Archive for December, 2010

The internet and social networking sites have given rise to a new, dangerous and worrying trend. I am of course talking about the armature poet. Not content with littering their own “Dear Diaries” with their personal feelings and dreamscapes, they now feel the need… No, the desire to share with the world the amazing poetic labyrinth of free form ideas and constructs they have compiled. (more…)



Gun metal tongue fucker

with a stainless steel vein perforater

trigger fingered block stalkin concrete limp

Soul seller cellar dweller (more…)


“How could it have been that obvious?”


Me and the Moon man were on a world tour down in Mississippi. We had plenty of drugs and gin to get us through the night; we had only come to see the jazz band. They were universally known as being cute and spunky, and we were already thrashed in that 1928 speeder, hugging the cliffs over the croc’s lair. Scared and drunk, we slowed down, and cussed at each other until we cried, but he was less scared then I, and coasted down that jagged edge. (more…)


to be taken from a life of open

this is the way of this world

we are smothered weakened forces forced and constricted into consumption

fenced ideas fenced in then fenced

traded emotions block chopped by

monsters seling buying and running over those that once were part of the grand scheme

now the merely

promsed to inherit what is not and never ever will be now

the unkept

un cared for

the voiceless

the uninsured

we my children are the economic fatherless society trickin on the row

promised pimped (more…)


Nothing Interesting Ever Happens Here

River Race

The boys pedal hard over the rocky, craggy path that leads to the Franklin river.  The bike frames rattle at each drop-off between the stones.  The boys are young teenagers.  Thirteen and fourteen years old.  Both of their bicycles are deep-sea blue, and in the spokes of one of the bicycles is a baseball card attached by a clothes’ pin.  The larger of the boys leads the way.  His cheeks puff with each pump of the pedal and his body is heavy as he leans from one side to the other, navigating the rough terrain to water. (more…)


Death In Stereo

By G.E. Fields
The Corolla coasted to a halt, silent like a ninja and dark as the surrounding night. Greg saw tall plants through one of the house’s side windows, backlit by nightlights. Another window revealed an antique floor lamp beside a small television. They were both bedrooms. He knew. He remembered. (more…)


It’s been a while since we brought you any art here on Sick Of ‘Em. So today we are proud to bring you the art of Chris Center. Mad man – B-Boy- 3 dimensional guru- and Alien aficionado.

Chris Center has been painting since 1993. He first caught the bug when fellow artists Thic from Detroit Michigan and Ernesto Gauvera turned him on to Graffiti. Over the years he’s found mentors in such artists as Asend, Thic, Steve Keck, Howse, JT, Kevin Guyer, Mellissa Roberts, Wands, Lon, Eon 75, Resm, and Core Rock.

Center also finds influences in his art from everything in his life from the streets to outer space. Basically anything his senses can absorb drives him to create.  When asked about his goals his answer is a simple one. “Rocket till the wings fall off!”   To learn more about Chris Center and his art visit his site here CENTERHBT.COM (more…)


Leaflet Shower
zombie nights incorporating coffee and righteous acclamations of process mostly
thoughtless, in a sense, it’s a long line of circumvented anger, danger
misplaced trust and wages..a strange way to ring in a new year,
decades later.
trains colliding on tracks,as their stranglehold on debt is essentially maxed out
Visa, American Express…foot in mouth. (more…)


Bad Criminals Are Funny Criminals


I’m sitting inside a 1950’s era, single pump gas station that has been converted into a bar. It’s the kind of weathered place where a guy with a big chip on his shoulder would come to drown his sorrows and complain about being at yelled at by his boss all day long. Across the road is a newer service station with six pumps and an attached convenience store. Apparently, the owner of this bar saw the writing on the wall when the competition arrived and shifted to a new source of revenue. The two businesses are the only buildings found at this intersection on the rural edge of the Kitap Peninsula. It’s the cultural center of the area. (more…)