WEREWOLF SLUT is a ferociously fiery novella/poem--an approximate 60 pages of elegant poetry; moreover, in 2011 it made the top 100 itunes chart for horror books in England. Now, let's get to it. The pics above are of the book cover and of the poet during his 16th year when he (me) originally architected the idea of the poem. Here is a brief synopsis, and remember--now available on Apple iTunes as well as the Nook, and in non-digital form, available on Amazon.Com, Barnes and Noble.Com; plus, all Internet bookstores--here's a link to purchase it: WEREWOLF SLUT BUY!
Winter Beachgrove is a teenage girl,
Blossoming with cupcake cleavage and long, tan legs galore;
Specifically, she is a fabulous suburn chick,
Strutting through her high school hallways, making stiff many a prick;
Alas, an insidious entity; specifically, a fallen angel
Infiltrates her corporeal aspects by way of wending through her navel;
Thus begins the transformation
That is adolescence plagued by the werewolf nation--
Winter Beachgrove morphs into monstrous delight
Armed with fangs, fur, and fright;
Indeed, she decapitates and murders teenage boys
After making love to them as if they're toys,
Whoring and drinking with a fervent ideal,
Which is the side-effect of being haunted by a demon's appeal;
Hence, young JELLY ROLL, a pre-pubescent poet does blast into action,
Arming himself with silver bullets and an angelic faction,
Invoking Saint Michael the arch-angel to drive out Winter's demon,
For she has become naughty and tainted with much semen;
Alas, Saint Michael, God's most uncanny enforcer,
Uses his mojo to Winter's demon torture--
It is a protracted battle and tongue in cheek fight,
All while oding to drugs, booze, and sex during this teenage plight,
For kids are throbbing with hormones and cell phones,
Dialing up booty calls and starbursting their horny bones;
Still, sublimity lurks within the digital pages
Since Winter's story is sung with the classicism of ancient sages;
Thus, this is a plot based on hot, teenage tail,
And how that shit doesn't with the Good God sail.
I adore all my readers, and will continue to craft the most scatalogical yet sublime prose for your eager and well-respected attention. Wussies beware . . .
Sincerely, Mark David King
Punkish pic of me during my taboo youth as told in my intrepid autobiography during the ages of 16-18; specifically, this poetically-forged book is called: TRANSCENDING TWILIGHT: ANGELS ECLIPSE VAMPIRES; moreover, 200 pages of pulsating prose and vociferous poetry, taking place in the bastardly bucolic/Dirty South of Little Rock, Arkansas during the Republican years of 1988-1989. Verily, here is a rap-like description of this superlative tale, it smoothly offering a passionate reverie of personally-experienced teen angst--like this:
Not the PUSSAFICATION of vampires as crafted for Tweens,
Yet sonic youth filled with friends and fiends;
Alas, meet Mark David King and his gallantly gorgeous girlfriend--
The twosome trouble as teen romance does tend;
Indeed, King diagnosed as psychotic and wasted,
Ingesting sour mash and secret substances that are by rock stars tasted;
Anyway, King has behemoth visions of arch-angelic machines,
Waking him in-and-out of violent-filled dreams;
Plus, his girlfriend puts a gash deep in his favorite blue jeans,
Cutting his penis by way of cocaine's toxic means.
Truly, she gives him the shame of crabs, and he knocks her down;
Alas, it's not a love triangle, but a love octagon that does frown--
There is much oral copulation and ascetic-laced prayers
As King wends mystic and visits narcotic lairs,
Doing LSD while friends try to kill,
Wanting his girlfriend's time to better than him thrill;
Hence, the pretender, King finds an imagined Gabriel as he sourly mourns,
Stolen into a state bizarre--escapes the thorns,
Yet the pseudo-arch-angel can only gurgle robotic sound,
And King is too wasted to be by wisdom crowned;
Alas, he fights with his girlfriend on her 16th birthday,
And on Christmas Eve--his best friend does she lay.
But the magnanimous metaphor contained within--
Is synergy with God and our souls dodging sin,
Running away from brats and haters,
Knowing the Ultimate Lie is a truth that fuels the fakers.
Too, there is Bob, known as the "Mad Shitter",
Defecating in a friend's parents' sink cause he is an ostentatious kidder;
Indeed, Bob is a devilish demon or so truly possessed,
Having jeered King's sanity concerning his (King's) girlfriend hexed;
Still, King has an opulent crush on his cheating girlfriend,
Though she's stupefied by others and their lies that tend,
Which make love to her angelic and elegant frame
Further driving the bravado of King insane--
They treat each other like total shit,
Though he is loyal, never touching another tit.
All in all--it's teen angst with the razor's edge,
Transcending the Tweens that Twilight does pledge
To ensnare with a milk and cookies kind of simplicity,
While King's epic poem reminds of prostate cancer forcing a bee-stinging pee,
Burning the brain and scorching the ghost,
Sending the reader further to a hellacious moat;
However, Gabriel is sublimity and so tangibly there,
Thieving King away from suicidal despair--
All in all time does heal
The scars of youth that have no appeal
To an older man humble and sick,
Knowing at one time he was a grand old prick,
For while others may taint and besmirch your life--
It doesn't mean you should craft them strife,
But offer God's love and Christ's pure glam,
Ruling over pride, morphing into a better man.
- fini -
Like I said: Now available on Apple iTunes. Too, check out all my books on Amazon.Com and Barnes and Noble.Com; plus, all Internet Bookstores. Here's a link to my Amazon.Com Author's page, and I adore and love all my readers, especially those in England who really appreciated my torrid tale dubbed: WEREWOLF SLUT, an uncouth title with sublimity at its very core--I hope. So, here's the link, thanks . . .Mark David King's Books
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
There is no concrete knowledge as to why James Holmes spawned a murderous frenzy; moreover, modern detective work has not luminously enlightened the American People as to what truly happened. Nevertheless, I have come to a solid conclusion about his delusional behavior; specifically, Mr. James Holmes was a quasi-intellectual, being not only a scholar, but also wielding the weirdness of being a Super Hero or Villain fan. And that's what I think this was all about.
If you look at shows like The Big Bang Theory you witness an affection for fantasy. Verily, nerd-types are EVERLOST within the fake realm of role-playing games and comic books. Truly, they want to shake off their awkward physiology, and reveal that big "S" underneath their clothing. But maybe James Holmes didn't want to be Batman or Superman--maybe he had a more diabolical infatuation. He wanted to be the Joker. He wanted to bring madness and mayhem to the place of Colorado, just as had the Joker wanted to torture and destroy the inhabitants of Gotham. Holmes wanted to live out his nefarious fantasy, going down in American History as a genuine goblin--a real live Super Villain. And I don't believe he wanted to have a sincere, suicidal-like culmination to his cruel killing spree; alas, he surrendered, I believe, after that terrible incident within the confines of that now historical movie theater. That's the reason for the explosives in his apartment as well as the numerous amounts of left over ammo. He wanted to further the violence, letting it resonate terribly until the State of Colorado was on their innocent knees, begging him for the elation of mercy; however, Holmes was not a fighter. More like a coward, submitting to the police without a firefight, losing his macho coolness, displaying for all of us that he didn't have the internal steel to be a true villain; indeed, Holmes could not be the villain he wanted to, transforming back into a dreamer, such as if a pulsating poltroon, though dreamy in intent. But this is all just my perspective. I totally believe him to have been fixated upon being a true villain, to impress girls, loser types, and most of all, himself.
May we all lower our heads, invoking our God or gods, and send love and sublimity to those innocent lambs who wanted nothing more, but to just enjoy an evening in this God-Blessed America.
Mark David King
Katie Holmes is not stupid--or is she? Specifically, she knew that Tom Cruise wore the badge of Scientology on his sleeve. However, she wasn't a theological master of the religion; still, she was aware of its esoteric and mysterious factor. So, what ultimately spooked her away from a Fairy Tale Marriage? Verily, nothing was getting weirder or more bizarre, for she had witnessed Tom's ascetic-like dedication to the religion, as had all of us under the glamorous glimmer of the mercurial media machine. So, why now? Why now file for divorce? Girlfriends and family getting to her is what I have my money on? Possibly spawned by their jealousy of Tom's unearthly influence. And people like that are animalistic rats, wanting to have a say to further their own inner self-centeredness. Them offering: "Katie, he's going to brainwash Suri. Katie, he's a nutjob, and Suri will be devoured by that Cult-Like religion." It's a simple power struggle, and obviously Katie's family and girlfriends wanted to stupidly stir the pot, making sure that Suri wasn't spiritually-forged by Tom's mystic mojo. So, why not the commotion when the marriage was being architected to begin with? Yup, Tom was a megastar miracle at first; next, offspring is hatched. Now, does Katie's family consider Suri to be more their property than Tom's? Believing him to be a wacko crackpot theologically armed with an underground religion that will vanquish the resonance of her Roman Catholicism. Verily, none of Katie's family or so-called concerned girlfriends are going to be canonized in any aspect of futurity--so what's the buzz? Yup, he's got a wacky belief system, and her intruding family and whispering girlfriends won't let Mamma have none of that.
Obviously Cruise wasn't domestically abusing Katie. Most likely wasn't cheating on her. Definitely adored and loved her as well as Suri. And in swift and gracious motion allowed divorce on her terms. So why did the media give Cruise the blues? Come on--if we're talking about Meg Ryan cheating on Dennis Quaid or Demi Moore morphing Cougar and dumping the world's most excellent action star or Arnold Schwarzenegger banging the maid--yep, that's being a crummy spouse, but Cruise had reverence and respect for his matrimonial kin--so why are we saying Katie played her cards right, or Katie was so smart in taking down Tom? What the f%$# did Tom do, except have a progressive religion? And why would it be wrong for someone's daughter, their flesh and blood (not yours), to follow in their patriarchal footsteps? So what if somebody has a weirdo Dad that has a Cult-Like religion--does that mean Mitt Romney's wife should divorce him? What's weirder: A Scientologist or a Mormon?
All in all, Tom Cruise has some serious witchcraft, and that's what this entire divorce is about, that and making sure Suri doesn't become engaged in an elusive theological ideal. And Cruise is getting the worst of it, this all fabricating a giant poop sandwich that he has to take a public bit of, and then digest it. Too, the females are celebrating Katie's supposed victory over a man, and the Evangelicals are partying in Osteen's narrow-minded teaching that only Christ makes right; moreover, everybody is celebrating that Tom Cruise has to eat that big shit sandwich, and it kind of makes losers like me sick to my gut. But hell: I'll say it to Katie too: "You go girl!" Ah crap . . .
You can buy all my books here: Mark David King's Books On Amazon
This coming November promises an axiomatic happening--dogs will not be happy. Whether it's the spoiled-rich kid morphed politician (Romney) or the Hawaiin-spawned (maybe) Obama, dogs should inject the swift pace of Mercury into their pulsating paws, and sprint towards the Elysian Fields. I'm talking about Romney tieing his doomed dog onto the top of a roomy automobile and intrepidly treking on a plush vacation; at the same time, there is no denying the dandylicious flavor of dog served up in culinary cuisine; next, into the vociferous mouth of Obama and into his wanting intestinal tract before being transfigured into a piece of fecal matter (raunchy poop). Is this mythology? All I'm saying is that the informative Internet is ablaze with these two filthy rich charlatans who have allegedly, dismissed the sublimity of the carnivorous canine and de-karmaed their magnanimous mojo in order to opulently travel or evacuate their bowels. What the hell?
But this election is about more; indeed, it's about the Holy Spirit of 1776. That living, altruistic entity set aflame and into the cosmic hearts of men like George Washington, Thomas Paine, and the bad ass brewmaster who helped architect the Sons of Liberty--Mr. motherf&*%$ng Sam Adams. But today there is no liberty. And while the North had to have synergy with the South, slavery was sincerely the only black eye worn during the original Independence Day. Hey, look at the thriving women--ya know, sewing the first aspects of what would evolve into Old Glory on hemp-like (wink for the history books) fiber, but now that incarcerates a brother, getting him locked up and sodomized--that's the punishment Republicans want to give non-violent drug offenders. Denying George Washington's command to sew the Indian seed, or hating Abe Lincoln's vocalistic offerance that boldy stated: "Prohibition goes against everything this country stands for." Alas, non-violent drug offenders are sodomized in prison, given felony records, put on probation, and their futurity violated because some dumb shit moralist never read the other great Libertarian Mystic like William Blake who correctly scribed: "The moral christian is the cause for the unbeliever and their laws." Nevermind that a seed-bearing plant is uplifted in Moses' Torah, or that it is an anti-oxidant and anti-inflammatory that is just as healthy as smoking or eating lima beans garnished with omega-3 fortified butter and some uplifting basil to boot. No, lock up that 19 year old kid who gets busted smoking a joint behind the bleachers of a high school football game; next, let him be forced into giving a gravy-making 300 pound man in county lockup some suffering oral sex--yup, that's how the Republicans think about prohibition, never caring about Washington or Lincoln's words. Thank God for FDR and that he fought against conservative heat, giving us our much-deserved booze back.
Too, the big point is the word: CONSERVATIVE. Specifically, CONSERVATISM means the opposite of LIBERTY AND FREEDOM. Being conservative is to offer restriction. To pull back the glorious reigns on the thunderous gallop of Liberty. To incarcerate non-violent drugs offenders, instead of taxing a legal product, fixing the economy overnight; then, no drug wars or gang violence, and the drug dealers all have to go out and get real jobs. Truly, the Drug War is Anti-Constitutional; specifically, it is against the Constitution for the American Government to declare War upon its own people--and that, my friend, is exactly what the Drug War is--a declaration of War from the American Government upon its own people, imprisoning non-violent souls where sodomy and brutality then becomes their lives behind the cruel fixation of steel bars. Sound much like freedom bub?
But the Democrats--shit, they make magnanimous promises of social justive and liberty; however, once in the White House, Bill Clinton a perfect example, they do nothing but screw interns, bomb aspirin factories, and freaksihly desire to be like monarchs or celebrities--they want to be pop stars; thus, they run away from their campaign-crafted promises. They're no better than the Republicans. So, what's left. Got Milk? Got Dog? Romney and Obama sure do--looks like we're all screwed unless a new party is shimmeringly birthed by the sublimity of that, hopefully, resonating Ghost--that luminous and effulgent SPIRIT OF 1776. God Bless A True America!!!
Further metaphors and info can be owned inexpensively; moreover, my Amazon.Com author's page and my books--available here--thanx to all the true Americans who still thirst for the supersymmetry of Liberty: My Books!!!
Heaven, Hell, or the neutrality of Limbo-Like spheres? It's not a Universe, but a Multiverse or a Megaverse; moreover, like a loaf of delicious bread baked to its luminous limitations, expanding beyond the reason of its apex, growing little bubbles, more unlimited Universes. But the Adder (Devil) is the Prince of this Earth as known by the living Torah, Christ. That immaculate miracle almost capable today, as a syringe full of myriads of single-minded semen could be injected through the hymen--ZANGO: Immaculate Conception is possible today; however, we are unable to clone the consciousness of the Torah and inject it into the inviolate womb of an ascetic, adolescent girl. Still--this means: God has technology, and when science and religion ultimately develope a mesh and move forward with sublime synergy; next--enlightenment for the Abrahamic theologies. However you look at it--here's how it all ignited with human consciousness: 5,000 to 8,000 years ago, a decent approximation, men developed consciousness, all around the same time; next, they architected language, forging texts that we believe to be mythical; however, this was their personal observations. Whether the Epic of Gilgamesh, the Torah, the Iliad, the Hindu epics and Eastern linguistics of passage, or in the Americas--it all claims the same thing--that gods or essences from the celestial ocean (space) came to Earth, fooled around with man (genetic engineering), and that there were reptilian creatures, flying craft and other elfin, angelic creatures, and that we should live a life of conscience due to their awakening us by giving cognizance. Thereafter, they all promise a tale of return, and of judgement, and of battles and protracted conflict. And this transcends us, for remember, the Megaverse--an unlimited amount of scenarios before entropy even gets to think about rearing the fiction and fantasy of itself.
So, why is heaven to the Abrahamic religions utopian orgasm? And why if we try to gel with that euphoric ecstasy now we are damned. So, the Republicans take away our narcotics, even though Moses and King David both scribed about seed-bearing plants and herb in the Old Testament; next, they enact legislation that incarcerates Amercians where they then are subsequently sodomized in a brutal prison system or even the light-weightedness of county lockup in some stinkhole counties. But, when in heaven they proclaim utopia. Climax, shimmering, effulgent orgasm and bliss that is similar to narcotic indulgement that they damn here and now--what fucking shitball hypocrazzy. Democrats are as easy to blame, never having their balls to the wall, but only wanting monarchy in the sense of Bill Clinton never desiring to do a bold deed, but only be adored by the masses. But nevermind--back to God and the gods, devils, demons, etc.,
Heaven maybe a playground for some, but I don't wanna sit on a cloud or screw virgins--shit, I feel reverence for the asceticism of virgins, and I want to protect them from the foul thrusts of heathens wanting to disgrace them in an immaculate sphere of sublimity. I don't want to do good works to get into heaven; I want to live a life of conscience to further my transformation into a celestial warrior--for evil is just as large as goodness. Remember the Megaverse. An unlimited amount of righting wrongs till both sides and the neutral ones even consider giving into the entropy that they constructed existence out of. Evil is monstrous and celestially brutal--remember the reptilians are amazingly mentioned in the numerous legends and Holy Books throughout our teeny/tiny globe. Yet there too resides magnanimous might, and of course the pussafied neutrals who walk the middle path, never getting the gore or ichor of slain gods on their hands. Truly, weapons forged by gods to slay gods exist. We are so young and lost unto celebrity and the animation of the Royal Family that we forget the axiomatic truth of mysticism contained in the Holy Books and even fleeting novels like the awesome Brother's Karamazov. And mysticism is, in a nutshell: Communication with supernatural creatures. Whether that be a grey alien giving you an anal probe or Moses glimpsing an aspect of the Hebrew God's hind quarter while hiding behind a rock--both ot these types of interaction grant you the title of mystic. So until they come back, or until the Genetic Revolution grants us corporeal immortality and we actually explore space beyond our bucolic galaxy, we are shit-faced fucked. Too busy fighting Arabs in the desert armed only with antiquated sling shots to give a shit about spawning a colossal space program, where we could have space marines, mine the planets of Venus and Mars, and ultimately gel science and theology and merge into the cosmological community before like ALL the Holy Texts say: They will come here, and judgement will be upon us. But I say: We get to them first. Yup . . .
Ahem, and a shameless promo as I am a rotten bastard for illuminating the obviousness of our beloved ancients: Here's my Amazon.Com Author's page where all my filthy yet altruistic literature can be obtained, thanx: My Books
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