Once in the
gruesome kingdom of desolation
Once in the
eyes of snakes
Once in strange
hollow contours of the city
Once in a
story of being and heraldry
there lived
a, lived a hunter and the hunter used to hunt the hunted and there lived a king
of great wisdom who could see the other still grandeurs of promises lost and
stolen and naked children of naked earth children rambling in the wilderness of
the core.
The hunter
was lonely
The hunted
were lonely
The king was
lonely
The children
were lonely.
And then sad
whores who sang sad songs of wishing on sad boozers who did not wish much and
hence were saddened by the songs and the whores with sad flesh kept singing and
the city waxed and waned and busses became lizards and trams became snails and
grave oceanliners cut through grey miasma of the waters of love and all were
tied to chances and to the damnation of choices to be and to not be and the
waters rose and the whores kept singing till the king’s eyes were red and the
hunter cried, the hunted cried in throbs and shrieks of ghastly ruin and first there
was nothing and then there was no one and then there were both nothing and no
one and the streets were empty and silent and then there was no street no empty
and no silent and all went to the carnival that’s blocked into other zones of
freedom that looked like a lot, of perfection that looked like a dog in chains
and in dogged fury. Great music haunted the core. Resilient beats raised heads
of fury against the sky in fabulous furore of upheaval and declaration of
endurance and rode out against the lifeless gazes and empty spaces and then the
great war happened and great horns were blown and wolves leapt out of vines of
pain and angels of decay and clowns of damnation sat heavy on realms of
reckoning and looked down the deep sombre abysses and chasms and strange cold
light fell on the valley of the ones pressed to hapless oblivion and saw its
strange contours, ridges darker than darkness, the brutal throbbing of silence,
tranquil hazes and ancient frightful formless things swirling inside the realm
of sonority and turbulence of essence, and things deeper than essence or events
of resurrection and decimation. heavy judges of the heavy being and their fixed
gaze.
those lonely
naked children, in Roman masks, frozen while screaming out in dreary misery,
became heroes and riders of the vastly booming wilderness.
Yellow
lights glistened on empty streets.
Sidewalks
sighed against the torpor and turpitude of immortality
Flesh raged
against the sharp credence of mortality
Primal
castles stood tall in grisly endurance
Puppets,
cursed to the choicelessness of choices, broke free and sought to smash all walls
and fences and rode out in search of that great glory of freedom across the
bright haze. Highways glistened in moonlight.
Harlot of
strength comes to me
Speaks to me
words of love
This journey
isn’t over
No journey
ever gets over.
Lightning
strikes the sea
The shot the
flowers
It’s all
fucked.
Trains
shoots forth
Train shoots
forth
Train shoots
forth
Train shoots forth
Train shoots forth
Train shoots
forth Train shoots forth Train shoots forth Train shoots forth Train shoots
forth Train shoots forth Train shoots forth Train shoots forth Train shoots
forth Train shoots forth Train shoots forth Train shoots forth Train shoots
forth Train shoots forth Train shoots forth Train shoots forth Train shoots
forth Train shoots forth Train shoots forth Train shoots forth Train shoots
forth Train shoots forth Train shoots forth Train shoots forth Train shoots
forth Train shoots forth.
But there’s
no doctor on that side.
And then the
stranger and the estranged became one. There lies great fun in that. Sailors lost
and sailors found, in domes of doom and climes of stormy pursuit, stonefaced
opera walks down the pale streets, throbs versus stabs in alleys, the gutting
of the pigs – blades and piranhas, rotund madrigals and asses of rotund
madrigals. Our hopes, their harlequin. Our haplessness their thunders. Sea
raises curtain. Beguiling horror and its coldest pitch. Children shrieking for
mercy. Gutters shrieking for mercy. Relentless terror of the core. Stuff
seeking to burst out and flesh seeking to press down.
It’s a
two-faced snake – there’s a king at one end and a worshipper at the other.
Birds return
to altars of sundown
Worshipper
kneels
King shivers
Snakes eat
birds.
My meat isn’t
your meat
Your meat
isn’t my meat.
Bust melons
and clipped wings. Asssqueezed cherries of the heart go where all stuff flushed
down the shitpot of heart does. That’s a damned frozen place too.
Ashen faces –
petals eat geometry. The slow dying of moments. Sadness dangling down
clockhands.
Protracted nonchalance
of aircrafts in brazen hangars.
People
scared shitless before grave mammoths of duress.
There’s a
fucked duel of phantoms going on all round this.
nothing ever
mattered.
everything
ever did.
The last
titan took a piss at the moon and went off to the deep sandalwood forests
We haven’t
seen him ever since.
We can hear
him farting in there since memory took forms and got tied to the vectors of
history and chromosomes.
One
pertinent observation: Thetis’s nose has been a few inches below Jupiter’s
right nipple ever since.
Staircase in
darkness.
Thick moss.
Creatures
that move in dreadful realms.
Insane laughter
to burst through the skies.
Humans bend
down.
Insects don’t.
Glows from wildly
distant caves. Army of candour marching past take me closer to mirrors. Faces
& masks bring cold news. Information sticks to more information. Flesh
sticks to more flesh. The key lies in sticking. The lock lies in this wholesome
damnation of entirety.
Blue pulp of
blue fruits for the yearning.
Prophesy as
the third medicine:
everything
that could have happened, has happened.
Back to the
wailing wells.
Moon goes
down.
A touch of
skin.
Stuff rots.
River runs
red
Wind blows
past proud oaks and stout bulls
In the
beginning there’s the beginning
In the end
there’s the end
In between,
soft sisters of love weep in silence
Fishes weep
in silence
The world
weeps in silence.
And then the
camels of diamond looked up
and saw the
other cracks.
And then one
jolt and Fun strikes hard at lionball lionmaze belly stomach much pounding
beating of vibes and vices and turnip melancholy of the downright dejected the
damned gray of decimated canters past realms of great thunder, massive
rumbling, turnpike evanescence surged forth in further fury as mothers and
sirens gathered frost gathers on windowpanes moths gather by flames and ancillary
detection of things that move and roll and impetus through stimuli of much and
factors waited by the shores waiting for the ships and nothing and blank
rhythms arrived on horses of froth and struck hard and sharp and then the slaughterhouse
sonata began and thus it began and all realms and climes of great magic folded
to reams of silence and other terrible conundrums as stuff that trickle down
trickled down and gained in strength to pull all curtains down in vital force
of the coreglow dot and yes, magic, wings and powder from stings and conceiving
of parallel monitors that beep and bleed in pluses and minuses of this and of
that happened and there was great delight in the completeness of destruction
and binaries trotted and tickled the crotch of creation in essence and
amplitude for the hidden layers – and craze leapt out in beastly dashing flames and the
loveless metals of booming judgment through tombs of the mind and body where
they sat and dreamed and fought and bleared out by the fading shades of
ecstatic endless humming of smoke that grips soul and soul that grips smoke in
heaving hapless miracles and visions of torrential misery, ceaseless bombing of
the senses, yielding to the stoic nurses of detached mercy and parchment in
waking abandonment of epiphanies that illuminate the skies of stretching the
outer rims of blunt mellow tyrannies we face and deface and efface on slender
ideas of new light, sexless enjoinment, candid kingdoms of voracious pallor and
electric spirit of Rubicon crossed and chained and unchained and etched
desperate attainment of the oasis of this numb mind, that numb soul, those numb
fallacies on switches and regulators of sordid melancholy of the base, fingers
eaten by stuff that roam untamed in the dark and take forms of darkness and
often strike in formless forces of the stunned, shunted thread of sinister
summing up of all that’s perceived and all that isn’t and all in mighty wrath and
acid for the insects which were burning in blood and the buses were burning in
blood and king and kingdom and hunter and hunted and children and heroes children
of heroes danced in the insane blast of stuff that is and isn’t and was and
wasn’t and will be and won’t be and of everything else and all were circled by
enchantment as the wolves became one with darkness and darkness became one with
the wolves and yet their eyes were glowing like their eyes glow and regal,
hideous falcons in full glory of bloom spread their wings that covered that
world in gruelling shadows of silence and terror of all choked urges that
scream and howl and whimper and puff out in trembling trails of transcendence
that will never be found by the happily lost, the sadly lost, and by the rest
who drown in penchant panache and insane passion of the fetid putrefaction of
senses and the kids who cry themselves hoarse by the incensed pyramids and
other totems of monstrosity, hecatomb and incessant, gnashing bloodbath of
stages and ages of hypnotic reification of the hallowed galleries and
precipices of recollection of stuff that were before this bulwark of steel and ribosome
was built by the harsh slaves of euphoria and need in the cold hinterland of impacts
swiped down the terrific terrains and straight into the calm purple lake where
lotus of turgid hollow bliss had bloomed in full glory and is still blooming in
full glory for there isn’t much to do and all as been done and there isn’t much
to be and all has been been.
A perception
of contexts
Velocity and
those splendid ghostly precepts
Temples of marigold
cognition
Eclipsed singularity
of harmony in perfect chaos
Sunflowers
in perfect, brazen rebellion against sun
Cock and
cunt temerity.
Sullen
demons run amok in frenzied alleys and shelters.
They bombed
the kingdom of hurt tonight
Even the
pavements are crying tonight.
Shapes, I
refuse to wait any longer:
I’ll rip off
your robe of senses
and make beastly
love to you in rain.
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