Needle stick in arm. Brow sweats.
Our boy he crackle. He lick la
pipe and he freeze. Outside tha street throbs and lights whirl. Revolve
in he eyes does tha dark, red sky. He see tha street live thru pinned out
eyes and he a kiss la juice. He suckle tha bottle good and guzzle long.
Our boy he a walk strong but he eye be staggered. A Punter with a million
owe him some small notes but he say he can't afford ta pay. Say he baby
need new gold slippers and he mama need a new platinum ring. Our boy he
a laugh and tell tha Punter he don't need he notes. Life be more than money
to he man.
He walk tha area til dawn and
watch tha juice and rocks float away. He feel tha cold in he bones. Wrap
he jacket in and shiver. Beast cruise by and snarl. He think, fuck you Beast.
You be nothin to me. In my Cracker skin I be alive. You be nothin but dirtyskinBeastboy.
Jungliss bring tha real urban sound. Make tha city come alive
in Our boy's soul. He hear the JazzStep move and he mind swirl round to
the smooth urban drape. He fly to soaring towers and scan the city lights
as they burn. He walk a back onto the street. Check tha rocks in he gum.
Our boy see he girl and wonder what she see in a blatant Cracker like he.
There be lightnin in Our boy's smile and he disarm ya with it quick sparkle.
Beyond the glass and steel towers tha moon come crisp. Our boy feel tha
night descend and he heartbeat soften.
He watch Beast disappear in a
distant blue flash and dull orbs soften he livin eye. Can't free he mind.
Our boy he a ride low from crystal ta juice. Yet when he fall he do so hard.
He cradle tha sound in he head and he tremble. He watch time tick by and
he feel immobilized. Strapped. Our boy he always be strapped.
Back in the ghetto the tide don't turn. A flame burn outta shiny
badges and venom paralyses. Our boy he immune to the venom and stroll by
So he's in this club. Our boy
sittin at the table watchin the world go by. He never planned it that way,
never wanted it to drift so far outta he reach. When the day is cold and
grey Our boy's mind sink. He feel confined and ill-defined. Outside the
vista revolves in his sparkling green eyes. He be frozen by the cold and
the dull thud dominatin his thought. He feel as if he's lost all and gained
nothin. He is cold from the neck up. Frost-bitten frozen. Everyone is allowed
to have one bad day in their life - nothin wrong with that - nothin at all.
Life drift by and Our boy he float outta tha seat and into tha
streets down where he head throb, where tha sun don't linger too long. He
love tha sun high in tha sky. Lie back and soak up drum and bass. When tha
wind drift our boy's mind drain out tha bad seed. No one or nothin can ever
catch Our boy for he run like a demon, across tha roof tops, along tha streets,
see him fly and leave tha rest trailin in he wake.
Kind and considerate Our boy be,
but tha Beast make him hostile. He turn into tha city and tha glass and
steel revolve in he eye. He watch tha sun go down, watch tha nervous Punters
scamper for tha subterranean tunnel outta downtown. Our boy see tha panic,
red raw eyes dart as darkness descends.
Our boy he feel tha need for juice, make he heart beat slow. He
see tha confused, disorientated Punter stumble between closed subway after
closed subway. Our boy saunter by didgy style, eyin la Punter quick. He
see tha chubby arm wave more frantically with tha passin of every cab. Our
boy know tha dejection well, know that tha Punter miss he kids and he wife,
know he can't wait ta feel tha damp air wash he lungs of tha city smog he
fear so much.
Our boy see right through he eye inta
Punter's mind and know he be no urban nocturnal creature. Our boy look again
and see clearly tha drunken fear of a suburban prowler outta he territory.
Jungliss swing in he head and
he approach with speed and power. Punter crumple under blows and hand over
notes with a terrified whimper. Our boy sprint down tha street as Beast
begin ta bristle. He see tha flashing blue orb and he hear tha sour scream.
Our boy quicken step as he hear brakes screech and he vault a wall. Graveyard
by moonlight filter onto he eye.
He see tha Gravedigger's dark silhouette
shovellin earth. He stop, look Our boy straight in tha face and smile. Our
boy smile too and hide in a grave quickly covered by a soft layer of damp
earth. He see flash lights detail tha darkness and he hear Beast question.
He went that way tha gravedigger
say. Ran right thru into tha flats. Beast depart and Our boy wipe dirt from
he eye. He hand tha Gravedigger fat notes and level.
Our boy hit tha juice big style. Splash out notes on a plenty
dose. Drink from dusk til dawn and back. Golden plateau is where he at.
He chase gold down silver and he give a warm sigh.
Our boy he head out of tha city
quick step. Runna south to loosen he flex. Chill fa a while under tha baking
sur sol. He listen ta tha rural Punter's patter. When he speak o Master,
he speak o WE or OUR. See, la Punter and la Master are intertwined dramatically.
If tha Master be upset tha Punter be upset twice as bad. If tha master's
child need milk tha Punter rip he own kin from he wife's breast and suckle
tha little master until he be content. When tha master's house be on fire
tha Punter rush ta put it out even though he own burn to a cinder. We not
gonna let a little flame lick OUR house cry tha Punter.
When Our boy ask tha Punter what tha
fuck he think he do, he snarl and tell Our boy if he don't button he lip
he magic Beast down ta seize him. Our boy bristle with rage and smash he
fist deep inta la face of Punter. Punter stumble and crawl under table,
Our boy he a million miles away from
tha city. He came ta cool he head in la sur sol, but he head throb and he
miss tha towerin grey and tha constant bass boom. He soon feel like he at
home when a dirtyskinBeastboy give him tha eye. Our boy shrug he shoulders,
shake he head and walk coolly by. Sol sur lick he back.
Wherever you go, whatever you
do, you can never wash Beast from ya skin. Once infected always infected.
Beast try ta crush Our boy's soul but fail every time. He stronger than
they and they fear he. What othar reason can there be fa tha time they manage?
Our boy he stretch he limbs and yawn wide and alive.
Our boy bask in la sol sur and wash he skin deep in tha sparkling
silver gush. It can take ya ta heaven or hell. Whichever ya choose be sure
ta be ready. Our boy he vision be blurred. Can't focus anything too close.
He overdo tha crystal and he eye fade in and out in and out.
Our boy steer clear of all. Unable
ta read or write. To lose he sight remind him how vulnerable he be. A small
piece of nothin in a sea of churning elements. He try ta rise up except
he lose some o he power. Tha city where he should be. He miss he girl and
pure Jungle sounds; glass and steel. Outside it be silent and black. Tha
sky is vast and stars creep in and out of Our boy's focus. Fuck he miss
tha city so much.
Punters say forgive all and forget
- chill. Our boy he say never forgive and never forget - kill. He listen
ta cosmic prattle and shake he head unconvinced. Everything around Our boy
is average. What he perceive on tha long cold horizon only a few othars
see. Our boy he a million miles away from tha fryin head and all.
Outside tha sky is low and
A scab of alcohol and drugs close tha misguided rage in
Our boy's mind. No cognitive spark without dull tones. Thrown into cell,
soft and corrosive. Syringes are produced and plunged into numerous veins.
Tha sedator erodes all emotion, makes Our boy into a shell. He eyes are
open but he can't see. He speak but tha words are jumbled. He hear yet tha
sound is unfamiliar. He feel, but he touch is empty. Eyes sparkle, but they
are blind. Life flows through tha veins but on a slow pulse. Every spark
of originality erased and replaced by intoxicating inaction. Mind closed
down, only motor functions available. There is no stimulation, just silence
and no desire. Everything is sluggish, sedated, meaningless.
Alone, Our boy stand on tha quayside
and dream, a loose bag of insanity screwing down he mind. Exotic ports,
foreign climes . . . Cracking up under tha strain, fingers out of control,
everything dripping into oblivion. Our boy scream and tha sedator be administered
more vigorously. Tha candlelight smooth on he eye, not harsh like tha naked
tungsten bulb. It be easier to think in tha gentle light.
Falling through tha cell door.
Outside Our boy watch tha mist roll, hot golden disk sinking into
tha west. Beyond, clouds dazzle with bright silver rays. Across tha road
stand a man shaking. Like an electrified spark Our boy dash into tha shop
and kill tha guy behind counter. He pull forty in cash from tha till, grab
some fags, rizla and six pack. Out in tha street, he feel scared. He want
to get home and forget about what he just done.
Everything subdued, body numbed,
eyes blinkered, face expressionless. Our boy aware but can't function. All
feelings turned down. He did not come this far to turn back now, to let
it all end here in tha squalid place. Stop and think for a moment. If only
he could wrestle heself from the chemical grip.
Across tha harbour gulls dive
for fish along tha shore line.
Back on tha street Our boy fall upon a shop specialising in chemicals.
He buy a mixed bag and stretch he legs into a green shrubland in tha centre
o tha city. It be a warm day and he carry he jacket under arm. Our boy find
a clearing by a small lake and settle down. Tha smell of flowers in full
bloom chase away tha stinking city grime.
Our boy pull open tha bag of chemicals
and spread them on tha grass. Six in all. Six chances to escape tha usually
inescapable. Our boy take em all at once. He pull a soft drink from bag,
lay back in tha sun and wait.
A car pull up and Our boy jump
in all a beamin and relieved. He smile and tha car burst into thrust. He
slip back inta tha seat and he begin ta dream. He dream of fields of sunflowers
and he dream of he girl and happiness.
In prison he wanted to see no one, especially he girl. He knew
if he saw her break down he would not be able to control tha rage uncoiling
inside him. He preferred to be in tha isolation cell, locked away for 24
hours a day, seven days week. Whenever tha guards came to he cell he did
not look at them. He refused to acknowledge their existence. Sometimes they'd
try and be friendly but he had no time for their compassion. They'd ask
him if he was alright - would he like some books to read or some paper to
write letters to he family and friends? Tha inaneness of tha question almost
got he to react. Somehow Our boy maintain he composure. No he was not alright,
how could he be when he was locked in a cage? Once he stepped through tha
prison gates he switched off he mind to tha outside world.
Our boy's low on power. He
energy be sucked out. He lungs take in a long drink of nicotine.
Our boy sit down by tha river and wonder how he can win at the
game. Our boy satisfied by nothin else othar than total commitment. He describe
tha need to be strong in all areas. He not worried about tha consequences.
Turn out tha light it's far too bright in here. When he reach out to tha
world he feel empty and fake. Eyes so stiff, fingers slow and clumsy, rhythm
broken and dull. Our boy waste no time in laughin at he position.
It seem impossible to ever win.
Yet Our boy know even though tha odds are heavy stacked against he that
he'll come through undefeated. Got to try a little harder, then it could
be so sweet.
Out of my way or I'll kill
Our boy look at tha Punter and shake he head. Do ya still think
ya be alive if it weren't for tha dirtyskinBeast and he cages? Punter sneer
arrogantly. Our boy grip lapels and pull la Punter's face up ta he. I said
out of my way or I kill you muthafucka. Punter crumple into apologetic heap
and Our boy shake he head and coolly move on down tha street.
Our boy open he eyes and gaze
about. Tha sun is high and bloodshot green eyes are scorched by metallic
silver rays. He walk and he run. Slowly tha road unfold before Our boy and
he feel better.
Time fades and earth crumbles.
Our boy hear a bomb explode, feel tha air sucked right outta he
lungs. Our boy sit stunned, blood pumping fiercely from he face and neck.
Outside tha roads and streets are covered by a swirling white sheet.
La Punter tell everyone every
detail of he private life: tell how he finger he girlfriend's motha as she
wash tha breakfast dishes. He fucked her once, but her cunt was dry and
baggy and after a few grating thrusts he pulled out and told her to jerk
him off. When she refused he called her a slut and went to tha fridge and
got a beer.
Like a thunderbolt it hit he.
Smack between tha eyes.
Our boy force La Punter into a
gas oven no bigger than a coffin and roast him alive. No ceremony, no hysterical
sentiments. Before he die Our boy hear la Punter's muffled pleas, every
word sucking out tha clean air and filling he lungs with toxic medicine.
Our boy leave tha boiler room
and stand upstairs in tha lobby. Tha usual Punters swan around. He flex
and walk in amongst them. Our boy jump up and pull a gun outta Punter's
hand before he shoot. There is a brief scuffle.
Our boy watch as tha two Punters
who'd been fighting moments ago slap each othar on tha back, sayin what
a coupla swell guys they are.
When Our boy walk he do so silently,
dreaming as tha world rush past.
In death there is no ceremony
for the poor.
Only tha scorch of tha flame and
tha resulting ash.
It scare Our boy when he sit in he room incapable of action. Tension
run through he arms and legs in sporadic bursts, he back ache and feel knotted.
Tha top of he spine is tender and Our boy wonder what is wrong with he.
Such easily damaged bodies.
He mind is alive with colours.
Tha light reflects off all surfaces and he fingers are slightly illuminated
at tha edges. Our boy feel powerful rushes of energy pumping thru he body.
He frantic but push bad thoughts out of he head. It's a fact of life in
the city that nothing is clear - everybody insular. God is not on your side.
He be nothin but tha work of a money-maker's mind. He be tha ultimate product.
There seems no sense in taking chemicals to enhance Our boy's
spirit. Most feel corny and Our boy don't like feeling corny. He wish he
could run over sands forever. Our boy will destroy heself if he take anymore
of tha Punter's chemicals. When Our boy try and entertain heself with tha
compounds he be vulnerable, disorientated, confused and hallucinating. Tha
perceptual levels he travel to be fake. He mind be full o nothing when it
should be blade-like.
But in the place it's hard to
stay undercover without chilling out he mind. It fry so bad sometime that
Our boy need to escape.
Sometimes tha city sometime
drag you down.
Inside tha room be cold. There be no light and tha water be frozen
in cracked pipes. Our boy count he takings and fill he spoon with bronze
and yellow. He knot tha arm and pump fat vein. He hold needle, suck in juice
and push it inta he vein. He release slowly and drop down, needle protruding
from vein. He watch tha world drift.
A mother of a child who has been detained by the youth curfew
squad comes on tha screen and is interviewed by a reporter.
"Can you explain why your
son was found on the streets after ten-thirty mam?"
" Tha reason he was out on
tha street was cause I sent him ta get medicine for ma baby. She is very
sick you see. Plus I have another girl, a toddler whose inta everything."
"Why didn't you let your
son look after the children and you go get the medicine?"
"Because she need me to comfort
her when the pain become unbearable."
"But you must have been aware
of the curfew - it was announced in every school assembly and on every news
bulletin and newspaper front page."
"I can't afford a tv and
I don't have time ta read newspapers. As for tha school, well that was closed
down a year back, and I just don't have tha money for tha fare to send ma
boy to another district for his education."
"What about your friends
and family? Didn't any of them tell you about the curfew?"
"My family live outta town.
I don't see them too much. As fa friends, well I don't have much time for
friends cause I'm too busy looking after my kids. Plus tha lifts in my high-rise
don't work and it's hard for me ta get three children down tha stairs. Even
if I do manage ta take them out there's nowhere to play, since tha local
park was turned into a superstore."
"So what you're saying is,
you had no choice but to send your son to the chemist's?"
"Yes that's right."
"Now that you know about
the curfew, will you be sending your son out after ten-thirty to go for
medicine in future?"
Our boy'd like to access every mind and show em what a bunch of
fuckin wasters they really are. But why would he ruin he life doing something
as pointless as that. Let em have their petty little existence and all tha
dull times that go with it.
Our boy walk out into tha street
and immediately want to run back inside. Tha noise and tha Punters walking
around infect he. Our boy feel sick cause he breathe their air. He skin
bristle and he feel tha grime from their discarded skin clinging to he as
he weave a path between tha cracked pavement and garbage. By tha time he
walk one block, he about had a bellyful of La Punter's bullshit.
When they brush against Our boy's
skin, he feel like throwing he guts all over tha pavement.
When he breath their air he want
to tear out he lungs and scrub them clean with bleach.
He eat from sweatin cellophane
wraps, unable to identify tha greasy morsel within. He pull off tha plastic
lid and look down at tha steaming brown liquid contained within tha cheap
polystyrene cup. He take a sip and replace tha lid.
He find a bench away from tha crowds
and tha traffic. No matter how far away Our boy go he can never seem to
get Punters outta he mind. Wherever he go, whatever he do tha world is always
there with he.
He hear Punters' empty words in
he ears and see their cars and houses revolving in he eyes. The sights and
the sounds make he wish he had no eyes to see and no ears to listen. He
don't want to know about their opinions or their facts. Nothin and no one
in tha world outside he front door is of any interest to he. Punters' world
is sleazy and cheap. A disposable universe fit for a disposable population.
Down by tha river Our boy sit
and watch tha rusting cargo ships loading and unloading. Tha useless
products are taken to tha useless store and consumed by hordes of
Punters wielding electronic cash.
He watch their waxy fingers: black,
white, yellow, short, long, fat, thin, crawlin under tha seductive electric
light that make tha pears, apples, bananas, oranges look oh so succulent.
Our boy scrub he mind but can
never get it clean.