Apocalypse Soon?

Actual Headline: “China Is Testing and Unproven Malaria Drug on an Entire African Nation

The drug works to eliminate the parasite in humans such that it can no longer be transmissible via mosquitoes. The unproven drug was given to everyone on the island across three waves of treatments — all 700,000 inhabitants — despite it not being approved for use in humans by any international health body.

My Prediction in Hard as Roxx:

•    Dr. Heinz Radler announced a breakthrough in anti-malarial treatment, via a treatable “microvirus.” Infected patients can be injected with the microvirus, which binds with the Plasmodium falciparum parasite that causes malaria, killing it. Dr. Radler went public due to pressure to rush the technique to market, given the dramatic rise in malarial cases in southeast Asia, which were caused by a heavy mosquito infestation. Heavy rains were to blame for the insect population’s explosion.

•    Dr. Xu Xiang, head of Infectious Disease Research at the largest hospital in Chengdu, China, informs the World Health Organization (WHO) that an “adapted” microvirus, being used in an experimental drug trial in Cambodia, has mutated. Dr. Radler goes into hiding.

Apocalypse: Still Possible, and a few years ahead of schedule. So far, nothing in my timeline is falling out. This predicting an apocalypse thing might be too easy. Of course, in my timeline the drug was tested in Cambodia, not Comoros. Africa came later.

“That’s right, a pregnant girl just whipped your bitch ass.”

Trint - Sabina

From the science fiction adventure, Hard as Roxx, Chapter 25

Trint stood face-to-face with Buzz, the backs of their right hands touching. He had six inches on her, but he was not as tall as Roxx. This, she felt, put her at an advantage. Trint, after all their years together, had inherited her spouse’s odd way of sizing up a situation. The two combatants stood there for a few seconds with the blonde smirking down at her. He began to push against her hand, testing her strength, perhaps her resolve. She pushed back and saw a hint – just of trace – of surprise. She was stronger than she looked. Considering that from the side, she looked like a capital letter “B” with legs, being stronger than she looked didn’t take much doing.

Buzz smiled harder and nodded. “Well, hit me,” he said, looking at her hand.

Trint’s demeanor was even. “When there is an opportunity, I do not hit. It hits all by itself.” Then she punched him squarely in the nose.

He hadn’t moved yet.

That’s Master Lee, bitch.

He shook his head, and this time surprise took full control of his face. Anger hung above like a cloud. Trint resumed the same position as before. Buzz hesitated, looking as if he were trying to decide whether to continue the “fair fight” regime.

“Best two out of three?” she asked, smiling.

The blonde snarled and returned his hand. Trint punched him twice: once with the right and once with the left, which had been at her side. He almost managed to raise his defense at the second strike.

“Oopsy,” she said. “Oh-for-three. You lose.”

She stepped back, just as Buzz swung at her torso. She’d anticipated that once he discovered she was not an easy out, he would either get serious, and they’d have a real sparring match, or he would aim directly for her weakest spot – her baby.

He chose dream number two.

It was a mistake, as his downward swing sent him off balance, just enough for Trint to swing over him and shatter his nose. The sound of the breaking cartilage excited her, and she began to dance on her toes, her tongue sticking out.

I do not stick it out. It sticks out all by itself. Trint began to laugh.

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murmuration convocation
o’er the nation
rise above the situation
fibrillation, elongation,
deformation, oscillation,
emulate a cloud formation,
pull apart, then reformation.
eliminate the infestation.
information, vacillation,
calculation, cogitation,
cannot fathom situation.
cancellation, consternation,
ruminate without cessation,
call my goddess for advice,
only points to their ovation.

no idea, no information
to explain their
divination? demarcation?
relaxation orchestration?
perhaps its only trepidation
flocking there sans segregation

goddess whispers,
friendships need no explanation.”

ah, and thus their navigation
high above our social station –
no objective,
one vocation:
artistry, of
god’s creation.

Survival of the fittest.

Featured Image -- 6334

Bill Jones, Jr.:

My baby. Y’all don’t hear her …

Originally posted on Diary of a Person Being Human:



Race duality,

Gene neutrality,

False reality.

Heavy like gravity,

Love depravity,

Up the salary,

Measured by flattery,

Ain’t no clarity,

Just disparity.

Broken charity,

Class morality,

Social insanity,

Check the category,

We ain’t ever free,

Assault and battery,

Remarks defamatory,

Compliance obligatory,

Take this guilt from me,

Send it out to sea,

Kill the enemy,

You ain’t no friend to me.

Real world empathy,

Don’t mean shit to He,

He don’t know my name,

To He it’s just a game,

Where to put the blame,

So he don’t look insane,

Or hang he’s head in shame,

While we all up in chains,

Slaves to He again,


Race reality,

Fuck neutrality,

It’s all a tragedy.

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Peaceful Drummer/Brother

I used to write poems for people all the time, but never let them know. Looking back, I’m not sure why. Here’s one.

peaceful drummer, brother
of intensity
positive density
synergistic energy a
propensity for transcendence
ascendent, though reluctant
demanding transitions
in response to life’s
and the throes of culture shock
you rejected for past humanities

peaceful drummer, brother
of new directions
fired with the enthusiasm of discovery
extend to the corners
that you see, the corners
full of unkempt secrets, the corners
of my mind that you swept free
of cobwebs with a “did you ever read”
and i wondered when you had the time
before you’d have to take out
your eyes
every night before midnight
you’d call the universe
and later call her God
Sweet Zombie Jeebus spoken in
windswept psalms to an African
and the universe did call back
’cause I prayed for the call
but I never told you
you’re welcome
and shit.

peaceful drummer, brother
of changing tides and
woe betide they who
underestimate how much you
loved her, and within
your evolution, past
cultural confusion, there was
a revolution of romantic
effusion and you was drowned
in a delusion that she’d
let you love me,
but see, she could have no other–
the mother
of your life’s solution
so in my own mutation
not of your creation
you couldn’t foresee the
situation and my hand-penned
dissertation went unread,
didn’t it?

peaceful drummer, brother
paralleling my transformations
round about ’88 or so
when you found your permanence
and i only permutations of
she’s not her and she’s not
her and she’s not her and
she’s not her and she’s
but your her was she

and so i lost you
peaceful drummer, brother
to the other
part of your soul
which was cool and
what i’d prayed for
since the day we met
and i’d follow you around
picking up the bits of shattered
glass that used to be her heart
and i want you to please,
brother, please know
i loved the day we parted
because some ships
gotta sail, i said
some ships gotta
some ship got
a sail
and yours only blew
to her.

and it’s still cool
and it’s still my
answered prayer
but some days when
no one understands
i wish we hadn’t taken
that last permutation
of our brother

never had another
peaceful brother,
my drummer.

Sing a Song of Fake Likes

Sing a song of bloggers
a pocket full of likes
four and twenty photos
most are of bikes
they don’t know you don’t read
politely like you back
so your imaginary friends
can lick along your crack

Why the hell do you care?
Why the fakery?
Click like on all the unread poems
or foodies’ bakeries.
You have such pretty photos
(yeah, right)
They really are a hit
but please, don’t come and visit me,
’cause I don’t need that shit.