Johnny Noir

Johnny Noir
Montclair, New Jersey, USA
September 23
pulp writer, poet, Nihilist prophet, Neo-Platonist
Johnny Noir
You can buy my novels and poetry at


FEBRUARY 21, 2012 1:49AM

My Satanic Muses

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  1. I dream of your skull while your love unfolds,
    Put your shit in a box and mail it to my address—
    I’m dreaming you are an Asian girl with 38DDs,
    She doesn’t need a soul to come with me to the bottom of the earth—
    Your face reminding me of raunchy cartoons I drew as a child,
    A woman with a giant cock makes no goddamned sense at all
    Unless she’s a man with big fake tits,
    I don’t want to know what she sells for on the Chinese black market,
    It’s too goddamned surreal; the Russian black market’s another matter
    But you’ll say Chinese girls look better with their heads cut off
    And I’ll say you’re confusing them with North Koreans
    And you’ll say what’s the difference
    Between a North Korean and a South Korean
    And I’ll say is that supposed to be a riddle,
    Fuck her mouth and you’ll find out but you’ll have to find her head first
    Read the fine print before you fill out the agreement,
    Satan wants your soul and you’ll give it gladly—
    Because I love you on your hands and knees,
    I put a gold ring on your finger and a collar around your neck
    To lead you around on a leash,
    Heraclitus and Lao Tzu were hanging out in the bar
    When you and your three weird sisters came in already drunk and loud,
    Crying out with no eyes, bleeding from the temples in torn lingerie—
    She’s got a face like mud and a body like a toy,
    If she showed up at my door in rags I’d take her back—
    She’s a blond like no other, not a Jew or a Turk,
    Not a resurrected Armenian, Gorky confused,
    Adopting the pseudonym of Alexei Maximovich Peshkov
    And then claiming to be his cousin until his barn burned down
    And he cracked up seeing the ghosts of his dead relatives
    Rising in the smoke and Matta fucking his wife
    The way Reggie Bush would dog Kim Kardashian decades later
    Splashing his cum in her face and making her famous,
    This blonde I adore dyed her hair purple and danced like a nymph
    At Apollo’s wedding with garland in her hair
    And Socialist Realism in the air, the brunette standing next to her
    The love of my life from another lifetime,
    Though I confuse them in the dark, one is tight and one is not—
    She’s a very special blonde, naked and charming
    But when she takes her makeup of she’s an empty shell of herself,
    One of the undead that even a bullet to the head won’t stop,
    Her long, thin legs as creamy as pie,
    I’m dreaming of your love and your skull exploding
    And the revolution you started that was your gift to me—
  2. 13535_356297575477_667740477_9924162_7505846_n
    A girl is just a girl until you stick your cock in her,
    Then you’re dealing with some of the most momentous forces
    Known to all mankind before and after history—
    You’re the only woman I know that knows
    That a world lies outside of her, and Jackie knows
    A little Yiddish as do we all but that is a world long gone—
    There is not enough Zen in this world,
    Not enough Chinese Buddhists to make the Tao real—
    Dictatorship contradicts religion and also confirms it,
    Fuck dolls make men free but also imprisons them—
    In North Korea everyone is a slave and the elite are sheep—
    Mathematics and men’s magazines are supposed to make you free
    But we all know they don’t,
    Corsets and girdles were supposed to make women more feminine,
    But we all know they didn’t,
    Naked in the dark, are you free, am I—
    As the Christmas tree burns the expanding universe down,
    Women’s Suffrage and Civil Rights making the world safe
    For strippers and rappers but not anyone else—
    Mathematically perfect as Bettie Page, historically accurate
    In the mountains of geometry
    Preteen Arab girls sold by their families,
    Raped and married and mutilated by in-laws,
    Stoned to death by the whole hellish village—
    And there you are in lace tights
    Beautiful as the shapely spheres
    Stars and blonde as midnight and dawn,
    When the aliens come down
    And the subterranean race emerges
    They’ll meet in Times Square where we’ll kiss—
    But I don’t know what love is and I don’t care,
    I am the lusty poet of abstract thought who cherishes chaos
    And your flesh and spirit though I’ll deny it and just did—
    You are my raw material like paint and canvas—
    Like chaos itself but you’re far more beautiful,
    I long to get my cock stuck in your braces at midnight,
    At dawn and in the afternoon when all time is golden
    Like your flesh naked on the horizon—
    You are the sun and the moon in the spinning sky,
    History swirling into time becoming fate,
    Becoming your toothy metallic smile and body—
    And your silver brunette shadow is beautiful too
    Your red boots’ reality waking me from my nightmare
    to your white thighs’ ripped black lace paradise—

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poetry, decadent

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Forget the Kardashian, Reggie has his own Bush to plow.