Archive for the ‘Google Art’ Category


She was not particularly pretty, just alone, I heard her as she jogged along, a heartbeat away as I hid in the bushes, waiting for her, smelling her perfume. 

Exotic scent, driving me, the knife in my hand, I felt the handle pushing hard into my skin, would this be an easy kill? 

There she was, running by me, she stopped.   

Did she know this was her day to die? 

I slipped from the darkness and grabbed her, my arms wrapping around her, the knife at her throat, I pulled her into the bushes, she did not scream, a slight whimper escaping her lips. 

“Please…whatever you want, just take it!” she cried slightly. 

I smiled as I smelled her hair, jasmine, just like my sister used. 

I felt my hand pull the blade across her throat, hard, digging into her skin, the blood erupting from the deep wound, splashing everywhere, she tried to scream but all that came was a gurgle, the blood flooding her airway. 

“See you in Hell bitch!” I whispered into her ear, already unhearing, her body grown limp as death took her. It was more for my sake that I said those words. 

My first kill, on record of course, I had killed others, but never discovered, homeless folks, nobody cared about them, another body found in the river, face down in the water. 

The news was alive the next day. 

Woman found dead in park. 

She was twenty-three. 


Sad really. 

No boyfriend to cry at her grave. 

No mother. 

Father left when she was three. 

Very sad story. 

Tragic really. 

They showed her photo. 

High school graduation photo. 

Lovely girl. 

She was going to be a hair stylist. 

She had a few acquaintances. 

A semi-close friend, a boy, just becoming a man. 


“She…I can’t believe…” he mumbled in held back tears at the camera. 

I laughed. 

Cock sucker. 

Now, now, we must not cuss, it is not polite. 

I nodded to myself in the mirror. 

Gleeful smile across my lips. 

There was a police sergeant on the television. 

He looked grim. 

Scowl on his face. 

“We will catch whoever did this!” he almost growled into the camera. 

The reporter held the microphone into his face, catching his words. 

I nodded. 

A game to play, someone to kill for, my mind said. 

Again, I nodded. 

This would be a fun game. 

I turned off the tv.  

I felt myself get hard at the thought of that pretty girl. 

Sarah was her name, I think. 

I laid back on the couch, unzipping my pants. 

I grabbed my cock hard, beginning to masturbate, hard. 

Sarah was there, riding my hard erect penis. 

She smiled at me. 

I smiled back, grabbing her, holding her. 

She moaned. 

I felt myself cum, hard. 

She vanished into the air. 

I cried. 

I was a bad boy. 

Mother would be mad if she saw me now. 

I went into the bathroom and showered. 

The water felt warm, good, against my skin. 

Were there voices coming from the living room? 


Did you take your meds boy? 

There it was, father’s voice, stern, coming from the hallway. 

I scowled. 

He was dead. 

I know he was, I killed him with a hammer to the head, five, no, it was ten years ago. 

Boy, you better talk to me! 

I shook my head. 

No father, I didn’t, fuck you, you’re dead. Buried. Reported missing. 

No more voices. I chased them away. 

I crawled into my bed; comforter pulled up against my chin. 

Good night world, see you tomorrow. 

I giggled as I fell asleep. 

Allen Ginsberg reads “Howl” (Big Table Chicago Reading, 1959)

A definition and historical reference to “Blackout poetry” can be found here. I’d like to call my rendition, “Cutup and rework” as inspired by the likes of Brion Gysin and William S. Burrough.

I worked a piece of what I call “Google Art” hitting the Google images, typing in random thoughts, words, ideas, as they hit my brain and open up Photoshop and just being creative, cutting up and moving around words, adding my own as I see fit, am inspired by whatever at the time.

I add my words just for fun and games, a piece to get my brain going, which it needs every so often, a kick start.

William S. Burroughs and Allen Ginsberg shaking their head in that Heavenly space, but smiling none the less

I saw the best generation,
Destroyed by starving,
Hysterical naked,
Angry angelheaded hipsters,
Heavenly connection to the machinery of the night.

Oh madness,
Does it see…
Does it hear,
Those maddening words,
Of that enraged society?

Who tells those,
Down in the ghetto streets,
Who the bell tolls?

Oh giant bells,
To gather up,
All the whores,
The crackheads,
The bishops,
And the Royalty,
Tell them,
The world is near,
The end of that run,
Oh blessed night,
To humanity’s farewell sleep.

To the dogs,
We feed our lies,
Our lives,
We shall not know,
When that time comes,
For we shall be too busy dying,
Into those shallow graves…

Obscene words,
Published on the walls,
Into those dreams,
Of seeping madness,
Falling down rabbit holes,
To seek,
Oh dear me,
To keep falling,
A joy ride into madness,
Roaring into that kind,
To chain themselves,
To unholy flees,
To keep,
Brilliance in that unholy nightmare,
Drinking stale beer,
The jukebox,
Aged themes.

Can you hear me screaming into that sweet goodnight?
Do you not see my madness, seeping out?