Monday, October 8, 2012

and Greta woods are green

Speaking of this battle
Of torn roses and torn hymens
Of kids gutted in rain
Of screams and their Roman masks
Therein the trick
Now roaring, now frozen
It’s all slipping in. slipping out, slimy
Tombstones of love and god
Of oeuvres and massive maneuvers
All scarily damned, all serene
This dementia
For whores of horror, ribald sadness, this wild
Wild, this: teeth and nails

Put your fingers on the cortex or touch the leaves
Put your fingers inside my ass or touch the dick
He-man’s dick was huge
She-man’s dick must’ve been soft
Attack all. Smash glasses, smash algorithms, smash fucked waves
Reach god. Attack god. By this dull sanatorium
By the dim room
Moon dangling over cavemen
Roots dangling over heart
Spoken, became words, books, bleeding books of the world
Stunned by the limited impact, by the death of everything alive
By being alive
Like a Corinthian epiphany
Like the unconscious myths
Pilgrimage by the river
Morbid mortuaries
Sweet memories of the softest sunset ever, through ages, pillars, pillows, canvases, citrus-criteria-chrysanthemum. All, mother, soft mother. Huge hard strong mother of the dark staring at me my fear my love my shudders all my weapons are for you and all yours are mine.

Let us go then π and χ.

On the evening of a beautiful evening an old clock ticked
The caterpillar and the squirrel
Yes, so, the caterp..the caterpillar etc
Pendulums and haplessness
Primeval evening good evening good girl nice dreams be good all good
Doldrums in blackhole drums in the bestial heart control the senses of all that hits
Hideous ugly taking away all giving little
Purging of the links
Light and the filaments
Ants in file
Coolblue through firmament
Bursting through like the great big sadness as we drive along the grand highway
And more light
And more death
And mire death for more life and more life for more death
And then the knife. kind knife.

On Mahler:
We should all stand up and fight against this dark and gruesome pain

A cold touch of water
Freezeout freezeout
Total decay
Lonely mass throbbing in damp cave
squeezing the zeroes
Tiptoeing turbulence
Judging the waste
Four flags with four heads of four hounds on four sides and it’s all shit all gripped by terrible doom
All has rotted.
Let’s bomb the towers tonight

Little girl with little boobs
You shall grow up soon and so shall your boobs
Al joy of the carnival for you
Nights to gift dead sparrows
Days to shade the storming electric volleys and volition
O sing in agony in joy little girl big girl
Your flesh is your flesh
Your flesh is our flesh
All masses in voluptuous violence of more flesh vomiting more flesh by violet beastskin-velvet pulpcore pieces in throbbing tremor Valhalla wolves
Let us throw a trillion tiny acid-bulbs at the sky
Let us celebrate your flesh

Cavemen impulses
Now, to burn
Stuff inside to take sturdy control
Raptures and the history of mortality involving all of us
Roots go in, deeper than we’ll ever think
Toleration-squash, ellipses, eclipsed tug-of-war as gigantic giants from mythology take over and trample grapes in great wrath hitherto unknown of
obsolete paradoxes gain more ground than the ego can ever allow for
the kingdom is hot, rife with fuckshit levels and levellers and cognition,
ideas of the cogent, the other loop, the other brother
big fat love is singing a song
bigfat love is singing strong
insane souls in sweating attics
glee of recall, recollection, registers in furore and fuzz
protection and distortion
the game is on
the game is shit
it all ends in piss-kiss nought.

mother like queens in passing bray
storm howls
caving in
this, other
the selves in defence
hermaphrodite and myth
breaking days from nights, summers from winters
birth of history and prognosis
birth of metaphors to hide
now, we worship
now, our altar of viewing and the vision
mother and love
mother and the dark
mother and the trains of pain
solemn memory of heavy gods of thunder
of birds that perch on the chewy precipices of this humid brain
pecking the heart, shitting neural vibrations down the spinal zone of the saintly snow
movement devoid of external stimulus
a projection of what really is, or perhaps
a frightful picture of absolute freedom
mother of love will never teach to rise against this conspiracy of coordinates and integration
mother of hate will if you please her meat
with your meat

now we look at the divine
let us give not a fuck to conceptualise or not
this clean unison
of urges and clowns telephone never rings bird never sings flowers of loss flowers of gain it won’t rain it just doesn’t fucking rain
channels inside the dark crime
of centuries
in sappy grime
weeping widows and machinefuck meadows

dancing cities and grotesque cohesion, forced harmony and more channels looping through locks and dicta and codes and crapping of civilisation/s now we look at them and one massive bullsmash and now we let go
to crawl inside
and freeze
Gods still waiting
in glorious sunshine.
Savage structures bring phenomenal love to me.

Barbaric python in room
Outside and inside
Symmetry and synthesis
The second and third layers, this way to eternity
Reconstructing ways and means
the dark synthesis of debilitation and decimation
forces of motion against the forces of motionless
it’s all restless, it’s all brutally calm
repetitive and spontaneous,
it’s time to assimilate and rise
it’s time for the chromosome-crosses heavy with centuries of our ancestors’ fucking
fire on the clean bridges
python in placid room, python in terrible unrest
inside and outside
Hercules and sweaty axioms
mosaic glide, transformation and looming,
parched penchants, paradigm-prone patterns:
like Baba Yaga or the damnedest damn primitive birds of terror.
x, y (0,0); vivid

now if Pluto doesn’t return Persephone to Demeter
if the mountains are not really bored
if the rivers are not really sick
if they paint cities black and bodies the colour of love
if buses hump trams and ships hump trains
if all the blasted symbols jump up like despots
and if life is not really pigshit
and death is not really a giraffe
and if impulses are flowers in electric rain or whatever
how does it matter?
I’m just waiting, cock in hand
For real-rain to trump
over makebelieve-rain
I don’t care about subjects and objects
I can hardly wait for the next beastly beat
Eat me mother for it’s a bust struggle now
Kill me father or else I shall coldly kill you
It’s all like this, fancy broken pieces bedamned
Nothing to enchant, just this ghastly
caveman-battle for winning the great big earth.

The cold empire
is still here
the grand idea
lies in this
free flow
now stay
a floating while,
O wildchild of insane dreams
before the serpents rise
to eat the synchronization
let us kneel before the totems
and will of terrific love,
of terrific hate
till then

fury-front reptile-rectum tendrils to grasp the tender as tree of death & tree of life grab each other and live and die and keep stuff in taut nowhere
Penumbra, lotus, did you bloom?
Isis to poison the Sun
Sugar Mamas with big boobs big Eros to deal with the big Thanatos and cunts and pussies and dick and little mamas with nothing and mermaids sing of love o sweet marmalade of life of love o bitter marmalade of death
Ashtray and a book of the dead.
A thousand lipsticks for the glasses
I dream of the gods like dreams they are there and just that and nothing more
And noting less

The idea of hypertrophy
Includes all of us as sure as tissues and membranes get covered in plastic rot less real than dead kittens with open guts and intestines and other pulpy stuff to make the crows happy lesser real than me here, now as I speak of the idea of the bulge and growing, and decadence like each child sticking out of each mother like dead appendages
Mortified, cursed 
And ghostly silent
Silence is prouder than this
You can see its flag rippling in blatant prominence
Pictures of war
Screams of the terribly pained
Moons screaming for blood
balloons fly all night by the shore
I go home with a whore
Chicken life chicken death chicken no more

It was all good
He saw fields and banana plantations in moonlight
Felt happy with the silence, felt comfortable with solitude
And whatnot
He wanted to get down the train
And be there and be happy in silent solitude forever
Was closest to ideas of heaven obtained through information gathered from several sources
He didn’t
The train went by carrying him home or away or somewhere
It was all good.

Protean labyrinth, don’t kiss the guests
Cows in dreamlight death of birth birth of death
Demons of beauty harsh Viking wars
Calm gardens to explore inside
It’s mostly the same shit on and on outside
Hence the need for hidden doors
The boy’s been missing for seven days
The squirrel’s still there
Two similar looking plastic bottles with blue caps in each implies a break:
one of those bottles were supposed to have been somewhere down the chain
ideas of geometry
to keep us fooled or else chained
the butcherknives need to be close
two birds flew by
the verge of urges
is a cold ancient place
and primal rites for unblocking the channels, unleashing the flash and the bull
to leap out and rage through the unconscious,
the oldest Forests,
the undiscovered places

no one looks up
clouds follow

Sharp lines to make things easy
And estranged
And nothing flows between the sections
All arteries blocked
This static wholesome
is comforting for the layers
This pleasant corpse
is convenient
and binary.   

An even better idea:
Call up the dark gods
And fuck things up

Reports of skirmishes close to the woods
Endurance is essential
Hidden guns aimed at hidden stuff inside
Rituals to hold close
Traits call for more than this
The key lies in having fun
The knife is always inching closer
The wolves are always lurking
There’s no better way of getting killed than by what you love most
but only after you fight the wolves and the knife back
hence this requirement for strong forts and brave soldiers

It’s all either prearranged or one can always conjure patterns
to make it all fit in
helpless schemers trapped in own ploys
this lack of freedom leads to boredom
which in turn leads to decay defeat death and damnation

Ideas of circles and rebirth
to blame the mother for flesh
it’s all a sinister conspiracy
for assertion of make-believe fun in lieu of the real one

this yearning for discovery
is to escape from the mire
of reason and plastic
into a place of absolute freedom
to do away with the weary axioms
and make fresh ones
the new light of the mind is strong
and there’s no need to join stuff
and induce and deduce in the old fashions
but new ways of joining needs to be devised
so the call for new axioms
and in time it’ll all be as shitty as it can get
and so on as long as the need persists.  

Squished cherries to get us close to the core
Follow me and I’ll take you to the door
Absinthe tenderness, hearts turn purple
Gorillas in grace to face the affronted vigil
Maximum obedience of slaves
Pure disgust
Catlife more placid, more straitcut
There’s no highway or alley, and no need of break from the static
Just the focussed idea of durability and survival
And complaints against fear of blood
Cat staring at me
Me staring at cat
I can see the cat
The cat can see me
There’s nothing more to this save the conscious blank for me
And instincts and alert impulses for cat and me
And the suffering against negative sensations for cat and me
Clocks are more immortal than this
Clocks will always be there till it matters

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