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The J.D. Rage Page
Stain Your Skin
and Change the Way the World Spins
Go here to see stuff about my old band BABY BOOM -> Peter Kozlowski
Name and Location: JD Rage,
performer, poet, publisher. Lower East
Side, Manhattan, NYC
Hobbies and Interests:
Getting tattooed, (18 Tats) art, photography, painting on leather
jackets, painting Sid Vicious portraits, writing novels, poetry?
Well, I guess you could call it that, and short stories. Publishing
small press - Venom Press and CURARE semi-annual multimedia magazine.
Want More?
There are several poems below on this page, or:
Go to New Photographs & Poetry: New Poetry
More Pictures of Me: JD Rage Page (Page 2)
More Tattoos: JD Rage Page (Page 3)
Leather Jacket Paintings: JD Rage Page (Page 4)
More Artwork: JD Rage Page (More 4)
My week hosting the
ABC No Rio Unorganizized
Sunday PM Open Poetry Reading
4/28/02 3:00 PM $2.00
156 Rivington Street, NYC
Tel: 212-254-3697
Madam Chain's Erotic Poetry (who do you think she might be?):
http://members.aol.com/mdmchainu/index.html
Mike Halchin's Website:
Undulating Bedsheet Productions
Rage's Book Crucfried (excerpts):
http://members.aol.com/mhalchin/catalog/rage.html
BEBE BULLET:
http://members.aol.com/bulletbebe/bullet.htm
AXELIZATIONS - Jewelry & Blood Paintings:Axelizations
Body Modification E-Zine: BME
RAB-The Official Home Page for Rec.Art.Bodyart RAB
Frank Moore's Page: eroplay
Let me know what you think about my page. Send mail by clicking: ragejd@aol.com.
My tattoo by Anil Gupta of Inkline Studio In NYC:
Here are a few Poems:
(long ones!!!)
Dead Roses c1997 JD Rage
While eating dinner I
notice that the dead white
rose is bleeding
a man, and I don't know
if he is homeless so I will just
refer to him as a drunken bum, rants
incoherent poetry outside my
window
my large red fish swims around
ignoring his recitation
sounds vaguely like Shakespeare
the leopard curtains shrink
as a cold draft pours through
the crack where the
window won't go all the way down
I yell "shut up"
and think about tomorrow
and things that never seem
to come
all the while knowing
at that very second a
million lovers are within reach of
ecstasy, ten thousand souls are getting
their heads blown off
or knives buried in their throats
at least 500 old ladies are tossing
bread crumbs to pigeons
many corpses are being pumped with
formaldehyde, placed
in boxes and getting dirt
thrown in their face
and one wild man is raving
on my sidewalk
doing a good impression
of the inside of my
own head
got a pig on my computer and
a hubcap on my wall
how much more could anyone want
the silence is deafening
because my brain will not be quiet
and chooses solemn moments
to begin
its idiotic chanting
there are dead roses everywhere
today, it says
I wonder if Lee Harvey Oswald
was innocent, it says
I wonder if death will give a wink
before swallowing, it says
the phone is ringing
no its only the bird
he does a phone ring better than
any phone and you can't turn
the volume down
like in your head
like in your head
there is a good imitation of someone
crying
there is a passable mimicking of intelligence
but there is also a poor excuse
for a dream of freedom
from all fear
all those dreams where the
baby died and the dog died of
starvation because
you forgot to feed them
because you were too lazy to
go to the store
nothing could save them
they were your crime
but as usual you can breathe
a big sigh of relief when you
wake up and nothing is real
again
got everything money can buy
got a silver gargoyle bat dog on a chain
got a Frankenstein doll
got a computer that talks
what more could anyone want
when happiness comes it lands
like a butterfly
and takes off in a hurry
I don't know if the chants I am
hearing are from the Shakespearean bum
or broadcasting from my pit
but I am hearing chants
gibberish
I wonder if you will burn in hell, it says
I wonder if it is even worth it for
you to read the tarot or talk to
the fortuneteller, it says
empty is empty it says
got a pig on my computer
got a hubcap on my wall
got a bird that rings like a telephone
got a clock that looks like dynamite
got a fan that looks like a robot
with red flashing eyes
and it cools you off too
what more could anyone want
there are dead roses in the kitchen
because that's where I put them
I wish I could give them away for presents
but I couldn't bear to lose them
they are all I have left of me
and besides who would want dead roses
and who would love dead roses
one woman's dead rose is another's
useless dusty and sometimes moldy garbage
so I'll keep them
especially the white one
that is bleeding
The New Modern Female Poet c1997 JD Rage
I am the new modern female poet
I smash my way to the stage
yank up the microphone
whip into caged panther-like pacing
reach my hand neatly down through my skin
rip out my guts and
slap them down at your feet
everyone hates me because I remind them
of the time they cursed blue streaks on
a cold metal table in the delivery room
because I force them to remember
what I have never been able to forget
They feel compassion
when they sometimes realize that
I have seen the flowers
but could never touch them or feel them
or even offer them up
I can only watch from here inside my
black and red wall of anger
I am the new modern female poet
no one wants to listen to me
I talk too loud; my words boil relentlessly
I hurt their ears and trash their souls
I take my jackhammer to every faint heart
bloody them up until they look just like me
Faces redden with embarrassment
at my bold and foolish revelations and confessions
saying things better left unsaid
barking out my long hidden secrets
flinging my stained underwear into the audience
dangling my purple stretchmarks for them
to snap up
But into your brain I come now
entertaining you with my tales of rape and agony
abandonment, drug addiction, insanity
horror, wrinkles, dead and lost dreams
so bad sometimes you think it must be fiction
I drag you to the bar with me where
we slug down ten shots
of Jack Daniels sour mash whiskey
and top it off with a few tequila rituals
no one is attracted, no one wants to meet us
so we rush out into the night, hoping for better luck
call up a junkie friend and beg him to cop us some dope
because it's still there, that feeling of unending
misery, that involuntary jerking of the nervous system
brought on by the tragedy of life
making our spirits revolve and wobble
not allowing us to lay down and go to sleep
now, with drugs in hand, let's go home
and pray for relief in the injection
but it is not enough
our insides still run back and forth aimlessly
and sometimes whirl dizzily in restless circles
Then we remember
there's some cheap vodka in the fridge
we chug it, puke our guts up onto
the livingroom floor
pass out next to the mess
our last thought of this stinkin' day sent out as a
request to some god to let this finally be it,
to never have to wake up again
This is my idea of a good poem
I am the new modern female poet
I am even more dangerous
than anyone has imagined in their wildest speculations
after all,
I am still upset about not being allowed to play
varsity basketball in high school
I can't get over never having been asked
out on a date
and having to resign myself
to wishful teenage stalking
I still remember every time
the guys rolled down
their car windows to tell me
how ugly they thought I was
how one of them got disgusted
that I was a virgin
and walked back into that college dance
without me, never even looking back
how they raped me and tossed me in a ditch
let me walk home with blood
running into my socks
how they taught me that I was lower than dirt and
how one of them married me
to avoid going to jail
and then punched me in the head
and punched me in the stomach
when I was eight months pregnant
and punched me in the street
and tortured me in the shower
held my kitten out the 5th floor window
by its skinny tail
tried to stuff my puppy down the
incinerator chute
these are the things I remember
these are the incidents I find poetic
the things I let them do when I
didn't know any better
when the only love
I thought I could get
was all tangled up with hopeless desolation
I am the new modern female poet
a psychological nightmare
a practitioner of black magick
I love to injure with poisonous words
I want to give everyone
a taste of their own medicine
I am sister death
I am Ms. MotherF**ker
I am Mommy Vicious
I am JD Rage
this world created me, I belong to you
I am your own personal self-induced
indestructible monster
So Welcome to Hell!!!!!!!!!!
the very latest new modern female
poet version of HELL
where I am SATAN
and we are both here to stay
but you will now be required to BURN
like I have always done
so lay back and get uncomfortable
I want to rest my hooves upon your chest
and flick my tail across your face
Dogboy ...... c 1997 by JD Rage
I used to call for a dogboy
to follow me around
here dogboy, here dogboy
to be as loyal as a puppy
I thought it was a joke
a funny little fantasy
but now I know that was really me
And I would love to make him howl
so I could soothe his wounds
I would watch him cry
until the floor is stained with tears
And now he bounds ahead of me
and runs into the street
when he gets hit it's my fault
I've left him off the leash
a small red dog
his bright blue eyes question
mournfully he crawls to me
he doesn't understand the pain
he has since been
run down a million times
the scene repeated nightly in my dreams
he drags himself to me
I can not save him, he is gone
I leave his body in the street
the car has vanished with my screams
And now he bounds ahead of me
in sneakers and black jeans
If he gets hit it is my fault
I've left him off the leash
I must direct his every move
correct his wrongful turns
because I know the gutter is a dirty grave
Sit boy, Heel, Lie down, Roll over
beg boy! .....do you like it?
do you want some more?
If you remain silent I will disappear
into the future leaving no chains
around your waist
to remind you of how I shaved your fur
a pelt of thickness that
concealed a woman beneath
that will always grow back
over your flat chest
and when removed can only
allow the illusion of femininity
that is only painted on
what lovely eyes you have my dogboy
I hear a whimper from the past
claws clack against the porcelain tub
I couldn't stop the belt
he was too strong
and I no match for him
His cruel mouth twisted
and when the puppy moaned
delight danced behind his crazy eyes
The shadow of your heavy beard
destroys the deception of the wig
you can not walk in five inch heels
and must lean on me so heavily
so close that for an instant
reflected in the sequins on your
silver party dress
we are the same woman
I am the strong essential element
you are the delicate smoke
I take you home and wipe away
the makeup
destroying my creation
returning the princess to a frog
to a little monster dog
who will bite its Mistress rabidly
disappointed at the fleeting nature
of its transformation
Encircling your young neck
with a studded collar
attaching the lead I bought for you
closing the lock into which
I have engraved my name
binding those pliant wrists and ankles
raising your arms above
to hook them to the shower head
fitting the mask snugly until
you are amorphous and anonymous
a figure wrapped in locks and clothesline
handcuffed
then kneeling at my feet
eagerly awaiting the lash
desirous of the roughness
of my jeweled tongue across
your tender skin
I will punish you for your
ungainly maleness
I will wipe the cares and trials
of thought away
replace them with another sensation
overpowering and cleansing
into obliteration and release
it is not easy
but for your pleasure
and mine is but a small cost
I lead you to your missing depth
take you down within a hidden soul
draw you close in the dark romance of pain
A small black dog circles the room
there is a celebration going on
but there is no furniture
and the people lean against freshly
painted white walls
the dog sees her wet nose reflected in
the varnished gleam of wood
she drinks from all the plastic glasses
of the guests
lapping up that human poison
until she staggers into the center
of the crowd
and sprawls on all four legs extended
her belly flat against the floor
you are not a woman, not a man
you are just a boy
you are not a woman, not a man
you are just a boy
you are dogboy
you are mine
I own you now and forever
no matter where you go
or what you think is happening
I am in control
I am your Mistress Frankenstein
you are my little beast
no one else will ever want you like I do
or grace you with such splendid gifts
you are ungrateful now
but regret will be no stranger
when next you want to be a woman
and no one else can change you
no one else will change you
no one else will share their essence
will show you what a woman really is
and not what you have been indoctrinated
to believe
or attempt to convince you
that it is so much more
than a leather stiletto shoe
so much deeper than long red polished nails
impossibly more complex
than an eyebrow pencil or a wicked lipstick smear
a false fluttering eyelash
the slanted bangs of a black wig
even smooth skin does not
really tell you anything
it is when I let you see inside me
when I lend you just the slightest bit
of torture
and kiss you with my knife
that is when you will know what I am
and what you are beneath all your layers
don't forget your lessons dogboy
return again to lick my feet
or you will wish you were an authentic canine
running for your life out on the street
here dogboy here dogboy
Sit boy, Heel, Lie Down, Roll Over
do you like it?
do you like it boy?
Do you.........want some more?
1966 c 1997 by J.D. Rage
I went to the Albert Hotel twice
the first time, with my friend Chet
who was supposed to be banging
a tambourine with me on
MacDougal St.
but instead he became the road manager
for a band called the Blue Magoos
invited me to their suite when
they came to town on tour
I don't know why but when I walked in
their door, I had the feeling Jim Morrison
had once either puked or pissed on the floor
right where I stood.
The Blues Magoos didn't like me because
I was an ungainly geek back then
and wore an unstylish
maroon ski sweater
I reminded them of what they were
underneath their silk psychedelic
Edwardian shirts
They were uncomfortable with me in their
room and I was soaking up bad vibrations
like a sponge
so I left.
Chet gave me passes to see them
at the Balloon Farm on St. Marks Place
* * *
Janis Joplin, raw-faced and hooting
a gravelly laugh dances down the
middle of the street
antique fur coat and hair FLYING!!!!
* * *
I went to see the Blues Magoos
and got drunk on a gallon jug of cheap chianti
under one of those spinning balls of
flashing mirror-spotted strobe lights
and melting pink purple chartreuse amoeba
crawling the walls
The band was okay.
I never saw Chet again
* * *
I didn't even want to go back to the
Albert Hotel when the time came
no need to feel like a green elephant
balanced on a garbage can
rolling over a sea of banana peels
unless absolutely necessary.
but it was that or the sidewalk
* * *
bad times didn't seem so bad then
even the meanest junkies
had their own apartments on Stanton Street
bad times didn't seem quite so bad then
No, bad times didn't seem quite so bad then
maybe it was the tuinal
* * *
I met this guy who wanted to be
just like Bob Dylan
I wanted to be Andy Warhol
but that's another story
* * *
Tuli Kupferburg in old gray overcoat
sits on a park bench between
Jack Michelin and an unknown drooling bum
who is probably more famous than
JESUS CHRIST!!!!
* * *
Maybe the guy thought he was Bob Dylan
with that twangy voice
he told me Blind Lemon Jefferson taught
him everything he knew
and he was just back from East Orange
on a visit to Woody
Naturally after hearing this I invited
him "up into my room"
I lived in a cheap but unromantic hotel
with no charisma
that fifteen years later deteriorated
into wild popularity with scruvy
doped-up punk rockers
I was one of them
but the manager wouldn't let
Bobby in
with his skinny black pants
pointy-toed shoes
suede vest and top hat
worn over a funny-looking white boy
Afro but that particular day
I couldn't live without
him
* * *
A girl with full red frizzy long hair
is perched cowboy style on the iron
railing circling Washington Square Park
she wears a Lipton Tea bag tag
stapled to the lapel of her second-hand
army jacket
It says "Take Tea and See"
A man asks her, "How much for the whole
NIGHT????"
* * *
Bobby took me to the real Albert Hotel
this time there was no suite
not even a room
we're talking a cell in a beehive
we slept in a lumpy ripe-smelling bed
with our feet sticking off the end
he pissed in the tiny stained sink in the corner
too scared to go down the hall at night
I didn't even think about it
In the morning we drank Orange Julius
on Eighth Street
I never saw him again either
I didn't even know his right name
* * *
A Fallen Rock Godz is passed out cold
in the street
Eldridge Street, I think
traffic avoiding him at the last
minute
I drag him to the gutter SNORING!!!!
* * *
I don't think I ever saw
anyone I ran into
on a day I
went to
the
Albert Hotel
ever
again
* * *
Including Janis Joplin
* * *