Sunday, January 6, 2013


Sands slipping through fingers.
I’m here,
stuck inside the darkest cube of the world,
riding to infinite sunsong symphonies,
riding to the school of flesh,
raving at cosmic caveman wilderness.

snakes await this
cold grey buses await this
dark alleys and fights for the bloom,
sustenance of piranhas lead us to the calm corridors,
the final,
hammers and rocks,
flowers melting
like butterfly dreams
and sheepish nightmares.
Dark Angel goes inside,
hoots thrice,
and falls,
silent and heavy
on the senses.

Rain falls silent and heavy on the senses.

Eons in the flesh-crazed torpor.
blood thickens
with grime of hours and ages
that haunt grim domes
of wisdom,

beasts pounce of reckoning.
monsters stab at heart and guts,
stub out bits that glow and throb.  
severe hawks swipe down.

cold fog of memories older than time,
broken at times by sullen sunlight trickling through the veil of haze and painting the world with a kind, sad shade of orange.
Kindness is much desired.
Lovers of love roam the naked earth.

slow petering out of the flow.
bodies rot.
skies rot.
the slow, terrific march of ants –
towards vacant zones,
towards annihilation and void,
the slow movement of waves,
dancing twilight curves of meat and love,
i, still, am mortal.  

fingers reach for sun.
Colours in the maze,
dejection and harakiri.
moss gathers on temples and crania,
birds of prey perch on blue hills and grave monasteries.
curtains hide stern crime of centuries.
This silent decay of mass is getting to us through soft swirling symphonies,
soldiers of strength buckle down,
stuff that binds wither off and layers of dust stick to cherry-hearted rainsongs that once spoke of love, resilience and fortitude.

was i here for you, mother?
were you here for me, mother?

we bat the senses out in howling storm,
we don’t think of mothers and pyramids,
we are here and that’s about it.

slowly they come,
in grand flowing robes of bliss,
down the serene hills and tough passes and ancient forests,
slowly, she takes form of great things,
to destroy the totems and build new ones
and we’re all dying
and the declaration of surrender shocks the core,
wolves howl from cliffs
gods of booming freedom splash through all canvases and pillars high up, above this and below the binary cauldron of fantastic catatonia and imprisonment for the masses and morasses for pilgrims to crawl across and for bandits to blast through.

here i stand,
reeling under the throbs,
dying blatant deaths,
angry at the relentless mutilation and submission to waste,
fingers reach out for boils and knife,
for pills,
et cetera.
o camel o deep severe camel of silence, take me
o sheep o deep severe sheep of flow, take me.

eyes see much. pain cuts through this peacockplume blear,
yellow haze of phantomcity,
our shapes and their shapes, fucked geometry – petals burning in maddance numb,
a toast to Lady Death and to everything that throbs in violence throbs and jolts,
deadbeat kids hugging tombs of flesh shivering, whimpering along this maddening funride of decay, pukes on walls & sidewalks,
boats shoot past.
stars shoot past.

mayhem and plenitude for the order.
Kisses for the sweet dancers.
shows begin and end in loops and waves through ages of time and dust.
who’s counting the seconds?
why do flowers wilt?

outrun the tides,
outrun the wolves,
outrun the chains
outrun the clocks
outrun the fiends
dive down,

roll often
digging, polyester kittens and trashcan – moon rises in pain – sun rises in pain – the whole universe freezes.
this pain
is pure
this moment
is eternal.

we who heard god screaming in dark alleys without believing in god
we who sought to conquer flesh knowing that flesh is all
we who burnt the world down with our agony and drank on cheaply silent bars
we who gambled against the world with all we’ve got for pure kicks
we who rode to the sunset seeking to move faster than light and lightning and strike at the core with great fury –
we who sleep in iced assurance on throbbing, mad, shacks, hugging on to our boozebottles, phalluses, ideas of tenderness, and hopes, jerking off at the buttermoon of faultless beauty and liberation 
we who die a thousand deaths every night and wake up to a million solemn prophesies in our dreams
we who follow our shadows thinking that it will lead us to doom
we who sang off-tune elegies to heaven and hell while peeing at binaries
we who feel the moonglistened blades of the cold sharp music piercing through the heart of pulpflesh pink darkness.
we know the green ghosts
we know the blue ghosts
we know the gray ghosts
we know that we are shit and we don’t mind.

vehemence is essential.
credence isn’t. 

let us glide through the smooth highways and sleek avenues of love and silver tonight.
come to me.
 i will make me forget your pain.
you will make yourself forget my pain.
we will make love in fierce, beastly delight till moon slips inside volcano, river of milk becomes river of blood and flesh turns into clay bells of doom boom out large & loud and the sun blazes across the monstrous guts of the universe leopards leap at oblivion and then it’s all about one more step and we’re done.

of big roads & little roads:

open tomb, wishing well, dive in:
through centuries our mothers cry
through centuries our mothers cry 
through centuries our mothers etc.

crowshit in the heart of gold and magnets pulling in,
calendula rolls and drum bo ho ho drums our little clown their little clown sugarcane ninja essence, pantomime, speak of the rot again, speak not evermore and fight and bash through, thumping full coasts of the brain and neural glare at lions that roar and lions that stare across the distant greyish shore.

wisdom blazing through guts of laughter into that perfect clime of freedom.

the only light that shines.
haunted terrific shadows on walls, roofs, screeching, amoebic in bright delight,
biting through hairy flesh,
rainbeat centuries of victories and defeats, of abandonment and misery,  kings, orphans, gypsies, moonsets, one winged creatures of the dark formless abyss of time beyond memory and civilization, what splendid screams! what life what death what decay! make me a toy and make me bright.
lamps fade by windows of mist,
slaughter and laughter,
music by the curtains,
lamps fade memories fade turpitude of saints,
halo of rapture and rupture,
snake raising hood,
dancing below the moonless starless sky trembling in energy of great something  beyond this grasp and all grasps.
light of the mind is cold.
soft melodies play around.
snake and its soft cold body, slithering through tiles of time, sonority of harmony,
to burst into numbing flames,
to smash through all walls again and again,
to pulppound throbs that rattle this core,
affirm this being here,
thrash the fleshy mass against the sharp skies till it bleeds a bit in cold glow of mind.

oaksoul, pristine wisdom of the oldest winds, cut across primal wilderness reaching out for the bedamned woebetide channels within.
swim naked in sunlight.
rise to soft nonchalance.

and then that land, insects eat flowers
demons rape beauty
splendid harmony
splendid chaos
the frenzied fury of cognition.
snakes in eternal coital-coil-karma
shadows chase dawn,
rites of passage,
dreams of the beast and the hunted –
furious depravity, the massive pomp of solitude.    

i think of you at times
do you think of me at times?
we are lonely people
lonely people are good people
night sings the softest songs of love
moon breaks into a thousand folds of love
stuff runs through other stuff, light lightning through clouds and rabbit through earth – furtive, futile
waves smash feet of lighthouses and galaxies –
our sordid purple, that pale mahogany of tides: i’ll write about it to you one day
we’ll hug maybe we’ll cry a little, bald clowns will doff their hats at us from across the shores of the Universe, blind fiddlers will play out another little sharp tune,
and that’s about it. it’s getting colder, darker, as relentless hours gather like clouds

splendid insect, orange back with a couple of red dots, crawling along little strip of sootsmeared bathroom floor, between heap of unwashed laundry and shitpot. laundry smells of cum and sweat and shitpot of past midnight beershit and beerpuke. saw it crawling towards bigtoe while bending over shitpot to heave out further puke in brutal blazing violence that can only erupt out of the deepest recess. it’s too damningly beautiful to be there. puked a bit on it. then, splat!
and that’s about it.
now there’s some puke on the floor and on laundry and a splattered bug flickering mildly in vile yellow mucous.
now the order is perfect.
conduits and channels between all chambers have been choked off.
the flow is dead and so is the grand bug of beauty, puked upon and smashed to that flawless, monstrous dot of all pulpmass absolute: ghastly, almost chromosomal.

clarity and fading of vision in beat.
sick moon drowns in sick sea.
cherry-squish heart for the sharks
and one more shot to dunk all down the great sewer of matter and mass, doomed to endless putrefaction  
burning of the bridges,
a petulance of the clarinets of worth,
and again,
chains and links of algorithm,
and again,
the acid wrath for lack of perfection.
nothing ever seems right.
fisticuff for the roses that never bloom,
grisly chill, shudder twice.
sad balloons soar above sad boats on sad canals.
something terrible is about to happen.
hunter gets ready.
hunted gets ready.


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