jonzoiplu

verbs of a slagscape thrombosis

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oh turkey by jonzoiplu, literature

Literature

oh turkey

. oh turkey. i told her i'd love her til death do us part. even told her i'd love her if she got fat as a mama cow. then she grew a wattle. i didn't notice it until we were gettin close one night y'know and it was like kissin a loose bag of change. world don't make sense. was it cos i used to call her turkey? that was her pet name before we got hitched don't remember why. she didn't really have no chobbly chin or make no crazy gobble sounds before but uh don't call her that anymore cos i think she'd get all nervous nancy on me if y'did. ma and pa and sis never saw nothin like it. neither did the guys at the foundry except jim. dipshit t

Mandelbrot by jonzoiplu, literature

Literature

Mandelbrot

. We sit in the corner of the window, watch the girl loving the boy. He traces the lower hem of her shirt, brings his lips to her head. I press against the glass. Hear. Young men, choose the dew of women whose lunatic cruelty to which only your violence and love can retort, not the dead ink of pen murderers. They face one other, noses almost touching. You imagine this close, she can only focus on one of his eyes. Will it matter which one? The Rampart of Twigs, I say. He rests his head in the crook of her neck. My ear is cold against the window. You ask, How does it end? Terribly. You insist. Be swift muscular fish, keep to the

butterfly effect by jonzoiplu, literature

Literature

butterfly effect

. who would have thought this feeling could exist, my heart aflutter at her batted lash? what tempest has her love let loose, what mist has come to pass over my mind? a crash of breaths like sailors drawn by siren song have kissed my shores of lung with weary ships. their bodies pass on through as ghosts along the rivers of my mind.

Peking Duck by jonzoiplu, literature

Literature

Peking Duck

. The city squawks with traffic at half past six. A Peking Duck hangs at the restaurant window. My friend explains how he used to raise them, hundreds of ducklings on their family farm. They lived for seven weeks and in the last three, I couldn't allow them to stop eating. And if they did? I force fed them. Did you feel bad? Not when I got paid. / His coworkers from the stock exchange are already seated. We sit down as waitresses ferry Yanjing beer and tea. The first dishes: chicken broth and lotus root, pork cutlets and peppers, beef tenderloin and watercress. As I clear my plate, they keep topping it; and as I sip from my glass, th

no dear by jonzoiplu, literature

Literature

no dear

. the chimney smoke blows like hair like love like you in the wind its ashen hum rising through the clouds my reverend heart beats a trembling dove a man without love pinned to a crux of spine dear burden of mine o father have i sinned what fire turned this bread to stone what sent my voice to roam without my ribs that gnash like children weeping in the gloam my chest is pried a tongueless jaw with nothing left to steal or say after those words how much lonelier i feel .

On drinking beer alone by jonzoiplu, literature

Literature

On drinking beer alone

. Take its mouth like a conch, portal to a violent sea, and let its tongue slip over yours. Hear it storm against your teeth, swallow. Do not care if it is French or not. We are sommeliers of a lower order. Anxiety sinks, thought fumbles for a raft. Stop. Remember you are bored. Worry not: you have half a case and yourself. You smile and touch your lip, drop your eyes to the bottle: empty as the man who left you here .

the city is a mouth by jonzoiplu, literature

the great leap forward by jonzoiplu, literature

Literature

the great leap forward

wu xian shen . my father threshes the thin green grass, sets it aflame. our mother gathers the cinders, mixes a meal into grey. here, a dish born of a dying garden : my brother is the first to eat – he does not die immediately. so we follow, joking about the smoked spice, laughing until our tummies hurt: one swelling after the other. we huddle around the shithole, our faces wrung like rags . father leaves as we enter the kitchen where is he going? she sweeps the quiet shards of his anger.

lost on bay street by jonzoiplu, literature

Literature

lost on bay street

. i. man with a golf club, where are you going? have you a message to chip into a trader's skull? do you drive into traffic from your penthouse range? you walk with purpose: are you getting chai? ii. man in the window, what do you see? the interns in pencil skirts peeking downtown, the old tourists dragging their eyes on the ground, everybody looking to where they are going. why don't you? .

where god is a butcher by jonzoiplu, literature

Literature

where god is a butcher

i. there is a slaughterhouse where the hungry men reincarnate as bulls. a cleaver spattered in red teases: chase me, chase me now, caresses a thigh, then thrusts its tongue like a knife. ii. he hangs in wet pieces. the street salivates with rain, swallows the leaves that once lined the way. a boy eyes his flank, an old man trades silver for his feet, a girl enters and passes him by. iii. if he had lips or life, he would beg, daughter, it is i! but she chews the fat with the cashier: a new child, weather, supper plans after mass for her widowed mother. she wraps him in the morning paper, tucks him in her bag

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oh turkey by jonzoiplu, literature

Literature

oh turkey

Mandelbrot by jonzoiplu, literature

Literature

Mandelbrot

butterfly effect by jonzoiplu, literature

Literature

butterfly effect

Peking Duck by jonzoiplu, literature

Literature

Peking Duck

no dear by jonzoiplu, literature

Literature

no dear

On drinking beer alone by jonzoiplu, literature

Literature

On drinking beer alone

the city is a mouth by jonzoiplu, literature

the great leap forward by jonzoiplu, literature

Literature

the great leap forward

lost on bay street by jonzoiplu, literature

Literature

lost on bay street

where god is a butcher by jonzoiplu, literature

Literature

where god is a butcher

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About jonzoiplu

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Canada
Deviant for 17 years
www.youtube.com/jonzoiplu
He / Him

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Delicious Cake: My, that's a delicious cake (1)

My Bio

wallflower musician, neo-apothecary, & part-time flaneur.

Other Interests

postmodernism | pantonalism | popsiclism

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jonzoiplu

Dec 29, 2012

nah.

0 min read

/ The rituals of life: to remember to forget, to love to forget, to forgive to forget. Could it then mean, to forgive is to love, and to love is to remember? /

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jonzoiplu

Jul 25, 2012

3,4-methylenedioxy-n-methylamphetamine

0 min read

. twin shadow acknowledged my existence today. .

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jonzoiplu

Jul 13, 2012

quantum collapse

0 min read

/ sometimes i have this dream where i'm watching myself from a passing car, just running at the side of the road. i'm pretty sure i'm the runner  the view from the car is just a projected perception, a disembodied cinematographer, or a bored kid debating whether he should take his adderall with welch's or allen's when all he wants to do is vent his dad's dopamine-centric slaving via binge lego-building. he makes a cocktail and downs the amphetamine in a sweet gastric slurry and forgets about the runner. anywho, this is my indirect way of expressing thanks to i) Vigilo (https://www.deviantart.com/vigilo) for the dd suggestion and reminding me that i used to write,