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Mateuš Conrad Apr 2016
it's the 21st century and sometimes
it's hard to capture the gothic aura
of the 19th century...
which is why, perhaps, a chance
walk into the forest at night,
listening to demdike stare's
Tryptych album revives a sense of
what could have possibly been a novel -
mind you, if you ever stumbled
thereupon and found a trail
leading to a black mass at dusk -
heard the exaltation satanis in excelsior
like a mad barking to the heavens (or the pit)
followed by very audible murmuring
of a throng, and as the case was presented,
you too would slowly turn around,
walk a few metres in the opposite
direction... and then start galloping -
as far as i'm concerned, such events
are by invitation only - hardly a reason
in sight to gatecrash such an event -
too close for my comfort with
                    that audible murmuring.
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2020
.remember this youtube channel: harakiri diat...

i think this genre of music has a name: brutalism...
last night i watched 50 book recommendations
by the cosmicsceptic...
beside his oxford specific titles relating
to his philosophy and theology degree...
came the fictional books...
i presumed that i didn't read anything going
into this video...

i can be forgiven for not reading a christopher
hitchens when i've read some knausgård...
perhaps i presume to have not read anything...
because... i do quiet enjoy the act of reading...
so much so that... only scraps remain for me that
are: useful...

i can't imagine finding any use from a book
if it's not already in it...
apparently i'm not so under-read as i led myself
to believe...
but this is not about literature...
i was looking for a genre to encompass...
say... vomito *****...
the klinik...
the soft moon...
but i couldn't come to anything of worth...
not until i foraged for the more obscure...
the raw pulp...
primitive knot - ******* of brutalism...
again... the channel harakiri diat
has the music covered...
zeit und geist... i am the fire...
let's keep it clean...
i would go as far as to include
bohren & der club of gore: midnight radio
into this whole mix...

as much as i'd love to push for die krupps...
no can do... their stuff is polished goods...
vomito ***** is polished goods...
but there's still something raw about them...
once upon a time there was this "thing"
about doom metal... electric wizard... etc.,
but i can say... this new brutalism is...
by far... better than a gavin mcinnes diet
of punk... i never liked punk...
i never liked punk as i never liked rap...
hip hop yes and all that jazzmatazz fussion...
some solid grit...

after all... Romford, Essex...
probably the last bastion of the music shop...
a his-master's-voice with a vinyl section...
my idea of a tennis-court,
a cafe, a swimming-pool, a park,
a church even... because you can never really
own too many records...

and between me and you:
what's the difference between me and my neighbor?
he plays his music, mostly rap...
on the speakers... and sings along to the songs...
he finishes the day with some r'n'b and stops
singing... i take over...

headphones in, 6ft2 posture hunched in a chair
scribbling with chicken-pecking precision
some long lost "hierogylphic"...
and of course: in between some, literature...
but it was only about the music...
youtubers ruined youtube as much as
the "legacy media"... or the next will smith...
"vlogger"...

once upon a time youtube was a haven for people
like me: who only used it to find new music...
somehow the glitches started and the music video
recommendations died: youtube thesaurus algorithm
became corrupt or something...

would i ever sing-along to a song?
not if it's as raw as a stake-tartar and the dish
needs to be served with merely thinking to compliment it...
i'll repeat what i've already said:
gentlemen! the jukebox is ******!
- and i was the type to listen and then buy
a physical copy... even though i didn't have to...
i could go back and listen to the same stuff again...
out of principle...

no car = no car insurance no road tax...
no mobile phone = no... bill...
in terms of primitive knot, though?
would you rather go blind or deaf?
that's a tough one...

listening to primitive knot or watching
a latex lucy b.d.s.m. short *****-flick...
i know: it's the obvious synonym overlap...
but at the same time it isn't...
gimp suits or all those other unicorns of the bedroom...
but no... the most forbidden act i ever managed
to fathom in a brothel was a kiss...
one time i pulled out a ***** from a drawer
when she went with the money to the madame
of the parlour and coming back asked me:

do you want to use it?
*** to me is like rye bread...
it's not a ******* croissant...
toasting alone will do the trick...
language is already complicated by necessity...
of crosswords and the boredom
that most mono-lingual people feed not having
learned a crossword of bilingualism...
why would i inhibit this fact of voyeurism?
apparently there's something immoral watching
someone get pleasured...
perhaps i should find some rare footage of
a peter anthony allen hanging...
or Leroy Hall, Jr. at the Riverbend (Nashville, Tennessee)?
perhaps i should start jerking off on
a whim, from time to time...
over execution footage?

perhaps it's that sort of conundrum...
you see someone eating ice-cream and enjoying it...
you therefore? buy yourself a cone?
god almighty... but the added responsibility
of also owning the fridge and freezer
when that spontaneous whim passes...
after all... there's always that diet of...
the girls jerking off into the camera...
which is probably the least guilt-riddled form
of ******* on the planet...

hey! if she's doing it... and you sat down
on the throne of thrones to do the no. 1 and the no. 2...
let's call it no. 3 and taking a baptism later (no. 4)...
esp. if you haven't been circumcised...
at this point: i feel sorry for the circumcised men...
that do not live within the rigours of a hasidic orthodoxy:
the circumcised man: the subservient woman...
the circumcised man: the woman in a niqab...
i guess that's how it works, no?
imagine the problems...
if the man were circumcised... but the woman...
was not supposed to pay any sort
of "penalty"...

then again: one would expect to find the best
***** under the crucifix...
stigmata pin-head and all those dittos...
and heads... but i am a connoisseur... 1970s...
1980s... but it must be Italian...
no... not German... and certainly not English...
chances are: yes, French... but more or less
Italian... and it's always on a whim...
connoisseur... well there are videos where
you can find a pregnant woman parading her bump...
and squeezing her *******...
and that's about it...

i want to imagine what those 9 months
of pregnancy must feel like...
for better or for worse... the oral demands...
perhaps i haven't written about this sort of stuff
for a long enough period...

now an interlude where i smoke a cigarette
is bound to be... exquisite...

it sure as hell is the safest way to arrive
at some sort of *** that's purely plesurable:
a gradation of *** without consequences...
but is this a celebration?
a woman ******* on camera with
her toys is a celebration...
me my ******* and the phantom hand...
there's no theatre in it...
the utility of taking a ****, taking a ****...
doing "it"... then having a shower...
and then "repressing" it...
not having "repressed" it to begin with...

i did a month once...
i came to the conclusion... that i'm more impulse
prone, i was planning my next brothel
visit... after a month i was still planning it...
then i relieved myself and...
would you believe it? the impetus dissolved!
i don't know what these right-wing
europa-identitarians are coming up with...
so much attention on:
i enjoy reading as much as i enjoy taking
a ****... notably the constipated kind
but esp. more of the diarrhoea nature...
hello mr. **** hello mrs. geiser!

perhaps that's why i wouldn't ever be a fan
of ******... i enjoy taking a **** too much...
or perhaps i'm just too old fashioned...
but this began as something orientating oneself
around a music genre...
how did it come down to pornogrpahy?

jean genet: the thief's journal...
i was really hoping for something marquis de sade
-esque... there was still too much:

solo girl does her bit...
so well in fact... that... buying a *** doll
must only remain a h'american thing...
*** is already shamed when marriage comes
along in anglo-saxon societies...
notably the inflateable sheep or doll
on those normie stag parties...
*** and children and the joke is:
you can only have good ***...
if you're ******* for procreative reasons...
bypassing the ****** for the sake
of the children...

otherwise... well no ******* doesn't help...
if... there's no wife in a niqab in public...
or some kosher wifey either...

i still have mine and i will keep that...
as... almost... a security policy...
a prenup...

pauk-mumije (1982 bosnian post punk)...
perhaps brutalism is just post-punk?

i remember it quiet clearly...
i still can't fall asleep without listening to music...
as i couldn't back then...

otchim - james dean...
the bass and no guitar riffs until the chorus
comes... and... ha ha... it's in fwench!
just like i could **** her without listening
to really... atmospheric music...
by 2007 standards that was equal to:
the dandy warhols...
but that was 2007...

these days... hardly candles and
black sun dreamer - post-traumatic stress disorder...
back then it was candles
and type o negative...
the candles and... catching a mouse...
no trap... a labyrinth of obstacles
and she sitting on the bed giggling while
i played being a maine ****...
and i did catch the mouse...
held it by the tail... let it lose on the stairwell...
and then watch its traumatised body try to
find a hole... scuttle and then fall...
to a depth of a greater serenity of
a... vermin's suicide: with no monkey sing-along
of... this mouse has done the cheese...

and it was sad when i was naive and
i accidently killed my hamster in a similar
fashion... but some ***** Abel...
but at least the mouse allowed me to
circumstance a Pontius Pilate relief...
and she asked me: what did you do with the mouse?

oh... it committed suicide.

chicago research compilation... tape CRO15...
perhaps listening to the cure
or depeche mode was once a "thing"...
no... burtalism is not post-punk...
pisse - kohlrubenwinter...
red zebra - i can't live in a livingroom...

my one personal joke...
in england i started calling the livingroom...
the civilroom...
pokój cywilny - if it must stress the St. Cyril...
so it must: комната гражданский..
brutalism is not post-punk...

stiff little fingers... are punk's creamy pie...
oto - bats...
bodychoke - cruelty
       "            - red dog
       "            - the red sea
legendary divorce - age with us...

somehow more of my ****** valnetine...
and less sonic youth...

i do remember pretending to date...
at high school...
the first question was always a nervous
build-up to the question:
'what music are you into?'

weird party - acne puncture...

well would you believe it...
some of us are still after something that
finds no sort of aleviation
in the alternative that's an aydin paladin
video...

POPEiUM - papacidal coronation...
Münn - II. in defeat...
a john peel: a no john peel...
the sort of piano that makes
a debussy or a satie blush...
AMORT - die hexes...

the current standard of... the stoogers...
or stooges... and... air no concern...
the limbo artifact of ***...
formerly known as the... limbo pickling...
of the undead...
and all those that come with an eczema and
the scabs of leprosy...
and vampires: those syphilitic zombies...

susumu yokota, and all those stupid,
solipsictically assured cats, grinning...
menace of the grin!
full cheese impromptu with a display
of teeth!
a night promenade into the forest
listening to: demdike stare's tryptych...

i haven't tried... but from 1pm through to 5pm...
i could phone classic.fm and ask
for... a song to be played in my name...
perhaps i'll phone in...
if i catch the right "once upon a time"...
and find it... as i found...
christopher young's: something to think
about...

**** and music... many interludes...
perhaps some little borat-britain references...
and then: none...
per 1K there's a cult...
per 10K there's a counter-culture...
come the 918 apostles... of jonestown...
there's no leftover for no...
alternative...

the restless mind starts its exercise
in petty squabbling....
why weren't i the respected,
vatican proof for a plumber!
why wasn't i to become,
the undertaker!

i too feel: the claustrophobia
of the ensue of the paragraph...
what is primitive knot contra U2...
mainstream? sod it: knot it a blood
and a sundail!
blood dries... the mercurial mythology
dries a solidity of
something becoming more an echo...
and less a sodden-print of the foot...
which the tide will,
nonetheless relate itself as...
worthy of being erased...

the violin concerto...
the piano nocturnes...
and the symphonies...
and the operas...
later the ballet...
beside... a chopin would write a nocturne...
a debussy would write one also...
but...
debussy writes a nocturne...
satie writes a nocture...
but a schumann?! a schubert?!
they write a concerto!
none of their work could have been written
in solide with a solipsistic monologue
escapade...

perhaps i can only appreciate chopin via
his nocturnes...
otherwise i am not convinced...
the greats wrote.... symphonies...
operas... never accompany pieces
to make their instrument an oak...
a tree... and not something resdual
to later make a mahoganny piano / table
of...

pianists! you only hear of their prowess!
Liszt! Chopin! Debussy! Satie...
exclaim as if to: suprise the "audience"
with either knowledge or...
adoration?
can a violinist make the same sort
of statements?
a pianist will play... with an accompaniment...
he will never become the maestro
predisposition
of the polyphony...

a chopin only heard the piano...
a debussy only heard a piano: solo...
a beethoven or a mozart...
what violin solo? what of a violin concerto?!
is that a trick question?
old father bach...
no instrument: well...
shubert loved allowing a piano ****
a bunch of harem violins in a harem crescendo
of a concerto...

but a nocturne? the polyphony of...
the "polyphony" of...
two pianos playing side-by-side...

- the joint"laura's"1967 kk proto prog freak phych -
no, that's not it...
- and no... it's not omega - gyöngyhajú lány...
- well **** on me...
locomotiv moscow is not a band...
but an f.c.... beg your pardon...

as i do hope that i am wrong about
a minor "technicality"...
somehow classical, essential...
and nothing worth or being able to: hum...
or sing-along-to...
always serious and finding outlets
of a necessity in being: thought of...
perhaps there's this grand:

technicality of not finding oneself sighing
or crying for that matter...
vaughan williams is more required...
for the expanse of a cowboy movie
horizon...
or that technical term...
the: deconstruction of the dutch angle
in the perspective shot...

but we don't talk about *** as much
as we don't engage in it...
and we certainly don't talk about music...
the absolute brutal needs to be found...
a butterfly a lotus a kiss in a brothel...
all else is... the slaughterhouse....

this has been a...
no Friday night in Soho can match-up...
i've spent better nights in
Amsterdam...
and no... the red light district was
never going to be a cannabis cafe for me...
or some Vermont-esque quest for a better
pint of ale...
*** was on sale...
there was not real point of making
any money from it in the medium of fiction...
it was always going to be
ugly, frictive... below par of expectation...
but it was always going to
be fathomable... fathomable in a sense
of it being respected...
as a hierarchical undermining...

oh what since was, truly was concrete...
but the verbiage came along
and fiddled with the fog and the end-result
deems itself abstract...
there's the concrete of drought...
and the abstract of locust.
there's the concrete of a mountain...
and the abstract of a pyramid;
there's the concrete of death...
and the abstract of a mosileum;
after all... a grave is a coping mechanism
of someone who...
never began the inquiry... of mortality...
joking as a child might...
pretending to handshake his own shadow.

as i have found the antithesis of narcissus...
the man who fell in love with his shadow.
marieLIZ forte Dec 2017
catkins hang from  trees
like lost hopes
of homeless souls

corpses splayed out
like guileless nodes
dripping from the trees

ligamentous laxity
like the gum
we spoke of before
Igorgoldkind Nov 2017
Igor Goldkind and John Kingsmill will perform TrypTych: The Third Act of Creation in its entirety  at tonight’s Art and Poetry event in Balboa Park around 7.30 pm

With authors Tomas Gayton, Jim Moreno, and Chris Vannoy. People’s Choice Poem Performance Awards follow featured readings and performances. DJ Gill Sotu will provide music and sound throughout the show. This interactive arts and culture experience will include beverages, snacks, and plenty of time to mingle. Bring a snack or beverage to share and get in free. Info: 619-957-3264.

  When:   Friday, November 10, 6:30 p.m. to 9:30 p.m.
  Where:  San Diego Art Institute1439 El Prado,
San Diego, 92101

https://www.sandiegoreader.com/events/2017/nov/10/poetry-art-at-sdai-fri-sept-22-gayt/?et=219255#
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2020
it truly is a rare find...
          no... not louis zukofsky's -A-...
juggling adorations for Bach's
polyphony...

       i need to sketch this...

i have two demands...
    a young man should only read
philosophy when he was
started to tease his 21st birthday...

by accident: and no accident...
Hume of all people...
            but i was young and i made
a faux pas:
i started to collect music... compact disks...
too early on...
i should have listened to the radio...
it's not like i will
return to... taproot...
i might return to: dry **** logic...
i will not return to korn
or slipknot...

although... when mojo was still
in print... and there was that prog rock
special... and i... bought up...
the top 50 prog rock albums...
some yes records...
gentle giant...
                        pink floyd doesn't count...
king crimson...
doesn't count either...

in all honesty:
   the only albums i bought that...
are not a "mistake" of...
youth...

             probably the oeuvre by tool...
but then... that's writing musing:
something one might enjoy in
the background... writting... doodling...
some music prevents you from
simply listening to it...

i can't remember the last time
i wanted to rhyme my words...
    i somehow had to... think rhyming
to be... something to be abhorred...

if sarcasm is the lowest form of wit...
then... rhyming is the lowest
form of escapism:
how one might pride oneself
claiming a rhyme...
                      
           i can't remember the last time
i took a tool album on a bus ride...
or read a book to it...
   i desired... metaphorical laying of bricks...
to be absolved by the music:
cushioning the background...

    a bit like... Proust lining his study
with cork...
  there was always a music to fall asleep to...
when i discovered...
christopher young's hellraiser soundtrack...
hammock's ketonic...
dead can dance - into the labyrinth...
            
    when i first heard ola gjeilo's northern
lights choral pieces...

combichrist - today we are all demons...
godspeed! you black emperor...
die krupps - machnists of joy
:wumpscut - bunkertor sieben...

                   an ex-girlfriend elevated
me from rammstein toward in extremo...
i elevated myself toward...
   garmarna...
wardruna... hedningarna...
    żywiołak...
                      danheim...
                                                heilung...

i also found some lao che...
                      notably the gusła album...

demdike stare - tryptych - £30 for a c.d.,
not a vinyl... and i did buy it...
   vomito nergo - fall of an empire...
hanzel und gretyl - uber alles... etc.

             wooden schjips - west...
            distance - repercussions...
   dead skeletons - dead magick...
       the besnard lakes - until in excess...
   uncle acid & the deadbeats - blood lust...
naam...
    the soft moon...
              allah-las...
    the chromatics...
         pablopabo & ludziki...
           black ox orkestar - nisht azoy...

last time i heard... music under the radar...
vex'd...                     burial - untrue...
          which probably translates best
in the north east of london...
from that... doom of the southern estates...

   rotting christ... a greek "dark metal" band...
kata ton daimiona...
    susumu yakota - grinning cat...
       beat bizarre - somersault industries...
younger brother - weird on a monday night...
bohren & der club of gore - mightnight radio...

   i listed all these examples for no
particular reason...
  apart from: i did buy physical copies
of these records...
   i don't trust the radio in...
either playing any of this material...
there's already that whole...
affair of    HARAKIRI DIAT -
  primitive knot - puritan...
                 ******* of brutalism...
                    years of denial - body map...
filmmaker...
          i'd love to own a physical copy...

it could be just so plane jane & basic
to know what you were looking for...
honestly: it doesn't work like that...
that "thing" you were "looking" for?
it has actually been looking for you...
  you are only sieving...

    irritated by a stressed rubber-band
song on replay... sick-poppy-uber-glue-pop
song like mabel's: don't call me up...
or... britney spear's criminal...

                  ****** ***** music taster...
or... refreshing a desire for iggy "z" pop(s)...
but sometimes an album just happens...

always big into the dandy warhols...
every time... she said...
you listen to... good morning...
think of me and how you ****** me...
ex-girlfriends...
and a brief mythology of smurfs... to boot!

one album stood out...
from all those listed...
     i was never a big fan... prior to...

                  aufheben...
                 by none other than...
the brian jonestown massacre...

           that's one album... and the other?
heavy moon's... fünfzehn (15)...
      it's not a case of itchy-thumbs...
but the drill srgt. of rhythm stole my index
and thumb on this one...

    music: it's hardly what i think of it...
it's what feeling it dictates me to write...
no... i could never be a needle-drop...
internet's busiest musical nerd...
i can't fathom music like a nerd...
a drunk? oh yeah... as a...
a music that i enjoy drinking to...
rather than writing...
   that's a breath of fresh air...
   like ******* for virginity...
  that same quote: yes... making war for peace...

then... on a second listening...
neue echos der erinnerung... what a blast...
too busy... fidgeting with my
constipated variation of solipsism...
echo-sputnik...
years down the line...
someone less... disinhibited...
took to warping time and gizmos
with a pen and a litany of typos...

     a rare moment... false praises...
in the moment though: the angels were singing...
then... memories...
too many memories of...
     tangerine dream... and... kraftwerk...
sensible... german music...
no... i was completely wrong...

i guess i was my usual self...
perched on a windowsill
sitting on my folded foot...
and i caught a "neighbour" looking
at me from afar...
   trying to escape the straitjacket
of glued-eyes to t.v. mantras...
and i decided: fun to catch a rhythm...
and **** clicked...
there was a lunar eclipse...
the sun-worshippers suffered a great deal...

i did buy the van **** parks album...
songs cycled... oh yeah!
big fan! i used it... to pass the time...
when... decorating the civil room...
                     pokój (room and peace)...
   ciwilny... i.e.: the living room...
        well... when i was painting the ****
"think outside the box"...
to watch the box... with my dear dear
muvva...
                   because...
you'd only listen to van **** parks...
when... painting a living room
with your mother... moving furniture...
that sort of: project of escapism...

     medieval music and orthodox byzantine chants...
medieval music and...
frank zappa... not the music... though...
the interviews...
             walther von der vogelweide...
                  chevalier, mult estes guariz...
       vox vulgaris - la suite meurtriere...
                    
some people should know...
their language is not... yet... supposed...
peer...

the concept of
the diminutive...
    mały-malutki-maciupki...
the diminutive as a form of endearing...
a size...
wielki-wielgochi...
                      diminutive:
concerning the same word...
a standard prefix... a suffix variation
of gradation...
because! yes! english is awash with
said: plenty!
                    the assured: sire
of the shat upon: shire... by queer
buckingham!
                
                  for any love...
this most loved... this debased...
and a loot of a frown....
          the furrowed brows...
to own a bed to fit two sleeping
in it... ******* in it...
yet more... is to presribed from
an "effort" of sleeping on the hardening...
beside it...
like a greed riddled *****
of a bed-fellow caving to... scrutiny...

furrow-of-brow-down-bidden...
because of a leisured frown...
this and what... to escape with a love...
made ideal...
less of a love and less of
the gymnast who might parade
with ******* statures
of: the well bent...
that of the AK-47... and WD-40...
well oiled... scripture...

                  the music enjoyed...
the music orb: tow: revised...
              
  fidgeting... fetching... fidgeting...
fetching... calls for nuance...
loop holes.... writing under the
policy of spoken truths...
BBC radio 4... depeche mode...
punk-esque and...
              and writing under
the... lost under-belly...
who who's of the cringe fest...
  litany... mollusks r us...
   and... the crab-fetish...
   gamer-no-gamer:
biggest hard-on...
                like... the insensitive...
parody of *******...

                              kippah looters...
******* statues...
old school cringe and toblerone lego...

maurice! oh maurice!
please entertain the advent of
whittle steward!
              
  yes... best to pretend to grieve.
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2018
i'm way past convincing people -
    children require the demand of
being believed -
   somehow: as you mature -
your ontology changes and a
subtle variant of apathy seeps
in...
     given...
              as someone who sat in a wheat
field under a tree...
no phone... drinking heavily
and listening to the wind rustle
the shafts -
             singing along to a song -
laughing - crying -
    and then spotting a u.f.o.?
like a jelly-fish luminescent -
    not exactly solid...
              well... m'eh...
   that's nothing...
                    doing the same but
on a log throne in a forest...
    and seeing a garmr -
  cŵn annwn - cerberus:
hellhound -
     chasing a rabbit passing meters
away from...
   well... not that's something...
so... either i wasn't real,
the hellhound surely wasn't...
as was the rabbit...
   yeah... the rabbit wasn't real...
u.f.o. what?
      m'eh...
      come the winter chill -
   i'll be walking back through its
shades and shadows -
seemingly blind -
        probably listening some
demdike stare -
     well **** me.... the album tryptych
set me back 30 quid...
   worth every penny.

— The End —