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

jump.

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

heave

pull

stretch

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!

prrfrrrrt,

...

time for the sea.

...

and yes, yellow

butchers of moonlight

Hafeez

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

Befuddled.

Benumbed

Your jukebox of juice

had ditched us

And our information processing phantoms

Resurrection

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

see

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

Twisted

Strange

Sanguine sanctuaries of monotony

And then

strong totems

of wisdom

standing

staring

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

defeat

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

blatant

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

Convictions,

Illusions,

Images

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

putrid,

mortified

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

thus

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.

Yes.

…

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.

Snafu.

Sangfroid.

…

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.

…

Whore-bugle-bloom

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,

evenings.

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

Stasis

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 –

Conjure,

Entangle.

…

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

Daggerdoom

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,

grimaces

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

And,

 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

…

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…

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.

…