A Mayhem of Sanskrit Missionary, jecuzzi fireplace, bumper sticker bocce, 9 band Bastardillo, faith-fling-sprawl; food, beer, Amy Winehouse and gas…to the tune–'Opera of the Cunning Little Vixen' For Venkatesan Iyengar

A Mayhem of Sanskrit Missionary, jecuzzi fireplace, bumper sticker bocce, 9 band Bastardillo, faith-fling-sprawl; food, beer, Amy Winehouse and gas…to the tune–‘Opera of the Cunning Little Vixen’

For Venkatesan Iyengar


god created the first man and woman and we fucked like highly expressive abstract art giving gist to a refurbished downtown meat-packing plant turned revitalized cultural district studio picture gallery exhibition to pussy-vomit the rest. ditzy preggers and java erectus dickweed burn bans put fire to arcade tabernacles leaving naked and famous shambles. Masses in gas mask-es huddle at glossy tiled mall fountains wading into the shallow unknown of their Mr. Bubble Punked chiropr-aching souls. Come ye full circle K in a tilted change of token heart to drawn and quartered doggie yoga yodeling. They tread water with life preservers jam preserve packed with their masochrist confessional wish hisses 2nd story tossed from the Adult Gift Store that makes romance better by using butter.  Cowboy churches are wilderness militia training grounds. They spring up in idyllic pastures full of cowshit and dot the  jeckyled sunsets till armadilloes are lonestar black-grilled. But it’s not a true Cowboy church if they don’t allow trailers in the parking lots made of salt. Where will you be seated in eternity? …at the byob 5 buck lapdance table chowing down on medium-well angus-cut ribeye?


Polyeurthane this longest Punjab Summer of going-against-the-grain again, grrr!  Whole Wheat bull-honkey antitoxins ramble defense stratego are corporate Gepettoes painting our pulled fingernails with pastryotic pallette pageantry!  Our bleached assholes are the new ‘white collars’ of America! [ah hell, not another anti-capitalist rant sticking it to ‘THE MAN’ with Nat King Cole’s molded dildo!]  The Fabric of the Universe is made of the same burlap sack you’re tied & tossed into the lazy river with, pith-mite!  Sometimes the honest man is the one who most doesn’t give a damn or even taunts the mocking bird to death and wears it as a feathered headdress. shame! shame! We’ve gone lockjaw with soundbite!


We crawled from the primordial ease of watering our front yards in a watered-down waterfall waterslide plunging fear of death thru lonliness and all the sticky clumps of crapolio that go with it!  Chemically balance your wastewater treatment plant my ‘would you like to add me as a friend’  friends. Click ‘check background first‘ and use your animated series imagination to quench your electrotroglodyte-driven thirst–or just drink tap. Let’s trash the library by having a blood-orgy in the self-help section and make fervent foment love to the ‘More-Shushin’ for the Pushin” Librarians! {At this point in the poem, the primary pronoun will change from ‘we‘ to ‘I’ so as to esoterically express some of the poet’s current life struggles, joys, and exageratted galaxian  turn-based observations.}


I’d like to reinvent myself but the patent is pending depending on over-the-counter bending. ish and ism wander like a sleeping cat’s dreams yodeling hairball remedy cheatcodes. Stay back 20 feet! Not Responsible for how good i don’t look naked if i could only lose 40 lbs!  Thank God for Vevo. I’ve made my embed–now i’ll sleep in it!  One time I was in a gay marriage smoking cigarettes and pot during an abortion right in the middle of sex while watching porn waving a 9 mm gat–but this can only be done on Grand Theft Auto 16: Waco, Texas Baptist Beatdown!   i have gone steady with this 2 year crosskuntry escapade in the rural beforemath of nuclear plants ready to be stone-aged by Banksy grafitti. My sessions gloat like a three-eyed mind’s eye bullfrog discovering Buddha nature at the Last Supper on a lilly maxi pad. The Life Coach wiggles her shawl over fruity smiling cantaloupe-without-the-girls. A homecoming appearence would just put a crammed frito pie on my tied-together 24 colored marker sky erasing all trace of the peyote gardens of my frontal lobe lawn which is better than my neighbors cause it has a more beautifuller array of flowers, snub shrubberies, and wackidelic herbs, and plus i have the best motherfucking gnomes in town cause rednecks spend all their money on Keystone Light and Dish Network!


i will calmly let the energy i deserve sink into my tanned chapped ass and let mother nature brand each cheek till the flesh smokes like a delicatessened burnt bologna. i will write my rules on the fartclouds of hummingbirds and wait patiently to see if it rains 3 dollar raises, no-harm-harmonious-harmonica friends who give a shit, and the bushido of living vicariously thru the clan daimyo of a 16th century Japanese warlord vying for saké, geishas, and the ultimate dominance of the Shogunate!  I threw away all my Dr. Phil books including the one that made you an expert on rehab gone wild fucked-up awry. When you back way off, put me on a shelf, make it about you, shut me out, give me up, wait for the hint to hit, lipsink lipservice, and napalm our napa winery…it kicks my crutches leaving me hobbled broken and a perfect bottom-feeder. So in the time being, this human being will just settle for being…stocking up on my food, beer, wine, and gas. 

0 thoughts on “A Mayhem of Sanskrit Missionary, jecuzzi fireplace, bumper sticker bocce, 9 band Bastardillo, faith-fling-sprawl; food, beer, Amy Winehouse and gas…to the tune–'Opera of the Cunning Little Vixen' For Venkatesan Iyengar

  1. OMG. I’ll come back later after I resurrect myself from the stun gun shock probe brain freeze vestibule manipulation this has subjected me to…….then I’ll leave my fundamentally academic, protoplasmic, truly sincere review of this piece….BTW, tomorrow I am totally reconfiguring my Toyota Echo as a giant banana.

    1. Yes, i too wish for a banana car. Hopefully the probe didn’t cause a coma. i began writing such pieces (apologies for the profanity, btw) many years ago as evidence of insanity in the hopes of being committed to an asylum. I long for institutionalization and drugged-out friends who would love me no matter what. And plus free mind-numbing drugs and all the boardgames a guy could pass the time with. One day, a man came to my door in a white jacket and trousers, but he was only selling choice cutlets for Swann’s traveling meat-market. As the years tumulted by Haggard and Halloo published more such ranting lunacies and even made me a regular contributor not realizing that my submissions were mere applications to the Loonie-Bin. Then people even began to write flattering stuff about the material thus dwinling my chances of committal. For a while, to incite division and revolt, i ranted about the Minimalist Poets and the whole school itself. It was fun being a shit-stirrer. But they gave me a Minimalist ‘brush-aside’ saying “You can’t bash Basho!” And so, all i have left is a moderate to weak heritage tracing back to Du Sade and the glory of ‘Stun Gun Lit’. The Vestibule Manipulation Program has been largely successful yet i still dream of blowing up the very sidewalks we tread upon to remove us from the beaten path.

      1. “i still dream of blowing up the very sidewalks we tread upon to remove us from the beaten path.” That’s awesome.
        Well…I think you could probably get yourself successfully committed. I don’t think you’d like it (though I’m betting the experience would present awesome inspiration for new material)…reason I don’t think you’d like it: well…for one they probably wouldn’t let you take that groovy battle axe thing you’ve got in there with ya. That alone is reason enough not to go. Besides…did you forget or something??? You are already in the LARGEST Loonie-bin of all- Planet Earth-General Population.

        1. oh yeah. You’re right. oh well. And also perhaps the ‘mad’ are more ‘sane’ than the sane ever since they’ve thought themselves sane. I’m gonna do a project on the future of mankind and call it “The Idiosyncratic Capers of the Duck-Taper”! First Episode: “The Duck Taper vs. Los Diablos del Maiz de Perros [The Corndog Devils {Tejano Band from Hell}]. Maybe it’ll sell in France and it’ll pay for my visit there so i can visit Napoleon’s tomb and hock lugees off the Alec Eiffel tower. Planet Earth–the number one reason for research in the technology for space exploration. hahaha!

    First section line 7 and Fourth section line 2 both contain the word ‘yodeling’. Such repetition is unforgivable but given the time constraints (due to working 60 hours plus a week)on editing, these oversights are oft to occur. I would therefore like to change ‘yodeling’ in section 4 line 2 to ‘burgling’ hence to read: “ish and ism wander like a sleeping cat’s dreams burgling hairball remedy cheatcodes.” As the reader may or may not remember, cats came from Egypt and were ‘cat-burglered’ out to a ‘pet-hungry’ Mediterranean world. And i also delight in the notion of personifying a cat to seek out cheat-codes for hairball much the same way we as humans may do in video games, or taking it a step further–in LIFE. Become good at cheating and you never have to become good at anything else. (so says Bansky). thanks.

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