Sunday, March 10, 2013

Anals and Antiquities

Cinderella, it's raining too damn much to see
the shadows that won't let us be

and then those letters across our timeless faces
our blue boat to run wild through the guts of history
and hazy contours of doom and boom
and boys that play with the armadillos
and girls in neat pleated skirts
and archers that shoot straight
at the three jewels of lacklove, lackshit climes -
waiting for us to reclaim
the kingdom that we lost

and the rain just refuses to stop


door opens - goosebump
door closes - gooseshit.


our lady of ceaseless flesh
there she goes and roses bloom afresh
our good old man of wrinkled vice
drinks from his cup and pays his price


there's too much sorrow in this carnival
there's too much meat in heart of hearts
where they shot the stars and horses down
and there's no milk in the milky way
and sailors from Salonica sell their souls
to merchants of candour and pink.
the slow sullen truculence of lights
takes me close to lost eyes and painted faces
and songs of breaking
and dance of the dead, decaying -
sweeps across our marigold lounge
and parches on our stern towers

provoke me to live.
like camels that walk miles for water
like lemmings that crawl miles for water
and Jesus walks on waters of love
and fishes screw on waters of love 


from inside
the silky Heliotrope
i touch your folds
from the bluish balcony
of mind

one hundred puppets die each night.

tumble down stairs
fling open door

joining the dots will get to the whole rotten bunch one day.

drunk naked sweating
big beast outside and within
mock no more
dream no more
and then to go for the kill

roots run deep, wake by normless tides,
wake by strange old souls, lost, in that same ghastly maze
cold burning of the core -
where is my sexless pendulum?
where the fuck is my city?


little fires far away
mama river with her cold tits
hence the dance
heads jump up
cosmic lenses, eggyolk flowing of the evening,

depth-charge within
mind freezes to moments of the candle
this little circle of light
means shit.

red eyes glow beyond
it's all still and calm
terrible awaits behind all curtains
foetus rolls out prophesy of dark reckoning
lurid realms, shapeless in proximity and bombardment


go to oldest dusk
see her bathing
weary reaches in maroon robe
dark heavy bird sits on brain
flowing of blood
stoic flowing of oldest river


bubble boom
rainbow boom

our father who sat on the owl
our guru who hid in the river
our hero who cut the rhino

damned roots, i tell you
there's nothing without them
and there isn't much anyway.


pick up your axe, peacockman
pick up a song for the damned
from fairy-tale city
where fifteen sparrows died last night
and fires in the value eventuality
speak of indoctrination.
that's screwed, the whole damned world is
buses roar in efferevescene
trains trim bloodshot edges
crocodiles in the land of poison
hyenas laugh at our screwed calibration
shit runs loose on more shit
slaughter of the senses
takes us to snakes of searing wisdom

colours won't yield
the jackals won't yield
pickup your pickaxe, pistol-papa!

time for the sea.
and yes, yellow

butchers of moonlight

the Sea. The Sea.

and then for karma in delight-meat
meat of love is thick

sailor Ghosts to guard,
in sudden thrust from the side which stuck in long back

 the child/children who knew that she/he/it/they/  would go away before everyone else did 
had taught of bliss to me
before going away. 

little lavender lucy

hatred evolve to become this
ghosts trample on flowers & shit
ornate in decay

fury and revolution
all around the purple core

this room is my god
this room is where i die.

Jaded in the bust.
Blinding high reclines

Vital ticks
The pristine unfolding of caramel

Like curtains and demons that burst forth from behind them
Much yearning left to yearn
Beguile me
I shall find you your torch that will show you the ends and the nests
Awe and owning
Maces dig deep.

can hardly wait to jump on you,
perfect strength
perfect fun
slaughtersong laughter
mired in this
mirror of moonlight

to gather by the sunflower
chaos binds world

cock in hand

ego and me hitchhike through fog

soul sticking out


Your jukebox of juice

had ditched us
And our information processing phantoms


Doghump midnoon

cold ancient shivers


certain splendid bearers who wielded absolute obedience
brutes who moved through racy silence
make strong shapes
along the columns, pillars and shitpipes

grand highway to total freedom
refusal is necessary 
and so is negation
one needs to resist the sharks, the shades and the polyester harpies - with ruthless strength.

or else we will get sold once again, like all of them.

chocolate-bitterness on ancestry

one tapestried trapeze-loom (or a few more)
on the roof one tiny room (or on a few more)


the area of form and essence

that's the only joy that'll bring up a revolution, the strongest one ever,
impacts, reactions.

Flowers from Porlock

Suck my cock


 of false lights and fake fascination
of false prophets and staged decimations
of rot winning at long last
how i pee
on you


our shadows move
they watch

real leopard leaps on table
wallclock and its primordial, transient ticking

my sick rose
weeping tender mercy
on the decimated shores
of Lorcan archers
and blue snakes

thick silence grows on moss
mask mixes with skin
skin mixes with meat
meat mixes with the soft, savage rot

fucked mosaics on miasma
 the burning of forests and geometry

through lightless, darkless reaches
and yet
yielding to absolute obedience

our shadows still move
through cold burning
through silence
through the tough, hazy ancience that often hints at the core
through sad light & happy darkness

our shadows are still moving
they are still watching


and thus,
we all bleed
either to great strength
or to perfect submission.


Stunned frontiers of impact and reckoning


carnal camels move

in strong rebellion against
being force-fed to hapless happiness

Sisyphus, even your mom had meat.

the right to feel pain comes with the whole deal
and so does sadness
and strong, wild anger against stuff in general


black rain in ocean of milk
take us close to pain.
Smooth pestillence of snakes -
perversion of service
Sanguine sanctuaries of monotony
And then
strong totems
of wisdom
scarecrow scarecrow look at me scarecrow scarecrow talk to me

kids of heat and hunger burning in sad sundown
and sad faces burn
in tedium
and disgust
when it rains on lonely badlands


Your wintry ransom
Reptiles of meat and heart
sleep through it in ribonucleic daze
And then
they slither across the rough surface

Baby of terrific sunshine
Wrecks havoc on this placid frame.

perfect delight,
 pure freedom
and then the need to rise
and grandly durable
above these roofs
and those fucked constructions
and conjectures
and kill the bastards
and glide along the sleek highway in velvet moonlight.

It all boils down to
In the land of misery
they have cut all cords
and music bleeds bittersharp
on streets doomed to be
it’s that selfsame summer-dream
of mania and prisms.

And then it’s payback time.

In attribution of values

Lies real shit.

In this realm of mist we drown
We hear frozen kids screaming out silence at the gutted throbs
A heart with guts

A porcupine in limbo.

storms in pagan rage
calaban and his face in my mirror


To move beyond this grasp
 and beyond those vectors of boom and bust
we build gods
and channels
and boats
and oars
and then we choose to stick to them
and to the grasp
and to the vectors

this trap.

It’s the Cinderella-synthesis of stuff that puts the wholesome mass in blunt motion
Flowers in vivid blast
Off-key pianos in rage
The key lies in relentless endurance.

And then we reached the hill where the great king who knew great magic was buried
This was before we were taught the worship the severe borders
that separate this from that
forces of waste gain in strength
we heard them roaring
we knelt before the false gods of objectivity
we made myths and projected our memory on our memories

and then we were taught
that to refuse to yield
is the ticket to Noughtland which, apparently, was a bad, fucked place.

There’s no love and meat where there’s no death to resist

And then we learnt of winning and losing
And we left the king of great magic in his grave
And we moved on to other dank, numb zones

Woods wept in soft, silenced sadness
The lions within
Roared in anger 
Waiting to be unleashed
On the waste.

It’s still fucked
Something bad is waiting on the walls

So we set out for the mountain of magic
Where things are good
And pigeons fly in sunshine.

People talk of Inamorata.
Queen in her chamber of meat
City forms around citadel of sex & death
Stoic trams bask in the afterglow
Forces of dead strike heart of gold.
Horses in moonlight
Houses doomed to solitude & sadness
We speak of polished love and sleep in polished arms
Moon drags sea. (she knew that.)
And busker sets out for the river of eternal sunset

Golgotha on one side, my sexless ions on the other.

Division of labour and prototypes
Push us far far away from wilderness

Willows of riverly grief bend their sullen heads over the moon & Ophelia floating side by side –
swollen and sternly dead.

Fishes in rampage

Random ultimate
Lao Tzu by the oak
Did light

Ishtar steps in dark room

Dead-end for the prisons. Room is of mold
Ten guards from ten sides guard ten jewels from ten kingdoms
Completion in fullness
Faces in void
Void in faces

I bless the tides
And drown

Dogs drown in summerscorch.

The earliest memories are always green and silent.

He lived in a town of god and gold
She lived in in a town of magic
They met on the slow long train
And a lot happened and nothing did.

We live in a sad world of whores in moonlight.

Blood in the sand
Ploughs on shoulders attached to long, stony faces
I won’t complain, dear cotton-dream,
of the weathercock.

Oxide on the floor.

This is a gypsy city.

Monsters trod earth.
Windcapped heart in soft flutter.
Angels hardly sing.

One hundred faces in pocket
Ammonia, lilies bring lullaby from northwind
Northwind brings wisdom from north star

Black-rubber penchant
Freshly dried riverbreast

To hug you and weep tonight
It’s easy to give up much.

Look at those violet knots
Motorcycle raze through neural highways

Burst out

The bus to woundland left at 5 pm.
Tell me more of your hawk
and of your ring of fire and music.

One sharp stab
is all it takes.

Little olive sparrow
within the borders of meat and dream
The red roses are red in colour
Dark vines hide centuries of crime
between the boobs of Mama Love.

Meanwhile, in the bar of broken pianos and broke pianists, 
Mama Death serves it hot.

Jellicle Woodcutters come out tonight

I dream of the little mountain stream beside which I can cry and it won’t matter shit.

What do you dream of?

Let me dance a bit.
Long tail wagging
Every fly on every cost
Is our calculation & mistake
Frozen princesses in lost palaces
Heart-caged sparrow bleeds.

Naked songs on horseback
Riders approach
We watch in silence
There’s nothing much we can do
Moon rides an old owl

A drink for the snipers who aim at
this marigold dimension
And one more
for the cosmic  carnage.

Ghosts preach karma
in the land of wisdom and bitches

First came shit
And then, more shit

Let us dance when the sun is bright
Let us sing when the moon is sad.

Strange music binds us
Sailors leave
We are drowning in lacklove
Crime touches soil and grows heavy on rocks and sands
Mind touches core and becomes lotus on coolblue
From this dark room, I shoot at gods and shadows
Demons enter to befriend sparrows
And on hours like these, form dissolves in expanse
And they mean nothing eitherways
Old man bathes on nasty sidewalks
Dog hides shit in sand
Magenta afternoon sonnet dazzles harlequin Radharani.  
Orpheus looks back.

And thus, for centuries, we live
Puking poetry at the guts of sun
Knocking the moon out cold
Stabbing the stars one by one
And declare
Our victory.

Mind blooms sunflower
Sunflower blooms mind.

Ringing to the depths
one eternity
three more
and then, the angry, three-eyed cat leaps in superb fury.
I chew bits of watermelon
And spit the seeds out
One world whirls round the other
History moves over to the other side

Cult & customs – return and tear
Walking with shadows
Sitting through this
And then, where is the lost child?

The dance of motherfuckers
Shitters selling cheap shit
It’s worse than what it was
Now they’ve got hold of almost all the routes, channels and passages
And then, we keep losing out on choices
Till there’s none left
And then it’s total freedom

The motherfuckers keep on dancing
Up their asses.
And of the Gods of monopoly
And of those who pave the way for the motherfuckers and the Gods of dancing
They are the worst of the lot
And they are still here
And the sharks still seek food
And so they will till we refuse to feed them.

Red pillars hold fort
Blue pillars hold the sky
Cricketsong drags knife closer
To the heart of silence & steel

O look at me –
 tied to this fucked symphony –
analyzing shit!

Lions outside tent
Temptress waits within

And then, there’s this idea of a storm
Isis, blood-face
Olive-child climbs stairs
And then it’s time for the witch, the sparrow
the king of grief.

This shit gets so heavy at times
That I can see his long black tongue
And then I hear the creatures that loom large over night,
Singing ceaseless monotony.
The moon is a retard now
As it shall ever be.


Dance naked, for there’s nothing much to do
After what we’ve done to us.

City forms
over incessant sparrows,
bats in cathedral roof,
flowers between tram-tracks,
weird bugs flying into room past midnight,
trucks moving out to box against lameass sameness,
solid, soluble shadows,
lamps for altars,
cracked mirrors,
stoic horses,

And then i eat it and it eats me and we shit each other out and that’s all that there is to this.

Tonic mayhem
Toxin in the throne of thorn
Horny gospels bind days to spiderplay night
Night dangles like god’s mammoth cock
Abandonment binds night to spiderplay day
Like stringing the leopards of heart.

Crone of dusk, our Mama of Frozen Titties,
Hear –

It’s like those other dreams which you can’t make out from nightmares
It’s not nightmare because you don’t just wake up in a strong hard push & feel happy
It’s colder, like all true blades that dig deep through mist & silence. 

And who the fuck shot the blind pigeons?

Coolblue motions
Old cold wind shakes soul

Lactomama holds it all in her womb

Caterpillar moon
shall crawl in soon
Heartland awakes to great music
Throbs fight steel back
Shit spills over.

Lopsided buses in perfect wreck
Ants march through skully desert
Hurrah for bonfire!

 back to earth              smash control

tidy bots.

It takes everything to survive the reflections
Fiddler of time weaves geometry over dark centuries
Patterned petals and coital cobrasong
cuts roofs of world from inside and beyond
I touch sword and become immortal
I touch forehead and become mind
Look how I become mind

Silver-flow through glass
A hundred silent faces on our individual constellations
Horses sleep
They hid their grenades in strange scary places
The city dies endless –
in weird, soft, ways
every night

let’s sing a song and move far away
from clutches that haunt the dark dome
of minerals and shades
from silk and burning.

We ride on fairytales to reach the front-row seats.
We all look out for that one ticket
We are all little bright pieces of shit –
Bright enough to see what’s within the circle of light
But not the sewers that suck us deep inside. 

 I, too, bled, Margharita –
When the barges were going down
and the walls were caving in.


Strange mosaic floods evening
Frozen guilt and lightning piles  on meat of love
Strange, strong juice of love and death floods evening,

Took strange ride through sanctuaries, totems, weeping-halls, whispers,  gray  conglomerations, petite pitutary, picnics of piss and pestilence, screwed calamities, Onida, earthquakes, crimson carnivores, obvious propagandas, 1984, Gilgamesh, Gomorrah, pirates who refuse to grow up, tron and freedom, strong laughter, perfect carnage, subliminal attacks, 

dextrous modes and mechanismsof hiding rot,


long walk through torpor,
and through the ancient secret gazes, wrinkled by vision of time and time of vision

full, splendid whores stand in ruins of sundown port.
crooked brick-teeth gleaning through green. Plants endure much more than this. They’ve been here before and they have seen more and are silent with cold graspfuck wisdom.     

It’s like a sermon of the damned.

A storming of the fortress

We are the lost ones
We are doomed to find the misty hidden island
Where our princess of longlost fairytale lies
We have no choice but to be here, now,
In this shit
 in the sand and gunpowder of heart,
It all heaps up on the hunchback of ages and pulls

All other ways will be blocked when they’ll be blocked
Raven will caw when ravens will caw

No story has ever been framed
Around the existence of free man and free woman.

big art proves that
true silence is always viral.

The persistence of this arrangement is damning
Vague shapes caught through myth
Phantom in the city
And even today we don’t know what words really are
Surely, painters are luckier.

Blemishes, philosophies –
Real streets, real people
Toadcroak wisdom heaves up and wins the sky over

Road to pure light:
Pristine swans hump on water of bliss

There lived two brothers and they were banished from the kingdom which elder one was supposed to inherit. They decided to set out reclaim their kingdom and claim their vertical thrust.
The elder one started te fight and when he was weary the younger one took charge and he fought better than his brother.  He sought to exterminate what remained of the enemy, which was a lot, all by himself, and got trapped and chained through and through like a big beast in a small cage. The elder brother had gained in strength by then and so he dived in to free his brother. After a long fight, he broke his neck. He hadn’t died but he couldn’t fight anymore and the enemies took him down to and chained him too.
Suddenly, a few strange ones, seeking to be a part of this epic, jumped in the frames and down the channels that led them right in front of the enemy flank. The charged into the columns, broke through them and shattered and shot-cocked the enemy. Some of the strange ones had fallen too, including one whose core was not found. The one who met with that ghastly submission to inevitability –
-          their inevitability not yours –
-          do you dare dance with their shadows? –
-          do I dare disturb the inevitability? –
-          soil stops growing –
-          the strange ones even missed out on his whatever-remaned without the core while loading their coaches. They took him in later on, as a gesture of kindness. Fuck. They’re really hated because they’re strange.

The enemy would use the core later on, while they strike back.

One of their own’s core was lost but the elder brother survived through the whole grissly deal and had held on to the core and the head. They got shit pissed.

 We all get like that when we get struck by the grim mountains & trams and totems as powerpuppets and power as wisdom for the puppets. You know how it is. 

They rescued the brothers, made the younger one the king of the reclaimed empire because the elder one had his neck broken and thus, could hardly move. The younger brother made the elder one the titular head and ruled the kingdom well for many years. The enemy was neutralized, and there was peace and prosperity and et cetera and et cetera.

 Then the strange ones arranged to go away because they got bored of being part of a lousy epic. They enticed the elder one and milk of love is thick and flowing and flesh of love is strong and raw. Milk of love in sea of love meat of love in milk of love and sea of love in easy silk.

The younger one left the elder one and joined in with the weird crew but he felt damn guilty of it and he wanted to go out. The strange ones tried to fool him and his brother, who, by then, was wise enough for wisdom and they had to let go of the younger one too. They were unsure and hence, scared. But their ego wouldn’t accept that and they named it pity and tried to feel better.

Then, they went away, with the remains and the core of the one they lost. They will wander miles, seeking to resurrect their beloved martyr and they would get pissed of the search and would call that pissed-off state as faith to make themselves feel better and worse. They will finally pack it all up and jump in to another epic and the core of their martyr would burn brighter this time to appease their bliss-hungry shitting. This screws the fun up. Damn.

Thus the strange, strong ones roam naked earth and move from one epic to another. 


Cloud, save me from bereavement & desolation
A thousand pillars of the moon
Soft salty enchantment  
I think of diamond and voting rights, of compromises, of molecules and the Universe while scratching my dick before pissing
I return to the the bugbears and
And to the boom-bust bloom.


Other shadows
Frames wither away.

 Cows of sundown saunter past battlefields of sundown.

There is so much more to this
That even the river flood and wild fire rages through forest and the sky gets red and gets ready to explode. 


Then the two friends crossed the desert and climbed the pillars, dragging their crosses, shadows and corpses, and reached the moon.

Brave wind blew strong

We watched and waited for something to happen.
We still watch and wait for something to happen.
We are the cursed archers. We have grown roots. We are fucked in nothing happens. We are fucked if anything does. We didn’t ask for this when we signed in.
we were told stories of heroes who won.
We were told of the ladders.
We weren’t told of the losers.
We weren’t told of the snakes.

Corpse drag me away
from this
straight to  ideas of peace and submission.
Strange, pale mother
watches, stoic.
 Woodcutter walks through the mess, axe in hand, strong.

Lanternglow afar pulls hard
Big demons and gods blow their horns and beat their drums.
Cricketsong pulls us back to soil.

Lurid tunnels

World class service & utility guaranteed. Log in now for attractive discounts and to participate in the lucky draw. we also sell remodeled souls and used epiphanies that look just like brand new ones. hurry! offer valid for limited period only!

They came out together in hordes
They left town and reached harbour
They left harbour & sailed away.

But this house doesn’t lead to other ones
And that’s fucked enough for  stuff to burst out.

It’s fun to hide and watch
the world holding on to rust and going round with its systems and shapes
holding on to make-believe rain is easier than this
stillness, too, is much-needed at times.
It feels nice to judge
It feels like shit to get judged


Procession moves through mirror and comes out.
They are all over my room now –
Terrific mosaics of silence through deep, scarred places
And masks
And faces.

And then they become one and become huge and eats me and then I am in the procession with masks & faces and scars and other shit and I am in the mirror and mind becomes mirror and mirror becomes mind
Saddest asssqueeze cherries of the world dunked down shitpot of heart while they screamed for kindness and mercy stand and watch in frozen silence of steel from the other side
gutted children of the rot stare through hazy glasses of the rainbow that betrayed.
Seven diamonds glint in sharp laughter

Juniper tree stands in real rain
Numb, weary trams stand in real moonlight.

The hunter gets hunted tonight.

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