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    The American Book of the Dead
    The American Book of the Dead
    The American Book of the Dead
    Ebook188 pages1 hour

    The American Book of the Dead

    By Joseph D. Reich

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    About this ebook

    "The American Book of the Dead" is an epic poem, a manifesto full of guts and gusto for all long-lost souls on the road, a pamphlet of promise for the poverty-stricken and those put out for no particular reason, a postmodern sociological study, written in satire in the year of 2018, on a country who's lost its individuality and identity, in five acts of stream-of-consciousness. The Hungry Chimera has called it "brutal and mesmerizing," while Edify Fiction proclaims that it "assaults and assuages the senses."

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherXi Draconis Books
    Release dateMay 1, 2018
    ISBN9781732045323
    The American Book of the Dead

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      Book preview

      The American Book of the Dead - Joseph D. Reich

      THE AMERICAN BOOK OF THE DEAD:

      AN EPIK POEM

      "And democracy is now ragtime on the corner

      hoping for some rain"

      Gil Scott-Heron

      Cast Of Characters

      I.  Praylood... 

      II.  Declaration Of Codependence... 

      III.  And Justice For All... 

      IV.  A Manifesto For The Forgotten...  

      . Ibid. skylines or all things inside the snow globe 

      The Secrets Of Toy Soldiers

      V.    Prolog... 

      I. 

      Praylood

      Amerika! i don’t want

      your stain remover

      shipped to me

      at 3:43 in

      the morning

      when i’m

      at my lowest 

      down in the dumps

      & feel like i can’t

      make it anymore 

      & got nothing left

      to live for with all 

      your lifetime

      money-back

      satisfaction

      guarantees

      Amerika! i don’t

      need anymore your

      exact temperature

      & dew point 

      & humidity & when

      the rain & thunder

      is going to rumble

      in & begin falling

      cuz to me always

      loved those types

      of spontaneous

      necessary elements

      & things as deep

      down inside think

      i knew it would

      clean up all the

      filthy streets 

      & save me

      & my tortured

      & tormented being

      & demons & damaged

      life & low life & mean

      & petty bickering society 

      just like maybe travis bickle

      in taxi driver & was exactly

      like him driving the graveyard

      during the sins of the crack era

      at exactly 4:23 in the morning

      in the deep & desolate empty

      vacant streets with sheets

      of steam rising up from

      the sewers & gutters

      coming up from

      a whole other world

      under the underworld

      with a hole weird sort

      of film-noirish sex-

      appeal some hellish

      ethereal firmament

      from the fissures

      of the unknown

      engulfed swallowed

      somehow feeling

      comforted & more

      a part of it all as

      if all the world

      cooling off

      somewhere

      between

      the madness

      of the drama

      of the decadent

      shattered evening

      & miraculous dawn

      & you’re the last soul

      standing, starving

      stranded, brooding

      keen, beat, zen-boo

      dah, bought & sold

      everything-must-go

      alien-ate-it, alone

      not knowing

      a single living

      breed & soul

      stoned dead

      to the world

      seeing through

      it all & feeling

      at that exact moment

      knowing everything

      & knowing the exact

      quota of fresh new

      batch of victims

      murdered once

      a week having

      to hold it all in

      having to make

      a living as some

      20 year-old kid

      after all the real

      life drama

      & crimes

      of passion

      of humanity

      & blow-ups

      & explosions

      & all getting

      swept-up

      & put back

      together again

      as if nothing

      had happened

      then repeating

      the same

      half-crazed

      half-sane

      fucked-up

      ritual & routine cycle

      survival of the fittest

      instant-gratification

      futile suicide mission

      just the following day

      all becoming one big

      graveyard shift on stage

      Amerika! i don’t need your

      fucking insulting ridiculous 

      reality shows anymore

      never have! never will!

      white trash & black girls

      from the ghetto & mafia

      housewives going neck

      to neck & toe to toe

      regurgitated recycled

      into confrontational

      crisis-oriented formula

      while please tell them

      all to shut the fuck up!

      hell i don’t even need

      your overly-verbose

      complaining caucasians

      dropped in the middle

      of bayou country

      with man-eating

      crocs & alligators

      & slithering snakes

      your rain forests

      of south america

      or galapagos islands

      (hey isn’t that where

      darwin got his start?) 

      as trust me lying here

      naked in the middle

      of this bleak freak 

      nothingness reality

      am already clearly

      naked & afraid!

      naked & afraid!

      naked & afraid!

      naked & afraid!

      Amerika! where  

      are your cary grants

      & audrey hepburns?

      fred astaires & gingers?

      gary coopers & kathryns?

      even adolphe menjou

      & edward g. robinson?

      who the fuck is it now?

      those middle-aged 

      erectile dysfunctional

      people on every channel

      & every commercial 

      acting all o la la! 

      & all taboo! 

      want them

      just to mind

      their own

      & go back

      in the god

      damn closet

      & crawl back

      under whatever

      rock they came from

      as something really

      to be said about

      mystery leaving

      room open for

      the imagination

      Amerika! i don’t need

      my fucken codependent

      cellphone smartphone

      or whatever the fuck

      you call those

      cookie-cutter

      gadgets & gizmos

      & sure as hell don’t

      need to take it along

      like some alchy

      with his drinking

      problem & baby bottle 

      to the freaken ballgame

      & text away like crazy 

      cause what the hell

      was the purpose in

      going in the first place? 

      Amerika! i don’t 

      feel safe & secure

      nor any sense of

      home sweet home

      in the desolation

      of your slow-

      death suburbia

      if anything 

      a deep-seated

      sense of nausea

      with my senses

      turned off while

      ironically never

      smelling the roses

      Amerika! i don’t need

      your new state of the art

      sit down mower & weed

      whacker & trimmer & leaf

      blower to one-up & keep down

      the neighbor & manicure nature

      to diligently prove & desperately

      stake out my territory all sponsored

      by the let’s do this home depot

      just another one of your

      expressions you stole

      from the black man

      & turned soulless

      & westernized

      & anglo/sized

      & still have not

      given him the

      righteous credit

      he finally deserves 

      Amerika! i don’t want

      some fucking weed be 

      gone to kill & poison

      all those wild stems

      growing up through

      the cracks of my driveway

      as happen to love them

      & what in my opinion 

      gives it all its charm 

      & character like that

      rose in spanish harlem

      like those cracks in

      childhood you spent

      hours contemplating

      on & returned home

      at dusk a far better

      & more complete

      well-rounded man 

      like my girl

      from the bronx

      who when she first

      saw all those dandelions

      spread all over our lawn 

      declared "i always loved

      those yellow flowers!"

      Amerika! i don’t want

      to get all my fruit

      & vegetables from

      some pre-processed

      pre-manufactured

      freshly-picked planted

      plant from all-american

      white bred scene & scenario

      on-the-go walmart orchard 

      like clean-cut close-ups

      of your american hero

      ‘cause that’s all they’re

      allowed to be called

      in their group photo

      getting ready to get

      their limbs blown

      off for the cause

      in the great sacrifice & slaughter 

      Amerika! with your blood-thirsty

      baseline for bombs & all your

      lies & betrayals which got us

      involved, got us into all your

      bullshit wars, your hx’s a bully

      & girl’s a whore! your folklore

      a father-figure can’t ever

      quite figure & always

      leaves you confused

      & conflicted, wondering

      what you did to deserve this?

      this is your brain on drugs...

      this is your drone out-of-order!

      what’s that? it’s a bird? it’s a plane?

      no! it’s your insane foreign policy!

      it’s your crazy commander-in-

      chief courageously tweeting

      complaining & kvetching

      like a spoiled brat not getting

      his way so ya better watch out!

      so Amerika! now we find out

      al franken, harvey weinstein,

      charlie rose (the coz who

      used to do commercials for

      jello & worked his way all

      the way to the respectful

      role-model dr. huxtable

      doing house-calls &

      putting them all under

      a dose of general anesthesia)

      those we were supposed

      to trust most in hollywood

      & the media; good ol’ sleazy

      governor gun-toting ten-gallon

      whore roy moore from the state

      of sweet home alabama who literally

      rode in on his high horse

      are all a bunch of gropers

      & predators & pedophiles!

      Amerika! well i too was

      taken advantage of in the

      chart room of your mental

      health system & psycho

      social environment! can

      you believe it & you talk

      about lost innocence & swear

      i too prefer not to go there–

      ‘i prefer not to...i prefer not to’

      for all those exact selfsame reasons

      not by my own choosing but turning

      inward out of shock & disbelief! out

      of a certain amount of guilt & grief &

      shame & self-loathing, as if suddenly

      being framed by some false & fucked-

      up figure of authority ironically making

      you feel like the victim, not even being

      able to ask the existential question what

      i did do to deserve this, as if there’d

      ever be a fair or clear or reasonable

      explanation to suddenly being torn

      from the moral foundation of all

      you’ve been taught left distraught

      with the trauma & phenomenon

      & sensation of vacant & abandoned

      by the brutish & barbaric shit which

      creeps up from the cracks & crevices

      of all we’ve been promised & brain

      washed & bullshited about human

      nature in the hypocrisies & contra-

      dictions of a nation we call united?

      Amerika! i’m better than your

      concierge, bellman, doorman, 

      front desk clerk, innkeeper,

      ghosts & phantoms all put

      together ‘cuz i’ve fulfilled

      all of their job descriptions

      & far

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