So im not even going to try. Maybe the best thing i can advise is to pour your self a very long drink, put on some Strauss and marvel over the insane beauty that makes up this femme fatale who will both excite and terrify your feeble little minds, HST’s included. She’s the kinda woman that makes you feel like your not alone, the kind of woman that would smoke your bowl, smack you over the head with a stilleto and then make cup cakes dressed in a corset. haha you poor fool, you have no idea – come to think of it, either do we.
Thats enough jibber jabber, Come and twist the purple haze with salvatious, the enduring, the fucking super fine; Miss Vain Viki.
However, as San Te nears the end of his education, the temple officially exiles him as a disguised way to allow him to aid the people against the oppressors. He returns to the outside world, namely to his hometown, and assists the people by teaching them martial arts. Before the political revolution he is inspiring to complete, he is forced into conflict with the Manchu governor. Finally, he triumphs and returns to the Shaolin temple, where he establishes the 36th chamber, a special martial arts class for laypeople to learn kung fu.
Sandy Bay
Tonight I got injections. All kinds of injections. I took an oral vaccination for cholera mixed with bicarbonate soda. I had a hepatitis A and B shot along with a thiphoid jump and a tetnus to top it off. Then I saw a woman in a pretty pink top with fantastically big breasts about my shortness of breath. I blew in many different devices, even got to take one home. She said I was fine. Checked my mri’s, xrays, bloodtests, urine samples and chest scans. Nothing wrong anywhere. Could be an athlete she reckons. I say the only time I feel short of breath after exercise is when im dancing like Elvis. She laughs. We talk about my drinking and she gets a little worried. Says it could be a problem.
I tell her I'm a writer and she laughs again. I say I can't stop drinking because I only write about getting drunk. She says then the people who read my stuff must all be alchoholics anyways. Says I'm supporting an unnoble cause. Her beautiful, hulking pink tits inside her top. No cleavage. Small dry hands. A big, twisted, doctor like face.
She says to find help. To go home and find help. I go home.
At home I watch House of Sand and Fog. After it all. After all the needles. Bandaids over the puncture marks in my skin. I watch the film alone and drink wine. A lot of wine. When it finishes, in the dark by myself, I put my head in my hands and cry. I cry a lot. I cry for a long time. Big sobs. coming from nowhere. I cry like a grieving widow. I cry for a lot of things. I cry for the white of the toilet bowl that shines in the lamp shade. I cry for two people I email a lot. Maybe three. I cry for Israel and the ocean, lions and Mac Books. i Pods and vaginas. English language and Hebrew. I drop a few for England and my overseas sister I never speak to. My cheeks get wet for the photos and the boys weekends away. Surfing and friends that are girls. Centrino, avocado, tattoists, the guys at the pub, locals, landmarks, lovers.
I get blurry for fish fingers, saggy boobs, face lifts and prostate cancer. I watch House of Sand and Fog and I cry for the serious. For the math teachers and the artists. For break ups and hang ups. Jelousy and stories. I spill some for all the people who will read this and laugh and call me a a faggot. I cry for my friends who aren't really friends. For the bad words that will roll around your head. I don’t stop. It keeps going. I saturate myself because I think it matters and it doesn't.
For my little bank account. For the ring I can't afford, for the house deposit I can't get, for the lies I tell and the wine. Always cry for the wine. I vomit in the sink. Some blood. Probably from my teeth. I brush my teeth. One more glass. Hop into bed with her and spoon. Put my feet on hers. She says, “You come in here drunk and touch me up and shit, it fucking pisses me off" and then rolls around like a mad woman. I get back out of bed and pour another. Then I write this and send it off before I sober up and can delete it all.
I cry because there is no god.
No one coming for us.
we are all alone here.
alone with the horror.
the sleaze
the trash
we are all alone
Tim announces...
"I am thrilled to say that my work with Gabby West, which began on vh1's SCREAM QUEENS 2, will continue on in CHILLERAMA, the anthology project I am doing with Adam Green, Joe Lynch and Adam Rifkin. My segment, I WAS A TEENAGE WEREBEAR, spoofs 1960s beach movies mashed up with REBEL WITHOUT A CAUSE, GREASE and TWILIGHT! It's about an angst ridden, closeted new kid in school who, when aroused, transforms into a leather clad "bear"! (Just imagine James Dean morphing into the motorcycle dude from VILLAGE PEOPLE and you've got the picture!)
"Gabby plays Peggy Lou, the main character's clueless girlfriend who just can't seem to grasp the real reasons behind her boyfriend's constant lack of interest. This is really exciting to me, because as much as this is a horror film with tons of red, gushy wetness, this is also a comedy with five musical numbers. Getting to see Gabby dance and sing and do comedic work along with a lot of screaming is quite exciting. I can't wait for fans of her work to see her range.
"Casting Gabby in CHILLERAMA really validates the power of SCREAM QUEENS, and is a testament to what I am sure will be a very long career for her beginning with the upcoming release of SAW 3D. Me, Green, Lynch and Rifkin are very happy to be producers on the first official film that Gabby has been cast in post SCREAM QUEENS."
And Gabby adds...
"I just got cast in Chillerama. So stoked. Our segment is 60s era slapstick campy horror. I'm so excited to be in a poodle skirt! I will be playing Peggy Lou... The lead female character and one of the *only* female roles. Very excited and so happy to be working with Tim! He's an amazing director and really brings out the best in his actors."
Roach-O-Rama: An Anglo-Australian Magazine.
“The be all and end all”
Manifesto…..
Roach-O-Rama is a fucking call to arms for all the scribblers out there! A Biannual Print Only Project, that harks back to the old Xerox punk printing process.
Submission Guidelines
Send poems the old fashioned way. Jot them down on payslips, pizza boxes or preferably on an A4 sheet of paper, stick them in an envelope and mail them to whichever one of these addresses is cheaper for you to post to. Roach-O-Rama UK, 41 Drayton Wood Road, Hellesdon, Norwich, NR6 6BY, England or Roach-O-Rama Oz, PO Box 806 Tullamarine, Victoria, AUSTRALIA 3049
We are accepting submissions for the first edition until June 1st 2011.
here . com
I want to kill
my cat
when I see him
chasing birds
because he doesn’t
realize how lucky
he is to be him
and it fucking
pisses me off,
so i stand on
the porch
just shaking my fist.
Then he come up
and purrs at my feet
I yell at him to
Go fuck his mother
or else im going to
break his nose!
D'Arne pats his chin
and says
Awww,
dont say that Ben,
he dosent even
know his mum.
My mum comes home
drunk and cant lock the door.
Knowing people is
over rated.
i just want to clean my own
ass hole
and sleep out side
under the veranda
with nothing else but
the low
purring
of my breath
and 12 hours of
sleep ahead of me.
The joint collaborative of Catfish McDaris and Ben John Smith is on the shelves and ready to rock ya jocks. Featuring flash fictions, poetry, rare photographs and zine scans, this bad bitch should make a nun cum. Hard cover, 130 pages, split right in the guts - half BJS and the other CD, as cheap as it could possibly be made for, or download the PDF file for a buck or so.
Its like putting your dick into a blender and drinking the mush like a smoothy.
Buy it now, or for ever hold your piece.
My horrible typos and silly word slinging has been painstakingly edited by my good friend and fellow writer for HST, Ian Shearer; with special thanks to Mike Daily for being such a dude. This is not the collection of artists featured in HST over the past few months, this is a book i started long before the HST was even thought about.
108 pages; 6" x 9", jacket-hardcover binding, cream interior paper (50# weight), black and white interior ink, white exterior paper (100# weight), full-color exterior ink. Jacket Wrap and gold embossing on cloth spine.
While i have tried to keep the price as absolutely low as possible (I'm making about 1 dollar from each book) i know it's still scrapped in a little steep but with out pissing in my pocket - it really is worth the money spent, not only for my poetry but for the entire feel and complete package only a hard cover like this can embody.Obviously for adults only, i am very pleased to send this sucker out into the world and hope for a wide reception of feedback in any form, from any one! Please DO NOT buy this book if you are easily offended, have any shred of respect for me at all, don't want to hear stories about my penis, fear you may be exposed in one of these poems, are a family member of mine of D'Arnes,if you drink soy latte's or enjoy poetry about flowers and rivers. Any one else, please check it out with a grain of salt and a giggle and i thank you in advance for your support and on going communication.
Lets all get pissed and say silly things!
Double Penetration is Horror Sleaze And Trash's first publication; featuring the poetry of Ryan Quinn Flanagan and Ben Smith. A collection of 70 off-beat and low brow poems you imagine the pair to come up with in this mix of madness. 10 Aussie bucks will get this sucker to your door. A5 in size, about 80 pages, soft card cover with black and white insides. Buy it now, or don't, and wish you hadda, 25 limited copies. Great gift idea for your Grandmothers!
"Drunk at the matinee" is a collection of candid poetry about stupid shit that we all experience from day to day.
"I fucking love you, Bitch" is my new
card cover chap book, 25 pages, color cover
and b/w insides. Poetry based on the duality
of the sexes - but mainly filth and stories
that made my girl laugh.
Date: 2009
Details: Gluebook, 21 x 25,5 x 2 cm, mixed media (adhesive tape, spray paint, oil/color sticks, acrylic, paper, color and black&white prints on kid’s book), 24 pages, handmade, signed, unique piece
Art work by {THS} http://www.ths.nu/
With poems by Ben John Smith, Australia.
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