8 Sep 2008


Justin Lee Brown and Lee Kwo/ PostCards from the Front Line/

Noises are alive with hyper vigilance their discrete movements toward silence signaling the vibrant decay of becoming and eluding the melting ear /detouring the divine illusion of the death circumspect without suspicion/an unexpected absence of affliction marks time/ We confide in each other spinning into a virtual density of delirium / So many resonances / We cross flexed sound of desperation as one would pass invisible through ancient vaulted burial grounds/ Poised for demolition pre-destined to preserve our faltering decay this interval in our temporary salvation of being in life without the definite trace of duration / willing to become another negation of the aesthetic at the end if you choose/circumventing rigid lucidity of purpose we institute a new order of thought / no mystery between the validity of being and nothing / just an interval of frictional ravitude and the fact that I cannot fall asleep with yr scratching the sky in my eyes / Enigma becomes intimate invasive forbidden impediment to impulse of weapon/Who is the most submissive slave?/ the bullet or the gun?/ coded desire murmuring insomnia / grunting male drone jams teknoid wound into psycho sexual circuit / An excess of imagination opens fire with DogMan(caps) guns across scorched deserts of Arizona/ you did not know me then my desire to die growing weary too soon/ The unrecognized conclusion of indifference sears the perversely crooked path of births expulsion to the prohibited icon of the Law/ We are not delimited but fragmented/ Here on the Front Line with bodybags as if this moment might reverse itself in the end and become a resurrection/ Time is an atrocity when left to its own device/ We know better by ceasing to acknowledge fuking as a strategy in search of agreement with the invasive protocols of the coupling devices /What abortion might be expelled? / A pure fantasy of the fleshless as in dying does not last nor does it end perhaps/ Divine ignorance spit’s the filth of track marks across a tattoo of self mutilation/ Dead navigators at command post stare eyeless at ice cold stars of acid inhalation/ We void darkness pissing the psycho-tropic drugs into the fetid atmosphere of Zuk elemental dementia/ Stretching in to dreams and folding back into the darkness of The Work(caps) quietly mourning over lost digital patterns wasted/ Burn out the hard drives short term memory/ Groinal modes of clitoral hyper-activity fade into the virtual Ghetto Dogs(caps) predatory nervous system/ We barely leave a footprint so fast We flow across the abyss of collapsing meaning / the dangerous symbol of the Law offers vulgarity and acts unhoped for/ The temptation to name the hated/ She burn with the pleasure of the texture of scared flesh / it flows thru her like time of the NOW/ pushes beyond membrane of imagined non-reality of carnal intentions/ exchanges between us surpass the dialect of what instead flows into non-coded images burning with chroma fluid of neural rush / in depths of streams saturations realized we attain eternal truths as we exceed the surplus that the mind annihilates/ drop by extended drop dying falls on parched lips with its perverse thirst /noise too strident to allow itself to be heard / The madman alone is able to designate what he conceives as paradoxical within the excess of insanity/ to be released from life is to perfect oneself as marginal existing on the thresh hold of the liminal/ not noticed not impinged upon by the terror of those striving to deprive death of meaning / which is escape as failure to confront that we are not living but strategically dying/ We expose death in a panic we bury it/in haste/ We hear that it is forbidden to die from those who live with the invisibility of death/ The marginal live for the time of death with every heartbeat/ Where would we be without you death?/ Living hastens death/ We are listening for you/The acephalic man and his collective pain is unbearable to discern save for the clack of the keyboard exploding with requisite potions/a vision of unintended history undeniable and crystalline/ We are watching/This world is a bleeding wound full with uncertainty and illusion/ Puerile and terrible / The faรงade of complicity once removed expectorates incoherent noise of decomposition/ as limbs rot from stumps and gangrene blackens the innocent flesh of the naive innocent masses / In death we search for the absence of movement while undergoing the explosive immensity of time as it shuts down the somnolent erection of the Phallic XX/ The skeleton fatigued leaving bone unable to support its crown we willingly decapitate ourselves out of spite / but we will not acquiesce and give control to that which sucks perversely and uninvited at our sublime substance / The gaping sewer of its mouth teeth and tongue rapt strange complicity with the flow of shit / Must forget to swallow the pain of others / the decorticated virgin pukes up a history of dammed horror/ foul defeat precludes your suppurating lips but will not silence ours / Are you uneasy with the infinite?/ its unlimited restlessness ?/ The blood and other secretions of the Midwife of history/ Eroticism is the substitution of interval of the unknown pleasure within violence / We have the audacity to imagine that death will not be a failure/ She has a conclusion in mind and many demands that she deserves/ This is the sharpness of the blade that ensures a morality of decline / fragments coded in a darkness which marks foreign domination of a superior intellect/ The suicide of defiance / we stand face to face with illuminated intervention over this right to our dying/We can only resonate with the devouring of the image / but we can affirm nothing of its possible illusions / of what happens when we look into its depths of infinite changing / from glance to glance into impossibilities of becoming more or perhaps excess/its personal and linked to some undetermined object of desire to express the interior monologue of its creator/These are the effects of invisibility / Who are they if not this terminable question which reeks of the smell of fear on our breath/ Lightening in congested sky punctured the ript clouds of divine thought/ The sound transcends what it isnt /but not what it might become/ given time and patience/We become a witness without testimony/that of a dead thing making a detour towards the cold vicious comment as in :"pardon me I did not recognize you after so many years/ what happened to yr flesh? "/ What lies in the shallows of the pool and clasps at my ankles ?/ Still waters run deeper than the torment we exercise ourselves into believing the contrary/Steel fish in ravenous time/ Listen/In the silence something was speaking/ Calling our names lips suspended from the night do not speak instead signifying fear something of the father that arose in the dread of the night/ The FrontLine is for the ferocious and calls on the sacrifice of something of the self perhaps the selves/Loss is impossible when life extinguishes itself in unselfish becoming.

1 comment:

C.J. Duffy said...

A Felliniesque surreal piece!