9 Jan 2008

The Supine Is Electric

Sexy and Simulacral: The image has been splayed open, and that pulsating ease matters terribly. It's my role as ghost that afflicts her, acts as a caress that somehow manages to hold the key to her every subliminal need. Another thought has become lit and learned also to love tenderly, its surface turned slightly towards me, yellowing at my gaze. Is she of a northern sky, where the miles feel perfectly free to swirl above her head, to wear rubies that glisten with secrets?

Our breathing muses to itself, 'there are warmer dreams to come before these geometries are ready to carry out the Revolution. Form will be left to blister beneath futures as enigmatic as the lens to yes, a curved abscond first.'

Constantly Viral: I'm unaware that her smile is only the beginning of this exhaled horizon, she is so delicate, the void become tiny shards of ice. An accretion of tonal traits, prophecies more disturbing than intended, it's my listening that finally assumes the tertiary's silver lining, audible muscles that growl and drip. With more than a gasping passion, objects rest their cheeks on exile's cool whisper, establishing strange relations with what is know as the entropic. Laughter curls its wings before golden amens in italics. Two seconds later, decibels are pinned to my flutter while still alive and twitching, refusing to die as heroes die. Your lips moan a sad song set against a backdrop of grey, corrugated iron.

The sun is written there, soaked in vermilion austerity. War is prose, poetry a maternal swelling buried in my head, a thousand allegories condensed into the bend of her eyelashes. Which kingdom will be the first to rain, to speak of our mutual claims to certain cells asleep on the bed? There's certainly more than a lake in your eyes, a definite tendency for time to lag behind, like a mere outline of your entire universe. Sometimes even the densest abstractions are capable of expansion, of referring to themselves as old nuances that suicide via poisoned logic, only to be resurrected as a hollow space no longer readying itself for ecstasy. The outlines of another creature were burning within you, but soon returned to video, asking every time how it all came to be so real? Its presence is so beyond us, it paralyzes differences before they come to fruition in our bloodstreams, a city aborted by its own ascent, ceremonies more oxide than white.

Nothing Is Open, Yet: The supine is electric, it speaks the esoteric languages that only other machines speak, opaque yet formatted for dilemmas at the same time. She thinks of the hours passing, trains stopping to paratke of the ritual, splashes over what new collaborators will allow, spears, mysticism. New tasks will appear soundless, the retrograde of skin soft as a quart of light that has found a resonance within you. Certain recognizable patterns don't even have enough for one hand, they just shuffle aimlessly from room to room, vaguely hoping to be repulsed by what they fail to perceive in the astral. The narrators of death echo in the creases of your dress, I notice, harmonies that soar into the most vehement of presents before collapsing into a final, long drone from your terrible heart.

Your hands must now be awake to the magnetic world crafted as pure meaning, lacerations into the sheer weight required for vigilance opened onto yet another murmuring, analogical blues that merge perfectly with the day. Forever a surprise, downloaded breasts that sing to my various fixations left to wane with the room's light. Your speculations ache with vision, desolations so absolute they can only be translated between dimensions, and there is always too much to write even after the murk has begun to rupture.


murmurists said...

very nice. like 2nd verse especially

Aaron Held said...

enjoyed this mucho

cocaine jesus said...

i strikes me that what we have is not only rob burning rubber but a desire by him, and all of us, to, not only match our team mates but, better them. this for me is the fun part. trying my feeble best to keep up with this frankenstein that we have created.
bloody good read this rob!

Jaie said...


Robert said...


CJ, did you read my mind?

ive been thinking about this all day

it has been so ON FIRE around here, and everyone coming with their "A" stuff

i was thinking of the competitive aspect, too...now dont get me wrong, im TOTALLY enjoying it...at the same time, i know it will slow down at some point..it CANT keep up like THIS!

or can it??


(another myspace friend said i was obsessed with Discharge...i was like, Well YEAH!!) :)

murmurists said...

Odd to think that, but I see what you mean. Can't say it's part of my conscious thinking in any palpable way, but maybe the idea of a 'team site' prompts such things. Whatever the motivations, Discharge has ever been better in my opinion. I think this is down to chemistry - which hashelped create more of a tangible collaborative feeling; as opposed to a shop-window for individuals.

Everyone on here is brilliant, in my view.

murmurists said...

*never been better* (typo - sorry)

Matina L. Stamatakis said...

Bravo! Bravo!