and Greta woods are green

Speaking of this battle

Battleship

Battlehymn

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

Dodge

Run

Endure

Die.

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

margarita

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:

decadent,

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