.JPG)
TRANSCENDING TWILIGHT: ANGELS ECLIPSE VAMPIRES
available on Amazon.Com, Barnes and Noble.Com; plus, Apple iTunes.
This sophisticated and stupidly suave photo is from that boldly brave book, my autobiography, dealing with my damned and doltish self from the ages of 16-18 when a macabre, sonic youth was expected for the awesome yet poor in spirit; moreover, let me explain a few things about this bodacious book, which gives radioactive reverie from 1988-1989 in the Dirty South of Little Rock, Arkansas. First of all--this toxic tale is not the venomous vent of heart-broken vampires; hence, the title and the angels.
Whether it is the colossally catastrophic diagnosis of absolute psychosis, or the benign ingestion of mild-mannered narcotics, or perhaps the genuine glimmer of sincere mysticism, this thunderous tale of teen angst bursts onto the inviolate pages with pulsating poetry, an approximate 200 pages of it, yarning the axiomatic truth of Mark David King and his so-called friends as they recklessly romp and roar through the southern suburbs in search of sex, drugs, and rock 'n roll. King has a curvaceous girlfriend named Angie (blessed with banana-shaped bosom), and she is furiously sexing all his back-stabbing friends; indeed, it's not a love triangle, but a love octagon, driving King (Me) to schizo mode, measuring my humbled penis in perpetual fashion, wondering why my girlfriend is nastily playing the uncouth part of enchanted tramp. I take a number of varying, rainbow-hued narcotics; plus, drink a wild and regurgitated river of sour mash and Southern Comfort, scorching my adolescent liver till it burns like hell.
On the way to coming of age, I struggle with the vision of a platinum-hued Lady on the James River Bridge in Richmond, Virginia; thus, in my quasi-mystic state, I become a charlatan, using my wild imagination to pull forth from the heavens two bio-mechanical creatures that I foolishly claim to be the Most Divine Arch-Angels, Saint Gabriel & Saint Michael--a few trans-corporeal glimpses into madness, and I further fabricate my own illusions and possible blasphemy. No fool usurps me in foolishness. Moreover, I can't seem to let go of an angelically-painted girl (the most exotically, well-lathered lady of luminosity), and my pubes are furiously ignited with a scalding case of crawling crabs that devilishly drive me deeper into the demon of psychosis as I constantly itch and suffer, mourning like a mad mahatma due to the carnal curse of a crippled genitalia, drowning myself in as much booze as my gastro-intestinal tract can endure. Truly, this is not the PUSSAFICATION of teen angst, but a sincere gaze into the genuine drama of spoiled kids gone anarchistic. All the girls I knew lost their immaculate virginity at the prodigious ages of 12 or 13, and were mercurially snorting blow for selfish and recreational purposes by the age of 14; still, I never cheated on my girl even though she gave me those monstrous crabs and a mind-altering slice deep into my penis from an anti-medicinal vaginal cavity and using suburban witchcraft that almost made me an eternal eunuch (not testicles--she just attempted to lacerate my penis off); therefore, Scorpios--strongly shield your genitalic merchandise. This is the weirdest tale of adolescent suffering in all the spectrum of lewd and lascivious literature; specifically, girls rudely cheating because their lovers lack the ever-pounding effulgence of large, serpentine-like lances, making a pimple on the nose drive dudes downwards on wrongful brainstorm. Nothing spells HELL like this piece of probing prose and poetry. I urge you to read it and give me feedback. I love all of my readers, and appreciate your time; furthermore, I will continue to script steel eternal, forging things fantastic for all of you.
This is a link to my Amazon Author's page where you can purchase all of my books, some of which you can download on Apple iTunes such as this one: TRANSCENDING TWILIGHT: ANGELS ECLIPSE VAMPIRES--Mark David King's Books
