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This is existential fiction.

Ever heard the story of Baby Busta Burroughs? As a shorty playing in the front yard of the crib, Fell down, and I bumped my head. Somebody helped me up and asked me if I bumped my head I said "Yeah, I had my first whirlwind of backwards VCR memory lane". I saw my own conception. Turns out I was a product of a gang bang. My mother was Susan Denise Atkins aka Sadie Mae Glutz. The divine follower of Charlie, you knoww good old Charles Manson. She was the apple of his eye, his prized killer. The night I happened to see inside this time capsule reflection was the night Lotsapoppa threw a big drug party bash. I watched as she was introduced to my fathers, William S. Burroughs and Busta Rhymes. Mother said "That if I ain't gonna be part of the greatest I gotta be the greatest myself". Unknown to science and free of fertility drugs Burroughs and Busta's sperm fused together that night penetrating Sadie's egg and no, there wasn't twins. Just a superhuman Genome. Lotsapoppa got shot after Charlie had an argument over sales. I was blasted back into the future. "In the magical universe there are no coincidences and there are no accidents. Nothing happens unless someone wills it to happen".

I gotta bone to pick; a bowl to pack, hot grease and grits to slap...on the griddle. Now riddle me this, the age old question, the energy is infinite when I wake up I will be a different version of myself. Back to the riddle with this in mind.

How am I not myself? Can you answer yourself this?
"How am I not myself?"

Not I just you, but it takes two for fangs to grow fast like leeches or beaches of lost thoughts; ramble free as kites when I was young I had dreams high as satellites.

Of or relating to a construction or part of a construction that indicates existence, as the words "there is" in the sentence.


( 2 comments — Leave a comment )
Jul. 14th, 2009 06:11 pm (UTC)
sometimes I wonder about you.
Jul. 17th, 2009 04:12 am (UTC)
( 2 comments — Leave a comment )

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