Monday, May 3, 2010

"Traced In Red, On Wet Sand"

"Traced In Red, On Wet Sand"
by Ash Lomen

“Life is black Comedy. Slapstick and vulgarity. Unworthy of the name.”

~ J.R. Hayes

Ask anyone who has ever lived. Life is long.

Too damn long.

Still the bedlam that dripped like hot wax through Los Angeles and down the California Coastline… deaths to rival Jerusalem… rapes to rival Nanking…

And Jim Pulver knew he had to be a part of it...

Wartime Warsaw had nothing on Long Beach by the time he reached it, bloodred sand, waves of mutilation, tortured wildlife, nancy boys hiding behind poorly erected stucco barricades, discarded infants, beach bums disemboweling each other with splinters of surfboards to pounding Christian rock, the smell of cheap weed and cheaper pussy, genocide, mass graves, mass orgies, rampant disease, celebrity families forced to fuck at gunpoint for the entertainment of starving militias, target practice with the handicapped, meaningless pentagrams scribbled in the sand, earthquakes, rum and coke and battery acid and the screams of virgins all mixed in with the roar of the great old ocean…

And then the party was over.

(Jim takes out his digital camera and goes to work.)

Just another day at the beach.