27 Feb 2008
Visions collide
She colored her tongue infatuation
that cursed his feet as they lifted off the ground.
Krishna's atomic hill. I'm still in bed.
All the tales of God in war.
Fighting my way through the wires
that birthed the sound.
Visions collide.
26 Feb 2008
Mutton gusset souffle, senor. Limp through the cloisters, up the stair-lift and past endless choirs of copulating hyenas. O Romania! Lift me onboard the egg-wagon one last time, then quickly fry spittle in the broken yoke afterbirth of shoes.
Before you came back from Egypt I coughed reams of consumptive algebra; all leave was cancelled. Petri-dish skyline over sunken Alabama backstreets: tramps hoist up their trousers; the waitresses revolt. Moon-pocket lepers assemble a miniature collage of shrunken tumours. Mussolini, mon amour.
Drag a lobster-pot behind your car, my tricky little polka-dot lesion. Fifteen frightened children and a piano made of bread.
blooming shoes / petal like and limp
waking in my shoes / blooming like a ribcage in a morgue / a betrayal / a serpent / a soft nihilism that talks angrily to itself / hopeless addiction hides a great anger at the shell that hides it / bloated / corpulent / fat for fucks sake / round and with children / functionworthies the idle workers for the soporific image / hate / uselessness / hate / oh she won an oscar I shall suck on the marrow from her bones / frail broken bones / ejaculation sounds wear suits / she calling for him / she breaking him down / comes across his brain with red nails / scratching / scoring her name into frontal lobes / delicate....
25 Feb 2008
Filthy art.
You claim me like the edge of static, revolving as a finished vinyl sounds through the speakers. My dreams dissolve like uranium that triggers the gun that kills the cat that was alive and dead. Tickle the missile as it tops the charts this week. Its already been downloaded more than it's sold. Odd. I somehow gathered that the film we ingested was as confused as it was backward, raped and injected like a seal we clapped and danced each time for a glimpse of her bosom and the sounds she made as she held the trigger. My right hand was itching. "lets touch the screen" and we did.
We always did.
Together we hijacked a bookshelf and crashed it into physics. As the up and coming threat of intellectualism transfers into the distance and interferes with a diagram. Clearly you can see interference (diagram 2.1). You claim me like the obtuse angle of the camera during anal sex. Your new point of view in the world where newspapers are your gas masks in the preceding chaos that reigns from Mon-Wed. Chase me like a ghost when the world gets a glimpse of her dislocate-able jaw as it slides over it's prey. To think we could all be speaking rising sea levels and temperature changes, severe weather conditions and the likes.
But you can't take her to the bank to cash those tears. x2.
If you take away my fears you'll give me nowhere to hide.
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