Sunday, September 30, 2012

Empty Clocks

Communiqué from raindrench chronicles
Straight shots to dragoon those damn projectiles
that keep on swirling, fighting every rose and shit
for this being despite everything.

The gods want this fire
And this decay
The gods love us naked

And that’s the history of decimation:
one sorry asshole staring at ants
and contemplating defilement of the sacred pitfalls


This slow suicide
Wraps us tight, like stoned jokers
It’s a burlesque tragedy
The sort that kicks your guts and freezes your balls
The sort that keeps you up all night
And makes your stale presence shrivel up before daybreak

I’m here
Raving alone
Loving and hating this furious solitude
Birds on the seventh-floor cage
Blood on the streets, there’s been a murder here
Turn the knob slowly, peep out
Landlady with nice fat ass
Talking to hungover policemen
Hard-ons by dead telephones
Deaths by fiery rivers
Our love, their love, our shit, their shit
It’s all about fortitude
As devils eat up whores
And insects eat up flowers
Living through this
is as good as dying through this.


Days of pure agony and angst
Nights of fat sultry whores
Free joys of the carnival
The insane and the boldly ribald
Worms on crimson beds
Dogged dogs of dogged lives
Faith and other grotesque images
of acquired normalcy
of assholes giving too much shit
See them making nice warm doodles
With nice warm shit
on the canvas of everything that weighs down
mighty thumb pressing us down like little lost ants
thin folks, almost ghosts, on dark alleys and darker riversides
talking in fluent rhymes, of the disease of colour tv,
and god’s pleasant presence to cushion the truly lost
who’ve got nothing left to lose

this decay is fascinating
this damnation rises in wholesome glory to shatter gods, heavens and thunderbolts
we’re bound to live through this shit
so let us do it in the grand style!


The dick of love is big
The dick of love is strong
The cunt of love is sweet
The cunt of love is smooth
There’s a madman in the gallery
he hides the centuries behind his fingernails
there’s a sailor in the cathedral
he’s very drunk
there’s a prisoner in the apartment
you know his three daughters: Misery Agony and Wretch
there’s a monster at the gates
he’ll be burned in a while
the dick of love is hot
the cunt of love is hungry
o hail to the glorious dick of love
o hail to the motherly cunt of love


Hic and the night goes blind
Hic and bedamn bedamned
Hic and it’s all rage and crap

Hips join hips as asses collide
Free within this doom
Bats getting smashed against sordid castle-walls
Let’s lament for the million splattered bats
As the avenue becomes a snake in fury
And eats us up in perfect wrath

Hic and befuck, bemoan
For what could’ve happened and what has instead.


Brotherlove again in kingly robes
Point me the mountains of gothic gods
And i’ll dig out the treasures for you
And we shall live in love as ever
as giants that kill to live.


Gods who looms large and heavy
Created happy shining people
For cheap thrill
And the people fucked around and created more happy shining people
And then some more
And God was happy and so were the people

But the people were unaware of sinister stuff that lurks
In darkness and pounces on them when the time is right
And god, being pissed at this shocking lack of wisdom
Urinated on them and thus it all ended in perfect chaos


In between my eyes and yours
In between me and not-me
In between sonority and shit
And in between stepping out of greasy bars with loud blinking lights and louder music belted out by flabby sweaty whores and stumbling into brothels teeming with flabbier sweatier whores
there’s this great harmony of the soul flowing out and booming its declaration of victory to the world
that makes all flowers and all shit worth trampling by.


Nice irony of this
Gutted tunes of total insanity
Pointless games
The seriousness of the participants
is worth tonight’s entertainment.

Emotions are just two downs deeper
heavy sloppy masses
more real but not truly real

then again, who the fuck cares?
Join in, sing and dance
Rub dicks against hips
And be happier
It’s good this way,
Each getting entertained
in personal ways
and it’s all polite beyond the cords
and it’s all fake:
even the bonsai rain and the bonsai madness.


A knife from the fluffy jubilant clouds
Like a wolf or a Blake or a Louis Malle-Charlie Parker thingy
A knife ready for the other knife
I’m ready for you, motherfucker!

A knife to dig it in
A push to throw it off
It’s all there
Ghastly, screaming, throbbing:
just an affirmation


Solemn and extreme tip of joy
Like it’ll never happen again
That’s our only chance to tickle the edges of the light
Our only audacity of booming at immortality
despite all flesh.
Something very beautiful and sad, that one dot of pause,
that makes proud flowers out of the truest rebels that never are
and vice versa.
Just bask in that while, that great leakage of the softly soothing, and let every motion and geometry bring you to the same blissful shore and gets you ready to bust the balls of remorse

And i’m not talking of fucking.

Broken automobiles, there’s more sadness left in the world
than this celebratory bit. And it’ll leap on you soon enough
It’s just waiting for a step beyond this cosy cocooned vice,
Waiting for the final laugh
Like the cold Judges and snipers
Like a stern tramcar in sunset
Like a brutal totem god
Like me and the raining solitude

Again, those jingling inter-cranial zones
aiming at the only opportunity of total freedom
like overcast deserts where it rains once in around seven thousand years.
There’s a happy mask for all
And a sad mask for many
And no mask for a chosen few
But no one ever dares unmasking, and no one knows why


Don’t fool around if you can’t feel the thing that’s fucking you in the bad way
this path is not for the fixed and fake sons of bitches
few reaches that fiercely doomed kingdom
and fewer endure to their ways out.
It’s a harsh awful journey and the ones who define sanity and normalcy better stay out or else face the consequences


The terribly terrific stuff
Don’t show up or throw it around all the while
It’s comfortable leaving explanations to god for some
And for the rest who can’t seem to reconcile
Ought to be brave enough to bear
Old lady with grocery bag passes by again
It’s been the second time 
She has false teeth and she appears to have flatulence


This is how the disease creeps along
To observe this process with absolute objectivity is fascinating.
Little joining cords start getting shape
And the dazedly dead ones resign first
While the ones that throb keep on fighting till the throbs stop
And then the gruesome silence
And then the complete death.
And even the ghosts get too stunned to dance.


Four Heroes guard the corners of doomland:
Hero of strength, much desired
Hero of these blankshot hours
Hero of the hotrod fight
Hero that’ll slay the sharks
As soldiers mortified in hostile posters start getting to everything
As we dream of the cleansing of the essence through meticulous absolution of the putrefied
What grand shit!
I’d rather sit outside and have fun.



Soumi said...

I didn't like the first part but things started getting really interesting afterwards.

Zeebs said...

Drinking alone under the moon. Sigh.