Sunday, August 26, 2012
And tigers leap on moon
On whatever’s left, a nation,
Cocaine-kid, whores devoid of cordiality,
Mozart devoid of enchantment moving down a little gray tune
down the ninth lane of forever, skies have spilled over
all that’s unimbibable and beat. The clock shall get us all
Miles away, burning badlands grin at
What we have made of ourselves.
I hear my lady friends talking to their lady friends
on men they scalped
and left out cold because they needed them like they need
their mothers. The whole concept is sickening. And then
i hear from my male friends fiddling with drugs and the
notion of suicide because my lady friends or their friends
have scalped them and left them out cold because
they needed them like they needed their mothers.
I’ve been through this whole deal and it does feel
like shit. Apparently, needing your women like you need
your mom is a bad thing. And most of these women
end up with rich round men who need them like they needed
their toys and not like they needed their moms.
There are so many stupid people in the world
that i never feel bad when i’m lonely.
And what’s worse, these are cowards who
shall never have the guts to go all the way
for what they want; they choose to moan
and wail and cry and believe in the magic cure instead
I’d rather be alone and drink alone
That way i can laugh with the gods and the furniture,
set nights on fire and walk through it
and drink wars and
famines down and make life and death
tremble at me without having to give a shit.
There are times when it seems like all
the damnation of the world has been heaped on you
even stars start resembling starfishes
and everything that moves look like terrible monsters
sticking their heads up from the cesspool of nightmares
stuck in doom, bells of doom tolling
one big madhouse that the world is
going to the nasty dogs. It’s easy for
the believers of God who writes all
prescriptions for the soul in stone
and for the worshippers of placid sanity to find a way out.
And then there are the ones who finds
salvation in flesh. It’s not that tough for them either.
That leaves us with you and me
And now that we’ve established our cluelessness
Let’s just drink to our doom and stop looking for clues
or for light. They’ll come if they are to.
Well, at least the world’s not running out of booze.
There’s something sinister following me
There’s something fucked-up hollowing me out
It’s written in the doors in the roofs and floors
It’s tattooed on the tits of thick meaty whores
But whenever i try to read it goes poof!
My life’s going to the dogs and the dogs say woof!
There’s nothing i can do but resign to fate
So I eat drink sleep and masturbate.
The unlearning of the soul
Senses and cognition winding up and coiling back
Like a foul slippery mass gripped by rave
Strange shapes and dimensions beyond
What you’ve been taught to identify
It’s a happy world
Rain on arid lands after a thousand years of thirst
Hills and valleys crawling out of the brain
Storms howl through decimated cities
Your defeat belongs to all now
You are godless in heat now
And nothing matters
Lost sailors make compass out of rainbow of dreams
Clowns scare little girls to oblivion
Reptiles shake off slumber
New bride engulfed in smoke
Bridges shooting off guts of another demon
Another verse of dreams
Heroes sweating behind venetian blinds
This world has been shattered by earthquakes and madness
This world is sinking in pits of reckless pink ennui.
Pack up, fast
It’s time to run beyond this
And into the heart of Empires of gold
It’ll be a long smooth drive through moonlight.
Watermelon of lawless life big round and red
Outside, there’s pure madness
Days and nights on fire
People busy fighting and dying
People busy knifing and gunning and flowers busy
blooming against the sun. In hills and forests
men women and kids spread out, settle
conquer, build, fuck, kill, and do loads of shit
to stick around between borning and dying.
Watermelon of life, i press its tender flesh
with my tongue and teeth and i squeeze and suck
the juice into my system to derive nourishment
i spit the seeds out.
This horror-show of commercial compunctions
That show us the dreams and not nightmares
This great veneration of sugary lies and betrayal
That makes toothless tigers and paper-dragons out of us
Is good because without it being here
I won’t have much to fight against.
Do you think i’m enjoying this having-to-fight?
I’d rather do nothing and drink and fuck
With my cock inside the juiciest of all pussies
Or else with a cockroach fluttering inside my mouth.
Sad heart like sad cherry ripped in cruel cold
Sad like dead elephants on red mountains
The unbearable pain of profanity dripping from
Snot-rugs and red puke in bathroom beating dawn
Rain beating windshields howling one true world
That rings in Utopia and Dystopia of deadland dead mayhem
Our movements recall earnest thoughts
Our wants recall earliest needs the contact with
The self, the repairing of television, noses
Broken by angry fists angry gods lashing out
At the protagonist of this play as i
Count stars and try to remember their names
All education and therapy and zen and yoga
And selling of lingerie and polka-dot romance
By moonlight sunlight candlelight all light dims
As singsong policemen beat tired madmen
off the sidewalks this stupidity of people
breeding more stupid people and not
thinking of volcanoes, solitude, Rembrandt
is getting to the depth of perception and
eating it out like slow maggots in terrific action
like happenings in theatres of the absurd
where no one has any clue and all nods
and claps. All art is horseshit. I’d rather fuck and booze and dope.
Only the burning and the truly burnt
Keeps silent about the great sadness of the world
While the others speak of it.
because they’re living through what the others
can only imagine.
This profound profanity of the masses
Feeble in love and bitter in hatred
Can destroy all and create none except more chaos
And inane devastation.
And the intellect is even weaker
The only solution it can draw is
through absolute obliteration. It’s a game
of stupid chances being played over and over again
And no one seems to be getting bored of it.
Pugmarks of affliction for women
Draws me closer
Teethmarks on their shoulderblades
I wouldn’t have been bothered by mortality
had there not been other men alive
A storyboard for the rose:
And lives another life
As a cannonball
Wrapped in dragonskin
Waiting to get even
with the sun.
A storyboard for the puppets:
Puppet clown dies
Puppet-house on fire
A storyboard for subtle movements:
Tenderly, breeze rolls through
Fingers clear dust from window panes
And then the rain.
Wednesday, August 22, 2012
Caught again and rising
In the communion of steel
Once again, these four walls
And these ten fingers
Stank up by compulsions of endurance
Fouled by litmus-sour lies
The same rain-clouds
The same trams
The same guards
The same sets of betrayal and honesty
And then it’s time for the hounds
To tear through the night
The best part of this play
That makes supermen out of clay
is where the clown gets butchered.
And the butcher gets clowned.
Dainty whores with pastry-flesh
Birds fly all night
Come all voluptuaries of these times
These are not very happy times
These are the right times to lose and never regain
Birds lost in motherly arms
Birds lost in neural decay
Monsters smiling through glasswalls of love
Cold train passes by.
Everyone smiling, dancing
Lyotard didn’t expect this.
Pygmies from paperback dreams
Breach weary horizon.
The problem with electro-social expression
Is that everyone seems intent of serving their shit
In a platter to the world, and everyone
is convinced of their genius. And all these self declared
masterpieces are so similar to one another
that it’s rather tiring. Mass production of porn has killed
our libido. It’s poetry’s turn next.
The landscapes we inherit in the market-places
decay through over-use and symbols,
war and litigation,
as death-birds peep through keyholes of fogged heart
and life-birds await the sun
and the in-between birds rage against the vile debauchery
that surround our purest inheritance of lusty cognition.
And on and on mad elephants dance in rain
Till all is silent and bells stop ringing inside brain
And the much voodooed charm leaps out
and hovers over the fiery tip of midnight
for the reptiles of love and of hate to wake up
and slither towards open spaces that never were.
In beginning it began
And then the wind got stronger
And love was bitter
We drank from the river
The river flooded
We sailed the seven seas
We followed the seven stars
We discovered, invented and constructed
gods and cities and vitamins and towels
All was good
All was bad
In the end it will end
And the wind won’t get any stronger.
I entered this very strange room
There were 50 little people and 50 little houses in there
And there was a filthy old man lying on the floor
And pissing at the roof that had paintings of splendid naked virgins
He winked at me and said
“society won’t notice”
It seemed fun.
Soon, I could see tiny helicopters flying all over the place
And there was some music too.
I was there for a long long time
And then I was bored
So I got up and walked towards the exit door at the other side
As I turned the knob, I could hear groaning and moaning behind me
Soon it turned into a shrieking lament so sharp that it pierced
my guts. There was no sunlight, and as I turned back I saw the old man has vanishd
And all the houses, people, choppers melting like chocolate in heat
I opened the exit door. The room was at the edge of a cliff.
Ice-cream van of pain, slugging past weary twilight
Dark flowers abloom
Caves caving in
Soon, all paths shall be gutted
And grave catastrophe shall dump down like sludge
on our hunchbacked lives.
Ice-cream van of pain brings this sad news
And has been condemned by tyranny and attrition
to crawl away and move apart
You, who is beyond all shadow
And keep the hangman away from the noose
And the noose from the neck
And the lion from the flesh
Please do something about this.
Pick up a sparrow-song from the cesspool
Pick up a pickaxe from the carnival wagon.
There’s no surrender
Heart shall fight machine
Till one or both are dead.
O meat of love pure and true
O meat of love I yearn for you
Delighted, pigeons fly.
O meat of love in the sky
O meat of love o regal pound
O meat of love o profound
Smooth swans afloat.
Meat of love in feather-coat
Superman-story isn’t finished yet
I dragged by one sixty odd pound corpse out
And the skies were thawing in frenzied chaos
I get bored easily
And it’s not my fault that the world is
The most boring of all prisons
Half-crazed children of the moon
Are suddenly very happy
And pure souls that smell like freedom
Are being pawned off to meet interests
That pile of the debt of sanity
As tax, toll, fee, rent and other charges
This duress is amazing
Even the flies are getting repulsed by shit
And are settling for and on air-conditioned popcorns instead
Mom, why did you let Dad screw you?
Did you moan and shiver when he was crushing your petite body
against his demonic frame?
Were both of your sweating like a brutal dog-and-bitch pair?
Did you wrap your legs around his waist while he was pumping his wrath inside you?
I will kill him for this.
Superman-story isn’t finished yet.
I look at stars tumbling down the turmoil of cosmos
I look at the grand silence looming outside my window
Even the cockroaches are placid sometimes
And the earth makes no sound and shows no light
Sadness and solitude like twin archangels sitting atop the tallest minaret
of the world from where everything can be seen and heard
They know of every light that’s put out
I’m sure they can see me to
I’ll be sad and lonely without them.
And in the silent bar-room full of strangers – all are
staring at me.
I can be a killer,
I can be a lover
Or I can be both.
Being born into this world of ill-conceived erotica
ill-timed humour and ill-bred sanctity
is the ultimate price we pay to exist
the load gets heavy with time and more of the same shit
is injected. Look where we live. It’s a fortress of strict accountability
being guarded by wild beings. And new guards are reinforced every day
some people jump out of windows
some go insane
some go insane and jump out of windows
and the rest gets numb.
Exceptions do exist – those who plan ways and means of escape
But they keep disappearing in the strangest of manners
And no one gets to know
what happened to them.
And through these little games of love and shit we’re taught
To play to keep ourselves busy and
To keep ourselves from going crazy or suicidal with boredom or
getting the idea of resistance.
It’s a lousy joke that’s being played over and over
The irony being that we had designed this whole thing ourselves
because we had nothing else to do
other than fucking and dying.
Thursday, August 16, 2012
Wednesday, August 8, 2012
I walk till body aches
See them coming. Loads.
48 hours of stoning
and the city seems sadder than ever
I walk inside brain and out.
Footsteps from the womb of poetry. Right here.
Mothers become whores. Wives become whores.
And vice versa. Pangs and pings. Crucifix and lingam.
binary eyes, codes, shapes mix up.
six puffs and I blaze the city.
I think of pagan love rituals. My shadow becomes my tail.
dick becomes artifact of objectivity.
Too much blue and yellow all throughout.
jaded neurons, jaded flesh, tissue, fibers
trying best to hold fort
when demons attacks
inside and out
seeks to suck it all out
till it’s all a dry fagged knot
suited to serve all purposes of existence
it’s a duel to grisly death
and it worsens with every throb.
dead lovers come out of their graves
to face history.
Souls of little girls raped
by Greek heroes
on midsummer nights
to become quotable stanzas
of neglected verse.
Poetry becomes word-wound
Scary birds swipe down from the red ass-crack
Body’s dick in mind’s cunt
Sailors seduced by geometry
Stoic soul watches
There’s a splendid world locked inside this
Red boats on green rivers
Green boats on red rivers
Boat’s red on river’s green
Boats boats rivers rivers and et cetera.
Take the body bake the mind
Kill the father shag the mother
Eat the devil eat the god
Eat the pussy eat the brain.
Let’s talk of hardcore reality
Reality being titty rolling shitty
Yummy, are you really God?
Mummy mummy they took my rain away.
Meat and wine for the goddess.
Opening of the splendid chamber.
Trams moving at speed of light
Dissection of the heart.
Everything frozen free.
There are crocodiles inside.
Too tired to frame.
Virile men riding black tides.
Horny women in medullar wilderness.
Wall of darkness all around. City fading faster than me.
Picture glazing walls haze love.
The sharp burst of all that’s finite
Apathetic exposure of this mortal that mortal
Violence and hedonism
One child’s death meets a rainbow
One personal rainbow two three I’m counting rainbows
City of rainbows shades on lakes, river, gutters. Heart’s gutter smells of pain.
Motivation samurai. This is chimera. This is a candle. This is very holy. This is where we stop thinking of doom
This is where this sturdy grinding numbness stuns us
O relics and ruins of time lost in space
o RELICS AND RUINS OF TIME written in uppercase
I reject all.
I accept pure.
It’s like liberation, but it’s much more than that.
It all comes out
Like loose shit with pockets of gas inbetween
The sun is bright.
Arraborra arra starra blurra blurra clarra Houdini o Houdini
In the disco of my burning sting
Heart heart flower flower
Lions roar at what we have done to us
What we have done to the city
Me here, this, irksome
voodoo bloat blablablobloo bloated hoot hoot iron mirage mud bells in brain balls in brain
Rubbed against dust
Shadow stitched by mirrors
Scaring moths off flames
Smashes every stone
Muscled robots from China
Shake every Pharaoh’s tomb
Buses jut out of city’s butts
Buses dissolve in foggy dark.
Dogs knife themselves
Cats stealth to ether
Snails crawl to light
Ants have fun.
twinkling Sabbath meets my propaganda and falls in love because frangipanis melt like candy coated epitaph of all soft and tender core. I dig to the deep of I dig to the deep of this depth this here that, there
eating flesh eating meat
eating blank things that can’t be eaten
right here there’s a magic sword which i touch and feel invincible. fuck the night till it bleeds. i. me. Boom. Bust. All enemies. I fight all. This empire is mine. This nebula is mine. The stars have nipples.
Under the mountain under the fountain we go
Snakes and ladders we play. Biting down, throwing out. There’s fun in this
To see this maddening spirit break open
As little soldiers of heart charge at the world
Drowsy yearning spilling through, spitting at the eyes of judges who evaluate
Earning a good royal laugh
I see happy dolls dancing sad dolls seeing them become happy and join
I see the evil face of puppet master
Thundercaps of dazzling glory pass through me and nothing matters anymore.
Hangman has found me hounds have hounded me and slowly I cross over to where it’s all cold and grey and right here one mad unity of recollection condenses into one insane million coloured beam.
Right here right right here god sees me naked I see god naked and neither of us care much.
And then I am sad no more
I am lonely no more.
Saturday, August 4, 2012
Let us all unite against this damnation
Let us fight this decay and defeat
It’s late and the Gods from the skies are spitting
on our heads
and the sparrows are shitting there too
but better late than never
there might be some light or
there might be a lot
or there might be none
the frogs might make love
and the nuns might all go insane
but it’s a shame how we wait
for things to happen
and then things don’t
and then we wait some more
till our outsides and insides
teeth and balls start falling
and guts start curling upwards
like diseased leaves.
it’s all a shame, this training
to get used to boredom
to abhor solitude
or to love them, desire them
to piss on living
to piss on dying
to waste and wither away and conk off with a whimper
it’s a shame, this denial of choices
this worshipping of compromises and stale morsels;
we’re melting down
and soon we’ll all become
waxes on mud
horse-shit on straw
maggots on the rotting flesh of life
it’s all a crooked parody of what we were supposed to be
what we could’ve and should’ve been:
Kings and Queens of the world
Let us resist this disgrace of total decimation
Let us beat the shit out off the conspiracies the pile up
on the hunchback of life,
this utter indignation of being forced to
wilt away before being allowed to bloom out loud
Let us fight the doom that holds us down –
Before it’s too late
Before all doors and windows shut off
and walls and roofs close in.
We must reclaim our bright Empire
under the sky
and blaze through the dark
avenues of timeless history.
We deserve this.
There was an aquarium at the reception
of the office where I was waiting
for my call from the interviewers
It had green and yellow fishes
and the water had a bluish tinge to it
maybe because of the tiny bulb inside.
The receptionist, she was a middle aged lady
of tender bearing:
her lip-gloss was pink.
The plastic flowers peeping from the vase
on her desk
were pink as well.
It was raining like hell outside
though nothing could be heard from inside the lounge.
It seemed like a monster was lurking somewhere
ready to burst out through the curtains
and tear the calmness apart with terrible rage
and I was there, sipping my double-shot espresso
staring at green and yellow fishes,
waiting for it to come out and explode
But it didn’t
and I got my call from the interview board
comprising of a fat old man in Armani
and a fascinatingly ugly woman
with massive boobs.
There was a picture of a white stallion –
on the table
Among other things I was asked what creature
I relate to most.
I said fishes, mostly green and yellow ones
of posh lounges.
I wasn’t lying.
While coming out, I noticed that
everything remained just the way I had left them
The fishes the flowers and the receptionist and her lipstick
were all in appropriate places
No monster had broken free yet.
And it was still raining outside.
I went down to my favourite booze shack
and spent the rest of the day there
and stumbled back home way past midnight:
Tripping on happily despairing visions
of green and yellow fishes in Armani and colossal boobs and pink lipsticks
from across tables with pictures of white
and fat old men and ugly women and tender ladies
floating around in bluish waters of sparkling aquariums.
They had told me that they will let me know
Three months down and I haven’t heard from them yet.
Chromosomes march out tonight
They’re playing the music loud
in squares and parks and pavements,
they’re letting me know
of their hunger and thirst,
of their life and death:
through pamphlets and roars
and everything loud and everything clear
Soon, all rivers will flood
all mountains will break
and all skies will open up and pour something dreadful out
And cities will shrivel up
and sidewalks will be ablaze
and buses and trams will turn into demons hideous as sin
and theaters will show shows of fear.
and love will turn lawless
and hate will run free
and flowers of tender mercy will not be of tender mercy anymore.
The chromosomes are brutal tonight
because I had ignored their letters of deliverance
and they’re marching out in fury
loud and clear.
I had seen a street dog die.
It was hot like devil’s armpits
and the dog was sick for some days –
wasn’t making any sound,
My neighbour –
a forty three year old widow
with splendid curves and reportedly loose morals –
had given him rice and a boiled egg
and a bowl of medicated milk.
I know this because I was
observing her stately ass
as she bent down
and crushed some tablets on the milk
a few minutes before.
ate a little
of the rice,
nibbled at the egg,
sniffed the milk
and staggered away
Like a beat soldier walking back home
it dragged its weary body down
to the loose widow’s staircase,
shivered for a few seconds
and heaved into an abrupt arch.
And once that moment bigger than heaven or hell
or everything the dog or the widow or I knew
or didn’t know
it flopped down
into a large still mass of flesh bones and skin
and just that
and not a dog anymore
Soon enough, folks from the municipality
came down and took the mass away
because this is a posh neighbourhood
and stray dogs aren’t allowed to lie dead on the smooth streets here
for very long.
I watched the entire thing as it happened and did nothing.
God’s been closing in on me since then.
This I write for you.
This dank dark room you saw me living in
before you left
is still here
and I am still here inside it
while you’re flying away
to a different world, a beautiful dream.
The concept of you
not being here
than your not being here.
Outside, the sweaty August night
is etched with sad patterns
of desperate minutes and seconds of love.
You’ve taken everything when you left
And with you the idea of absolute purity is gone.
Those furious beasts inside
whom you made me make peace with
are breaking through
I’m staring at your pictures
I’m staring at everything silent, everything ghastly blank.
This life is no better
This death is no better
And it’s all shit.
Be happy, you splendid woman.