Tel Aviv.
Baby Beast of the Middle East. Litter lined streets that reek like piss and perfume.
Tel Aviv: Run down Bauhaus buildings on the eyesore. Jutting luxury towers, unfurnished, flanked by crumbling Art Deco caves, rotting in an epileptic fit of Mediterranean sun.
Tel Aviv: Beach bombs. Bloody noses. Speedo-wearing Scandinavian tourists. Russian Mafia. Israelis in sunglasses, hot pants, and facial expressions betraying broken promises.
Tel Aviv: High end fashion stores. Shi-shi, faggot Obamas. Insider traders. High tech cyborgs in sporty little Porches, running down Holocaust survivors. Travis Bickles playing chicken with Chomsky's shadows.
Tel Aviv: Telepathic televisions, pay toilets in every online casino. Nazi day dreams. Gas mask face fetuses and sealed safe rooms. Existential terrorists summoning bulldozers, fooling imaginary firing squads.
Tel Aviv: Brutally expensive subterranean apartments with roaches for roommates and ants crawling concrete crevices. Broken leg stray cats screeching in the night, limping atop hotel dumpsters. Bus stop palm readers, ski mask ventriloquists, Syrian surgeons cannibalizing the six scarred heremic.
Tel Aviv.
And here/here we live in this jungle ecosystem of a city, in the ass crack of civilization, in this treacherous land, its borders pissed with blood. This wholly Holy Unholy sliver of Earth. This pubic hair of God, embattled, battled over by Canaanites, Philistines, Phoenicians, Pharaohs, Israelites, Babylonians, Assyrians, Mamelukes, Greeks, Romans, Crusaders, Arabs, Turks, British, Jews, and who....
Tel Aviv: Paranormal equations of paranoid consumerism. Curse words in Arabic and spasms of solipsism detailed in colloquial, secret Hebrew poetry.
Tel Aviv: Air Raid Sirens. Suicide bombers on the promenade. Scud showers from Saddam. Missile attack threat from Lebanon. Nuclear Iran. Underground communists spray painting socialist slogans, in defiant resistance, as they plan the neo-Marxist revolution.
Tel Aviv: Tent cities. Telfins in every urinal. Eritrean infiltrators scrubbing your toilet and stabbing you in the stomach near the Central Bus Station. Fatherless rent boys, taking it up the ass, their noses full of gasoline stench, their live corpses buried in the catacombs of invisible alleys.
Tel Aviv.
(Text message from Ben Gurion: Bibi Netanyahu's expense accounts include a night of necrophilia with Rachael Corrie, torched soup kitchens, and Palestinian midget tossing contests.)
(Email from Moshe Diyan: Submarines powered by Ariel Sharon's respirator snake ocean floors off the coast of Gaza, where no one forgets to remember. Qassam attacks on those Kibbutzim were just an amputated arm of a reprisal. And yes, Gilad Shalit is alive and well and eating dinner and doing bong hits with Mahmoud Ahmadinejad. Zionism 2.0)
Tel Aviv...
Tel Aviv: White City full of cocaine hybrid theories.
Tel Aviv: Boogeyman by the sea, made the Loch Ness Monster go buy a gun.
Tel Aviv: Still smell Rabin's blood on the stones. Meat for the BBQ on Yom Kippur.
Tel Aviv: Synagogue doubling as a brothel. Orthodox Rabbis out back on roller-skates, jumping on trampolines.
Tel Aviv: The bicycle foot proletariat, in tutus and bunny suits, living other people's lives.
Tel Aviv.
Here everyone lives next door to an escort, her Jonathan Pollards belly dancing in crooked aerobics on the Knesset floor.
Here Moldovan massage parlor prisoners will suck your dick without a condom, their eyes like two televisions that won't turn on.
Here the city never stops or sleeps but does suffer from narcolepsy.
Here the city reproduces asexually.
Here the sand dunes sink softly in anticipation of the next earthquake and/or bucktooth Jesus on a unicycle sighting.
Tel Aviv.
Where we'll build the Third Temple and sell all its rooms to the French.
Tel Aviv: A hermaphrodite. A big stinky pussy waiting to be fucked by its own vampire penis, which may or may not be circumcised.
Tel Aviv.
Tel Aviv?
Tel Aviv.
Newamba Flamingo is fighting a Holy War on three continents and wanders in whichever direction the blows him. He is currently in the Far East. You can Google him by telepathy.
Comments (closed)
Meg
2011-10-02 21:19:15
Newieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee. Where the fawk did you go? And how much more fucking awesome can you get with your words, eh? Contact me pronto. Please.
analept
2011-10-02 21:54:54
alright rocky. alright.
Frankie Metro
2011-10-03 11:05:57
a fucking masterwork from the mang himself. respect Newamba, or die trying.