Jumping forward a few hundred years, and skipping modernism, of which I don&rsquo;t approve, Joss Barton&rsquo;s &quot;Three Shrooms on Painted Wood&quot; is a delirious and hallucinatory exercise in how far you can derange a narrative while keeping it compelling. Here is the opening:


&nbsp;


HOME

WAS WARM BRAIN FLESH LIKE MEMAW&rsquo;S STRAWBERRY JELLY LIKE GOOD OL&rsquo;

BOYS CHEWIN&rsquo; SKOAL GROWLING AT SISSIES THAT THEY DON&rsquo;T KNOW WHAT IT

IS BUT THEY KNOW WHAT IT

AIN&rsquo;T

HOME

WAS THE SMELL OF PINES WHIPPING ACROSS CREEK SOAKED SKIN AS SHE

RAISED HER HANDS IN THE BACK BED OF THE BLACK BEAT UP PICKUP TRUCK

BARRELING DOWN A HWY PAST RUSTED JUNKYARDS AND CONFEDERATE

TRAILERS AND SIGN POSTS POINTIN&rsquo; TOWARD TAUM SAUK AS THE BLEACH

BITTEN TOWEL BECAME A WIND SWEPT GOWN WAVING TO WHITE CROSSES

AND BAREFOOT KIDS ON LEAD PAINT PEALED PORCHES PITCHIN&rsquo;

ROCKS

HOME

WAS A DIRT ROAD TO NOWHERE AND DITCH BEDS AND INFINITE BACKWOODS

AND SHIT PIE COPROPHILOUS COUSINS WOULD FIND OUT IN THE COW PASTURE

ON RAINY AFTERNOONS AND DIG UP WITH STICKS DARING EACH OTHER TO

EAT ONE UF&rsquo;EM

HOME

WAS GRANDMA WARNIN&rsquo; US &lsquo;BOUT HUNTING FOR MUSHROOMS UNDER ROTTEN

LOGS AND WET LEAVES SHE WOULD TELL US TO ALWAYS LOOK FOR THEM

WHITE GILLS THEM THOSE POISON WIDOW CAPS AND NEVER TOUCH THOSE

WITCHES RED TOADSTOOLS THOSE OPEN THE DEVIL&rsquo;S DOOR SHE&rsquo;D SAY MAKE

YOU GO PLUM OUT YOUR

MIND

HER

WAY OF WARNING HER BABIES OF THE PSYCHOTROPIC REALM A COSMIC

WILDERNESS SIS FREQUENTLY TRAVELS THRU HITCHIN&rsquo; RIDES ON THE BACKS

OF RUBY THROATED HUMMINGBIRD IMPRINTED ACID STRIPS OR WRITHING

ON POPPER CLOUDS WITH CLENCHED MOLLY JAW AND SWOLLEN CUMDUMP

LIPS OR CHEWING THE BLUE VEIN STEMS AND BLACK BELLIES OF PSILOCYBIN

CAPS THE HOLY TASTE OF MANURE AND DESICCATED WOOD AND DEATH

BITTERS CONSTRICTING THE THROAT IN AUTOEROTIC EGO-ASPHYXIATION


from "Three Shrooms on Painted Wood"

As the temperature dropped and twisters ripped a scar across Kansas, Missouri, Ohio,

Arkansas:

as the Dow dropped as Nasdaq plummeted as Chinese exports and steels and precious

metals

sharpened their teeth on barb wire: as molotov cocktails bloomed in Hong Kong: as

El Paso became a killing field:

we hung coat hangers up our cunts to scratch out the silver strike door: FUCK BIG

BROTHER

THE EYE-KING: THOMPSON FOR SHERIFF: A 70&rsquo;s DREAM IN TRANSSEXUAL

HORROR SET ON AN ISLAND OF CUM PIGS

scored with ice picks, cymbals, beehive bells, locust death screams, the limp body of a

dead possum skinned to the

red flesh and pentagram circle opening portals to a new fertility curse mutations of fetal

tissue

growing rodent eyes and marsupial genitals hairless coiled tails and blood soaked teeth

gnawing

out the womb: A NEW LIFE TO BLESS: A NEW CHILD TO SACRIFICE ON THE

AMERICAN TOMBSTONE:

A NEW STEP CLOSER TO GILEAD: The monster roosts on bat colony cracked wing

flesh

the sharp teeth cutting through yolk and neon nuclear blood or the gauze stuffed in mouths

swallowin&rsquo;

another mountain another moth another mother breast beat nipples raw diarrhea rollin&rsquo; down

guts

through ass down legs down tits: a bunch of drag queens and faggots snatched in nude

pumps colored pencils

on the carpet a future artifact of this whiteboard world a whiteness breaking teeth and

bleeding gums and digging ditches:

Amsterdam tears falling into the vodka crans the disco lights morphing into molecules

of faggots

fucking on the walls all full of amphetamine salts and dreams of grandeur: What do it

mean when

I want to crawl out this skin and become another forgotten name on the listserv? What do

it mean

when I feel myself a tab popped on the Pepsi can acid tongue?! A tranny desperate to get

the fuck away

from everyone and everything and just be alone. Like who the fuck cares if u ain&rsquo;t payin&rsquo;

coin

for a slice of PnPecanpie? The only pussy open on all federal holidays, tipped bodies

on

powder dip nails on Gucci postnasal petrol cocaine snorts rolling dice for another oil war

another porno

VHS virus another anonymous whistle blower another transsexual in the laundromat

bleaching

out the mucus stains in her panties counting quarters and texting trade to pick up a four

piece &amp; a side of fries: HONEYMUSTARD PLZ BAE!

The emperor tries to make another failed Ukrainian casino deal, Democrats bless the

CIA with more discretionary funds,

the entire administration a house of McDonald&rsquo;s nuggets, ketchup dribbled, and gold piss

dripped.

A flock of transsexuals sunbathing by an iridescent saltwater pool acrylic coffins peel the

tattered scraps of skin

off estrogen engorged nipples, pinch the smoking roach, and let the ganjacum drip off lip

and tit.

Our new euro transsexual songstress ascends upon the streamcast throne with the help of

an old rapist.

How bizarre to simultaneously desire the mollywashed sounds of Kim Petras while

geeking

for vintage Ke$ha drag, while drowning in pools of gin &amp; tonics, while sucking cocks in

boutique hotel rooms.

Kim says there will be blood will be snipers will be batons will be encrypted police state

emails

psychotic pussies pushing zombie trannies in milky cornea the lips stained in scat silk

rope wrapped wrists

silicone implants saline inflated ballsacks throbbing hentai shemale necromantic cocks

Studio 54

cocaine numb gums the sour stardust on her lips from ice demons masturbating on her

face

the MDMA codex of a new transsexual drugpop princess still requires a manipulation of

the mind.


disco sisters

sell pussy

in tubs and tollroad booths

tell you tea for another gender

soft cunt like the bellies of snow crabs nesting off the rotten shore

sick of all the drug lips

sick of all the bleach stains

shemales at the bar nesting for men with fat cocks and fat necks and fatter lies to be told

pull up and deepthroat &lsquo;em with holy sucking prayers

like muva used to

know this pussy you been searching &lsquo;cross the stillness of mass genocides for

was meant for you

kiss your man one last time

and believe it was all worth it

bend the silk print fibers of your mortal coil and know

you were here once before

and if he never holds you again

just blow dem shofar horns

and smoke the gods out on sticky white widow owl blunts

you will mourn

you will wail

you will sing

and you will disco

but you won&rsquo;t be joining your sisters anytime soon

your disco heat has another song to sing

another summer to swell

another ghost to recognize

and while you&rsquo;re alive

you will honor

them all

and

suck

on life

&lsquo;til

sun

rise.


A photo of pink_sissy posted on IG when she wasn&rsquo;t looking: Bitch had just started &lsquo;mones and her hair was wrapped in silk mod pattern scarf, and child she reads me in the name of Lazarus! Said she was taking out the trash like the fleets in my waste can like the anon cum loads oozing out my ass!

&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; The word ode feels too soft for the cocks she memorized in typewriter font Craigslist ads plastered along South Grand. Left on Chippewa, swerve on a tranny memory, take a right at the cursed intersection at Gustine where cars &amp; cargo trucks full of beer soaked day laborers meet in glass ridden amazement, roll past the flats of immigrants growing young peppers in front lawn gardens and ruddy women woven in rainbow cloth on faded brick stoops, readjust a chubby cock in mesh basketball shorts as you park the HONDA, pass through the storm door:

KNOCK TWICE:

ASK IF TRANSSEXUAL DYSTOPIA IS HOME:

ASK IF ALL THE FULLY FUNCTIONAL TRANNY TOPS HAVE MOVED TO CLEVELAND:

ASK IF THE DOLLS WERE ABANDONED BY THE ANAL SEX GODS

WHOSE PUNISHMENT ARE MEN WHO DON&rsquo;T RIM!

&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; HOLY MOTHERS! PROTECT US IN THIS TIME OF HOMOSEXUAL BANALITY!

&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; DO NOT TRUST THE GAY WHITE MAN RUNNING FOR PRESIDENT!

&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; DO NOT TRUST CIS SAVIORS!

&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; DO NOT TRUST WHITE WOMEN WHO DO NOT LISTEN TO BLACK WOMEN!

&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; AND DON&rsquo;T EVER FUCKING TRUST TRADE WITH YOUR CAR!

AMERICA! MOTHER OF MULES! QUEEN OF HOLLOW VIRTUE!

&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; Sing us a song! Scratch the bowels and paint flowers with the blood! Tell us the world is beautiful on the other side of barbed wire fences where owls hang executed by divine destiny. Rip the sheet metal off my back, straddle the bones of my satin bedpost, saturate Saturday sins with seroconversion-sonnets, and pink_sissy crushing a roach beneath concrete bitten pumps. See the guts, white and soft, smell the stink of insect brains wiped across the sole as a site for parasites or the kind of tongue that roots into a man&rsquo;s asshole searching for real lies. Another filter of static stars in our hair: another roadside motel to pull double dates in: another anointed ass to breed: another client to fist: another question of what it means to be alive in this world, at this time, surrounded by these horrors: another movie to check into the viewing queue: another strain to mutate: another world app fucked and wiped with snot rag cocks slimy and pulsating and our lips whore neon as we enter the temple, stoned, burning the foreheads of faggot elders, pumping our transsexual cocks and cumming on the money tables. The good old boys play Def Leppard&rsquo;s Hysteria as they suck us off in their pick up trucks. They send pink_sissy texts of dick pics and coke mirrors begging to breed her, their incessant snaps remind her that everyone wants a whore, but no one wants to wake up next to one.

&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp;The problem for many old guard gays is that trannies are now living the lives that dangerous faggots used to live which in part produces both jealousy and resentment that the dolls are more subversive more radical more gorgeous and more cock hungry than they ever were: SO IT IS WHAT IS ALWAYS IS: TRANS MISOGYNY FROM BITTER QUEENS: How fucking typical that right now it&rsquo;s trans women of color, BLACK &amp; BROWN TRANS WOMEN, who must grin until our lips bleed as we watch our rainbow peers pat themselves on the backs for their tranny flag avatars while simultaneously refusing to fiercely protect and nourish us: We get to see how much our lives really mean as we count the hashtags against the job offers, the HIV infections against the second/third/ fourth/fifth chances, the willingness to let us bleed out our political traumas on stages and screens for THEIR HEALING against the bruises on our bodies or the obituaries they never read.

&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp;pink_sissy sheds the skin off her nipples like human scales, wraps her heart together with a bouquet of transsexual molting, bites the flesh, rips the ligament memories, warms a nest of cellophane with the light of electricity against a black sky stabbed with white pins poked through the lining of night silk. Haunted bodies buried beneath this estrogen soaked skin brittle nails chipped on the teeth of transsexual ghosts wailing for freedom or a chance to try it over again to re-wind the tape and roll the dice and this time aim for healing or heaven or anywhere but eternally stuck on this elevator to Human Resources.

&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp;She keeps trying to write something better than these shemale Pornhub poems. She sits down to type a title: NO MORE DEATH POEMS: tries to find sentences symbolism stanzas about absolutely anything: rows of lines on watermelon seeds spit from the wet pink lips of milkweed boys smoking pot in red florescent bar

pink_sissy

The summer I got bit I was high on &lsquo;mones, tits had finally done popped after a long cold winter of dry acrid snow, meth tweaker trade, and swinging transsexual suicides. The Obamas were basking in the glow of effervescent drone bomb Hollywood lights. The climate was moist with parasite eggs and simmering global resentments. My gas bill was in collections, my hair bloomed into black soft tranny tussles, I kept white box fans spinning in the corners of my shotgun apartment to supplement the black mold winds spurting from the single discount window unit air conditioner lodged beside my open mattress, my nipples became sore and begged to be punished, my cock entered into a manic state of bipolar exuberance, stiff as a rod one morning and dead as the deacon&rsquo;s bench the next night, my asshole became prized on the chaser streets of Saint Louis: FREE &amp; FUN TO FUCK.

A shemale I had yet to become,

but a ts breast bud I was willing to mold into bright ceramic glazed fornications.

Poppers for breakfast,

anal cream pies advertised during married lunch break hours,

cock sucking until the jaw locked and all I could chew were the bleached yogurts of young scrubby dutch sons.

The summer I got bit, he was working at Walgreens in an existential portal of corporate necro-nihilism.

The summer I got bit, we met for coffee and end of shift French pastries after chatting and texting for a week

on the online dating app we logged onto with mindless myopia, assuming the digital dance would fade,

like it always did in our previous attempts at dealing with end of decade dating inside these mud river city limits.

The summer I got bit, the myth of the cis-het male unicorn seemed to come alive in his bullet copper lips and milk neck.

We dropped molly and fucked until the sun rose, drenched his sheets in cum and sweat and fragrant anal mucus.

We cried in each other&rsquo;s arms understanding what love finally felt like and promised to never let go of these holy moments.

The summer I got bit, it all seemed like a dream full of warm pink noise, our frequencies melted

together in glorious harmony like some Hallmark commercial for trannies falling in love.

The summer I got bit, my legs became a buffet for mosquito mothers drinking my spirobloated blood

to nourish the proboscis lip vampires pulsating inside their white insect wombs. My transsexual body

a vector for gnawing gnats, a map of larval desires, a verse to memorize until the words slice past the bone.

The summer I got bit, we had already endured the hells of chronic depression, cocaine binges, ketamine therapy,

inheritance lump sums, necro-election results, more statistics of dead trans women, love poems

that prick the blood, nights and throats soaked with tears of grain alcohol, pill bottles vomiting from

the mouths of holy mother disco balls, stages coated in gold and silver tranny prophecy, hypnotizing

audiences to stand in glorious awe of my sins, ripping apart letters from home that reminded us where we buried the bodies.

The summer we got bit, a virus of the mind begins to breed somewhere on the other side of the world,

and like this love dream,

it has one

hell

of

a

bite.


Prologue

Eulogy For Hundreds Dead:

aretha franklin

odetta

little richard

donny hathaway

chi-lites

sylvester

labelle

janet jackson

the pointer sisters

amy winehouse

janis joplin

cece peniston

whitney houston

abba

gwen guthrie

grace jones

koko taylor

madonna

frank ocean

cheryl lynn

harold melvin &amp; the blue notes

gloria gaynor

lorretta lynn

reba mcentire

nina simone

radiohead

prince

buffy sainte-marie

otis redding

rihanna

anhoni

patsy cline

lavender country

dolly parton

valerie june


Eulogy For Thousands Dead:

bunker, mo

des moines

harlem

detroit

minneapolis

berlin

wounded knee

sunset boulevard

east oakland

east st. louis

east martin luther king blvd

east gustine east genesta street

east curtain draping the shadow on john brown&rsquo;s body

west florrisant

west ladue

west blackjack

west wing

west memphis

west dealey plaza

west interzone

trump tower

tehran

jasper, ark

mar a lago

world trade center building 7 riyadh

abu ghraib

the pentagon

cia black site prisons

club saint louis

chicago&rsquo;s hollywood beach

the castro

the niangua river

a holler in paradise


EULOGY FOR HUNDREDS OF MILLIONS DEAD!!!


i&nbsp; &nbsp;o n c e&nbsp; &nbsp;b e l o n g e d&nbsp; &nbsp;t o&nbsp; &nbsp;a&nbsp; &nbsp;m a n &rsquo; s&nbsp; &nbsp;b e d&nbsp; &nbsp;o f&nbsp; &nbsp;g l o r i o u s

c u m&nbsp; &nbsp;d e a t h ,&nbsp; h e l d&nbsp; &nbsp;h i s&nbsp; &nbsp;c o&nbsp;c k&nbsp; &nbsp;i n s i d e&nbsp; &nbsp;m y&nbsp; &nbsp;n e c r o t i c

c u n t,


s w a l l o w e d&nbsp; &nbsp;e v e r y&nbsp; &nbsp;d r o p&nbsp; &nbsp;o f&nbsp; &nbsp;h i s&nbsp; &nbsp;h o t&nbsp; &nbsp;m i l k&nbsp; &nbsp;d e a t h ,

w o r s h i p p e d&nbsp; &nbsp;a t&nbsp; &nbsp;h i s&nbsp; &nbsp;t s p o r n o&nbsp; &nbsp;o r g i e s&nbsp; &nbsp;&amp;&nbsp; &nbsp;h i s&nbsp; &nbsp;d i l d o

a l t e r s&nbsp; &nbsp;o f&nbsp; &nbsp;d e a t h ,


m a d e&nbsp; &nbsp;m e&nbsp; &nbsp;h i s&nbsp; &nbsp;s w e e t&nbsp; &nbsp;s h e m a l e&nbsp; &nbsp;c o n c u b i n e&nbsp; &nbsp;o f

d e a t h !&nbsp; &nbsp;p l e a s u r e d&nbsp; &nbsp;i n&nbsp; &nbsp;h i s&nbsp; &nbsp;s k u l l&nbsp; &nbsp;a w e&nbsp; &nbsp;o f&nbsp; &nbsp;m y&nbsp; &nbsp;h o l y

b o d y&nbsp; &nbsp;o f&nbsp; &nbsp;f e m m e&nbsp; &nbsp;d e a t h !


m a d e&nbsp; &nbsp;l o v e&nbsp; &nbsp;i n&nbsp; &nbsp;t h e&nbsp; &nbsp;g a s p i n g&nbsp; &nbsp;e m b e r s&nbsp; &nbsp;o f&nbsp; &nbsp;s u n l i g h t !

a t e&nbsp; &nbsp;e a c h&nbsp; &nbsp;o t h e r &rsquo; s&nbsp; &nbsp;s m o o t h&nbsp; &nbsp;a s s h o l e s&nbsp; &nbsp;i n


b l u e&nbsp; &nbsp;m o r n i n g s&nbsp; &nbsp;o&nbsp;f&nbsp; &nbsp;d e a t h !&nbsp; d e l i g h t e d&nbsp; &nbsp;i n&nbsp; &nbsp;t h i s

p e r v e r s e&nbsp; &nbsp;n a t i o n&nbsp; &nbsp;o f&nbsp; &nbsp;d e a t h !&nbsp; &nbsp;h e l d&nbsp; &nbsp;e a c h&nbsp; &nbsp;o t h e r&nbsp; &nbsp;i n

t h e


M A G A&nbsp; &nbsp;b o s o m&nbsp; &nbsp;o f&nbsp; &nbsp;d e a t h !&nbsp; &nbsp;s a t&nbsp; &nbsp;w r e c k e d&nbsp; &nbsp;a n d

c r a c k e d&nbsp; &nbsp;o p e n&nbsp; &nbsp;a n d&nbsp; &nbsp;w a i l i n g&nbsp; &nbsp;o n&nbsp; &nbsp;t h e&nbsp; &nbsp;s t e p s&nbsp; &nbsp;o f&nbsp; &nbsp;o u r


l o v e &rsquo; s&nbsp; &nbsp;f i n a l&nbsp; &nbsp;a c t&nbsp; &nbsp;o f&nbsp; &nbsp;d e a t h !


Joss Barton

from "Three Shrooms on Painted Wood"

I

III

pink_sissy

Prologue

VI

VII

VIII

Joss Barton

OKAY this is an annotated playlist of NARRATIVE VERSE from c.1380 to NOW

We Want It All

The Summer I Got Bit

from "Three Shrooms on Painted Wood"

I

III

pink_sissy

Prologue

VI

VII

VIII