First thing's first

Welcome to The Bongo!
This is where I, Marcel Bongo, henceforth shall puke out my thoughts and add some more mindless ranting to the pornographic mountain of idiocy that is the internet. Anyway, I thought I should celebrate my new blog with a poem I wrote earlier today. I call it Flower.


Flower, extracted out of blue. Blue corresponding to neon blue.
Neon blue night, just about black.
Just about black, just about midnight.
Black of a thousand uncut faces,
black of a thousand bars, of a thousand drinks,
of a thousand tremors and ruptures in the proverbial, piss stinking,
lollipop-faced, ass-legged black.
Flower, with a dick in her hand.


That's about it. It always strikes me though, something like a week or two after i write shit like this, how crappy it is. However, I've decided that post-editing sucks ass so written word stays, even if time makes me think twice.

Tonight I dreamed of living in The Sprawl. It was... nostalgic.It felt like home, yet I quite hate big cities and the urban extreme. There was a tint of yellow in the air as of smog, or maybe like an old movie with a gentle static shielding the eye from the bare, naked truth of the world. It was reminiscent of that vision of America that never was. Peculiar, since I've never set foot in the land of the free and the joyously ignorant. There was a saxophonic feel to the neon lit streets and people moved along the boulevards and the alleys in an orgasmic rythm. I stood in the middle. I didn't move. Crowds rushing by. My spot in limbo was an eye in the storm. That rattling, low frequency storm that rolls and curls up your sleeve, leaving you exposed to the void.