Untitled by Joe Cripps

Dark man, real dark
I’m talkin about that deep inky darkness you feel,
when you are alone and thinking hard on old times
when aint a damn thing around you make you wanna see the sun
been thinkin hard on what used to keep me goin way back in the when
so I go get my knife, the really fucking sharps one with the broken serrations
gonna do a little painting on the skin canvas like back in high school
so i draw the broken teeth hard across my left arm,
high enough that my t-shirt will prevent awkward questions
and all it does it hurt really amazingly bad, and bleed a whole lot
no rush or relief of tension
just a loud “FUCK!”
and a mad dash for my first aid kit i stole from my last firefighting job
so i stand in the bathroom,
holding a wad of gauze and iodine against the gash in my arm
and realize that i have grown up
and shit is a little more complicated than it used to be
and i stare at myself in the mirror,
with my blue eyes that are losing the blue
as the blood that ran down my arm hardens into a thick black crust
and i hope to god i don’t need stitches
because i am an american,
and we don’t get health care without losing so much money we can’t make rent
and i realize how stupid this whole thing is
you can’t fix yourself with a knife
you can’t bleed your way into mental health
all you can do is make a mess that you hope won’t blow your security deposit
so i peel back the gauze and it isn’t too bad
i slap on a clean piece of gauze with some ointment and cover it with with duct tape
and i get back to living my life.

Epic Rap Battle between Joe Cripps and Newamba Flamingo

Dear Mr. Purkey,

I find my self sitting at Ray Succre’s house, playing Rock Band 2, drinking whiskey and cokes, and eating tacos Mr. Succre has kindly made.  I am also perusing the latest issue of Modus, which featured me and you neglected to send to me, again, you commie fuck, the only reason I have one to read is because the lovely Ms. Ashley Salmon has furnished ray with a few copies.  I digress, while reading this toilet rag I came to the conclusion that I want to use this perverse and poorly written “zine” as a forum for the airing of grievances, in other words, I hereby challenge Nuwamba Flamingo to a written rap battle.  Here is my opening attack…

Your words are whack

you must be smoking crack, Jack

you oughta know

I got the flow to make you go

to the bathroom and read modus

you see my name and weep

I’ll put you to sleep, creep

you can’t dodge the sweep

of the of the bullets from my crew

Me and Ray got a .22

it’s a Henry repeater

you know if I shoot a doe I’ll eat her

so if you think you can roll

don’t just sit on the dole

hit me back, don’t ask

and like Slayer I’ll wear you like a dead skin mask.

boo-yah

Joe Cripps aka Dj Tubbyboots

Newamba Flamingo August 7 at 2:03pm

i’ve seen your stuff there and i liked it. but if you wanna step up and get bitch slapped in a rap battle, then i can arrange that. i saw that wack sucker ass shit you sent to purk. now i retort-

so wanna step to the kid
bitch ass nigga
i make you wish you never did
your rhymes is wacker than wack
worse than a necrophiliac
and i bet yo breath stink too
just like doggy doo doo
i gonna shave all your hair with a chainsaw
i is the baddest motherfucker that you ever saw
see you in the street and run you over with my lexus
that’s how i flex this
kung fu chop yo bitch nigga ass
right in the solar plexus
cuz that be how i wreck this
motherfucker
step off before i twist da latest issue of modus up
and swing it at your nuts
like what
word is bond

Joe Cripps August 9 at 7:24pm

essen mein scheisse, you pink pussy punk
I keep yo body dead in my trunk
what you know about a killer mentality
I leave your body bloody from my battery
bestrafe mesch, ich will bestrafe du
listen to these words
I bet you never knew
my name is not a dick so keep it out of your mouth
I be droppin dirty bombs on the dirty south
bringin sucka shit, bitch I thought you knew better
you don’t wanna fuck with the neck shredder
ich will faust fick du
even in german I will fist fuck you

Newamba Flamingo August 10 at 4:20am

ha ha ha ha!
fick dich
bitch
your german is shit
your retort can even fick with one line that i spit
it’s on
so you
better
duck like fuck
slap u like a mack truck
you talking about dicks
well mine you can lick
and suck
you getting stuck
with my desert-made scimitar
i cut off your nuts and keep ‘em in jar
and feed ‘em to the feral cats
then i beast you up the ass with a metal baseball bat
and swing the shit covered stick at your ugly ass face
you a total disgrace
your rhymes make me wanna puke all over the fucking place

postcards from Ecuador by Joe Cripps

postcards from Ecuador

She sends me postcards from Ecuador

and her perfect handwriting tells me she loves and misses me

She climbs to the top of ancient cathedrals while I sit at home and

play video games

She makes the world her canvas and runs across dormant volcanoes

and as much as I hope and dream and weep,

it could never be

because I live in a small house in a small town in Oregon

and she lives in the world, wherever that may be.

she is destined for glory, and I work at a foundry

putting together other peoples fantasies and dreams

so I make myself seem to be content with phone calls and messages

and the occasional postcard from Ecuador.

Behavioral Health by Joe Cripps

Behavioral health

breathe

the darkness pulses

breathe

strapped down

sanity hammered into your veins

lets make you well again

breathe

you are a number

a file

a patient

not human

humanity is reserved for normal people

breathe

fear breeds obedience

you are not a man

you are worthless

we can make you whole

we can give your life back

you have no choice but death

you must obey

lets open you up

it’s time to talk

therapy

the rape of your mind

all you’ve done

did you fuck your sister?

did you want to?

did you torture little animals?

no?

well, you probably wanted to

thorazine

zyprexa

clonidine

lexapro

atavan

these will help

keep you safe from yourself

code strong

hold him down

dope him up

kill what he his

make him what we want

learn to lie

lie for your freedom

belive the lies

still worthless

but free

you are well

you are sane

you are nothing.

You Make Me Wanna Shoot Up by Joe Cripps

I fell in love with a junkie
it’s all she talked about
she was tall and rail thin
old track marks up and down her arm
she dressedlike an old woman
retro heroin chic
with desperate eyes
i had dreams about her
lying in bed together
my body wasted away
until my ribs stuck out
in stark relief
skin drum tight
sallow
holding her in my pathetically shrunken arms
I’ve never done more than smoke pot
and I didn’t even really like it
but she made me want to hammer black tar into my veins
eat handfulls of crack off the small of her back
keep a proud tally of the number of needles broken off in my neck
I wanted her to vomit blood on me while we fucked
sit on the street corner begging enough money to go to the little heaven
and finally die
broken and worthless
with her
but
I grew up
she got clean
and lives with some who’s actually good to her
and i live alone
drug free
and worthless