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Norman Crane Sep 24
Despite all my rage
I am still just four minutes
of silence
                          —John Cage
FRITZ Apr 25
perception sits on ever-precarious ledge

let the slip the moon

hug the static barges and wash up

       out to sea it won,t be as bad

as you,ve been lead to believe.



get off the fence

embrace what you don,t know instead of

            shelving it indifferently

watch the mass grow

and the flowers bloom and

                 wipe that sour look off your face



melt with me

warm with me

            open your jaws and embrace my flesh

in a gossamer drown of dotted beads

summon up from my flesh all the curious colo(u)rs

                    of our perverse delicacy.
the despair lays siege on my senses.
FRITZ Apr 14
another blocked satellite

beaming black mountain transitions

                   molars full of moss

       burning up the dogwood.

the scales aren't nearly as round around

the edge as you are ; you made me kiss you in the

dark.

                flies by fire

tree splinters into fractal spirals.

          am eye the one you want

         or do you just need to feel wanted?

haha, *******, eye am not your Evangelion

burning on my faces marks the sun

it's my minds that's been idle

               yet the existence of my voice

implies merely my slight existence

                                                   in this pit

                the water is blood the blood is clotting

                choking, pushing, on my chest.
studies
Proctor Ehrling Sep 2019
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.
FRITZ Jul 2019
I.

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

II.

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.

III.

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
Don't.
I don't.
I don't need that ****.
Maybe you would find my words beautiful.
But ugly 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 *****
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