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.

....