Call Me Slash

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Call Me Slash

“Horror movies would not exist unless people

went out to see them--& they always will.”

--Joss Whedon.

Recently I was recruited to write movie reviews on a Horror Movie 

Website. Joining a spirited staff of younger writers, I soon discovered

that the torture porn slasher splatter Indie horror films were the primary

focus of the reviews; which I was cool with.

Back in the turbulent awakenings during the 60’s-70’s, when I was an

actor, as a lark I chose a stage name, Slash Phuque, as a sarcastic

response to the actors named Rock, Rip, & Tab. My theatrical friends

still call me Slash, so now my horror film reviews are written under

that lauded moniker. 

But my new avocational pursuit made me wonder about myself, &

millions like me, right across the age spectrum that really enjoy

graphic violence, nudity, & action in movies; always did. If you recall,

the violence in the movies of the 40’s-50’s was pretty tame, even lame.

Then the cultural revolution in all the arts blossomed in the 60’s, & wham,

we suddenly had nudity in public, mainstream porno theaters, kung fu

& yakuza & samurai & Black Exploitation & Italian Western movies

flooded the screens & altered our consciousness. 

Which transitioned into the 70’s-80’s where mass murderers ran up

phenomenal box office bucks & spawned new horror series that soon

aped the success of the old monsters, the Frankenstein, Dracula, Mummy

films of the past--new characters that were blood thirsty & inexorable, with

names like Michael Myers, Freddy Kruger, Jason Voorheas, Chucky,

Pinhead, Leatherface, & Jigsaw--producing sequel after sequel, clones &

contrived extensions of their personas, where the killers favored cutting

tools like knives, machetes, axes, hatchets, cleavers, & saws. 

The horror eggheads broke down our attraction to, & the popularity of this

genre, & found solid psychological & homo-erotic tendencies to be the culprits;

Catharsis: Where we can find an expression or a release or a confrontation of

many of our primal fears regarding bodily injury, being devoured or buried 

alive, or even from personal, vocational, political, or social fears.

Recreation: Within action splatter slasher horror films we actually can 

experience a physical thrill, something visceral, like a carnival roller 

coaster ride, or driving on bald tires at 130 m.p.h, rock climbing, or keeping 

a python as a pet. 

Displacement: This is the primary one for me, understanding that

audience member's sexual desires can be displaced onto the 

characters in the film--why cops get fired for looking at porn in

their squad cars, why 12 year old kids can watch porn in public

libraries, & their right to do so is protected by law. 

Ever notice that after driving over 100 m.p.h. for a few minutes,

one loses the sense of speed, gets used to it quickly & becomes

desensitized to the actual danger? The same can be said for the

die-hard fans of horror torture porn, where a constant exposure to

explicit violence juxtaposed with explicit sexual scenes seems to

blunt our emotional response to both violence in films, video games,

& even reality--leaving us less disturbed by reoccurring scenes of extreme

violence & degradation directed at women. The Armed Services love

recruiting young gamers, since their reflexes & mental states are

primed & conditioned to be functional within the techno-warfare

they are consumed with. 

Misogynistic

imagery does fuel intense

hormonal responses. 

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over on dVerse Poets MTB

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In Memoriam

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In Memoriam

“Can it be in a world so full & busy, that the loss of just one

creature makes a void so wide that only the depth of eternity

can fill it up?”--Charles Dickens.

Memorial Day should always be

                       an epochal event,

but out here

in the smog, mid-maze, in full rodent frenzy,

we tend to let the shadow people,

                                          those behind

                                          or in charge          of the media

pile our mental plates with impiety,

                                          impenetrable dark bile,

racism, sexism, saber rattling, & milkbone doggy-lies,

as events & stories are presented to us without warmth;

like the twenty zealots who have camped out

                                      in a corner of the Mojave

for the past year, patiently waiting for the Messiah,

their eyes glazed,

their hopes luminous,

their efforts ludicrous;

like the stupid yet fresh debate regarding

                                       Michael Jackson’s vitilgo, that perhaps

only pedophiles suffer from it--

                                       propping open the doors of ignorance

with green-glass bottles

                                       and teletubbie back packs;

Like Kesha Rogers, a black woman, trying to lasso the Democratic

nomination for the Senate in Texas,

                                       her political platform consisting of

comparing Barack Obama to Hitler,

                                       & ObamaCare to Nazi cruelty:

like Ms. Ann Hornady of the Washington Post writing about

how the Frat-Boy Persona is depicted

                     in Hollywood movie “college allegories”,

                     where kids are all supposed to enjoy unbridled

“Sex, Fun, & Pleasure.”

& that this kind of ridiculous celluloid mindset,

                     might have influenced

                     22 year old mentally-disturbed

Elliot Rodger to embark on his deadly

                      killing spree, his vendetta

against all those “spoiled bitches & college cunts!”

Actor Seth Rogen fired back an angry Tweet:

                       “How dare you even imply that me getting

                        girls in movies caused a lunatic 

                        to go on a rampage!” 

Meanwhile, on a quiet corner of the page,

within a few rushed moments on early morning broadcasts,

          we honored this country’s Veterans,

          who have given “the full measure of devotion”,

a solemn ceremony at Arlington;

          and as I stared at VA Director Shinseki

standing at attention on the dais with President Obama,

I couldn’t help but wonder

why the hell Kate Middleton received more press

yesterday when a helicopter rotor wash

                             blew up her pretty dress

                             exposing her shapely bare butt,

then those hundreds of Veterans

                             dead or dying, 

who sit on damn waiting lists while

                             cowardly bearuacrats cover their own asses,

& the very people we were supposed to be honoring

are rotting on the VA vine

like strange fruit.

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over on dVerse Poets Poetics

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Banging With the Bitches

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Banging With The Bitches

“Decisions are like making a choice between which

bridge to cross & which bridge to burn.”--Frank Matobo.

Sometimes it be like stranded with a flat

tire in the ditch,

                clenching                    your fist,

realizing that your fortune

                              and your luck ain’t squat,

while those fat cats chase pussy on their big yacht,

while too many homies

                         be barking bullets with SWAT;

like cooking up bullshit road kill in a wok,

those hollow points

                             scream out wop-wop-wop,

no fucking drummer &

                              no fucking urban rock--

cuz my hood is considered a bloody blot,

                                                          where no fucking

lawns are fed with Scott

                              where innocent brothers be wearing

a cop-garotte,        where any dog

with sass can get shot,     god damn riot police be 

rushing in like a blue juggernaut.

Ain’t much of a life, I know,

as rich assholes

                     be driving a Renault,

us bangers just rats in the garbage below

their money, guns, & lawyers--

too many funerals, too many crying mothers;

little bangers trying to be so Mod,

roll of cash in their jeans a sweet wad,

                       makes them forget

they be downtrod;

                       The fucking Man always be on top,

with us carrying all the weight of the heap,

only loyal to our best

                          peeps,    sheeeit, we

always have to be

                          ready to rock,

always be willing to treat or trick,

             cuz way too many beautiful faces

be dead,

             before they ever see twenty,

and hell, you might say that’s morbid,

but I say

        we just being more than ready

        to be that bright flash of black light,

that fucking fireworks in the bare-ass night,

that ever present newspaper crime statistic,

while just being absolutely realistic,

fuck yeah, much cooler to burn out hot

                         and not just fade out forgot,

just another sad Ho

                         with 3 crack kids we never see,

                                             riddled with disease,

haunted by smart phone Vids

                          of children killed in their own yard

who never fucking heard of the Bard,

                          who will never dance no gavotte,

whose baby blood just marks the spot

                          where another life was wasted

before pleasure & parenthood could be tasted.

Why can’t all you all privileged mutha-fuckers

just

   dig the truth--we will quit fighting

& dying when we find a decent job,

    & move the fuck out of the project shitholes

you gave us,

                 that could make us stop robbing

cuz we finally got what we really needed--

                 some solid respect for our sweet souls. 

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets MTB

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Speed

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Speed

“Speed, it seems to me, provides the one

genuinely modern pleasure.”--Aldous Huxley.

I am here to tell you,

speed can be an opiate.

I experienced a taste of it

driving beater muscle cars during the 60’s,

blasting more than 100 m.p.h.

             at two in the morning, on

                       whatever that day’s designated

                                              urban drag strip was;

Dual quads,

400 horsepower,

4-speed transmission,

bald tires,

shitty brakes,

no posi-traction,

no good sense,

              mere inches from

                                  destruction,

                                  demons,

                                  danger, even

                                  death,

but a couple of stiff speeding & reckless driving tickets

sobered me up like a quick dip in an ice pond;

but what that screaming, highly revved time

did for me was to help me fully understand 

other’s cravings for speed, even 

those obsessed folks who have to prove

that wheeled vehicles, without leaving the ground,

                                     without leaping into the sky

                                     without piercing the stratosphere

can now achieve supersonic speeds.

It all started in August 1902

in Albis-St. Arnoult, France

where American William K. Vanderbilt

drove a Mors at 76.08 m.p.h.

Then a fellow named Malcolm Campbell got into the fray;

in 1926 he drove a 350 h.p. Sunbeam at 150.87 m.p.h.,

in 1928 at Daytona Beach he drove the Blue Bird at 206.96 m.p.h.,

& in 1935 on the Bonneville Salt flats driving Blue Bird at 301.39 m.p.h.,

close to the limits of internal combustion engines.

In August 1963

Craig Breedlove on the Bonneville Salt Flats

drove the turbojet Spirit of America at 407.44 m.p.h.;

returning there in 1965 to drive at 555.48 m.p.h. 

Today, the Guinness World land speed record

was set in October 1997, out on the Black Rock Desert,

where RAF fighter pilot Andy Green

drove the Thrust SSC turbofan 

at an astonishing 763.03 m.p.h.;

but wouldn’t you know, this isn’t enough 

for the plucky Andy Green, who in 2015 

will travel to the NW corner of South Africa,

where his team is already working with 

special laser-guided precision graders 

to create a perfect surface.

He will drive a multi-million dollar 7 ton supersonic vehicle

called the Bloodhound SSC, 

a jet & rocket powered monster

rated at 187,000 horse power,

designed to go faster than 1,000 m.p.h.

at Mach 1.4, faster than a bullet 

fired out of a .357 Magnum.

So all ye speed freaks out there,

                          let’s start praying right now

                                             for a successful run;

hoping that pilot daredevil Andy Green

will not crash through death’s door

before he shatters his own speed record. 

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over on dVerse Poets Poetics

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To the Tens

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To the Tens

“Science never solves a problem without

creating ten more.”--George Bernard Shaw.

A flower will still bloom,

even amid thorns;

smile.

************************************

Wood fences will rot, but

barbed wire

rusts.

***************************************

Totem thunderbirds have

large fierce

eyes.

****************************************

We have the Higgs Boson,

particle

proof.

******************************************

Love those odd places where line

and texture

meet.

********************************************

Many plows have become

just yard art;

truth.

*********************************************

A carved pumpkin gets

respect just

once.

**************************************************

Ivy can tether those

behemoths

snug.

****************************************************

Sunflowers mid-morning

are yawning

still.

****************************************************

Old rocking chairs can make

flower pot

stands.

*****************************************************

Dying the year I was 

born, still we’re

one.

****************************************************

God appears in the heart

of morning

mist.

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over on dVerse Poets MTB

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Panhandling

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Panhandling

“What will happen is they’ll go without, or they’ll panhandle,

or they’ll steal.”--Roger Miller.

“Who the hell are you?”

asks the homeless,

               the panhandler,

                     the downtrodden,

                           the oppressed,

                                 the suppressed,

“Why do you have & I have not?”

“The answer, sir, is simple, archaic yet futuristic;

I am you,

              another old soul on another

life journey.

I am a seeker, who

                        searches for tattered shreds

                                                                     of the Big Truth;

like that guy who walks for hours in a field

with his metal detector, 

& becomes elated

when he finds a Civil War belt buckle.

I am all the choices I’ve made,

             the effort I expended, 

             the people

whose lives I have impacted;

I am your teacher & your student,

        your brother & your father.

I am judge,

                 love,

        dissident, 

                 friend

        clenched fist,

                 compassion,

        kick from a work boot,

                 confidant,

        competition,

                 companion,

        team member,

                 empathy,

        loose cannon,

                 samaritan,

        observer,

                 helping hand,

        disobedience,

                 sympathy,

        adversary,

                 generosity,

        roadblock,

                 rebellious,

        hope,

                 impediment

        & laughter.”

“What?”

“ I have been black, white, red, & yellow,

practiced several religions,

been crucified, 

been burned at the stake,

been canonized & excommunicated,

stood with the crowd on the mount

listening to Jesus, rode with John Brown,

& have spent time in Buchenwald, 

                                  Atlantis

                                  Alexandria

                                  Babylon

                                  Boston,

                                  Havana 

                                  & Chicago.”

“Bullshit.”

“ I sense that I have been an ancient tree,

a spirit guide,

a slave owner & a slave,

no stranger to the sting of the lash,

the weight of the chains,

a white wolverine,

a red-tailed hawk,

a warrior who stood proudly with Spartacus,

                                                     William Wallace,

                                                     Garibaldi, 

                                                      Juarez & Patton.”

“Christ, you make my head hurt.”

“ I am nothing, yet everything,

no one yet everybody--

I’ve had wings, hooves, & claws.

I wrestle my demons

I am God,

as most certainly

you are.”

“But do you have any spare change?”

“ No, but what I do have for you

is a pair of hamburgers, some coffee, & a hug.”

“Fuck you.”

“ But gosh, we hardly know each other.”

“ Leave me alone!”

“ Be careful what you wish for.”

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over on dVerse Poets Poetics

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