The Prosthetic Acephalous Mouth Suck Up the Death Of Man

The Prosthetic Acephalous Mouth suck up the Death of Man
And that you defecate what they have defecated under the precaution of contracting syphilis from swallowing their own words of wreckage filth mess/
BoyDebris and Veyda extrapolating under narcotic fade out to grey turgid dawn of the inexorable march of the delirious/ Not another fuking dawn/ What happened to the night?/ The perverse expectation to explain myself fills me with disgust/ Did we confess under that marginal escaped voice that murmured over the filthy City at night while you lay full of wakefulness in the prison bed / yr thoughts of decomposition and exhumation fragments of a disintegrating memory that seemed to be seeping back into the NOW as an libidinal erosion/ the skin takes on the sheen of transparent rice paper/ something is written in ink which bleeds in the darkness of yr room you look for the body that radiates / Divorced of actual need for happiness we gash ourselves to the bone attempting to feel something/anything/To say that you have a body when it is racked with anguish is to ask “why have I spoken of that which I wish to forget?“/ superfluousness and vanity is not justification to exist in itself as if beauty had a interminable necessity of being/ thought in its most passive passion imagines the heavens without yr glorious becoming angelic and divine/the strange violence of velocities circle/cycle of birth and death is an absurdity that relies on the movement of time to give it some validity/ if I don’t die I can be nothing but a burden to you/ I have neglected the dying of others in the anticipation that dying would be outmoded in the next decade/ But of course this will be the last dying of the doomed species and I will not be alone but surrounded by the weight of dead things and objects /
I am making the real unrealizable but without the explication of intense concentration it will be separated from what ever suffering there is in passivity/there is a violence and an incongruity in my heart that drives me to distraction to increase the pain to the point where it becomes pleasure/I am radiating artic polarity and reflect nothing but my five minutes with you/ when we open our eyes we see a world that is empty violent full of incoherent noise/a shattered joy of great disasters/ detonating the unity of occurrence the limit of stress and the excitation of zero/ The lost art of the intimate gesture suspended where desire is careful not to be satisfied/ Apocalypse is everywhere but invisible its is in yr shoes and yr feet drag thru the day it is in yr fingers and the hands shake and sweat /the disaster never happens in the present it is an abyss that swallows every present and presence spiting out the gristle and the bones/its happening now but so clandestine we confuse it with everyday life/ Our human talents of memory and reflection oppress us with their dead weight/ Information wants to be free/ being is not stable but precariously meta stable it cannot be predicted anticipated or controlled/ we do not hellucinate an imaginary presence it is rather presence itself which is a delirium of hallucinations?/ Information overload is our proof that an external world really exists/ In order to apprehend life it is necessary to go to the door and let strangers in/ To throw open the window / What happens never escapes what happens except thru fulfilment/ Effort does not flow it crawls on its knees trying to understand the nothing that gave birth to it unasked for/you can never be promiscuous enough to to satisfy the need to be filled with agitation/ Her invisible despair is hopeless since it is the result of the realization of all her desires to dominate time and space which produces an hysterical intensity of life and living and an imagined open-ness and transparency/ Are there no secrets that we fail to confess?/ Where are the hidden objects we will never find?/ I know far to much already / Yield to the intimacy of the machinic/ and her imagination must remain in the form of an indelible memory of her self pressed onto the fragments he tears and takes away/each time he eats a little more he eats and speaks with his mouth full and I grow a little lighter/ Scribbled notes on the back of my hand amidst the collapsing skin /the purple veins/tracks that run to the end of my fingers and pretend to escape/ I am in ruins and suffer under the coercion to prove that I an here and I am becoming and doing and leaving traces which do not support themselves in holding onto us in this time of loss and impending return to the to the precarious seriousness of innocence/ Visions of yr body segments moving without motion yet taking its immanence from one excremental place to another of continual modalities/down the steps leaving only a series of images blurred and distorted/ I can recall by chance yr name and speak it in a whisper/ I know you are outside of the one who speaks and the other who has thought the speaking/ passing on something not desired/ furtively hiding the implications / the immensity of trust and attraction with the highest of reasons and motives/ There is an understanding of an end but not an end to understanding/ Nude distended by a suitcase heading for the Departure Lounge/ Exploding planes of solar distortion refract off plate glass repulsion and disturbs the impelling thought that I have always been a subject preserving and capturing a reality which has faded into a simulation/perhaps many /under the murmur of perceptual trespass/ virulent yes but ultimately complacent and disregarding the implication for the interior monologue/ words and extension of will and will a force of conscious subjective desire to possess/ I want this and I will speak it into my arms and herein lies my romanticism/ My lust for the power of speech/above writing/ I want to hear yr voice deny me my inner experience of subjugation to yr will/ Get rid of the body thast is the first precaution to take/ the body is a witness to the event after the excitement of the killing slides into decline/ He has reached a summit of evil and there is no fault to be found in this dialogue which tries to explain away the motive of Mans expiration/