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:: Trent Reker ::

Bald monkeys with a ray gun | Bebop blues in a busted stereo speaker | God and f*cking | The news from Priceline

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Trent Reker was born on a train in the Arizona desert. He's been dead and has a cool scar across his neck to prove it. Waking from a 24-hour coma, doctors told his family he'd never be able to converse intelligibly. It's arguable that they were right. Two months later he put together his first sentence, "Can I have pickles?"

Living in New Orleans when Katrina blew in, Trent walked the city four days with his little family praying, eventually hitchhiking back roads along the Mississippi. As they sobbed, he dragged them along toward inevitable rescue.

::: Publishing History :::
Reactor Press (San Francisco, CA) published " shoot forth thunder " - August, 2007
Swallow Magazine (San Francisco, CA) published " poor writer, beautiful stripper " - May, 2007
20 Dissidents (Raleigh, NC) published - " June through August 2005 in New Orleans " - August, 2006
20 Dissidents also published "beer bubble blowjobs for fun and respect" and "beer bubble blowjobs for fun and disrespect" - March, 2007
Atonal Apples (Long Island, NY) published " untitled 05.13.05 " - June, 2006
Border Senses (El Paso, TX) published " summer " - May, 2006

::01:02:08::

::: The news from Priceline :::

narcissistic trainway brainwave
on the television end of receiving
sixteen fast images for you with every line of hunger
for the dogbite hairsoup of my emotional makeup
from the commercial edit room
how can we use his death for our gain?

shakeup emotions of a fan of crocodiles
she cries

she sent me astrology
the myth before science
and you tell me the quantum isn’t magic
for your lack of a dream journal
from your smack-down metaphor bling
as she plays the piano man like a love song from God to the ocean
swaying

the atomic bomb of the masses destroyed
Al-Qaeda and airplanes flying tragic anniversary
let’s have a party for the pipeline oil rig junkie lips
we call the president
blabbing mind control repetition in front of the fireman’s league
what makes him so dangerous is the number of people who believe
pop them all off with a tommy gun
you stupid blam blam blam
business is fun
when its kill kill kill
the good of the many will bow to the one

mister’s pox got nuthin’ on me

capitalistic trainwave brainway
flying high in the air
transmission complete

over the white noise din of a hundred thousand screaming corporate actor spokesmen
your voice is heard
his hands are bruised from wringing
and weak
silly burning bush
the fish is for Jesus
not a handshake

Written by: ~ Trent Reker

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