Right and
wrong in own ways, warring against the lacklustre pluses and minuses – that something
electric, something of terrifying beauty, screaming for food from inside. Autocracy
of algorithms and then that mass of entirety in terrific revolt:
everything
from the chasm moving around the glowing core, waiting for the chance to come
out.
Gliding
through the slender highways
Laughing
with the lions
Ideas of
perfect brutal love
Ideas of
perfection and victory
Opening of
the windows.
Hatred and
other easy ways out
This, for
the gods of need
This
fondness
is almost
real
Sisyphus
should’ve been angry. But he wasn’t.
Hence this
anger against decay and defeat
But there’s
fun in the breaking
And there’s
nothing where there’s no fun.
…
Terrific
signs
I’m here
and I can see them
And that’s
all that there is.
…
We love a
lot of things
and when we
love something we want to be that thing.
And then,
the coordinates mess it all up.
We’re tied
to where we stand –
and that’s
wasting us.
Helplessness
of the frenzied static
Too much of
the same thing wears one out.
Anger leads
to boredom.
Boredom
leads to further boredom.
Rot begins.
This
capitulation is sickening.
…
The road to
endurance is one of celebration and the road to the gods is paved with laughter
Let us
stand tall and naked
Let us make
merry
Let us make
love in the rain.
…
River of
poetry, though foggy fields of the soul,
It’s bluish
dark all around.
Then the
red ostrich
Then the
dreadful cognition
Then the
blood and laughter
And finally,
the Hour of the Carnival
Our robes
and masks are ready
The sharp silver-cold
glows of freedom
Reckoning of
the core –
Another
brazen dream:
in another
life.
…
I’d known
Oedipus complex before reading Freud
I’ve never
felt like doing my mom, but women of around the age when I discovered its
existence do turn me on at times.
There’re
things inside my skull, you know, things that are both scary and funny at the
same time.
Like slow, colossal
babies from within the splendid blank glow of ancience;
Like
carnivorous flowers growling and hissing at us with forked tongues
Like the
idea of just dying off and being nowhere after that
Like knife-edge
sanctity
Like dogs
Like a patio
in rain
…
Everyone’s
too damn busy hiding fear and cleaning shit
They fear a
lot of things such as crones, boogeymen, monsters, wolves, shadows, exposure,
freedom, repression, sorrow, solitude, fast cars and slow hours
And shit a motherload
of shit such as, emotions, ideas, wants, actions, expressions, constructs,
perceptions, advertisements, literature, empires, oppression and money
Here,
memories leap up like wolves aiming at the neck of that grey fog of mind where
trams and giraffes –
lost owing
to lack of sufficient attention –
are.
I’ve seen
lightning strike the ocean on stormy nights
The city
was silent.
And the
midnight of the mind is cold
And this
velocity of neons and butterflies hitting against the sturdy walls
benumbs neural
waste.
…
totems of
heredity weighing us down
people look
like stoned fishes
I won’t get
my embryo-life back anymore –
much anger and
sadness stem from this
I’ll die
and it all still needs to be here –
Hence,
notions of pleasure while fucking
for primates
including human beings
and it’s
all because of this sense of being here.
Cats and birds
and moths don’t need pleasure to screw.
Wish I could
talk to statues. My room looks dead and blank all the time.
The need
for perfect harmony in perfect chaos
is undeniable.
And yet, in
0-s and 1-s we build, as we move sideways thinking that we’re moving up. We’ve
built our ups and downs through clever geometry and vectors.
This denial
is revolting.
…
Stale frames
of want,
insects and
little reptiles,
city of
carnival-nightmares,
Gutted mortuaries
in terror and rain.
That vivid daze.
Helpless massacre
of the essence.
…
Caveman-urges
Discovery and
voyages
Sailors, angels
and spirits
Here,
cognition begins
And the primal
pushes freeze-up
Ideas of
bliss and transcendence
Ideas of
penguins and villanelles and sodium
Divine fury
of flesh, and beyond that
The placid
wholesome mass –
Smoothly
stoic,
Too distant
for perceptions of living
and dying.
…
Acid-bulbs
thrown at sky
Mind awakes,
I become mind
Phallus awakes
and then the final allegory of conjuration
reaches out
for the soil; I become soil
I become
the base of love and the chromosomes.
The key
lies in supremacy of laughter,
And in lines
that demarcate.
Mother,
I,
too,
shall die
one day.
…
Music by
the altar
Weeping banshees
and hyphens
Tonight
is a flower
burning in brutal
desolation
tonight
the silence
is
a grand velvet
kingdom
and trucks
carry pale kisses and dreams of death.
Guards of the
heart are drunk tonight
Lions roar in
primal forests
as puppets
and skeletons ride out to glory
..
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