As all came
Crashing down,
We could not help but laugh
Draining blood to function on belief
Factious stream counter to all pleas
Reclaim vision,
Howl like wolves
Learn to love the crack of the lash
Chambers full, envy and returns distorted
On the sharp edge advance changes design

Formless,
Unsullied,
Holy, with indigent longing
Hollow ravenous greed and profits twisted
Resting on the firmament adapts intention
The innocent
Break off,
Contemplating dispersions quelling
Deplete to pour out acts in certainty
Factious blood counters all entreaties

I have long been comforted by my fears. Something has always been coming at me, so I never approach the front door when anyone is about. Usually when I have left in the company of a human it has been to be dragged to prison, thrown into the streets or the madhouse. I no longer participate. There is no place left to drop out to, so I’m running out of places to stop and catch my breath.

Lately I have managed to be gone in time. I’ve fallen into a habit of leaning on knives when they are held to my back. Not everybody welcomes that. The threats are meant to control. It’s a bit disconcerting when the target opts for the punishment.

I pass days in a numb, obsessive reverie. I pass through the streets on errands I as often as not forget, and rarely care to complete when I do. Faces are never recognizable, but I can see recognition in a face in the street when a look of revulsion contorts their habitual blandness, their mask of belonging. The scent of decomposition lingers just beyond my sense of smell.

Fear warns of danger, hunger raises anger, but apathy immobilizes. The endless flow of words between people would dwindle to a trickle if we could no longer deliver our respective tales of agony. There is a certain thrill I get from recognizing my nightmares in real events, or meeting a person for the first time a day after dreaming of them. Fear time. Sometimes there is a link between a dream and an event that is not immediately apparent.

I’m awaiting certain death in an abandoned building. Poised in the middle of the room, I have the sense I’m standing at the edge of a cliff that is dropping far into the blackness below. A warm rush of air startles me. The room is sealed off. An abyss yawns before me, not visible, but palpable. I am aware that others are outside the room, silent in anticipation for what I’m about to do. None of them were real. As usual the promised spectacle failed to entrance. To be seen and heard by other unreal spectres confirmed their reality. A wave engulfed a small nation. They had been brought into existence by human thought and feeling, but had also pre-dated them.

I hear a distant cry of surprise and warning. I smile, recognizing the moment. Punishment, recognizable after a smirk, days and not for refuse edge is in appearance and warm reverie. I’m the cry recognizing blandness in the ways knives flow across moving soft tissue. Before I approach the outside air I’ve anticipation of something far more disconcerting. I wonder what anticipation could there be in death that can match grey consensus.

I see you hawk the sacrament in a reverie of acquiescence, melt away, and demur. Every one was dead by the end, though they had never lived. The light was going out of both worlds, fading into entropic languor. Elements of character meet your gaze at the corridor, insurgent, red disdain in corrupt augmentations. Talking was a way to ignore the death that was theirs. The stillness, preoccupied, drawn in to that nowhere, has become aware of an odd, embryonic authority. A war dragged on in an arid and hot part of the globe. Elements cry running remnants visible only to me.

My Inner Sanctum

In a shaded doorway
Watching the spirits at play,
Through a cracked and shimmering window to the world;
Through my surprise, welling up in my eyes:
Your soul;
Bleeding, old; a deep well of love:
Sepulchral, cold.

The crowning glory swathed in fear,
The brave action recoiling into futility.
To my knees glancing upward,
There flies pain: mine.

Deep ecstasy traces desire.
Hidden places, lost hold;
No one to sustain reality,
My love erases me.
I turn around to go,
The world around me flows through my body.
The bitter realization contains the happy seed: yes, me.

Weak and stumbling,
Gloriously breathing still dawn’s air,
That part of me now lost forever,
It wanders lonely in the dark.
Battle-weary I remain
Inconsistency remarked,
Though seemingly complete.
The soul bears not
Such vacuous conceit.
God damn you!
How can I bear to see your face?
Your every tear reveals my cowering disgrace.
To my knees, glancing inward:
Imprisoned:
My inner sanctum.

Dreamless Sleep

The Gods stand aside dispassionately and observe. Having been poisoned for centuries, they are incapable of action. They have not even the strength for emotion.

The hard, physical world floats around me, like the dreams, like those all encompassing dreams. The hallway outside my bedroom is obscured by itself. I follow known directions, trusting my mental map of my house. Looking down the front of my body is like looking down an endless cliff. Every step feels like I am plunging myself to my death. I find the phone and hold it to my ear. I’m not sure if my arms reach to my ear; the mouthpiece by my face is so far away. I hope she can hear me over this distance.

“Hello……..”

The distant voice echoes throughout the house. The Daimon hisses in reply. The phone by my face is at the bottom of an endless slope. I have got to shout so she can hear me from the top.

“hello?”

I know what to answer, I just cannot say it. The words fly out of my skull, but cannot penetrate the sheets of reality that keep dropping in front of me, tearing apart, only to reveal more illusory reality beneath.

Paradise was never lost.
Truth is; we never left

In fact, I have dreamt this world into being and am terrified I’ll never awake.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________

The sky is blazing in the death of the last day. I am in a field filled with death escaping the city. Behind me is a flowing unreality that is transforming the surrounding landscape like liquid floating weightless in space. I stop and stand forlorn in a wasteland of forlorn humanity. I know in this dream what lies behind this transformation of reality, that I have known it would happen, but I will awaken wondering.

Dimensions are near impossible to judge, for matter itself is in constant flux. I feel freed by this change. I am somehow adjusted to the dissolution in a way I can not explain as much as intuit. I move distant sights toward me, I am not walking, not moving, not still. Not me.

Not I.

Distant, imminent, immobile, on a hill one moment, flailing in midair the next, is a dancing human figure. It remains in the same space as the surroundings change around it. Dancing, it appears, in apparent joy of glorious victory. I pull the vision closer to understand. As we converge, I can hear a hollow shriek issuing from it. There is something chilling about the call of the dancer, like what one might imagine the dead would sound in their desiccating desire for continued physicality. This cry is devoid of passion and the timbre of living flesh.

When I am next to the figure I realize the sounds are not coming from its throat.

Exaltation in Ascendancy

Weeping alight, Drawn in too tight
Warnings too late are told in our plight
The haints come with parched, red grins
Celebrate this day our irredeemable sins

Nocturnal professions come into nothingness
Lifts our burdens, becomes our hidden weapons
Wailing by the window in the grief of the proud
Dread failings wrapped around us like shrouds

A soothing breeze, a haunting phrase
Leaks out from behind the gate
Secret passions worn like a medal
Truth be told, trust is never to be shown

I am screaming at my shoes. Hanging on a promise from a lover, I wait like a hermit at the stake. I see you hawk the sacrament in a reverie of acquiescence, melt away, and demur.

I got to go, people.

Chime through the theatre of Strength. An enervating performance is set to begin which shall tax all tolerance. Elements of character meet your gaze at the corridor, insurgent, red disdain in corrupt augmentations. An uneasy condition, we gorge ourselves on our own to prevent the apprehension of relentlessness.

I’ve been expecting you.

Come in. It’s all for your benefit.

We lack hysteria, the formlessness that will live forever as dank calls to action founder forgotten.

I am headed for adoration in the deep longing for nothingness. The essence of conventional lives of ritual vanity expressed in soulful, sweet remnants’ inevitable reek, terrible in their subterranean sin of a clinging rage, leaves us at a loss to explain what we see.

I process forms, encouraging war on the defiled, always aware of their reflective meaning. Left to languish in their soul’s execution, the tautness of their purposeless laments, the brazen tread over their bodies, talking on a tiny, cancer-giving device all the while, an eye is closed. A world rejoins the darkness beyond night. The time that was shall ever/never exist. The stillness, preoccupied, drawn in to that nowhere, has become aware of an odd, embryonic authority.

Worship of Disclosure

Thought shall inaugurate the fall of fear
The fall eliminate the life that was
The life that was can never have been
Lie turns back on lie; behold
Fear shall die with its slaves
Visions shall lie, telling of the fear of death
Laughter shall erase this carnage of thought

Fear ridden spectres flitting by
Still their fetters bind your soul
Stronghold of corrosion let burst
The floodgates of dead gods desires
Move on by in disgust
Slink through the shadows of infinitude
Killing the will, slipping back
Back to that which never was

In distrust lie the possibilities
That were stillborn in haloed fields
We’ll tear the cities down falsehood by falsehood

Anything and anyone can be neutralized by being commodified. They knew they would never lose control over the population when they had realized this.
They would give them the floor to pull out their teeth.
“There’s a revolution going on. Our generation shall not be silenced!”
Indeed.
“We will not be ignored!”
Like infants, all they desired was attention.
“We brought the war to an end with our voices.”
“Here, have this job, this car. Take the mike. Tell us your story.”
They offer the would-be dissenters a defilement of a kind they could be in love with. Allow the leader; the alpha activist, to be the Righter of Wrongs, dealer in shock, assistance free of charge is presented outside the usual circles of penny counting organizers. They all have a weakness for poverty.
When an attack was launched, they took hold of its manifestations and ran with them. Previously they had hunted dissenters down, making them disappear, making their public personas repudiate any effective ideas they had previously advocated.
“I’m fighting the battle from the inside.”
“We will be more successful changing the system from within.”
Of course, from time to time someone had to disappear. They achieved this by making the most dangerous ones famous.
Group communication was carried out in code. We had plans. Meetings were never announced. Imperative operations were of necessity secret. We would carry out surgical strikes on the dominant culture, and then repair to a safe location to compare notes. We would spike trees, plaster subtly altered posters over advertisements in the subways to make people question what they were seeing. Congratulations all around. It was beautiful. We would make them see for the first time in their lives. Once they could see their world, their safety and identity for what it was, they would join us in tearing down the tyrannical structure.
Aesthetic Shock Tactics.
Freedom was palpable, a promise sure to be delivered, delivered by us, for which History would be forever grateful to us. Our sex was for liberation. Our dress was a form of political statement. Our couplings, triplings, quadruplings and toinfinituplings were revolutionary acts, challenging the whole structure the tribes, families, schools, nations had been based.
There was a tremendous energy in those days. We began to feel a need to take it further. We wanted to identify ourselves, declare our presence, stand up and add our voice to the general discourse. Plans were made, with an eye to add these public statements to the activities we were already carrying out.
“Release your psyche.”
The first step was the publication of flyers, then a magazine. Artists among us, of course, we were all artists, found alternative spaces to show. We hosted events that brought out police, the press, motley crowds of deviants, feeling at home in the world for the first time. Identities and behaviors that had previously been kept hidden for fear of imprisonment and death emerged into the light of day. Latex queens, new primitives, rivetheads, poets, sex heretics, nudists, pagans, post-everything artists, madmen, lefties, potheads, homeless prophets of a new tribe. We were the future.

Venom, God love them, venom was sold as a means for their emancipation. Devices, mental, chemical and philosophical, that would expand the mind had to be replaced with the tools for their destruction, so we could offer the hand of help, tell them the manacles were ornaments. If they could feel their Anarchy, that was usually enough. Needed things being illicit, this illegality made it easy to identify harmful things with the same creative revolt.
They were flooded with their own desires.
They were beautiful in the bloom of their first stirrings.
The music was the easiest to assimilate. The machine was in place, the attention of young people was already riveted to its icons. In the past they had tried to shut the artists that were opposed to them out. This brought the artists more power. Insurrections seemed impervious to the resistance of the greatest power that had ever been held. Subversion was indeed unstoppable.
Expressions were polemical; we were powerful in our unrelenting self-expression, angry in our protest. Crowds at our events were growing. Our images were flying through the air on the vibrations of electrons, penetrating homes, and flying through bodies of the populace. He gained a name. That name became a shibboleth of gargantuan proportions.
Fury bloomed on the road to our destruction, the science of being; that dissection of nothingness, seeming such a vital intellectual approach at the time. At first we noticed a dispersion of our frame of mind: the damage to the consequence. The celebration killed us. Our triumph was a skin; pulsating and growing larger, the glaze started to be slowly sucked away in eagerness for our image as grotesques; media outlets diminishingly resisted our disguise. We had arrived as inhuman presences in the fiendish morass of normalcy. Acceptance was seductive. We were beautiful. More than ever, we were beautiful.
Are we now the present?

Manifestation Objective

Soul fire kisses, a hapless passion
Upon the pulse of the altars of madness
Radiant visage glowing words on flesh
Remembrance of my deaths shadow
Take my hand personified
Leads you down

Bound to the end of time
Strewn about like gravel
Blown like glass
Where lunacy comforts

Obscurity growls and swirls in lusty celebration around me. There is no time, no space, just being, just non-being. Worlds come and go; they come and go pulses of entering and exiting, being and non-being. HA! Tribulations swirl into the void. Chaos comes to pass in splinter groups; the wrong people seem to be crying for evasion, the alarm verging on pandemic.
Visions fade into a general morass. There is no room, no home. Shadows dance enticingly in the peripheral vision.
Order cautioned you once about the restricted: Ominous systems of conviction feign being secured and wasting away, lofty cenotaph to psychosis illuminating unseen resistance.
Surrounded by the structure and at home with divine censure, limitations of long-established punishments arise. A vision external to the majority view becomes harder to maintain. Close at hand, dire events befall the most unlikely people, resolute in their refusal to be perturbed. Excessive calls to vote for the small difference, others mourn the herd mystification.
Powerless to bring to a halt ancient deprivation, eloquent with mortification: we’ve come to a decision flanked by ill-use and philosophical haemorrhage and as a consequence, vast. Devour your wail whole more willingly than devils with their means of the process adherents. Possession is not able to be forfeited, just before the throne of judgement, we search. Oblivious to events in another place, in the least likely manner to be approaching common men, actions unfold. Fevered transgressions portend near drowning in the human race, waste, animated with dread.

I’ve been noticing that things seem to have a strange glow about them today. I thought at first that it was the quality of the light of the rising sun, dancing in my vision with the remnants of the dream I was trying to shake out of my brain.
I always have felt less than solid upon awakening. Dreams have always stayed with me well into the morning, even when I can’t remember them. Indisputable sensations tickle every inch of my skin. The blanket feels like it’s crawling with millions of tiny legs.
I scratch my side, but am unnerved to find that my nails and the skin I’m clawing at feel grainy. I half expect the skin to be coming off in my hands, but am relieved to find that it stays. Shaking my head, I thrust myself onto the floor, noting that the carpet feels springier than usual. I’ve always hated wall to wall carpeting, but when one rents, one has to accept the domicile as it is.
The windows are waving like the window panes at my grandmother’s ancient house in rural Maine. But the waves and imperfections of her windows do not move.

A strange frame of mind runs through silhouettes like skewers. The successive breed is a wonder to behold. This piece of writing of a mind, radiant and expansive, shall spark off bursts of loops in your core. I distinguish every single one with excessive ambiguity.

We stand aside, screaming. Seas of blood swirl around us in a storm of heat and clamor. We have many things to tell you, things that are crucial to your well-being, truths you have been seeking for generations. Sometimes you act like you can hear, but we lose all coherence at these moments. Sometimes your minds take our gibbering and fit a pattern over it, creating seeming logic, giving our shouts the shape of stories.
We can only be heard when you’re alone, in your own company or in a wilderness of multitude.

None of it made sense until I mastered the trick. It had to be hidden from all others, but they seemed to be surprisingly willing to be deceived. I am on a perch from which I can feel eternity. I can weave elaborate jokes that flow outward like raw sewage.

Draw In, Wind Down

Wheels on wet road greet my waking eyes
Halted by the touch of memory
I smell the rain and hear its song
This bed will not let go of me
Nor the thirsty, feverish day get off me

Draw in, wind down

I still feel the touch of the nocturnal breeze
The seeds are flung at the remains; reasons found

Dream Shadow

Solemn grey – the sky evokes my Angel
Walking in the rain, I’m not alone
White lace, wet lace light and clinging
Clinging to the face of the forest
I want to sleep in the rain, in the snow
Warm and safe under the snows ice hands

I fall and am safe
I sleep and fear the face
I fly and am no more
And am no more

Sleep pulls me down into silken sepulchers
Born away on seas of sound I cry out
A breeze soothes my bitter mind on the crimson plane

Wrapped in those I love
I awaken to dawn caresses
And they are no more

Ontological Anarchism

The end came and nobody noticed. No bangs or whimpers; not a ripple. The souls of the faithful were swept up to their reward, leaving a mass of aimless, fearful husks behind. They too did not notice what had happened. Their essence was shredded and consumed by the ghost they’d created over generations. To the faithless, the shells of the faithful seemed to be much the same, perhaps there was a bit more of an air of desperation, but it was hard to quantify.

The wrecks could be seen, though nobody ever noticed them, their vehicles, perfect in their shine, cell phones always at their ear, or seemingly talking to themselves with their earpieces in. They are but characters in a nightmare being experienced by a drunk lying on a street in a parallel universe. He wonders in his sleep who could possibly want to listen to these vile, empty vessels for hours on end.

A poison in his gut twists at his insides, so he shifts in his stupor. A wave engulfs a small nation. A war drags on in an arid and hot part of the globe. Death-squads wander through the surrounding streets. They know who he is and wish to separate this pole axed creator and the world he’s dreamt up. If they can bring it into a separate existence they can colonize it, for it already contains a population of perfect slaves.

The light was going out of both worlds, fading into entropic languor. The end became boring centuries before it saw fit to happen. As usual the promised spectacle failed to entrance. Audience participation was necessary to pull off the trick, but the illusion could not be agreed on.

Gods were created, and though formed fully in the minds of humans, ruled in unquestioned tyranny. Every one was dead by the end, though they had never lived. They had been brought into existence by human thought and feeling, but had also pre-dated them. They survive the end and predate the beginning. None of them were real.

The death-squad smelled blood. They didn’t know the reason for their hunt, nor question it. They’d play. They’d move. This set them apart. Blind rage was a tool to hide the futility of the search for meaning. They wanted the drunk for his self induced psychosis. Many were outside the fence, but didn’t matter any more than the billions of clones within the set limits. It was because he stopped participating, stopped talking about it and started to dream it. He would bring it all with him as he breathed his last.

People in the world being dreamed could sense their origin. Some fell into despair, some joined the stupefied creator in his habits, and others remade him in their parent’s image. Most had work to do and couldn’t be bothered to pay attention to nonsense. If the world was to end, they needed to redouble their efforts to get the project completed, the war won, the perfect partner found, the dog washed, the trash taken out. The quickening injected each action with a new urgency for a while, and then this urgency turned into despair, violence, hatred and finally apathy.

The dreamer coughs and a million press releases go out to announce the death of culture in the form of hundreds of talent-deprived young droids. Money shifts its tides in their direction. Perfect shiny vehicles blast the news, rattling windows, killing conversation. A thousand college students die of alcohol poisoning.

Pale ghosts ran inside and barred the doors as the death-squad approached. They knew they weren’t being sought, but they also knew what it would mean to get in their way. The pale spirits vision would start to float and fray at the edges and dissolution unquestionably begin. The members of the squad could feel this too. They knew the dreamer was about to either wake up from his soul shredding trance or die, causing both worlds to be swept back into the nothingness from which it had come.

The light took on a grainy quality that could be felt, like a weak electric current, as the squad approached an alley shouting garbled curses. The buildings leaned in to get a better look and laughed. They could feel themselves melt into the pavement as they reached the corner, beyond which they’d never see.



Can’t stop Laughing (The Beauty of Drowning)

Souls defied, deep penetration
tearing asunder liquid desire.
Inner strength, all-consuming turmoil
pulls me down, pulls me under the black surface.

For all I love I give you this;
(Christians to the lions).
As we gaze upon the black water;
(you pull me under).
Speak to me of how I love the pain.
I can’t stop laughing,
I can’t stop laughing!
(The beauty of drowning).

We lie side by side, blowing sparks
gazing into the screaming silence.
Under the birthing moo we pray,
pray to be together for all time.

Ontological Anarchism

I was blinded submerged in shade
Stained fearless by my unsound rage
I’m unbounded by the hills around my valley
Sea of misery deluged my shelter and raised my valley
It swam me to mauled in distress
It avoided the formless faith in restraint
Flooded with the presence of tempests near-term
Forestalling control of unstable doubt and disquiet

Lament in the pandemic, rooted in instance and position
Heavens and Shock in the air decay in derision
The agitation has eased and the risk abated
And those faith-adorned have uprooted its identity
Brave retractions have betrayed my collapse
Possession has seared you to the Body of abandon
Formless danced the conflict procurers
Rapturous sighs of ecstasy and the chaos of dawn

Confidence flowed to create the storm
Triumph flourishes, extinction unobserved
Viral fury and the horror of us, of you
Choronzon burns up the Human frenzy
Contrasting illusive rides on the current
It shrills in the intention of illusory crisis

Process of Conditioning

At arms length, laughing, disowning
Languid in comfort: all is left without
Liquid astonishment stings within
The entire transpires officially authorized
Nobody comes near time in false witness
Changes of scene and attitude
We lie alone, love scorned, fear praised
Insanity ratified by poison comities

Wary of others abuse, excited over their crimes
All come down like hail on us
Never, always invoking never in our actions
And desire, directed by associations
Paying the penance in a dream of genocide
Implicit retraction of self/ non-self
Mind/ no-mind reconciled in fire
Forged into blasphemous manipulations

Anarchy reiterates blame
A systematic loop of approach and imprisonment
Feeling as a concept of self definition
Expression in language and art
Declaration of I am and we are

We deviate from the path, lose sight
Why is the answer received you should not be
We’re drawn out by desire, chained by want
Our emergence exposes our vulnerability
A matter of trust, not to be killed

A formless oppressor rides lost shamans
In our lusts, do we disintegrate dying?
Mortality’s figurative oratory fades away

The Machine in Repose

Silence of weird mercy, its grinding stilled
In that one-time incarnation as a wolf I ravened
CRYPTIC revulsion authority augments the FLESH
I am at one with the Machine
It consumes me to induce submission

The science of being; a dissection of nothingness
An inhuman presence in the Fiendish morass
Bless this Breathless Cry in the radiance of our curse
I move nations with the Machine
And glory in its cold embrace

Disdain Transcends

My path is black
I am sinking exultantly
In the throat of exclusion
Motiveless escalation exalted
Salient verses lobbing the curses
Dried and subversive
Meekly discursive decree
A disfigurement on my unfamiliar skin
This lies beyond my hope
I am the last thing
This is the last act
I am the last thing that shouts into the void

Human Rites (Schizoanalysis)

Ride the lifeless Vision of silence soaring
So consumed, the empire being no longer stated
Pouring out compulsion, elevated through our fall
Flailing through chaos, I run once more

The surface unchanged, the population rearranged
The plan of the chart; symbols of the all
Abase yourself with dilemmas achingly strange
The representation has become the object as fated

Leave unravelled all we have done
Disconnect and reconnect masses and surroundings
Banish with laughter the enchantment of absurdity
Consciousness excess faithless from want of stimulus
Assemble abstract technology that decays in sleep
Excessive evidence of us unfolded on all sides

Viral Linguistics

All you know is wrong All you know is wrong All you know is wrong All you know is wrong All you know is wrong All you know is wrong is we know to this you real this wrong sentenced wrong is here lie is are this we wrong condemnation help know nothing all wrong a is lie all real is nothing we help is are is lie is all know here all permitted are this wrong condemnation is real this you to is all you know permitted is this we you lie real know to know we is lie all permitted real sentence is are you help nothing a you sentenced is we wrong sentience is help you permitted lie are here permitted a real permitted you is you here you help here know real to permitted is all a are to this help is here you is a we permitted all you are lie here all is nothing is to all wrong intercede a all you wrong sentences is to is all lie we all nothing is all you a are you is real nothing all know all help here is help is nothing

Undergrowth Silent with Want

Ice like claws languid in the damp
Memory fades, life drifts, blood dries
Spreading out among the leaves
The end begins, birth is everywhere

Embrace of roots; here is everywhere
All life is one – we are here
Lost in forever, hearing, feeling
Seeing all

Fated, Cascading; Submerged

No-one ever thinks about how it’ll end
Line after line gone up in smoke with fire as your only friend
All the thought of a lifetime with no conscious evolution
One cannot recall where it began to slide

Lost beneath the debris
You can no longer tell which way is up
We seem to count on forever
One automatic pull on the lever

The vital engine roars not trusted to deliver
The pain it will subside and make the muscle bigger
Dance victorious on our aching bloody feet
One more time, let’s hear the beat and spread our joy like opened veins

Come, let us wait here hiding beneath the snow
Centuries shall pass maddeningly as we watch them grow
Angels watching over us, attainment purified
Death, rebirth, life death, in snowy spirals fly

Force release virtual discordant hold of defense substitute pale vicinity gliding pseudonyms gravestone figures vitriol leitrim

Extend Inward, Breathe Out

Bring the End

I told you once about the Christ:
Sad dogs, whipped and starved
Towering monuments to insanity
Betraying hidden desire
Among the bones and in the shadows
We stand outside their view
There is no god to choose the few
Lament their confusion

Unable stop knowing else:
Choose between drinking bleach or gasoline
Swallowed whole by a media saviour
Promise not to get any on him
Halucinating vultures sleep near
drowning in their waste, dying in fear
The sodomizing spear brings the serpents kiss
This column of light shall detonate your heart

I see all too clearly the futility
I see the end
I will bleed all the living dead dry
I’ll bring the end

Now why should death cause a strain?
Even biting chrome drenched with bloody stain
All the fools, indeed, the liberating rules
Tear asunder all that may bring them life
Crying, bleeding, dancing across the floor
Red black, red black all alone once more
Enjoy the thrill of fear of what’s in store
In glory ride, on crimson oceans glide

Ornamental Crypto-Anarchy

1. Advisors, councilors, wise fools
providing crypt-analysis,
confabulating tales of judgment,
encrypting providentially. 2. He
feeds on the blood of his lambs
through delicious rhapsodic osmosis.
We die for his sins. Each day we are
reborn, clamouring night after night
to be slaughtered. 3. In lust, he
swallows fire and vomits locust
swarms. 4. Otherwise, our corpses
cease their dance. Rancid in their
dies-ease, outwardly breathing their
convictions, alight with the pages
they dance bright. Bereft of wisdoms
respite and rages they never quite felt.
We are distracted, never present,
other moments dim in our recall. 5.
Father, baptize us in sanguine
streams; lead us into conflagration.
Shiver among us; reward our evil.
Bring us this moment our eternal
torment. 6. In the halls, other
places: delight in blasphemous
embraces. Submerged in unfelt
appetites, wet and enslaved by stark
delights and permitted rages flaunt
their lost souls. Infernal saints and
tacit mages, impassive tyrants
languish, precluding sages silenced
by the pulchritude of innocence. 7.
You are bereaved and blessed, for
in your death you have bound your
progeny to join you.

As I stand behind the gates
All other creatures succumb to pain
And I strain to bring to mortal life
These unholy dreams:
Our fathers legacy abandoned
In the blood-stained fields

What we find behind the Veil
Could not have been expected
Fulfullment beyond desire,
Lust beyond flesh

The fight will bring me to my grave
But a hallowed seat I’ve earned
My lips will taste the sweet reward
Honey and fermented juices

Shining will: the carnal consummation
Of the holy fires kiss

Entrancing world of blood and heat
New visions upon which our eyes feast
New signs, open minds transcending pleasures pain
No craven whispers revealing strain
No more forgotten meaning

Nocturnal lives in hidden places
Burn brighter than those who claim the light
They cannot die for they dare not be born
Love lost, love scorned, love stabbed in the back
DAATH remains

A demons physiognomy in extasis
Locked in a grim and hopeless rictus
Laughing, gibbering, all sense expired
A livid chanting greets the fatality of frost
The barren cattle call beneath the locust swarms

The end shook us awake,
raining down, Driven like snow
no lie, no mass concensus
we are no more, we are no more

on bloodied wings on past grey spires
enflames a sanguine dance
to wanton glory we aspire
caress of crimson rain
a hollow shrilling calls
through forgotten catacombs
a shriek, a lash, a crushing blow
levelling ancient lies

The end shook us awake,
raining down, Driven like snow
no lie, no mass concensus
we are no more, we are no more
now, go to sleep sweet hollow child

Love, Strength: Lies

Sweet, demonic current of remorse,
yes, you are there.
Dire circumstance of convictions:
you wouldn’t dare.

I feel the warm, hollow thrill of damnation
when I follow you down
when I cover my eyes,
when I kiss the dying heat of your pulse.

Swollen toungues convulse with laughter,
apparent, yet unknown.
Fading beauty of structural divinity;
evil designs of love.

You are forever happy spectre of pathos,
always hiding your strength,
never,prayers,rife with lies.
Static void dispersing dead spirits,
always hiding your strength,
never, prayers rife with lies.

Perdurabo (magog Agog)

And as the sands of time
conspire to bury me forever.
Pathetic dance of fools
awash in deaths joyful endeavours.
Awake, it seems, sadly to be
lonely and in search of distractions.
all their squandered hours,
their unused brains conspire to erace me.

I shall endure – Perdurabo!
Though only through a torturous opium – dream.
I did not survive the abyss,
but I hope to leave this world alive.

As smiling I place my bloody hand on the lever,
it has come to this; happily I ride the white horse of dreams.
The Aeon.
The Crowned And Conquering Child.
I am his flawed and sad herald.
Seeing me, even Magog is agog.

Crimson Awakening

I awaken to a world of great lustre.
I feel the earthen pulse of all breathing.
I hear the voices just beyond hearing.
I know the thoughts just beyond comprehension.

Red permeates the dying grass.
Red lies beneath the drying leaves.
Life shall elude me no more.
Death plays not the role it had before.

This land I’ve Never seen before,
nor these people standing all around.
Though this land seems so familiar,
I do not know how to get back from here.

My sanguinary dream.
My crimson awakening.

Demons Play

Feeling the fine caress of blades
through fires that entomb.
Wounded devils stand tall,
loudly calling us from our wombs.

And hellish voices surround us
like the embrace of a dead lover.
Bathed in the glow of dancing lights,
we look up at a vast demonc cathedral.

We cannot bear to touch.
We fear the day.
It is all so much.Much too much.
Unpredictably he Demons play.

We are impenetrable,
lost in obsession and rituals.
Change terrifies us,so we cause it,
a preemptive strike against the demons whims.

Emaciated ghosts fade from view
now that we have arrived back in Eden.
Serpents writhe the brutal dance of God
as wishes fulfilled become our greatest fear.

)+( )+( )+(

We are
Intransigent, insouciant umbilical noose
Writhing in my grave, all my Demons let loose
Unearthly endeavours in seething death flight
All alone on the pavement, vile dreams to incite

And blown on the winds taunting chill
The rabid elementals moving me towards the hollow hills
A stumbling golem let loose in the pallid,
Dancing moonlight; the frost rips me like talons.

And the grave, the long, cold sleep, the end
It does not want me, but to live, Hades forefend
The raging howl into the cold vast night rises
Raises from sepulchers living souls in slumbering guises

Aum-Ha, Aum-Ha!
Hot pulse and fiery breath
We are, yes, we are.”,public,0,,

At arms length, laughing, disowning
Languid in comfort: all is left without
Liquid astonishment stings within
The entire transpires officially authorized
Nobody comes near time in false witness
Changes of scene and attitude
We lie alone, love scorned, fear praised
Insanity ratified by poison comities

Wary of others abuse, excited over their crimes
All come down like hail on us
Never, always invoking never in our actions
And desire, directed by associations
Paying the penance in a dream of genocide
Implicit retraction of self/ non-self
Mind/ no-mind reconciled in fire
Forged into blasphemous manipulations

Anarchy reiterates blame
A systematic loop of approach and imprisonment
Feeling as a concept of self definition
Expression in language and art
Declaration of I am and we are

We deviate from the path, lose sight
Why is the answer received you should not be
We’re drawn out by desire, chained by want
Our emergence exposes our vulnerability
A matter of trust, not to be killed

A formless oppressor rides lost shamans
In our lusts, do we disintegrate dying?
Mortality’s figurative oratory fades away

The Machine in Repose

Silence of weird mercy, its grinding stilled
In that one-time incarnation as a wolf I ravened
CRYPTIC revulsion authority augments the FLESH
I am at one with the Machine
It consumes me to induce submission

The science of being; a dissection of nothingness
An inhuman presence in the Fiendish morass
Bless this Breathless Cry in the radiance of our curse
I move nations with the Machine
And glory in its cold embrace

Disdain Transcends

My path is black
I am sinking exultantly
In the throat of exclusion
Motiveless escalation exalted
Salient verses lobbing the curses
Dried and subversive
Meekly discursive decree
A disfigurement on my unfamiliar skin
This lies beyond my hope
I am the last thing
This is the last act
I am the last thing that shouts into the void

Human Rites (Schizoanalysis)

Ride the lifeless Vision of silence soaring
So consumed, the empire being no longer stated
Pouring out compulsion, elevated through our fall
Flailing through chaos, I run once more

The surface unchanged, the population rearranged
The plan of the chart; symbols of the all
Abase yourself with dilemmas achingly strange
The representation has become the object as fated

Leave unravelled all we have done
Disconnect and reconnect masses and surroundings
Banish with laughter the enchantment of absurdity
Consciousness excess faithless from want of stimulus
Assemble abstract technology that decays in sleep
Excessive evidence of us unfolded on all sides
Viral Linguistics

All you know is wrong All you know is wrong All you know is wrong All you know is wrong All you know is wrong All you know is wrong is we know to this you real this wrong sentenced wrong is here lie is are this we wrong condemnation help know nothing all wrong a is lie all real is nothing we help is are is lie is all know here all permitted are this wrong condemnation is real this you to is all you know permitted is this we you lie real know to know we is lie all permitted real sentence is are you help nothing a you sentenced is we wrong sentience is help you permitted lie are here permitted a real permitted you is you here you help here know real to permitted is all a are to this help is here you is a we permitted all you are lie here all is nothing is to all wrong intercede a all you wrong sentences is to is all lie we all nothing is all you a are you is real nothing all know all help here is help is nothing”

The Gathering World Withdrew Its Fury

Lay me down – I fear no more
The longing is subsiding
I’ve locked the door – I’ve freed my mind
It’s only you and me
It’s time, let’s go

And as the sands of time conspire to erase us
It will be done

Dispersed in flight – we are alone
The vision slowly fades
Close my eyes – choke my cries
Now we’re going home