"eviscerated" poems
You may
Whisper lies
But
The truth
Shines along
Colour changing
Patterns
Of your
Irises
Eviscerated
For me
To see.
Observing you
Observing me.
Feb 21, 2014
Feb 21, 2014 at 5:23 AM UTC
Prowling,
like a wolf
on the periphery of the unknown
betwixt knowledge and dread
I saw the dark truth
I felt the gulf
the waste
the expanse
the difference in power
the taste of defeat
the vice grip of the inevitable
the long, slow bleed of my dignity
flowing out
with the gold of my entrails
eviscerated by my pride
how I dared to topple the monolithic,
undeniable truth
that there is always
a better you
a better me
a better us, out there
stronger
bigger
faster
smarter
more hung
more fashionable
more handsome, more beautiful, more androgynous
more capable
more accomplished
more patient
more... loving
more empathetic
they know more random facts
they've been more places
they've known more people
they've seen more sunrises
they've counted every moon
their worst is better than your best day
he cares for her more deeply than you did
she loves that
she's forgotten you
he tells her what he never told you
and she loves him for that
you were always afraid to find out
they never invite you because you're not fun
what a downer
what a bore
there's always that one person
upon whom your envy is never sated
they lope in moonlight
flowing locks of grace
teeth bared in a frightful grin
they know all your cards
they can play you like a fiddle
they're out there
where you fear to go
the apex predator
the person you'll never be
but dream you could
and dreams are all you'll have...
Oct 31, 2022
Oct 31, 2022 at 6:37 PM UTC
The assassins hit in 63
And Camelot was gone,
Inspiration vanished
And the darkness sang it’s song.
*Vietnam escalated
Brezhnev’s Russia loomed,
Africa was eviscerated
And Red China entombed.
*Floating on a long white cloud
The Kiwis were replete
With abundant British markets
For their butter, wool and meat.
*The Europeans went ****
And Britain lost it’s way
When the Beatles and the Rolling Stones
Monopolized their day.
*Man landed on the moon
And raised the Yankee flag
And they shot Mahatma Ghandi
For making good things out of bad.
*The Berlin Wall dividing,
The Cold War tense and spare,
ICBM’s threaten silently
In their silos of despair.
*Bob Menzies ruled Australia
As an amassing of his loot
And his White Australia Policy
Condemned him as a brute.
*Found naked on her tousled bed,
Blonde hair across her face,
Marylin Monroe is dead
The world’s a darker place.
*In the Age of Aquarius
Our children lost their youth,
LSD and smoking ***
And Afro’s were the proof.
*Lots of leg in miniskirts,
High bouffant’s in the hair,
Screaming teeny boppers
Rock with Elvis on “the Air”.
*Giant, Rawhide, Ponderosa,
Martin Luther King,
Kaftans and a cheese fondue,
Abortion is a sin!
It’s a sixties kaleidoscope,
A panoramic skim
Of an era of wonderment
Which you and I lived in.
Marshalg
@the Gate
Mangere Bridge
20th January 2009
Oct 23, 2009
Oct 23, 2009 at 2:25 PM UTC
Somebody call Ben Affleck
We got phantoms in this *****
This endless haunted mansion
Their presence pervades
No company
In this lonely labyrinth
Only phantoms
The only figures resembling humanity
Are the corpses of those before
Who couldn't navigate this torturous structure
And of course, the masquerading phantoms
My soul they aim to puncture
I tried closing my eyes
But I just kept running into walls
I tried sleeping through it
But I just sank deeper into the basement
When I attempted to join the phantoms
You were there
You waited until I was hanging there
On the rope
And eviscerated everything
Lycanthrope
The rope in shreds
Your heart then fled
Leaving me alone again
Lying in my exhausted blood
The phantoms sensed my desperation
And took advantage of my disorientation
So I ran to the darkest recesses of the basement
To retrieve my blindfold and sledgehammer
But is my hammer powerful enough?
Will visual impairment abstain the trickery of ghosts?
I put Sisyphus to shame
With the determination I utilize to demolish these walls
But the phantoms are devious
They ***** new facades
Thicker, sturdier, with odder textures
I destroy them all the same
It just takes a bit more time
And time means nothing
To a man who's sole purpose is knocking down walls
And cowering from apparitions
Yet a man means nothing
To a time ruled by phantoms
May 24, 2017
May 24, 2017 at 11:54 AM UTC
Two moths fluttered across one another's paths
before the breaking of dawn.
One of the moths mistook the other
for a butterfly from a distance,
but the closer they flew towards each other
the moth knew that there was no difference between the two.
At first, the older moth thought the younger was a mirage of herself.
But this moth that stood before her was not the moth herself,
but rather a version of herself that she had shed long ago.
The older moth told the young moth masked as a butterfly
that she must shed her false skin
so that they could fly to the moon, where they were both destined to go.
She offered to show this moth hidden beneath the façade
a path to her true destiny,
but the younger moth flew beneath the healing rays of the night
and descended into a world where she would never be accepted for her true essence.
In the end, the young moth flew to the sun and eviscerated into the fires of her own suffering.
The stars of the night burned bright for the loss of a soul who could not see that her beauty would have shined through any night.
Nov 4, 2023
Nov 4, 2023 at 10:03 PM UTC
The insanity that you left with me with
has become all-consuming.
It has eviscerated me and I have no organs left,
only maniacal thoughts and illness.
The lunacy is my epidemic,
the madness is my disease.
The inferno where my heart once was,
supplants the warmth that your wicked love used to fill me with.
My mind has been dethroned by ghoulish memories and succubus visions.
My two lungs no longer breathe air,
but rather intake black roses and expel brimstone.
The deranged delirium is my only comfort.
The hysteria, in lieu of love,
is now what keeps me intoxicated.
The most garish part of all,
is that I've never felt more alive.
Jan 18, 2013
Jan 18, 2013 at 4:47 PM UTC
They won't stop.
They'll take your individuality
under the guise of diversity.
They'll neuter you, too.
Rip your ***** right off
and give them back in a glass jar.
They'll leave you hollow,
chasing emptiness, trying to
fill a paper bag with water.
Sep 24, 2013
Sep 24, 2013 at 8:16 PM UTC
a nacreous tossing around at
the sides, a dappled silver
sunlight if looked one way, an
apocalyptic gloam if another,
exhaled from a seeming
mouth, feeding on what has
already eviscerated an unfelt
***** a predator certainly its
own prey, a heat certainly
poison-breath on a cheek
falling when a meretricious
lover spouts that spurious
hypocorism, and also just a
wavering, iridescent puddle—
cornered, soft as a liquid steel
echo of a futile struggle
rolling around, bouncing off
a wine glass, and a porcelain
table edge, while a listening
head shakes, looks down
despondently, gloom glowing
out the hair, a voice jaded
since birth saying some
thing about differences, or a
helpless slender strap of hope
hanging itself on the way two
other eyes look at it across
checkered watered wings, two
swirling god whorls, two
effulgent galaxies the color of
melting pine bole circling
around in living umber striae,
pulling its gaze, raising it, as if
they, they were blazing truth
cased behind lithophane, and it,
only an aporetic puddle now
of tepid ocher, a mild earth
stone placed in a hand, asked
what is thought of it and the
response: yes, yes of course,
before foreign distance splutters
its face, and it retreats from
its meaning imparted to every
thing (with the vulnerable
precision of a swaying finger
tip) to the baby lanugo of a
delicate floating, through
human rills, of what is horizon
docked, dead, not merely
deciduous—forever jilted with
breath bulging as when beating
a flopping eyeless fish to
half-dead, head tilted up a
throat trying to pry itself
free, trying to live by
streaming snagless, airful,
without spirant sound of going
lost straight from the hands—
then a short chop of fullness
finally expunged and sputtering
like an escaped tuft of
shackled wonder soaring up
the sky in a puff and soul ring.
Mar 27, 2012
Mar 27, 2012 at 7:43 PM UTC
Advocate of the nonexistant
You are all bends encircling
Circuts of truth verses lies is removed
When diagram of entrails is eviscerated
Attestation that hinders, lingers beyond
Concealing, subsisting, not we
Nothings are baseless, breathing is useless
Repudiate this knowing at once
Doctrines and concepts have derrived
Theories are growing while eras moved on
Delusions set in when axiom gone
Delusions are not when one dies
Attestation that hinders, lingers afar
Concealing, subsisting, not I
Everything's baseless, breathing is useless
Repudiate this knowing at once
Prostulate the higher is there
We all crave desolate space
Subside from afar a seperate reaps
Subside from afar there is none
Nov 3, 2010
Nov 3, 2010 at 12:51 PM UTC
I am sorry for what we have done to you
I mourn the loss of your short lives, nullified for our barbaric arrogance and gluttony
Your children taken to meet the same fate as you
Your bodies eviscerated, never knowing the hand of compassion or a ray of sunshine
There are no merciful abattoirs
No red barn with it's open doors, and no motherly blue sky
There is only brutal indifference
Mechanized slaughter
The lies we tell our children and ourselves will breed this hell on earth into our legacy
And we who see ourselves distinct from beasts prove with our actions otherwise
This is not food
This is war on the sanctity of being
Oct 24, 2018
Oct 24, 2018 at 11:03 AM UTC
Abandon's clay roiled, doubled what pulse
of life...in tune and out of.
Pathological music derived from music...
ecstasy--whose recompense is a sound
loss of selves.
Multiform unto archetypal gods--Dionysus
first among, Apollo last among...eviscerated,
trophied, slathered upon these rotund
Grecian ladies and gentleman.
Hallowed names depart the incontinent
circle, forgone the synoptical scarlet lettering
of name...transcendence.
Torrent upon torrent of ambrosia down the
throat...skyward runoff of chins...scribbled
down the primordial bloom of ******
O sylvan gathering, crowns of laurel graduate
thee from materiality...a shuddering
beauteousness--broke shafts of light clash
lovingly from luminous head to head.
Here...the extenuating circumstance of
consciousness appropriated quoad sacra.
Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 1:12 PM UTC
they came
together to celebrate his life
how he made it this long,
he wondered; he saw them poking endless candles
into the white cake in front of him
behind him, his daughter
hand on his shoulder, insisting he have all ninety
instead of two fat wax digits "90" wedded,
a lone wick on top
ninety on June 6, 2016
he gave little thought to past birthdays
he forgot most, except one burned clear
in memory--his eighteenth, when
he landed on that beach
the sands and surf of his dreams for
three score and a dozen years since, eyes open,
or shut tight in deep sleep, he recalled that shore: someplace
between light and dark, between breath and air;
he saw the blood, he heard the cries,
he remembered his heart thumping
more than that he recalled jumping
over bodies on the beach, now beyond his reach
he could see only vague shapes of them--men
with whom he spent months sharing meals,
smokes and secrets
in all these long years,
he never understood why he received
not a scratch, while those only feet, even inches
from him were eviscerated
now, as ninety lightning years
flashed then flickered before him, he closed his eyes,
to ensure this waking dream was real
and those around him, singing, were not the angels
of death he eluded so long ago
Sep 29, 2016
Sep 29, 2016 at 5:22 PM UTC
A famous "Barry Hodges" poem!
I was strolling along the Normandy beaches
In the close vicinity of Caen one day
With a very tasty piece of arm-candy to hand
When I found a bleached human femur on the beach.
Oh dear me, what thoughts this conjured up in my brain
As I imagined whose bone it might have been!
Perhaps some pathetic soldier boy landing in forty-four
Who got slotted by a gallant German gunner,
His eyes feasting on the sacrificial cannon fodder
So foolishly supplied for his target practice.
Then, as I grabbed my lady friend's juicy ****
Causing her to turn and sink her tongue into my earhole,
We sank onto the sands in order to sate our lusts,
(enflamed by a very delicious meal of moules marinières
and a bucket or two of well-chilled Muscadet sur Lie)
I thought, what the **** does it all matter?
This is now, and that was then, and this old world
Has become a much nicer place nowadays;
But how mistaken I was in that fond thought;
Oh what an idealist I am in a world of woe.
For, all of a sudden, a contingent of fat dwarfs appeared,
Totally naked apart from their luminous Uncle Sam hats
And the Stars and Stripes hanging from their arseholes;
How I marvelled at their disgusting shapes
(and how surprised was I to find their genitals
were of normal measurements and thus
rather intrusively large by comparison
with the rest of their miniature bodies).
O dear Lord and alleged Father of Mankind
Forgive their horrid ways verily and forsooth.
With a whoop, those demented military retards, [see note below]
The famous 118th battalion ****** Marine veterans,
A contingent of whom emerged from a portable toilet
(which must have been a bit of a tight squeeze),
Chopped my girl-friend up with their bayonets,
Whereupon I crapped myself in terror and pity,
Before retrieving the purse from the eviscerated corpse,
Realizing that her PIN number was still useable
Until 'les flics' discovered her unfortunate remains
After the shore ***** had partaken thereof.
Mar 10, 2015
Mar 10, 2015 at 8:08 AM UTC
"call me spoons"
said "be giving you what you need,"
pause.
like a toddler, sat in high chair
mess face consisting mostly of chocolate pudding, eviscerated green beans, promises
promises
promises
promises "you are one of a kind."
a hand that can't win.
"you're special,"
the kitten no one adopts
"unique"
alone
"perfect"
can't be fixed
can't be fixed
can't be fixed
can't
be
fixed
broken boy sitting at dinner next to cracked mirror metaphor
mess face consisting mostly of bruises and that's it.
bag of frozen peas on the eye
green beans became useless after dad ran out
spoons across the dining room
no words; body language says enough
"i failed you."
said
"couldn't give you what you need."
"what you need."
what you need
what you need
what you need? you.
you need you.
you need you.
spoons at the end of a rope
black eyes toddler can't see
blind reach
spoons isn't there
spoons isn't there
no object permanence means that while spoons aren't around, baby can't get what it needs.
object permanence means in 1997 when you cheated again and she found out
that there was no running away this time that you in this state will exist in abject permanence.
she can never unsee
bent spoons stained with street glue
black tar lungs and inability to breathe
mess face consisting mostly of
i'm sorry
i'm sorry
i'm sorry
Jul 18, 2015
Jul 18, 2015 at 1:16 AM UTC
On the evening of August 6th
The body is separated, eviscerated
Stone walls
Lost thralls
A family takes their evening stroll
And finds themselves imprisoned
Their umbilical cord, cut down the half
Microwave oven
Searing monsoon shower
Vagrant feet are shackled
Eyes are blinded with exhaust pipes
The East is not allowed to cry alone
Decay, wail on
Wail on
Contain us
Dear Marcus, free me
From these Pyrrhic victories
Clean this dusky mall
I feel safe under phosphoric lights
Guerillas swing on electric wires
Transatlantic conversations
Acquired on paper
Perverse
Desecrated
Red cloth seizes everything
Stray, running felines
The impassioned, waving flag
Kept in a velvet pocket
Stay here, stay a while
This cold era is a rising draft
The Bermuda Triangle
Quarantined
No more ships crawl along the winded shore
A time capsule
The nation sinks into antiquity
The brink of armageddon
Cusp of oblivion
Crimson hand of eternity
An old, whittled clock
Last minute
Cold Turkey!
God almighty
Peace is never promised
But we may yearn again
Nobody is free
But we are safe for another hour
God almighty
Leases on the lands
Paid in thorns
Nations playing circles
Mr. Versus Mr.
An ever-changing world
Stagnant and tightly oiled
Save this soil
It will cave in silence
The clockmaker sits in the backdrop
Readying her tools
Dec 6, 2018
Dec 6, 2018 at 5:16 PM UTC
I sat back in the
chair
within the midst
of the thick Floridian
atmosphere
that clung to my
skin
& stole my breath
away
the woman at the
spa
cleverly eviscerated
my tension
I was told to breathe
& close my eyes
as she put the tiny cool
cloth pieces over
them
"*think of the
beach
wind through your
hair
feet against the warm
sand...
...now think of who
you're with
husband, friend, family...*"
& for a while I was
there
completely alone on
Cocoa Beach
staring at the vast ocean
someone walks up
behind me
but it isn't anyone she
said it would be
it was you
& the ****** clever woman
gave us one minute alone
on that sandy shore
while the sun was setting
I tried to think of
things for us to talk about
but nothing came to
imagination
we stood there hand
in hand
& watched the deep
dark horizon
I can't remember the last time
I had felt so
at peace
I presume it was the best
minute
I never truly
spent
Jun 17, 2012
Jun 17, 2012 at 2:06 AM UTC
Black is thy name.
Black is thy shroud.
If I were to open thee,
What shall be seen?
I can feel thy Black
Soul as I spread thy
Broken wings. I hear
Each hour chime thy
Dirge and call thy
Name. I shall spread
My shoulders' blades
And feel them rise
Against my tyrannical
Skin; as thou wouldst rise
In the charcoal heavens,
Perverting it with thy
Black flock; as The Morning Star
Rose against tyrant rule
So too shall my shoulders'
Blades against my suffocating
Skin. What shall we see if
They emancipated are, or
I, eviscerated? Shall I be
Black as thee beneath my
Flesh? My ribs, and hips,
Bones, and fingers now do
The same. My bruised flesh
Shall see not the day.
What shall we see when the
Rest of it falls away? A *****
Of bones that droningly cry,
As thou screech thy name?
I think I shall be like thee,
Black in heart and Black in
Blood. I am stillborn. I shall
No longer see the day.
Jul 5, 2014
Jul 5, 2014 at 10:07 PM UTC
Laying on the columns of hell
waiting for my turn to get molested by demons
I am being warmed up with fire and metal
The grotesque ****** is sharpening forks
I am in the Black of Inner Earth
The lowest point, not much life or vitality
Yesterday I was a man, the day before a woman
Now I am androgynous
They sent me intellect, had me believe I was genius
They traumatized me with images of evil
They eviscerated my chakras
Disintegrated my soul
they told me torture was my destiny
A working demon is better than a burning soul
You trust it to inflict pain, a burning soul uses you for its gain
On Wednesdays we are made to watch Minotaurs have *** with MothPeople
Now and then we are fed ants and swallow burning coal to digest
The Chariot comes and they transport a few to work in other galaxies
where planets are dense,
manipulation rampant,
loneliness a melismic tune
The only Light is the burning eye and the lava beneath where it is a tomb.
Jul 1, 2013
Jul 1, 2013 at 2:29 PM UTC
I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it, I didn’t want to, I had to do it, you made me, made me want you, need you, it wasn’t my fault, he just, wouldn’t let me have what I need.
There she is my angel, my sweet, sweet woman. I wouldn’t hurt her you know, I’d never hurt her, I’d **** anyone that tried to hurt her, I swear it, I’d have their throats within my grasp and I’d squeeze, more and more, tighter and tighter. Until every inch of hurt they caused her was paid back, in triplicate.
I’m sorry!
*NO! Why, why did you do it? Why do that to him, he didn’t do anything. He didn’t touch you, he told you to go away, he told you to leave us alone, you should have, you should have just went away, far away.
There he is, he’s really creepy, I mean seriously, he just stands there, staring at me. What does he want? Well, I guess that’s a stupid question really, it’s obvious. But why is it, when he stands there staring, he looks angry and sad all at once?*
I’m sorry! Why!?
**He’ll pay for that, I’ll make him pay. He shouldn’t have tried messing with me, he shouldn’t have touched me, and he shouldn’t have grabbed that knife. It was his mistake messing with people who he should fear, he’ll realise that soon enough.
I swear if he doesn’t stop looking at us I’ll **** him. He’s just stood there, fists clenched, staring at her, she’s not his and I make sure to remind him of that every day. She’s my girlfriend, and they both know it, I make sure of that, I make sure there’s no question of what is mine.**
I’m sorry! Why!? He’ll pay!
** *You’re under arrest; you do not have to say anything… You made quite a mess in there kid, I don’t remember the last time I saw something that bad outside of the cinema. Tell me son, what drove you to do it? Why would someone as hopeful as you ruin your life by ending another’s? Straight A’s, plenty of social groups, hell you could have been anything you wanted to be, but. You chose ****** Sweet Jesus, I’ve seen nothing like it in my life. They say it was only that lad, poor boy doesn’t realise what’s gonna happen. They’ll see him hung for this, that fella he killed, son of one of the richest families I know. Looks like a blind fit of rage, if we can get a reason, it could save that kids life.* **
I’m sorry! Why!? He’ll pay!
** You’re under arrest. **
We gather here, to bury he who killed another.
They destroyed his home, they broke his heart, and they eviscerated his body.
Justice served. In triplicate.
Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 6:17 AM UTC
As if I only have that much time to type
a lifetime's worth of beauty.
Or it may have only been
that seven minutes of memory.
Seven minutes to scream out
the glory of a first kiss, and
the shuddering surrender of an ******
sweat and fire and ecstasy.
They told me, when I was young,
that I had to find my love
and let it **** me.
Seven minutes of music
the world rolled back and Samsara
a mere smile in the lamplight,
just another of the gods' company.
I've found many loves,
and their knives tearing holes
and their beauty a weapon
and their innocence a torch
and their hatred a drug
and their pain abhorrent
and their abandonment a sin
and their touch heretical
and their eyes of jewels
and their words made of bullets
and their hope a sad Gypsy
theirs tears a lonely guitar
striking chords in me and
God forgive how good they feel.
I am undone, overthrown, emaciated,
torn out, weary, overcome, eviscerated,
redeemed, hallowed, sanctified,
all of this and more.
I love you.
I have yet to die.
Aug 12, 2018
Aug 12, 2018 at 11:54 PM UTC
dread he came upon them. the slow father; his shadow, ill. he came upon them, those girls, punching his daughter in the stomach. had a couple years on his daughter, and weight. it was not dark. school had been out an hour. he had taken a walk. had to drop his cigarette. had to pick it up. fixed on a point beyond him; his daughter’s eyes. ***** of paper not anymore burning. first girl had one earphone in, and one come loose; a string undressed of puppet. the song that was playing, he listened. he had the time to listen. mostly his daughter read books but she would sing and he would know she was alone. he counted. there were three. it took a long a time. he paused on ‘two’, good in his mouth. the earphone girl was holding his daughter from behind. his rock cleared her braces and she choked. the two, they kept at the belly. props of delay. he ****** once and pulled the light from his lips. ashed it under the right eyeglass of the skinny one. her body made off with her soul now less a window. fat girl chewed her gum and made like she could run. he dug the house key from his pocket and placed it like a second knuckle. heard the bones of small animals, crunch of hairspray, ‘fore the key notched the back of her neck. his right hand went numb as if he’d cupped the ***** of god. fat girl good part of her landed on his daughter. he pitched her with his foot but she didn’t go easily. when a bit of day could be seen from his sentence, he received a longhand letter from his daughter and among the common she also shared how the fatty eviscerated her by email.
Jul 2, 2012
Jul 2, 2012 at 1:09 PM UTC
Sensory deprivation douses my days
Neither perfume, nor pictures
to placate
No cadence of a voice contrasted
No distractions, now look away
Ban all Color
chromatic avian avoidance
But It only takes one slip
to oxygenate those sacred sepia images
You were the reason!
you eviscerated “grey”
the enormity of a
pixilated instant:::
the shadow of a look
Arise again, stand tall and seductive,
awaken a cleft heart again
but the pleas go unheard
and
callous knees make for hollowed souls
this crawl so familiar, hallowed, fetching... as I look now, upward at your
carnal,
cardiac,
catharsis
I find that familiar rush
The drilling down of blood :::
Presses through once indifferent veins (my lamentation inoculation... you are viral once more)
Imagined love had seemed so tame.
The cataclysm corners, hidden well in green eyes,
inauspicious,
until
it’s time (to strike)
tensions feast on the remaining light (dusk remains, night yields, but those eyes they’ll haunt forever).
When was the last time I grasped your fingers?
When jungle lust simplicity gave way to
the steady silent ether of complacency
I knew
I had
lost
her
Yet, I still reach for the smell of you on my hands. It’s no longer there. The cruelest of nostalgias to soothe my most masochistic of reliefs.
Nov 23, 2018
Nov 23, 2018 at 11:34 AM UTC
Desensitization of the mass population.
Media crooning and crowing,
Subjects in ten thousand directions.
Pink peonies of peace,
Singed in a hysterical conflagration.
Sweet songbird, your vocal chords,
Eviscerated, mutilated.
Your cries, silent and yet,
Your screams deafening.
The red in their eyes,
Rage or fatigue?
Who am I to judge?
Who am I to please?
Please..
PLEASE!
Just save a pink peony for me!
Feb 1, 2017
Feb 1, 2017 at 11:26 PM UTC
early morning and
we will make it fast
with the words and
training awakened
thought. of Heaven,
of Hell, of destruction
concerning elder proph-
ecies and speculations on
the existence of man for
the past couple aeons.
and prevalent forces flow
through energetic lines of
muscle mass, each a heart-
string of the wholly vessel
not yet turned carbon. and
now we repeat of prior state-
ment of I the Destroyer.
consuming of the firmament
so that the rest of the yeast
is thrown into some Darwinian
existence. (of which, I probably
eviscerated actual meaning)
consume, consume, and move
onward towards a larger chunk
of the firmament. and early mourning,
early turning on of the greater light
that is the electrical charge of
this vessel's circadian rhythm.
and moving on, moving back into
self-reticence. and i give myself,
i give myself alone. and please,
oh please, destroy me of what
i once was of a past life.
Jul 18, 2013
Jul 18, 2013 at 7:30 AM UTC
Unfortunately, faces are no longer as helpful and empathetic as they once were; they have become distorted, crusted over with the grotesqueries of everyday petty exhibitionist nonsense of Existence. Once again, we are at the point where we are faced with the question of who has how much, and who can chop and mow down how much. Unexpected worms and beetles emerge in connection with each human soul, which is also a bit sociopathic, because we always have to bargain with our drunken, weeping self.
A deep feeling of nausea and disgust, suppressed in the fever of acquaintance, prevails, and because the relationship with every cozy Mediterranean-style family is a bit fragile, mainly because of the afternoon siesta, dolce vita. Unfortunately, the ancestral bird of unhappiness is always a blood-sucking leech, a bat, while in the dreams of the romantic, unattainable, yellow, urine-smelling cuckoo's eggs; because often, inevitably, people stumble upon small, seemingly indestructible cockroaches and beasts in everyday life, whom it would be better to avoid and not keep in mind.
A surprising number of people have been forced to let go of the years of commies that were ordered to be quiet. We now carry within us our intentional carnivorous trap, from which we cannot escape; no one can be nobler or better than anyone else, only a prey animal that can be hunted down, crippled by work, and eviscerated; the blind guides of Existence-fate are no longer the donkey-steps, - but much more manipulative protections, pitiful commodity interests, which are placed in give-and-take positions, packed, and put here and there. It is necessary to beware step by step these days, so that we can still pay the quota fee with dignity and pomp for our eternal childish credulity.
Sep 26, 2025
Sep 26, 2025 at 12:22 AM UTC