason.

(It is not possible to remember which idea really came first as the dates for them were close)

We stumbled into the idea of doing an actual GONG SHOW but really making it more in the mean-spirited SQUIRE LOUNGE model GREG had already formed. He pitched his comedy partners who were a decent size crew at this time and all agreed it was a great idea. Initially, the idea of YOU SUCK GET OFF THE STAGE and putting DAVE SOTO in a CASER suit was all just the ball rolling downhill. We somehow found the real GONG SHOW GONG that MR CHUCK BARRIS himself had WACKED to end the MEAN JEAN dancing and so many other people's blind charge at FAME.

The show was a nightmare in a lot of ways. It’s easy to DJ or just do COMEDY. Not a lot of moving parts. The show we built had a shitload of performers of a varying degree of skill, songs that would need to be played and cued, video and audio cues to be flown in live from the board, and an entire banter of judges on stage as GREG paraded the stage of the ORIENTAL THEATHER. He would take the stage as the monster he would allow himself to transform into called BOBBY VALENTINO. This person was a version of my boy but was the EVIL PURE SITH version of him that was the DOG he kept muzzled at all times. The act of letting this person stand on stage and act out this mustachio’d fever dream of filth was stepping deep into the chummed waters in a sausage suit…

The show went off in flying colors despite the massive technical problems mostly due to the use of DVD content in the live show. Most of the performers and the actual content given to my AV guy were OLD and used DVDs that were not fit for home play much less a production. These disasters would really rock the booth and boar but ultimately it was never a thing I let get to me. The shows would run 3 nights usually and we ran it 4 times I feel like. Each one is more complex and pro than the last. The first show did have the BUKAKKAE ALARM CLOCK skit GREG and I wrote like so many bits just being fools talking shit at the BUMP AND GRIND.

The roots of that CRUEL demand for the best and funniest stuff were rooted in that hungry world we came out of. The characters we came up with in that scene have gone on to define a era in COMEDY and put our CITY on the MAP. It’s a proud thing to look back on. So many names that are too numerous to mention respectfully. It’s been amazing to see the organic way true people delivering and producing shows and working with love will invariably rise up and create a legacy. I do not ever claim anything beyond what I know I’ve done and never waited for anyone to tell me it was ok. This was offputting I guess and it made me leave DENVER. I’m proud to represent my home even though it’s not where I was born. DENVER is a place where many writers find themselves on the journey. It’s a strange and mythic place I love and hate in equal measure. So many memories of joy and such deep loss and sadness. Some of the faces of the sublime humans I know still knock on my door as I awake daily. But the faces of the EVIL folk who I had to face and pass on were not jokes and warned the young people that it is not a joke.

The West was won in AUDACITY. The concept of MANIFEST DESTINY is a QUID PRO QUO of taking the land from those who were there in AUDACITY and clutching a GUN and BIBLE on the other hand. This is not a debatable fact. But to forget this trespass and pass on is silly. The West was won in BLOOD and ACTIONS GOOD, BAD, and UGLY. But the actions of simple passion and love all live side by side as those monsters ride off to rob another train or train their sights on the next slow-moving animal to poach.

The GONG SHOW is a moment in the AMERICAN MYTHOS that represents the common person being allowed the 15 seconds ANDY has promised in jest. But the AUDACITY to be a FOOL or be COOL is a thing that most don’t know. It’s easy to see a comic, deejay, producer, artist, writer, chef, or human as a thing you get to judge and talk out an opinion on. This is everyone’s right. BUT PLEASE KNOW. If you do not make, do, say, think that thing you choose to run your YAP ABOUT… It is fully permissible to have a REAL ONE tell you quite simply and plan that it’s not your place and it’s probably best to respectfully STFU.

FOR G.B. 314 and VICTOR PRIMO IZZIT 314

5:37am 4.14024.000003

#uziego #savagesneversleep #nyc #videoart #savagesneversleepnyc #nycwriter #bizzid #brooklynwriter #handmade

[savagesneversleepnyc]

nUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZIEGOOGEIZUUZ

#uziego #savagesneversleep #nyc #videoart #savagesneversleepnyc #nycwriter #brooklynwriter #flipagram #bizzid #handmade

[savagesneversleepnyc]

BIG EASY BAD TIMES A GO GO

UZI.. broke his wrist.. fake on the job injury, get a big bottle of pills, go home in triumph, make mixtape that gets me DAUGHTERS GIG (very high on ULTRAM and with my right hand broken)… I go to GULF COAST next day.. on the way from airport, TALL CAN and more pills, at her moms.. migraine followed by projectile vomit of Spanish rice, pills and TALL CAN on her carpeted bathroom sink situation… some time later… we get busy by a creek that would flood the shit outta they home in OCEAN SPINGS MS… there was a very large piece of heavy CAT STYLE equipment involved.. like a DINOSAUR size back hoe digger ironically.. LATER.. as I walk one last time down BOURBON street fighting back my own sick as I try not to inhale the pungent musk of the quarter.. the caustic combo of CHICORY COFFEE.. BENETS..PILLS.. cause UZI to fart as one fears always… LIKE a drowning rat I charged at the nearest door to conserve

Steps… the hostess attempted to prevent my charge to the BANO of my mortal foe

JIMMY BUFFET’s establishment

I left my fouled gear in MARGARITA VILLE

But a piece of my heart is what actual got left in the BIG EASY

2.13.23

#uziego #savagesneversleep #nyc #savagesneversleepnyc #nycwriter #comedy #real talk #bigeasySTORIES #brooklynwriter

[savagesneversleepnyc]

IN TWO AN UTTER 

When we do what's right

And walk into the light

And continue to fight 

The most absolute in sight 

Confusion slipping

into the abyss

Its bliss 

We collide and duck dive 

Less dead than alive 

Swallowing breathes

We took as they slept

Commanding words

That are utterly absurd

The PEREGRINE descending

Claws extended as 

Sweaty palms prey

For solution to fires

They cannot fight

Running scared 

BLIND NAKED AND AFRAID INTO THE LIGHT

2.5.24 5:57AM

#uziego #savagesneversleep #nyc #nycwriter #brooklynwriter #nycBEATpoet #postMODERNbeatPOET

[savagesneversleepnyc]

CUJO AND THE DARTS

He stepped out of the van looking smug.

She was not impressed. It had been a very dry spring and the boxes that were filled with DART driven dreams were hungry to house the DENDROBATIDAE..

LICK TOAD AND TASTE THE COCK

(the low monotone voice said from the behind the black curtain of the cube in the back of the service station next to old highway #7 that leads out to the dead oil field)

The cages in the basement made the entire service station like a swamp. They had bought the property because they knew about an old aquifer that was not protected and could be tapped easily.

This would be very important for breeding and cloning the dart frogs. Producing METHAMPHETAMINE had been quite lucrative but it was time to diversify into a more organic income stream. One that required less dealings with machine gun wielding cartel hoods than soccer moms who simply couldn’t find a reason not blow their brains out while awaiting the NAIL SALON tech to dry the GEL NAILS.

The gas station also served BOBA and shitty TACORITOS.

The girl behind the counter greeted people with profound indifference so as not to leave any impression. This was a skill handed down to the ladies of plains from GRAMS to TIKES. This quiet and profound facade of majestic confidence and indifference was one of the first things that the men who wielded long steel cannons and slayed the thunderous hoof’s into silence.

The gaze that penetrates and deflects the eye of the beholder is older and bolder than the eyes that could ever spy upon them. She would give change and say thanks always like a burden of admission that you took something from her that you would now owe her for in perpetuity.

As the man descended deep into the double wide trailer he’s sunk in the ground behind the station, the smell of FROG FECES rumpled his stiltskin hairs on the back of his neck more profoundly with he step lower into the bunker. The low groan of the small creature in the dank expanse below was stark. The smell would envelope him first then, the quiet dampness would hold his feet firmly down. The whole place seemed in order. All the sub bass systems that kept them very happy and stimulated in the manner that would produce the most potent and unctuous DART essence would be emitted freely.

HOWEVER, the secret was to allow the generations of DARTS to stack up and not touch any component of the organic conversation that was instigated within the microcosm of the bunker.

As he begrudgingly began to select his annual brood of several dozen prime specimens to harbor the blood line safely in his OAXACA breeding facility. He’d chosen a remote inlet with natural fortifications to prevent molestation by his sinister rivals. The entire DART movement and revolution had been started by him in a different iteration of his journey prior to the accident that would divert his focus from malice to alchemy and mysticism

The sound of several large truck all pulling up in a convoy disturbed the incubator of DART magic to remind him that the vision would always attract the eyes and hand of greedy lessers who sought to unwind the thread by which he alone hung,

It was very simple what would happen next.

The girl behind the counter pressed a large red KILL SWITCH button next to the cash register. Very large steel plates dropped over the enclosure of the service station. She sighed and grabbed her backpack, begrudgingly making her way to the broom closet that hid the hatch the station’s own self contained bunker with full cozy accouterments. She chuckled as she pulled the submarine style hatch shut and pulled the wooden handle that brought the piss stained rug over the hatch above. She turned on the close circuit display spread and popped open a LA CROIX.

The four SUV’s all faced a completely armored station on a windswept plane just skip north of the border.

The man took his seat at his console and grabbed a hold of his trucker mic to welcome his guest.

WHO GOES THERE? YOU CAME WITH MANY PEOPLE UNANNOUNCED! I’M CURIOUS HOW I CAN BEST ASSIST YOU?

The first 3 SUV’s doors popped open and 8 men stepped out holding assault rifles and tactical armor. The headlights of the 4th SUV blinked and gave a honk. The men all broke into a tactical formation moving forward around the back of the station with GUNS pointed to unload as they approached.

AH.. I SEE THAT YOU COME BEARING GIFTS

The man at the console snickered and pressed a fat yellow button next to his left hand. As the squad stormed around the back of the station in a very tight and contrived tactical formation a spread of simple lawn sprinkler sockets popped up from the back of the yard.

AHOY HOY!!! LET US BEGIN

The man proclaimed quite plainly over the speakers. The little girl rubbed his tiny paws eagerly from her perch below the station.

An AIR HORN sounded from a small shed that was roughyl 50 yards off on the edge of the MESA began to come to life. A pounding and growing sound began to emerge from the shed.

The men of the squad looked down at the sprinkler heads that were now whizzing away sounding like a siren scream as a bright yellow gas rushed out them all but obscuring their line of sight.. The men began gasping and running like headless chickens to escape the footprint of CANARY STRAINED ANTHRAX MUSTARD GAS the man had cooked up fresh for them. 5 of the squad flopped like a side of beef sliding off the hook into the grinder.

They twitched and gasped briefly as the remaining three scampered away desperately for cover. The shed was still chugging away as they caught their breath awaiting a command from the boss in the last SUV.

The man rubbed his eyes and turned to look back at his beloved DARTS. He yawned and thought about having a tea once the mess was cleaned up.

He picked up the trucker mic again and spoke.

HE WHO CONTROLS THE SPICE SHALL CONTROL THE UNIVERSE!!

He quit simply but firmly proclaimed.

The sides of the ominous chugging shed exploded outward at this time exposing the NAVAL grade anti aircraft cannon that was pointed at the last SUV. The remaining men made a sound that almost was audible prior to the sound of the 4th SUV and ALL of the SUV’s being blown back from the service station in a typhoon like wall of metal, fire and motion. The sound carried like a phoenix rising from the very sandy earth that lay below. A deep and calm vacuum of space embraced them all as the shell collided with the front right axel of the SUV in a delicate and almost liquid like manner. The sheer weight of the shell is over 100 pounds. This is essentially a small refrigerator that collided with the DENALI SUPREME to brew up a human and meat stew fit for a king.

The little one opened up a bag of chips and picke up her trucker mic.

HEY!!! DO YOU GUYS LIKE DOGS!? I LOVE MY DOG CUJO!! GET TO KNOW HIM!!

With that she gave a strange and guttural sound that brought the sleeping monster who had been quietly sleeping next to her. He awoke, seeming like he was not done napping but was hungry as always and would gladly break up his down time for some TCB and a bit of light exercise. She rubbed his wet nose on her nose and purred at him.

OK BOY. GO EAT NOW

With that she pressed a button that opened a decent size dumb waiter contraption that CUJO sauntered over to casually. His stride deep with steps that sought to shake his sleep and prepare his chop to dine.

CUJO put all his weight in the box and it clicked, a small compartment on the bottom right corner opened and a small portion of cool fresh water appeared for him to enjoy. A proper amuse bouche before the sun would constrict doggie pupils into pinpoints searching for meaty calves of screaming men who didn’t put on pants one leg at a time that day expecting to see all the stuff.

A bulkhead hatch sprung up on the far side of the station and CUJO stepped silently off the pad. His pure white fur gleaming in the sun. He was a mutt of too many varieties to ever discern but was every bit of 150 lbs of muscle and mind that simply love his people, the DARTS and a solid meal after a good nap.

The men looked at each other from their hiding places.

The sound of the burning and still vibrant conflagration that was quite actively barbecuing their retaining into HUMANO BARBACOA was a little disconcerting and made hearing the dog impossible…

CUJO snuck up behind the first man and closed his windpipe with his mouth and gently let him go to sleep forever… CUJO was taught to smell and not see. But he loved to see the look of the men when he made them know he was the one who would be escorting them to the other side of the great river of death.

The next man could quite plainly see the dog approach but had lost his weapon in his hastle to escape the MUSTARD GAS DEATH GARDEN and tried quite pitifully in vain to ward off CUJO’s amorous advances with a fully extended right hand that CUJO latched onton and drove his head directly into his back, breaking it out of the socket and ripping it clean off his arm. CUJO had been trained in a brutal form of DOG TAI CHI that allowed him to BREAK things using weight against the anatomical structure of the THING he chomped onto. This was not something that any HUMAN could show or teach.

The many who begat him were of a certain bloodline that believe in devotion and brutality. Dogs in the pecking order slide in different directions but will ultimately stand to man’s side always. His blood knew that this was only a matter of contextual dominance. By credo they would only serve a just master who acted in a purer manner than their predecessor.

CUJO was ready to just start chewing an arm in his mouth but knew that the JOB was not yet done. The 3rd man had made a run for the hills and now looked like a wide receiver chagrin downfield desperately hoping fate and skill will collide in glory.

This really pissed off CUJO. He was not in the mood to go for a run at all but knew it would only make the meat more tasty as he enjoyed it. With that, he dropped the dripping man arm and let out a tiny sniff of desert dust. His weight and girth galloped with haste consuming the yards between him and the last man panting for breath and struggling to run full sprint and unholster his GLOCH.

CUJO’s eyes blazed forward as fountains, a saliva splashed on the sand he displaced with his mass pounding forward at the weaker and slower critter rapidly losing the tiny shred of space that separated them from the inevitable.

CUJO likes to get really close and let the prey feel him ready to chomp but not so they actually slow down out of pure fear… The man began to shit and piss himself violently. This really only made CUJO more mad as he was never in the mood for shitty piss soaked food.

So he latched onto the ACHILLES of the man with his lower jaw and flipped him like a rag doll in motion and then barrel rolled himself (as he had been taught) and brought his own weight crushing the guys body as they rolled over several time with the rapid sound of bags of nuts being smashed with a heavy iron hammer.

CUJO let go and left the bloody broken sack of human meat for the coyotes and buzzards to enjoy. They prefer meat to be coated in fear and feces.

CUJO cooly rolled himself in bloody sand until he felt clean of his deafed foe’s plasma and poo. He gave himself a stern shake and could see the man and the girl standing by the service station. A wrecker and roll out dumpster slowly crept across the plain toward them to remove the smoldering remnant of the ZETAS who came to play.

1.26.24v 9:59: AUX MORTEM AB CHAO

reges antiqui in sanguine fuderunt

#uziego #savagesneversleep #videoart #nyc #savagesneversleepnyc #nycWRITTER #bkWRITTER

[wtfcraigslistnyc]

SITUS INVERSUS is solely inspired by this man.

His name is JOHN WEIJA. His father was also named JOHN. Both were brilliant and enigmatic men who lived in an ether of intelligence that was other worldly. I felt his DAD was a wizard who was there to show us what the SOTO (SITTING ZEN) master looks like. Playing endless NPR classic music off the HI FI and encourging us to play ROCKY'S BOOTS on the APPLE TWO C... We took apart a large antiquated calculators with hammers like cavemen searching for the GOD particle... JOHN was born with all of the organS you see hidden in this image formed in his human body in REVERSE (SITUS INVERSUS).

He didn't know this until he was 9 or 10. Once he did, the rest of his life was charge at the DEATH he saw charging back at him... JOHN left the tiny place we came from and spent most of his life in SOUTH CHINA, as an EX PAT... I wanted so desperately for him to keep living enough to tell OUR STORY. Instead I was left to create this ode to a magical human I grew up. The human who inspired me to sink a container ship and cast my own teeth in GOLD for all the world to see.

REST IN LIGHT JOHN. I CONTIUNE TO WRITE, LIVE AND TELL THE TRUTH BECAUSE THAT IS THE WEAPON THAT WE CHOOSE 314 23 56 138 KONX OM PAX

#situsinversus #uziego #nyc #savagesneversleep #wtfcraigslistnyc #comdey #craigslist #comedy #uziegoart #nycartist #poet

[wtfcraigslistnyc]

THE LOST GOLDEN SKULL

I was asked recently what became of the skull of my friend and mentor, LANCE DE LOS REYES.

For context. Lance was a modern American artist who worked in many mediums. These would include; canvas, assemblage, sculpture, poetry and graffiti that was often painted in very dangerous and high exposure surfaces such as billboards.

He became very well known for writing RAMBO and was even interviewed by VICE magazine about his relationship to his alter ego. In the piece he simply stated that he knew him but that he was most certainly not him. The interviewer really tried to play into the graffiti culture trop of shine and recognition but ultimately what he was writing on the billboards was part of a much larger and more ambitious piece or art that he’d worked his entire life to construct.

The pinnacle of his masterpiece was something I was told he had been talking about for over 20 years. I’m unclear on when and how he came to this idea but it was something he was very vocal about explaining in detail to anyone who could endure what he described.

The idea itself was simple.

Lance would have all of his teeth completely cast in solid GOLD and then have all of his teeth removed and replaced with brand new SOLID GOLD TEETH. He would then create a living will like document in which he would sell his GOLD TOOTH SKULL proprietary to art titan DAMIEN HURST for $1,000,000. This was to be his most ambitious work as it would require actual physical suffering, anxiety, trauma, planning and a very long and painful healing process once the teeth had been successfully implanted into his skull.

Many people who I’ve met have shared that they too knew of the skull project and that it was a THING that really separated the BELIEVERS from the NAYSAYERS. Just the reaction that would generated from explaining his idea has a pretty visceral reaction from most people. I don’t think that the IF IT’S NOT BROKE, DON’T FIX IT mind that many of us adhere to on a really basic level would never, EVER include modifying one’s TEETH to create a piece of art that would rip a hole in time and space by the pure intent of effort expended in doing so.

At the point in the yarn when I explain that he did actually find the financial backer to support his vision and allow him to TRANSFORM into the piece of LIVING ART that he reached at with a full heart from his first breath to his last. Most people do not believe that this is a thing that actually happened and that his face is one the cover of a magazine, stretched into a contorted, clinical grimace to proclaim without any uncertainty that he had indeed executed the most brutal show of devotion to one’s own artistic vision and mission.

The last time I saw Lance alive, I picked him up on Hester street in Chinatown in WOOF, MCODY’s HONDA CIVIC. We had worked very hard over the course of several weeks on a series of drawings and videos that accompanied them as they were produced. All of the work was created and bounced back and forth between us, while I was on holiday with my kids. It’s ironic as the very first piece I made for him was made entirely in the passenger seat of a rental car driving to MONTAUK.

After I returned from holiday we met up and I drove him to pick up a rental car from JFK, so he could go to the HAMPTONS for a two week artist residency. He has completed replacing 60% of his teeth at that point in August of 2019. He had intended to return to paint his first billboard in many years and paint an actual image on the board instead of invocational words. But he fell from the ladder many stories when his hand slipped out of a glove.

He explained how the ritual of getting up on the board works. I will not explain this. But will say that he had a process and something must have been a miss when he approached this particular billboard. There’s so many variables and we all are careening through time and space in utter oblivion of the chaos that swirls around us. Just no the other side of every choice. He fell what he said was over 50 feet. There’s no way of knowing and he lived after shattering his pelvis from the fall.

He had only been out of the hospital a few weeks when I picked him up in CHINATOWN.

I jumped out of the car and helped him down the stairs trying to shoulder as much of his weight as I could. He seemed pretty solid but also was obviously in a ton of extreme pain from his shattered pelvis (which CANNOT be cast) and his mouth full of throbbing gums with shiny GOLD TEETH gleaming out. We made our way to the car and I helped him in. Right away he told me to drive chill because he knew that I was an agro person. So we drove the 90 or so minutes through traffic chatting and planning his pop up with CHAMPION that was launching that fall. He had been waiting on this capsule partnership for a while to give him some much needed footing and passive income.

We intentionally tried to keep it light though as MCODY was in the car with us and we were both like little kids, so happy to see each other and high five on all the hard work we put in on the 100 SKETCH project we busted out a couple weeks before. I think about that day a lot and what he said. We spoke on the phone a few more times but it would just happen in 2021 when I saw it pop up on INSTAGRAM..

I knew he finished and had let him know I was proud of him. He was always cycling in and out of circles of people and would also go into super hiding and just make for marathon periods.

At his wake I heard some kids mumble something about the skull and tried to put it out of my mind. I didn’t want to speak at all because I was really thankful to have worked with him and I didn’t need any of these people to know who I was or what we did together. I introduced myself to BAILEY, the guy he did some video stuff with after me. He was really cool and it felt super healing to have a couple minutes with him.

I spoke with ANNA, his widow at the wake and was able to give ROMAN his son a hug. It meant alot to her that I came. I was glad and did my best to show her eyes how sorry I was so she could keep doing her best. I really respect her so much and have always tried to be a positive force.

I was too broken inside to be present with my brother who was at the wake who introduced us. I knew what would happen and how horrible I would fall apart, so I just shuffled off. It was something that I feel really ashamed of because I could see him just feet away from me in such pain as I spoke with her. I didn’t have it in me be present for him. In a strange way, I know that he and Lance would have completely understood how much it hurt and why it would have made it worse for us both. We left and had some of the best drinks of my life at the NANCY WHISKEY on LISPENARD and AVE OF THE AMERICA’s, up the street from the CANADA gallery where the wake happened. It was a brutally cold and crisp winter day. Perfect weather to cuddle in the pub with GUINNESS and POWERS neat over several hours of reflection and laughter with MCODY. It was the place

I would have had a wake for my DAD if that had been possible.

We drank to Lance and his life. To the art that he gave to us and his character that would always leave a lasting tree with roots growing from the base of our souls. We felt the warm embrace of the weathered wooden shanty that sat atop the kitchen in a precarious treehouse of booze, nestled on top of the train in TRIBECA.

What is the value of art?

What is the value of life?

What is the cost of possession?

Lance did not ask these questions.

He replaced the teeth in his head with GOLD TEETH. It’s unknown if he sold his skull.

It doesn’t matter to me. I miss my friend desperately and live in a shadow that his greatness commands from me. Because he looked me in the eye and told me that I was a great artist. That this life would command huge sacrifice and demand everything that we have to give. But our children must see us live as men who do not follow the lamb to the blade but charge off into the heather to live free. ART is WAR. It is not something that is simple, easy or a straight line. Many humans I know learn to master their own hearts at a young age and follow a very prosperous path into a glorious kingdom of their own making. Others succumb to the forces of context that summon the demons who take them back to the other side. We always try our best to never quit on them ever but know that every day and breath we have with them is precious.

That is not the path for people like myself and Lance. We are born into a context and survive the many trials and choices we are presented with. The approach is zealous and driven by something utterly SUBLIME. The quest to create and actually TRANSFORM ourselves is paramount to the degree and magnitude to which the work is capable. At its core, the work has to confront the DOGMA that we see and present a force opposing it. This doesn’t need to be violent, destructive or scary. But sadly, the process for people like us to move our human frames through the fabric of time and space with all the collateral synchronicities elapsing and collapsing upon each other.

If we are to live in the form that we choose, we live and become the art we define.

KNOW GODS JUST WORK

The price of the GOLD SKULL is a debt that is never ever paid. The people who love him the most will always keep paying for this piece of work, because we cared for him so much and wanted him to live so badly.

It doesn't matter at all where that physical object is. What would it matter if a person possessed it?

What function does it really provide to a person that allows them to accomplish or achieve anything? The art world is built upon a foundation of value that is purely intrinsic.

To the person who could or would possess the GOLD SKULL of RAMBO, would the $1,000,000 or 1,000,000,000 really be any kind of currency in relation to what the GOLD SKULL is?

All the wealth in the world cannot possess the GOLD SKULL because the force that created it appeared for a time in a human form and then returned to the universe transformed into another.

The pain that grows and changes into the art we allow it to become is the GOLD SKULL.

THE BONES OF THE MASTER ARE NOT FOR SALE

1.19.24

*********

ARCHIVAL RELEVANCE

(Roller skater with large works)

https://www.tumblr.com/trascapades/654086318632091648/artisaweapon-newexhibit-lance-de-los-reyes

VICE

https://www.vice.com/en/article/4w7ppb/the-cryptic-billboard-messages-all-over-nyc-explained-1101

#lance de los reyes #ripRAMBO #uziego #nyc #savagesneversleep #modern American artist #nycartist #graffiti artist #fine artist #poet #father #husband #brother #KNOWgodsJUSTwork

[wtfcraigslistnyc]

THE CURRENT

Encapsulating the oceans motion

Krill spilling into harbors

Guarded by monolithic stone towers

Driven skyward with roots of MAGMA

Foothold upon the edge of the precipice

So deep it’s boundless eminencity only hungers

To know more water and bones

To nuzzle and rest upon the firmament

Of decay and sublime KELVIN like stasis

Penetrating atoms to stand still

As the UNIVERSE expands telescopically

Removed 20,000 leagues of legendary

Silence that reaches the pits of stomachs

Churning in guts storming beaches

As battlements volley hatred and ignorance

The venom that spread all too

Effortlessly upon the prick

Systemically brokered to all the jokers

Who sally forward speaking much too loud about

NOTHING AT ALL

Commanding the attention they seek screaming out

One final SOS from the DEATH SUB

That led them deeper and deeper

To the place of stasis and entanglement

Of greed, ambition, hubris to the mother and a will that knew

Only it’s own curiosity so profoundly detached from the

Magnitude of the endeavor

Gilded in recycled carbon fiber splendor

That we remember as the screams fade to silence and the

Curtain slowly draws

As the trawlers turn back to port and gaze upon

NARWHALS for the first time

Since even the saltiest can recall

Their eyes briefly locking

Only to slip back to the liquid that we

Take so deeply for granted

Yet will move mountains and seas of blood

To spill

(9:32 12/14/23)

#uziego #nyc #savagesneversleep #wtfcraigslistnyc #comdey #craigslist #uziegoart #youtube

[wtfcraigslistnyc]

I’m back motherfuckers!! YES!!! To the roots of where this whole sorted mess began.. CRAIGSLIST… Life has handed me some of the sweetest cherries via CRAISGSLIST. I can’t ever quit you….

This first foray back to the OG art form comes to us from some DOUCHE in VIRGINA… It’s not just for LOVERS apparently. Having spent a fair amount of time in the mid-atlantic region I feel connected to this world this strange query springs from… ENJOI 12.6.23

CHRISTMAS ELF…

It’s really profound what the human mind is capable of. Curing cancer, overcoming tremendous adversity, dragging what’s left of your body after a bear mauls you… But other times the mind wanders in the cold, bleak, dark of winter. The walls close in and everyone begins to look like a bucket of KFC that complains too much. So the wheels spin and land on a very intuitive and obvious solution as you drift across the sewage treatment plant liquid surface of the modern popular cultural zeitgeist.

One can only try to imagine the wretched and pitiful mind that would solicit another human for their sick holiday fun….

WILL FARRELL!!! OF COURSE!!! ELF!!!

My cheating wife and asshole children will be so goddam stoked on this utter tidal wave of yuletide inspiration. Nothing will prepare them for the TRAPPED IN THE CLOSET-esque reveal I have on deck for them all…

The whole concept actually appeared in a fever dream as I took a stroll down memory lane to revisit my old childhood haunts of the web… EBAUM'S BABY!!! All the most vile stuff really. It brought me back to the time of dial up and TUB GIRL. Of lesser and greater evils I may or may not have been privy to.

The issue is that I know my dog is gonna rape the ELF… It’s the ELEPHANT in the room really.

BUSTER has been really not adjusting well to any of the many hurdles we’ve presented him with. First, we switched him from a VEGAN, non protein based diet. This caused our beloved pup to really take a turn for the worse almost instantly. His poor canine rectum became a fire hydrant of angry, hateful excrement. He seemed to charge at passing cars with what little life force remained, chasing his own death like a ball sadly…

Thankfully we found a DOGGIE LIFE COACH who really set us straight on the path of nothing but freshly butchered chicken and raw veg. His stools are now like baseballs, one saves in a bin and are carefully burned over the winter months to warm the family at our cabin in the stix…

The unfortunate byproduct of this new vigor BUSTER’s meat infused doggie heart is that he basically tries to penetrate ANY creature that he perceives as a possible for him to mount and dominate.

We found out the hard way… The kids had just come back from school. I was busy cutting brush out back with our gardener… Lord knows his idle hands won’t execute my desires if I’m not there to micro-manage each and every gesture of his hands.

The sound made JUAN and myself quite concerned. The state has advised me not to really provide any other details as the investigation is still pending. I think that in the end everyone will come out on the other side of this unfortunate misunderstanding far more cognisant of BUSTER’s potential for solo doggie breeding supremacy.

We take him to a place now. JUAN introduced us to the guy. He refuses to tell me his name because he says I have a big mouth and will make problems if I know it. He’s got a system where two times a week I drop off BUSTER and he lets him just pound all these dogs making more of his ilk to populate the gene pool. The guy is giving me a really good deal on this dog therapy. BUSTER is much more manageable now that his balls are drained of the hateful poison that bubbles like molten lava…

I’ve already hired a gregarious fella named AL to be the ELF. I actually held “AUDITIONS” in my minivan at the mall. AL was the only one to swallow and that goes a very long way in my book. He didn’t even complain about the ether fumes that engulfed the cabin of the van as I let my drippy rag make me forget why I had a little person blowing me at WALMART, nibbling on a churro….

AL says he has a lot of mascott experience which is going to be very important…. The guy who helps keep BUSTER chill, is on holiday for the next month and as such he left him with a rubber dog we chained up next to his kennel… The poor thing is barely intact and it’s only been a couple of days.

I see this whole holiday ELF reveal meets my psycho dog extravaganza going one of two ways… AL will be smiling counting his money driving home… AL spends the holidays chilling as BUSTER’s bitch in the kennel waiting for the “BONUS” I keep telling him is gonna be life changing and super sweet… It’s yet another YULETIDE MIRACLE.

#uziego #nyc #savagesneversleep #wtfcraigslistnyc #comdey #craigslist #uziegoart

[wtfcraigslistnyc]

THE DOOMED SEARCH FOR ATLANTIS AND ATILLA THE ORCA

ATILLA was an ORCA. ORCA are not from a place so much as a zone. As life moves in a fluid context that is billions of atoms pushing against each other at unfathomable variants of pressure and magnitude.

ATILLA was the spawn of CUJO and PHILOMENA. Both came from long and furious blood lines. A colorful heritage in an unspoken brogue of click, ticks and flips…

- [ ] They would summer near the FAWKLAND’s and spend winter between GIBRALTAR. The currents changed with the seasons and they lived almost completely in a conciousness of impulse and sensation

Each season the journey across the vast quiet brought challenges that they’ve learned from. Unlike DOLPHINS who are quiet, vain and egocentric, ORCA are a more communal folk who share and collaborate.

Each decade the great SCION would be crowned at the CAPE OF GOOD HOPE ritual. It’s not well documented, but according to ancient lore passed down generationally regarding the decorum and conditions that will spark the commencement of the ritual would proceed as such.

The current and successor would drive a guyer of small fish into the break smashing a buffet of wriggling SARDINES and BABY MACKEREL crashing before 1000’s of hungry PENGUINS.

The SCION and successor would then allow the cadre of brethren who’d accompanied them to the dangerous and treacherous passage to push in amd engage.. This charge would create a torrent of motion and carnage.

While the feast commenced in perfect harmony as planned, the SCION and successor would turn from the shore and dive directly down until they both felt the hold and clutch them almost to stasis…

At a moment of truth the current SCION would take a final look back at the one would would return to the great POD and dictate the agenda and maxims that would be gospel for the next decade. With this perhaps momentary motion of tremendous respect, the SCION would turn invariably deeper to allow tremendous pressure to consume them into the silent embrace of the bottom briney deep…

Once the gaze of SCION shifted below the successor would rise and return. At this time the feast would continue unabated.

After 3 days and nights the brood would retreat back the larger gathering just north of the FAWKLANDS.

This hadn’t always been where this occurred. In a time several centuries prior the nasty men that smelled for miles away would invade the sacred space. They would harpoon the sacred grand folk who would hurd the tremendous schools of fish with precision. These men were quite determined, but made the mistake of underestimating the resolve of the ORCA to drive them from this place. After several season the SCION of that era moved to wage war on the BOSTON WHALERS.

At first it was a ship here or there that would mysteriously disappear. But after the flag ship of the NANTUCKET fleet was sunk the WHALER’s moved away for from the FAWKLAND’s estuary.

ATILLA knew all of these stories as very brief riddles that were taught by beaching fish and guessing how flops they would wiggle out. But he also knew it was his charge to sort the incursion of greddy and reckless treasure hunters run amok between PORT VERDE and GIBRALTAR.

The ORCA always considered GIBRALTAR as a dead space that should not be lingered in. The bounty on either side of the strait was too vast to effectively hold or command. But this was prior to ANTON and his brutal incursion.

It had been an uneventful fall leading into winter. But then it happened….

ANTON was a GREEK treasure hunter who’d found a foolish oligarch to fund his hair brained hunt for the lost city of ATLANTIS…

ANTON’s plan had no bells or whistles. ATON was barely literate but spent every waking moment searching for money or information that could benefit his quest for glory. It was by pure accident that met his benefactor. He promised him untold riches at a very reasonable investment of 10 MILLION EUROS.

He didn’t even provide any details before accepting the massive injection of funds he’d clawed at so desperately.

Once he had his bankroll he set up “exploration” of the vast space between PORT VERDE and GIBRALTAR. This would entail extensive use of ultra sonic equipment and exploratory DEPTH CHARGES that would resonate 1,000’s of ultra sonic decibels, mapping the contours of the ocean floor. This would create a deafening roar that would be cataclysmic for any marine life in the vacinity.

It was on one particularly beautiful morning that ATILLA’s half brother CLAUS approached his in a manner he had dreaded. He clicked out the news that his family had been found floating in a plume of KRILL and SARDINES… The DEPTH CHARGE had created a shockwave that killed them all instantly.

ATILLA dove deep without hestitation to summon the wisdom and courage of the elders. To feel the pressure envelop him whole and provide him the insight needed to bring vicious reciprocity upon the monsters who’d committed this unspeakable hubris.

When ATILLA arose from the dees he breached the surface of the bay and smacked his tail wildly to summon the call. Within hours he was surround in all directions by his great family.

ATILLA was an ORCA of action not words, so his clicks were brief and blunt.

The entire POD would descend upon the exploration fleet and see them all perish. His motion toward the strait from the bay was precisely planned. They would become a great crescent and squeeze them in.

The charge was so feirce that ATILLA called a brief pause allowing the waves of ORCA to stack up tighter for the assault. He dove all the way below the feet and circled back. His designs were sound so he clicked the signal motioning the first brave wave of ORCA to engage the fleet.

The first wave of ORCA went between the half dozen vessels of the AKROPOLIS expedition. They started to create a current bringing the vessels inward like a hand closing. The next wave began by punching the ship’s sterns head on.

This instantly sounded the alarm. Harpoons and long guns sounded, but by this time ATILLA had brought his COUP DE’ GRACE down upon them. Unbeknownst to ANTON, the fleet sat adjacent to a deadly UNCHARTED REEF. The reef was shaped like a sickle. The armada would invariably throttle up in desperation to escape the onslaught of ORCA’s slamming into their vessels.

ANTON let out a billowous cry over his megaphone on the POTEMKEN’s bridge. The ships scurried like scared mice in a vast field as thr ominous shadows decent from above, plucking them off one by one. The first two mid-size friggetts’ were at full speed when they crashed into the stone like maze just inches below the breaking water.. The ORCAS splashed angrily around the wreck showing NO QUARTER.

All the rats rushed out of the decimated and now burning vessels, the adolescent ORCA poured under the wreckage to breach feed on the fleeing enemies just as their WHITE SHARK brethren had taught them.

*

PLEASE NOTE

ORCA or ORCINUS ORCA; or the “toothed whale” are APEX oceanic predators. Much like other APEX predators, the assumption and hence name “KILLER WHALE” is not a name that the ORCA themselves accept or appreciate.

As APEX creatures, all things in the kingdom they command swim before them in submission. It must be noted that the GREAT LIE of human and ORCA interaction is not a thing the ORCA unlike humans can ever forgive.

The first mighty ORCA who lived and died in captivity in the Northern Pacific region were of HIGH BLOOD to the current ORCA SCION. When the monsters who captured, enslaved, abused, tortured and ultimately held them in bondage until they simply expired from extreme physical distress a power message spread across the ocean.

Humans, bring APEX creatures as well with a far higher lever of intellect, yet a minuscule measure of empathy wouldn’t see these actions as anything more than a failed attempt at “science”.

This act of WAR by mankind against the ORCA was not something the SCION, ORCA or energetic genome consciousness of the ocean could or would ever forgot.

As the first of many ORCA who humans would brutalize and monetize, condemning them to died in extreme pain, let out a billowing and desperate message in clicks stating what had been done to them. This message was cast in the common tone known to all creatures or the deep. A powerful and secret tool the ORCA were given by the great grandparents who once lived beneath the MIGHTY SHARKS of old.

SHARKS and ORCA despite the perception and observations of human are not enemies. They have both taken turns as SCION of the oceans many times throughout time. This perception is created by humans and is not any based in true OCEANIC TRUTH.

_____________________

The youngsters were led in to devour and tear every survivor who tried to escape apart. ATILLA would corner the POTEMKIN and single handedly smash the stern into the reef. ANTON fired a deck gun wildly into the crimson stew of bodies and ORCAS. Cursing and spitting as his ship exposed and engulfed him.

Ultimately only one deck hand would survive and live to tell this tale back to me through bars of a CALCUTTA JAIL. But that is all another story for another time…

ATILLA and his chosen few would linger for days making passes at the reef. It would be weeks before the wreckage was discovered and any inquiry was opened. The vessels that came looking were mostly local fish who they knew well and had a great mutual respect for. They too were hardened by this incursion of greed. The fishing grounds these salt of the earth human shared with the ORCA had all but collapsed in the process of this FAUX SCIENTIFIC failure.

ORCA, unlike humans can forgive and find harmony even amongst their most bitter foe. The LION who stands tall over the great plain as ruler does not volley opinion or hold grudges against it’s subjects. When creatures move from the order, justice is swift, but always with RESPECT and COMPASSION. For this reason ORCA see humans as other lesser vassals in their kingdom who are due respect based upon ACTIONS not ASSUMPTIONS. For this reason the humble humans who do interact with ORCA in a state respect are always treated with the same by the kingdom ORCA.

After ATILLA was certain none had survived, he returned to his pod and chose a new mate to start again. He had a little more than half of his tenure as SCION ahead of him. He knew he’d already more than cemented his legacy. But as with all things his book was yet to written and he’d sworn a BLOOD OATH against any vessel of men who dated treas with disrespect through the waters that he and he alone was sworn to protect.

FIN 10.19.23

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