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The sun sempiternal shepherds its flock life-longly. Repetition be its brother, night be its foe. As regurgitation fumes, funneling heinous broth of decay and hostility, the tedium drips ashore, clenching its claws, raising the congregation of lunatics hellwards and in a moment of inseparable divisionism, bursts out loud, hardening the ground with desecration. Outbegotten and throughbrought, the once ****** ******* feral sons to the demented deity all above and none below, in turning, swirling and the ever-prying agony, facilitate themselves a house atop a hill. After the cacophony concludes, The Fool finds himself standing, thrice woven, wolfmeadow thrown, fistlike tenacity hit, once beholden to each beast of coppered glow. Up he reaches, but finding nought and disillusioned with disinterest he breaks down in acid tears and horrid shrieks for mercy. The inward calibre reciprocates and bursts out a tubular noise of contradiction. In all still-standing, the Queen, she of the all-overseeing, turns to The Fool and parlours him a wisdom: "I am unto you as a universe is unto itself. I am within you as this earth is within me. I am you and you I shall stay. And when you at once turn dust-wards, I shall, bereft but forthlooking, beget you again." Aghast with sudden agonising fragility and from the cosmic incantation a ghost arisen, The Fool in all his momentarily found glory and happiness conjectures himself a vessel to venture upon. What he once missed he now resides in. He found it and now he rejoices. To Youth, at long once and at once forever.
Inspired by GY!BE's "Undoing a Luciferian Towers" and a girl I know, who is obsessed with Boris Vian and all things avant-garde.
Trout Sep 4
Change your numbers for the fans
Lose a game it’s not so bad
Jumping sneakers cut to the chase
Andamanda pace the pace
Fill a fill a fill a fill
Bells are ringing keep it still
Towels wringing water spills
Smelly water in my mouth
It’s addictive get it out
Give me sickness trauma now
I am listening, open your mouth
What I said was not the truth
Open laughter paints the room
Invisibility, cage and broom

My mystic operation is a chance
An aberration for a living hand
The stripey lies all correlate with tears
A goose inside my foot i want to sear.
I want to itch and pray for mom my god
It’s what she wants it’s what she wants to hog
Her box is two-dimensional inside
My instincts tell me no no no no hide
Is this the sound of mouth and spit and chew?
It wants to beat, it’s serenading you.
Right now the eyes are glaring to the key
Don’t pick it up, it leads to fantasy

Three minutes till the castle breaks my ear.
Go home. Go home. Go home.
And And And And This And That
End of sadness - Over - Time
Trout Sep 4
My side is a candle that cannot be renewed
And I called it famous tillandsia
A baby blue
Fainting miracles to blame
Let the stakes all stir the eye
The prophecy is measured towards the sky
The tiny bible is so wild
The music on the floor is what I came for

A fantasy until torments come to life
It’s a funky feeling to hear
A grand illusion
With a pleasure inside you
An absorbent and multiply
A fish that melts the eye
A top hat and a quantum leap, it’s really weird
It’s a kind duration

With the cards played over
Gone tomorrow and seldom seize the day
Prophecies they fail you or
Imitate you
Seven dividends
And a bandit would sell you before anything ever gets in (rumbling pages)
Animosity selling frauds and plaster all is felled in
FRITZ Jul 10

smile and drop the facade

tune into your suffering and lie to yourself

he's lying                         (watch his lips move)

take whats mine

take the pulse under my skin

**** it all away

                                                           ­ i just need one more day


half pack of cigarettes no wrapper

next to the body of a man fallen from his masturbators

walls plastered with the back of his head and a

dead body saturating in excrement

gun on the floor one casing spent

wasn't long ago he sat there smoking

one burning red fountain is sick 96¢.

the hole they put him in cost

4000 rounds.


open your mouth and ignore the

scorched mounds dissipating into the wind

your whisper your breath your flesh

go they all go

c'est la vie.
R18+ I guess.
If I rhyme,
Maybe you would find my words beautiful,
Finding something profoundly disturbing more chewable,
Washed down with wine and cuticle,
Your fingernails scraping down my throat
I don't.
I don't need that ****.
Maybe you would find my words beautiful.
But **** and disjunct, sitting, freely thinking
I feel as though my train of thought has retrained it's tracks
Let's go to a place I don't want to go to.
Drunk, sloppy
*****, wipe, *****.
Wipe your mouth, get up.

It's getting to feel tedious baby,
The conversational tone,
The space outside my brain.
The *****.

I'm long familiar here,
The floor greets me
Like an old friend.
Like it doesn't hurt.

I stumble, and fall
As the blood escapes my skull
I mourn all the good *****
That I'm losing

And the headache
Unites me with the galaxy through the tile
And from this point of view
Things are looking up

And oh, God! the *****
Because I am with myself all the time. Everything I do is needless effort, your eyes, your eyes, your eyes, it turns away like running feet in the mist, seeing God for the first time, I cannot see in your soul, do not enter mine, you may or may-not find what you want.
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