Ball-peen Oratory

“Many think it not only inevitable but entirely proper that liberty give way to security in times of national crisis…in the interpretation and application of a Constitution designed precisely to confront war and, in a manner that accords with democratic principles, to accommodate it.” — Antonin Scalia

Sing, Muse, the anger of my hammer, smashing lineaments of star-crossed chancre-spotted love!

Defacing faces: ball-peen tenderizing every kiss-me-cute television countenance (“somebody’s baby, once”) – chop chop – to goo of Human be.

Smite them  (who? you know who)  with the mother-of-bad-hair-days on Reality-TV!  Allow them pulpy, resonant awareness (on camera, no less!)  of disfigurement, disharmony, disgrace.  Limp like laundry.  Strewn in torsion, as if: spontaneous  liposuction on the kitchen floor.   Rorschach for the house-bound failure; the asthmatic; the agoraphobic; the tired, huddled, massive masses, yearning to breathe free.

“You lick the blood off that floor, now! Go on, lick it, lick it, do what I say, say what I say,” they say (you know, them).

Tastes like old hammer; tastes like blood.  Cursed with morning sickness, mourning sad. Breakfast candy myth of chewy-chocolaty divine rage of “who” not “what” rolled loosely within flammable, hammer-able, firm, yet vulnerable, mortal, skin.

Somebody’s baby, once, somebody’s kin.

Crystal Night is a singer, songwriter, comedian and "general performance artist," as she describes herself. She spends most of her off-stage time performing odd and various rebellions against Power and practicing the electric and acoustic string intstruments she builds and designs herself. She also plays a mean banjo and ain't too shabby on guitar. Crystal lives and works in The City. Read other articles by Crystal.