See the third
world live!
OUR BOY
by Victor Saunders
Needle stick in arm. Brow sweats.
Our boy he crackle. He lick la pipe and he freeze.
Outside tha street throbs and lights whirl. Revolve in he eyes
does tha dark, red sky. He see tha street live thru pinned out
eyes and he a kiss la juice. He suckle tha bottle good and guzzle
long. Our boy he a walk strong but he eye be staggered.
A Punter with a million owe him some small notes but he say he
can't afford ta pay. Say he baby need new gold slippers and he
mama need a new platinum ring. Our boy he a laugh and tell tha
Punter he don't need he notes. Life be more than money to he
man.
He walk tha area til dawn and watch tha juice and rocks float
away. He feel tha cold in he bones. Wrap he jacket in and shiver.
Beast cruise by and snarl. He think, fuck you Beast.
You be nothin to me. In my Cracker skin I be alive. You be nothin
but dirtyskinBeastboy.
Jungliss bring tha real urban sound. Make tha city come alive
in Our boy's soul. He hear the JazzStep move and he mind swirl
round to the smooth urban drape. He fly to soaring towers and
scan the city lights as they burn. He walk a back onto the
street. Check tha rocks in he gum. Our boy see he girl and
wonder what she see in a blatant Cracker like he. There be
lightnin in Our boy's smile and he disarm ya with it quick
sparkle. Beyond the glass and steel towers tha moon come crisp.
Our boy feel tha night descend and he heartbeat soften.
He watch Beast disappear in a distant blue flash and
dull orbs soften he livin eye. Can't free he mind. Our boy he
a
ride low from crystal ta juice. Yet when he fall he do so hard.
He cradle tha sound in he head and he tremble. He watch time
tick by and he feel immobilized. Strapped. Our boy he always be
strapped.
Back in the ghetto the tide don't turn. A flame burn outta
shiny badges and venom paralyses. Our boy he immune to the
venom and stroll by quietly assured.
So he's in this club. Our boy sittin at the table
watchin the world go by. He never planned it that way, never
wanted it to drift so far outta he reach. When the day is cold
and grey Our boy's mind sink. He feel confined and ill-defined.
Outside the vista revolves in his sparkling green eyes. He be
frozen by the cold and the dull thud dominatin his thought. He
feel as if he's lost all and gained nothin. He is cold from the
neck up. Frost-bitten frozen. Everyone is allowed to have one
bad day in their life - nothin wrong with that - nothin at all.
Life drift by and Our boy he float outta tha seat and into tha
streets down where he head throb, where tha sun don't linger
too long. He love tha sun high in tha sky. Lie back and soak up
drum and bass. When tha wind drift our boy's mind drain out tha
bad seed. No one or nothin can ever catch Our boy for he run
like a demon, across tha roof tops, along tha streets, see him
fly and leave tha rest trailin in he wake.
Kind and considerate Our boy be, but tha Beast make him
hostile. He turn into tha city and tha glass and steel revolve
in he eye. He watch tha sun go down, watch tha nervous Punters
scamper for tha subterranean tunnel outta downtown. Our boy see
tha panic, red raw eyes dart as darkness descends.
Our boy he feel tha need for juice, make he heart beat slow. He
see tha confused, disorientated Punter stumble between closed
subway after closed subway. Our boy saunter by didgy style,
eyin la Punter quick. He see tha chubby arm wave more
frantically with tha passin of every cab. Our boy know tha
dejection well, know that tha Punter miss he kids and he wife,
know he can't wait ta feel tha damp air wash he lungs of tha
city smog he fear so much.
Our boy see right through he eye inta Punter's mind and
know he be no urban nocturnal creature. Our boy look again and
see clearly tha drunken fear of a suburban prowler outta he
territory.
Jungliss swing in he head and he approach with speed and
power. Punter crumple under blows and hand over notes with a
terrified whimper. Our boy sprint down tha street as Beast
begin ta bristle. He see tha flashing blue orb and he hear tha
sour scream. Our boy quicken step as he hear brakes screech and
he vault a wall. Graveyard by moonlight filter onto he eye.
He see tha Gravedigger's dark silhouette shovellin earth.
He stop, look Our boy straight in tha face and smile. Our boy
smile too and hide in a grave quickly covered by a soft layer
of damp earth. He see flash lights detail tha darkness and he
hear Beast question.
He went that way tha gravedigger say. Ran right thru
into tha flats. Beast depart and Our boy wipe dirt from he eye.
He hand tha Gravedigger fat notes and level.
Our boy hit tha juice big style. Splash out notes on a plenty
dose. Drink from dusk til dawn and back. Golden plateau is
where he at. He chase gold down silver and he give a warm sigh.
Our boy he head out of tha city quick step. Runna south
to loosen he flex. Chill fa a while under tha baking sur sol.
He listen ta tha rural Punter's patter. When he speak o Master,
he speak o WE or OUR. See, la Punter and la Master are
intertwined dramatically. If tha Master be upset tha Punter be
upset twice as bad. If tha master's child need milk tha Punter
rip he own kin from he wife's breast and suckle tha little
master until he be content. When tha master's house be on fire
tha Punter rush ta put it out even though he own burn to a
cinder. We not gonna let a little flame lick OUR house cry tha
Punter.
When Our boy ask tha Punter what tha fuck he think he do,
he snarl and tell Our boy if he don't button he lip he magic
Beast down ta seize him. Our boy bristle with rage and smash he
fist deep inta la face of Punter. Punter stumble and crawl
under table, cowerin.
Our boy he a million miles away from tha city. He came ta
cool he head in la sur sol, but he head throb and he miss tha
towerin grey and tha constant bass boom. He soon feel like he
at home when a dirtyskinBeastboy give him tha eye. Our boy
shrug he shoulders, shake he head and walk coolly by. Sol sur
lick he back.
Wherever you go, whatever you do, you can never wash
Beast from ya skin. Once infected always infected. Beast try ta
crush Our boy's soul but fail every time. He stronger than they
and they fear he. What othar reason can there be fa tha time
they manage? Our boy he stretch he limbs and yawn wide and
alive.
Our boy bask in la sol sur and wash he skin deep in tha
sparkling silver gush. It can take ya ta heaven or hell.
Whichever ya choose be sure ta be ready. Our boy he vision be
blurred. Can't focus anything too close. He overdo tha crystal
and he eye fade in and out in and out.
Our boy steer clear of all. Unable ta read or write. To
lose he sight remind him how vulnerable he be. A small piece of
nothin in a sea of churning elements. He try ta rise up except
he lose some o he power. Tha city where he should be. He miss
he girl and pure Jungle sounds; glass and steel. Outside it be
silent and black. Tha sky is vast and stars creep in and out of
Our boy's focus. Fuck he miss tha city so much.
Punters say forgive all and forget - chill. Our boy he
say never forgive and never forget - kill. He listen ta cosmic
prattle and shake he head unconvinced. Everything around Our
boy is average. What he perceive on tha long cold horizon only
a few othars see. Our boy he a million miles away from tha
fryin head and all.
Outside tha sky is low and grey.
A scab of alcohol and drugs close tha misguided rage in Our
boy's mind. No cognitive spark without dull tones. Thrown into
cell, soft and corrosive. Syringes are produced and plunged
into numerous veins. Tha sedator erodes all emotion, makes Our
boy into a shell. He eyes are open but he can't see. He speak
but tha words are jumbled. He hear yet tha sound is unfamiliar.
He feel, but he touch is empty. Eyes sparkle, but they are
blind. Life flows through tha veins but on a slow pulse. Every
spark of originality erased and replaced by intoxicating
inaction. Mind closed down, only motor functions available.
There is no stimulation, just silence and no desire. Everything
is sluggish, sedated, meaningless.
Alone, Our boy stand on tha quayside and dream, a loose
bag of insanity screwing down he mind. Exotic ports, foreign
climes . . . Cracking up under tha strain, fingers out of
control, everything dripping into oblivion. Our boy scream and
tha sedator be administered more vigorously. Tha candlelight
smooth on he eye, not harsh like tha naked tungsten bulb. It be
easier to think in tha gentle light.
Falling through tha cell door.
Outside Our boy watch tha mist roll, hot golden disk sinking
into tha west. Beyond, clouds dazzle with bright silver rays.
Across tha road stand a man shaking. Like an electrified spark
Our boy dash into tha shop and kill tha guy behind counter. He
pull forty in cash from tha till, grab some fags, rizla and six
pack. Out in tha street, he feel scared. He want to get home
and forget about what he just done.
Everything subdued, body numbed, eyes blinkered, face
expressionless. Our boy aware but can't function. All feelings
turned down. He did not come this far to turn back now, to let
it all end here in tha squalid place. Stop and think for a
moment. If only he could wrestle heself from the chemical grip.
Across tha harbour gulls dive for fish along tha shore
line.
Back on tha street Our boy fall upon a shop specialising in
chemicals. He buy a mixed bag and stretch he legs into a green
shrubland in tha centre o tha city. It be a warm day and he
carry he jacket under arm. Our boy find a clearing by a small
lake and settle down. Tha smell of flowers in full bloom chase
away tha stinking city grime.
Our boy pull open tha bag of chemicals and spread them
on tha grass. Six in all. Six chances to escape tha usually
inescapable. Our boy take em all at once. He pull a soft drink
from bag, lay back in tha sun and wait.
A car pull up and Our boy jump in all a beamin and
relieved. He smile and tha car burst into thrust. He slip back
inta tha seat and he begin ta dream. He dream of fields of
sunflowers and he dream of he girl and happiness.
In prison he wanted to see no one, especially he girl. He knew
if he saw her break down he would not be able to control tha
rage uncoiling inside him. He preferred to be in tha isolation
cell, locked away for 24 hours a day, seven days week. Whenever
tha guards came to he cell he did not look at them. He refused
to acknowledge their existence. Sometimes they'd try and be
friendly but he had no time for their compassion. They'd ask
him if he was alright - would he like some books to read or
some paper to write letters to he family and friends? Tha
inaneness of tha question almost got he to react. Somehow Our
boy maintain he composure. No he was not alright, how could he
be when he was locked in a cage? Once he stepped through tha
prison gates he switched off he mind to tha outside world.
Our boy's low on power. He energy be sucked out. He
lungs take in a long drink of nicotine.
Our boy sit down by tha river and wonder how he can win at the
game. Our boy satisfied by nothin else othar than total
commitment. He describe tha need to be strong in all areas. He
not worried about tha consequences. Turn out tha light it's far
too bright in here. When he reach out to tha world he feel
empty and fake. Eyes so stiff, fingers slow and clumsy, rhythm
broken and dull. Our boy waste no time in laughin at he
position.
It seem impossible to ever win. Yet Our boy know even
though tha odds are heavy stacked against he that he'll come
through undefeated. Got to try a little harder, then it could
be so sweet.
Out of my way or I'll kill you.
Our boy look at tha Punter and shake he head. Do ya still think
ya be alive if it weren't for tha dirtyskinBeast and he cages?
Punter sneer arrogantly. Our boy grip lapels and pull la
Punter's face up ta he. I said out of my way or I kill you
muthafucka. Punter crumple into apologetic heap and Our boy
shake he head and coolly move on down tha street.
Our boy open he eyes and gaze about. Tha sun is high and
bloodshot green eyes are scorched by metallic silver rays. He
walk and he run. Slowly tha road unfold before Our boy and he
feel better.
Time fades and earth crumbles.
Our boy hear a bomb explode, feel tha air sucked right outta he
lungs. Our boy sit stunned, blood pumping fiercely from he face
and neck. Outside tha roads and streets are covered by a
swirling white sheet.
La Punter tell everyone every detail of he private life:
tell how he finger he girlfriend's motha as she wash tha
breakfast dishes. He fucked her once, but her cunt was dry and
baggy and after a few grating thrusts he pulled out and told
her to jerk him off. When she refused he called her a slut and
went to tha fridge and got a beer.
Like a thunderbolt it hit he. Smack between tha eyes.
Our boy force La Punter into a gas oven no bigger than a
coffin and roast him alive. No ceremony, no hysterical
sentiments. Before he die Our boy hear la Punter's muffled
pleas, every word sucking out tha clean air and filling he
lungs with toxic medicine.
Our boy leave tha boiler room and stand upstairs in tha
lobby. Tha usual Punters swan around. He flex and walk in
amongst them. Our boy jump up and pull a gun outta Punter's
hand before he shoot. There is a brief scuffle.
Our boy watch as tha two Punters who'd been fighting
moments ago slap each othar on tha back, sayin what a coupla
swell guys they are.
When Our boy walk he do so silently, dreaming as tha
world rush past.
In death there is no ceremony for the poor.
Only tha scorch of tha flame and tha resulting ash.
It scare Our boy when he sit in he room incapable of action.
Tension run through he arms and legs in sporadic bursts, he
back ache and feel knotted. Tha top of he spine is tender and
Our boy wonder what is wrong with he. Such easily damaged
bodies.
He mind is alive with colours. Tha light reflects off
all surfaces and he fingers are slightly illuminated at tha
edges. Our boy feel powerful rushes of energy pumping thru he
body. He frantic but push bad thoughts out of he head. It's a
fact of life in the city that nothing is clear - everybody
insular. God is not on your side. He be nothin but tha work of
a money-maker's mind. He be tha ultimate product.
There seems no sense in taking chemicals to enhance Our boy's
spirit. Most feel corny and Our boy don't like feeling corny.
He wish he could run over sands forever. Our boy will destroy
heself if he take anymore of tha Punter's chemicals. When Our
boy try and entertain heself with tha compounds he be
vulnerable, disorientated, confused and hallucinating. Tha
perceptual levels he travel to be fake. He mind be full o
nothing when it should be blade-like.
But in the place it's hard to stay undercover without
chilling out he mind. It fry so bad sometime that Our boy need
to escape.
Sometimes tha city sometime drag you down.
Inside tha room be cold. There be no light and tha water be
frozen in cracked pipes. Our boy count he takings and fill he
spoon with bronze and yellow. He knot tha arm and pump fat
vein. He hold needle, suck in juice and push it inta he vein.
He release slowly and drop down, needle protruding from vein.
He watch tha world drift.
A mother of a child who has been detained by the youth curfew
squad comes on tha screen and is interviewed by a reporter.
"Can you explain why your son was found on the streets
after ten-thirty mam?"
" Tha reason he was out on tha street was cause I sent
him ta get medicine for ma baby. She is very sick you see. Plus
I have another girl, a toddler whose inta everything."
"Why didn't you let your son look after the children and
you go get the medicine?"
"Because she need me to comfort her when the pain become
unbearable."
"But you must have been aware of the curfew - it was
announced in every school assembly and on every news bulletin
and newspaper front page."
"I can't afford a tv and I don't have time ta read
newspapers. As for tha school, well that was closed down a year
back, and I just don't have tha money for tha fare to send ma
boy to another district for his education."
"What about your friends and family? Didn't any of them
tell you about the curfew?"
"My family live outta town. I don't see them too much.
As fa friends, well I don't have much time for friends cause
I'm too busy looking after my kids. Plus tha lifts in my
high-rise don't work and it's hard for me ta get three children
down tha stairs. Even if I do manage ta take them out there's
nowhere to play, since tha local park was turned into a
superstore."
"So what you're saying is, you had no choice but to send
your son to the chemist's?"
"Yes that's right."
"Now that you know about the curfew, will you be sending
your son out after ten-thirty to go for medicine in future?"
Our boy'd like to access every mind and show em what a bunch of
fuckin wasters they really are. But why would he ruin he life
doing something as pointless as that. Let em have their petty
little existence and all tha dull times that go with it.
Our boy walk out into tha street and immediately want to
run back inside. Tha noise and tha Punters walking around
infect he. Our boy feel sick cause he breathe their air. He
skin bristle and he feel tha grime from their discarded skin
clinging to he as he weave a path between tha cracked pavement
and garbage. By tha time he walk one block, he about had a
bellyful of La Punter's bullshit.
When they brush against Our boy's skin, he feel like
throwing he guts all over tha pavement.
When he breath their air he want to tear out he lungs
and scrub them clean with bleach.
He eat from sweatin cellophane wraps, unable to identify
tha greasy morsel within. He pull off tha plastic lid and look
down at tha steaming brown liquid contained within tha cheap
polystyrene cup. He take a sip and replace tha lid.
He find a bench away from tha crowds and tha traffic. No
matter how far away Our boy go he can never seem to get Punters
outta he mind. Wherever he go, whatever he do tha world is
always there with he.
He hear Punters' empty words in he ears and see their
cars and houses revolving in he eyes. The sights and the sounds
make he wish he had no eyes to see and no ears to listen. He
don't want to know about their opinions or their facts. Nothin
and no one in tha world outside he front door is of any
interest to he. Punters' world is sleazy and cheap. A
disposable universe fit for a disposable population.
Down by tha river Our boy sit and watch tha rusting
cargo ships loading and unloading. Tha useless
products are taken to tha useless store and consumed by hordes
of Punters wielding electronic cash.
He watch their waxy fingers: black, white, yellow,
short, long, fat, thin, crawlin under tha seductive electric
light that make tha pears, apples, bananas, oranges look oh so
succulent.
Our boy scrub he mind but can never get it clean.