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splinterswerve
Calgary & Victoria, Canada
splinterswerve.hotmail.com

by Brenden Joel Reid

Today we remember
Tommy Two Blood
who lit a cancer stick
and said
"Cut my jugular, motherfucker."

But the Angel wouldn't Dare.
The Angel with black wings
who stalked Tommy's left side
Whispering "Burn On,
Tommy Two Blood, Burn On."

Tommy rose 150 feet to the sky
Retro, The Duke of Aluminum Alley
from rags to culture cat
walked his Hipness down to the Crossroads
eyes blazing gamma-rays.
He jumped over the twilight limping by
& said "Deep Yellow"
to the fat men in suits
and the black Devil sharks
scathing through the ghetto Dark
booming their doom & rude beveled tracks
headlights on ultra-shine
shady faces glaring out from tinted glass
in the reckoning of like what Buddha said
the End of Suffering Road.

He grew up in these rugged years
when Paradise was rife
with social conditions of Indecision
schisms of inexplicable Unrest
to survive learned the silence
how to Burn On His Own Skeleton
like a Solar Lion
he Rocked the Pocket
Ignored the Enemy ears
blasted through jeers:
flickered in the face of Fear
with his Crazy Dread Man's Dance.

The bone necklace rattling.
The feathers scattering.
Bass in the Kicks all Pumped Out.

Tommy was always
loose enough to rumble
never did sweat Society one lick
just dragged on his dart slowly
and French exhaled into his Brain
the smoke of his one Religion hit
defied the So-Called "Righteous System"
with its Logic of Guns and Control
all its citizens banding together
to maintain the expressionless face
of the Brick Bully Establishment.

He was street
on the beat
ALIVE 24/7
forever in the mix.
Undaunted
jacket torn and worn
with a hundred nicks & scuffs
his young mug and hip mustache
hard slick jagg-ed
like the inside of a Tin of Wax
scarred bright like boyish
under the ointment Paraffin.

His wingspan was 3 miles wide
his smile a continental shelf
he liked to fly sneaker jet on Wednesdays.
Sir Dobbs The Archangel paid him a bullion
to dance the Crasher
at the local midnight Dives
put his Maori Minister Mash on show
full to the very Last Pogo
his new duds looking clutch
the Pretty Celtic Boy
who Knew How to Touch Pussy
and drop deadly rocksteady
throw raucous thunderclaps, too
like Zeus
with Not even a single cubic inch
of Bloody-Minded Fear in his Head.

Once, it's told,
he was cornered
by a band of rabid thugs
who tried to break his blue collar bone
but he thundered them all with
his knuckles mighty chunk
and in victory
did nasty Gorilla stands
all night long,
his first Inverted Liberty Slide
having not been Invented yet.

Tommy Two Blood
whose Rap was a steel stack
rolled off the tip of his tarnished tongue
like silver wit was tough
so sharp that whenever a crowd of
menacing hooligans passed by
he needed only dole them one razor Word
and they'd all turn to Hash,
black heavy shapes passing in the Night
defeated
no distinguishing features
other than the striking contour
of mysterious bulk
set against graffiti on Stone.

Everyone knew Tommy
with his tragic attack
he didn't let anybody get in the way
of his Freedom Funk
a lover fighter to the core,
his talent was state-of-grace
and a midnight Heat of moon-stomping heritage
with his sneakers of fire he
left wicked Soul prints on the Pavement side.

A massive Love in his gut
stirred under that liquid heavy metal shell
total Yang Positive,
he Didn't want any trouble
if he could afford it
but damn sure he served up mad Vengeance
like buck Muay Thai wild
if any punk munched his style,
he was known around the world as the Fenian Punk
tenacious, a peace-loving killer
who kept a harem of Saxon Queens
waiting in his Bed.

Gentle Assassin of Evils
he played electric bass
in an acid funk band
and moonlit as a beat crasher,
his music was air-locked
in the vault of his bones,
born feet first
the Angels had decided
to make his limbs readily cut
for those comet-to-the-rafter jumps
he would come to perform
in the Parking Lot of Sadie's
On Sunday afternoons.

Tommy Two Blood
the street's Genius
I.Q. 2,000,000 kilojoules per second
per second
hot-wired to a quick scatter nerve
at the age of 4 broke loose
from Society's noose
swore an oath to his first passion:
Saccharine Sound of the Beats.

Today we remember Tommy
the dancehall smasher
the Long-Goodbye Kid
the young blood who Lit up rare
In the frigid street air -
was a lifer
a rhythm bomb,
his step like the tattoo of a Tear
scrawled on Apathy's
cold concrete cheek.

So much known was his
uncanny Rep
that His moves started trends
in every dance hole in the world
moves like
"The Rainmaker"
"The Triple Tomahawk"
"Strip the Paint Down"
"Rude Boy Carries The Mountain"
"See The Threshold & Bury the Jester"
"Momma Don't Put Flowers on My Headstone"
and the infamous
"Burning Breaks of Babylon",
plus a thousand other steps
that were known to rouse cheers
attract glowing lights
and shaking fists
shake tits & ass
smoke grass
stir sweet & crass,
knock the fruit
right from the Living Tree.

Tommy Two Blood
got women hot buxom bouncing
their hips way down on the honey-hardwood floor
the DJ would even play tracks custom made for him
as God knew he Had Nothing Else to Do
he bedazzled the dull sullen Chets
who lived like pylons as perimeter threats -
back in 1982
Tommy weighed 172
in Wickinston
King Blood Duo
the dancehall crasher cum Emperor
with inspiration Fed his crew
of misfits and rebels,
a swift & bullish dynasty
over it by Music
magnanimously Ruled.

Today we remember Tommy
who Died One night
because tricky Jesus punished him
for not believing in Heaven or Hell
punished him by the power of Churches
for his spirit of solo rebellion
and his devastating lack
of standard institutional etiquette.

it was reported like this -
Read All About It!
Reaper Strikes Again...
August 1995, Age 24,
a hot summer day 180 degrees
rival DJ Hades during a Saturday set
while turning the tables
shot Tommy T straight in the chest
with a fatal drumbeat -

Next day
rugs were cut
all over the globe
in Honor of him
his night moves immortalized
in every last Thrasher home
"what a fucking tragedy", they said
"the world's best slasher dying so young like that"
they cursed his Angel
the one With Black Wings
who Had Let Dread Tommy Two Blood Go
Down Into the Underground
for the rest of Time assigned
to Slave in the Devil's Hall
to Juke & Stick, Spin & Flip
get Sex-high Atomic Delirious
on the terrible Raising of Cain.

And that's why I suppose
this tragedy is so bold
because all the best
end up down there,
6 feet under that is -

like Tommy Two Blood
a Legend
in these parts
(not where you are)
but close to your heart

He is eternal now
Shaggy Massive
felt in the floorboards
whenever the Music slams
his ghost crawls into your Gams
makes you crunch
those crazy dance cuts

His Soul The Rudest
Got Street a Belly of Banquet Too
With Old Scratch's Justice Juice
a lone History recorded
God bless and Long Live Tommy
and all those like him
their Creative Fallen-Funk Mantle
Forever and Ever, Amen.

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