not digging this nausea. let’s just get to the high part.
loose my body. it does not even exist.
all in my mind, it’s only a matter of time.
til these moments come to pass.
left my mind drift away, let it float on to space.
continuum into another dimension, another one where i am nothing at all.
voidless disaster, turning light into darkness.
continuing the circle, letting you find your clues.
it all ties together.
i am here and nowhere.
here and nothing.
everything and madness.
*****… pure stench of melted memories that aren’t real anymore.

Beneath the voidless
     Do the fearful linger
For they will devour the
Flesh that caresses beneath
                   The faceless warmth.

For underneath they will feed on
       The cloistered hunger that
Has collected deep within the veins
        Light made form upon reflection.

When is a lusting more than the phase
Of hope, where light is consumed
     Beyond ourselves.
  We are but vessels of fear lingering.

"There is a snake that's fangs drain
     The light, but we only notice the poison
                           when darkness caresses the
Fallen Lids off our sight"

For Gertrude Stein

that vast land
a wanderer's dream
to wonder
to ponder
in awe
a~mazed

like spiderwebs
lineages of pearls
falling
cascading

a land of invisble boundries
boudaries unlimited
ideas limitless
exploring
branching

like a woman's thoughts
tree branches
no time no space
the melting of Dali's clocks

a land of no beginnings
no middle
endless
images endless

like the vortex
spiraling inward
downward
voidless

Strangers,
encircled by a halo of smoke,
stems of nerves ablaze with habit.
I, lungs long filled,
focus on a fledgling:
shaky fingers lift
a stem to parched lips.
The puff, the cough,
the giddy laughter as she holds
smoke captive,
rolls it about in her mouth
only to exhale an opaque cloud.
The nerve-wrecked veteran:
sienna-stained fingers carelessly fling
ashes into an empty soda can.
One stem, two, three...
all burnt to the ****
with just enough fervor
to light the next: chains of valor.
The play-actor: superslims
puffed without purpose.
Tiny manicured fingers hide
the notstem, the habit,
the voidless desire.
The weakling: no will
to purchase the pack,
cowers with her borrowed stem, knows
her next must always be her last,
hopes tomorrow will bring deliverance.
And I, having lived their trials,
accept these strangers,
friends of a common crave.
I set afire my courage
and wave my flag of sweet rebellion:
Satisfied.

Far long before your conception,
Have we cast our spirit around this territory,
Even the wind trembles at the sound of our voice.
The oceans and seas tell of our temperature,
All creatures here shriek
When the earth cries at the sound of our footfall.

We are the aged heroes,
The foundations of the universe,
We are people without season,
As the dust of countless ages so we are!
From the wake of time,
The era of darkness without shape,
From the voidless earth we carved our residence,
With golds of woods,
Bronze of grasses upon diamond field.

We are the lived before re-incarnation,
We are the foundations of your buildings,
Bearers of your surviving grace,
we are all time universal heroes,
People without season
The Indigens of the Earth.

Restless wandering through the voidless night.
Time is spent watching my dreams go down.
The morning trifles the mirage of normalcy.
I sip coffee with chamomile crumbs floating at the top.
Herbs upon herbs, accidents and orphanages.
Out the window the high school sits cold and waiting for the not awake yet.
The busses rumble the emptines.
It doesn't scare the birds.

Chaotic, I may seem; but you've witnessed all my game.
Yet, for all of my monotony, I never seem the same.
I shift within a void that slips between your thoughts,
Shifting voidless, namelessness; what you've tried to hide, I've sought.

I interrogate electrons skipping neuronic paths:
Unhinged and broken walls and doors that kept livid fear at bay.
Dripping Holy Water on evil dreams, giving steel acid baths,
Tinker, toy, explore, destroy; I'll find your "hidden away."

Disguised and masked, though they may be, the habits always show.
Through twist and turn your shadows burn, recoiling from the glow
Of a searching heart and reckless eye and selflessness below.
I've found you once, I swear to you; I'll hind again, I know.

Despise me all you want, retreat from ling'ring words,
In this knowing - of my doing - I've seen the truth behind the lies.
Flit about as you may, controlling thought like wild birds,
Someone taught a treacherous thing; and I'll break those ephemeral ties.

Let me wipe
your tears,
bring all your sorrows
out.
Let me command your
demons
to walk away,
kick your sadness on
a couch.
Let me kiss your
scars,
heal your cracks with
my love.
Let me rock your
soul,
touch your inner being,
shake your spirit
and wake you
up.

There is beauty in negative space
Between the lines of your face
The absence voidless pockets of empty space
There is peace in the decluttering of nothing
Like stillness it is sometimes needed to tip the scales towards a healthy mind.
Listlessly I find myself seeking it
The vibrations of too much clutter
Has the stutter of insecurity
Too loud
Too close
Feel cloistered in the corner
Like herded cattle trapped within the walls of society.

A cradle of no laughter,
               the silence crawls on
                            Every sheet.

Where there was fondness of
blue pools filled with stars.
           Now black holes
                       Of desperation
Collapse within the weight of self.



The cradle is voidless in our
   Sunken voyage of silence.
       I look upon the stars
            And you became a supernova.

My sister once told me that I get way to attached way to easily. That my feelings get the better of me and my emotions control me. That no matter how many walls I build to keep contained the brittle gentle flame of my youth. The sadder the reflection of my frame takes the bitterness of my soul away to play a game making me wonder if I even know me anymore? The bodies buried, mangled and contorted. Like the demons who fought and crought and stick and stay and say PLEASE OH PLEASE DON'T LEAVE OUR PRESENCE WE LOVE YOU TO MUCH TO MAKE AMENDS WITH THE PEOPLE WE'VE BURIED IN YOUR HEAD. The people who didn't deserve such distasteful discipline. The people who wanted to help you BUT WE PUSHED THEM AWAY because you only need us. And forever we'll make sure you stay. So don't ever again tell us how to do our job. Because as long as you live you're heart will always fog. And create misty air to confuse your mind. From truly seeing free from the desolate time. So take your brittle delicate self and move it somewhere else FOR I HAVE NO TIME TO DEAL WITH A DISOBEDIENT IMMORAL  SELF INFLICTING CHILD. WHO'S EYES GROW SORE DUE TO HIS OWN MILD. EAGERNESS TO LOVE AND LOVE AGAIN. TO LOVE AND LOVE AGAIN. TO LOVE AND LOVE AND LOVE AGAIN AND AGAIN. Quit letting yourself be fooled. I won't always be here. To take the blame for you. I won't always be here to push away. And if not for me you wouldn't be sane. Sure I'm your demons living in dark voidless hollow caves. But I'm also your conscious that takes all the blame. And when I'm gone. Who will help you keep sane? Maybe the loved one, so never let true love fade away. Not today or tomorrow. Nevermore be afraid. I love you but I can't stay. My sister once told me that I get way to attached way to easily. That my feelings get the better off me and my emotions control me. So I told her, oh yeah? Tell me a different story. Because I already know how this one goes. How it plays out and holds how my self contemptuous thoughts reallocate configurative  degeneration to demesmerize my surrounding location and fill a hole for joyance love to live. So maybe you're the bitter one and I'm too sweet.

He grabbed the moon as the stars screamed
They reached out and were tired of the never ending always returning ball of light in the sky. They wanted their nights to just be dark. Pitchless. A night steeped in silence. In darkness. Because that’s what they fed on. The different undertones of grey's swiftly carrying them to the welcoming velvet of black. The kiss of night. Except. There’s always that cursed
thing that rises. The blackness scattering back from it in waves. Receding from a shore that it once used to own. They grimaced. And wished that for once they could grab the moon and vanquish it. They got curious. Finding themselves reaching out before they could really truly do anything about it. They didn’t want to stop. They expected nothing to come of it so when their fingers felt this… Suction feeling. As if the circulation was cut off. And saw how their hand went through something like there was a divide between the land of air and the empty void of space. The home of this pesky pale thing. They froze. For once their façade of stone and cold broke. And they found that a well of curiosity was flooding them. Crumbling through walls that had been parched from a wave of desert heat. They twisted their hand. Trying to make some reason. Some cause for this to happen. But they could find none. And instead of feeling fear about what they were doing. They held the confidence of a honed swordsman. Knowing that they were set in their skill. He grimaced. And smiled. Casually brushing his hand against the face of the moon. He wasn’t startled that he could reach it. Or shocked. The shock came from the voices that filtered in through the gap his hand created. Thousands upon thousands of melodious screams floated through it. But he could never find the source. Which puzzled him to no end. So when the last pure note floated through the gap. He found himself sitting there in silence like what could I do now. “Take that pesky thing and welcome the dark”. Floated through his mind from a rich deep voice. Motivating his hand to do his bidding. As he firmly grabbed the edge of the round pale light source. The screaming resumed. As if the stars were pleading for their king not to be taken. But he didn’t let that stop him. He pulled through. Adding in his other hand until the gap started getting wider. And the space between earth and the voidless kingdom opened. The stars getting louder growing brighter with all of their voices. As if they were notes being played too high. Strings being too taut. But with one final tug. The moon came into his realm. The shadows flooded over it. Securing it to the ground. And spinning around the boy. Bowing to him. Rising up and kissing his shoulders and his hair. Leaving a crown and flowing despair stained cloak of darkness. The stars were still screaming though. At the sight of their precious moon being taken. Taken into an unknown but watched over land. It was wrong. It was so wrong and unnatural. It belonged in the sky. Safe. loved. Cherished.

He grabbed the moon as the stars screamed

The Legate and Dialect watched down the valley as Drozen’s body was lifeless in the smoldering Acider flame
My liege, Drozen would have destroyed everyone on your home planet, and that would be a shame.
The Legate replied, He would not have gotten to that point, because I would have arrived no later.
And that so-called Commander of the Numberless Clans would have to bow to his greater.
But what of his Clans, Dialect asked with furrowed brow and The Legate affirmed, They are yours to command.
Under Drozen’s hapless leadership they were abysmal, but under you they will rule every land.
Does Scmita bring back memories, Dialect inquired of The Legate as they were walking about.
Both good and bad, The Legate grimly acknowledged as they were preparing to move out.
This is a new regime, Dialect said to the Diablo-Robots, as they shuffled to attention.
The Drozen you knew is dead because of his weakness, and now you are my henchmen.
Dialect and The Legate sat in and Dialect said, Shall we prepare the Galactic Coordinates to the Earth Rock.
The Legate shook his head and said, No, I want to visit the Council of the Faceless Tongues so when I leave they never again talk.

The Council of the Faceless Tongues were confused, because they could not longer detect Drozen’s life heat.
And the Legate and Dialect burst in and Dialect hollered out, How is it, my brothers, now that your commander went down in defeat.
You banished me from your presence and even gave Drozen what should not have been his.
But now Drozen is lying in the Acider Flames dead, and he will never be missed.
What do you mean by this, The Council of the Faceless Tongues asked in spite.
The Legate put his foot on the table and grimly whispered, You have a tongue but no sight.
So if you cannot talk, you will no longer live, because you rely on words to see-breathe.
The Legate then put a vision-silencer on the table, and Dialect knew it was time to leave.
The Council of the Faceless Tongues tried to talk faster, but soon all was still and quiet.
The Covenantial Project breathed a sigh of relief because that was the end of tyrants.

The Covenantial Project then went to the Voidless Midst to finish his Federation assembly.
He sat down and used the Decipherment Charter to form different positions to defend this coming enemy.
When he was finished he got up, and said into the darkness of space, It is settled.
Creation will soon be free with Drozen dead and the Council no more there to mettle.
It may be the Meggadian rotation, but with the Federation here to stand and defend.
I hope the Nova Knights and Patriot Knights are formed soon, to bring this nonsense to an end.
They will be my mounted forces on Centaur-Raptors, with the Brackti as the Footpieces all is complete.
Victory must be ours because there is no chance of recovery of everything loved from defeat.
Breastplate-Bearer asked Message, So between you and Drozen, who would have been ruler over the Dahomeyians.
Lady of the Night rolled her eyes and Drent said, You cannot be a brother in law without the in.
Our royalty wished to marry each other, so that the Blood-Genes were not polluted.
Dragon-Man and Lady of the Night nodded, because this rule in terms of Drozen was not refuted.

1pm
not exactly but approx
circa
i.e. 12:45pm
and i'm kneeling again

to some distant prayer...

surely, if i were an aftternoon
******
if i were truly
a William Burroughs
admirer and
that would be me keeping
art alive
in Tangier
in some Arabian nightmare
some ****
fair enough
but also the thought
of an afternoon
listening to the children playing
in the playground
and life
life goes on

punitive measures
if i were an afternoon
******
oh
right
the reality
need the needle thread of music

just purged
had a chemistry experiment
in body
just purged
purged god i purged
i vomited the poison
out

a sobering purge
a sobering purge like
the purges from
food ******
of echo Rome

but i didn't eat i only
eat one meal a day
that i need to earn
and regardless whether
it's Christmas Lent
or Ramadan

it's the Bruce Springsteen year
in and out
and god i purged
didn't have enough time
to get to the toilet
instead spewed bile
onto the bedroom floor
then mopped it up
then spewed more bile into
the sink

then felt the body
like yesterday i felt
a sharp pain in my tooth
and thus felt the gravity
of bone
of flesh
of corruptibility
of morality
now i'm more sober and emotional
than discontent and
disillusioned half-enmotional
and high or drunk

i still need to buy onions
for the tomato sauce

those meatballs will need mixing
with breadcrumbs
and cumin
and coriander
and that sauce will need to be perfect

yeah
if i'm not tripping i should be tripping
but where did that old man with his
dog disappear to
the one that kept talking to the dog
like the dog could be a chair
because the man just
kept dictating SIT
SIT
I TOLD YOU TWICE
SIT
SIT
           woof! bark bark! woof bark!

then so clued up about being in a queue
that i forgot the thousands
of verbal cues in my head
instead i just heard: BLAH BLAH BLAH

the election cycle is on
in Britain and in America
and the world emerges with another
Russophobia
as if it were an Islamophobia
and who was that Russian
spy-op hacker
youtube influence-R

      the subjectivity of THE experience
with the objectivity of A experience
objective (indefinite) experience
subjective (definite) experience...

      these are my letter to Socrates
asking:
is this how the "problem" of universals
and particulars can be fashioned
to a suitable rubric of explanations
pedagogic?

                the logic of unraveling in and with
children...

       upon hearing my tongue
i heard that some Russian paid people
to storm the pitch
and pay them 30 million rubles
and within 20 seconds
a German or a Spaniard claimed
the pitch...

                   maybe some greater beloning
a me to i to you
and out through          to self and other...

      but i purged to sober
i purged to sober
because this day has been too good
although i'd never think to say

that i walked into a bank
like Neville Chamberlain
with a flimsy piece of paper
like from Munich
agreed upon toilets
and chimneys
i mean this Power of Attorney
that was just stamped
by a half-baked translator (in memorandum)
photograph and then printed
instead i needed a 16 page document
with all her crying
and whimpering
her late much late attended to for concern
of affection from a brother
now brain in the fish tank
and just because the word
euthanasia is
only
a word that came from my mind
i think of the ***** turmoil
of uncovering secrets in man
even this
supposed best friend and *** partner
Marius
who owes my uncle 300,000 zloty
and perhaps some land
should he forgo the debt
well but now fishbowl St Martin
is having a trip that i could only hope to once
venture into on a giant mushroom!

painless and likewise voidless
a peering black barnacle
with eyes and tongue
this unavoidable shapeshifter
and sieve-R of jurisprudence
this unavoidable date and time
and hopelessness vigor
that irritates the stomach
glazes the eyes
and fills all these rooms with a blank
evidence of emptiness

in a distance a Dalai Lama
who i don't know is Buddha
a cosmopolitan glob trotter or what
is that with St Peter
some inheritance tax
since the rest of us petty mortals
are living lives on loan
do these figures in the world
represent enforced reincarnation
thus these people
are paying the inheritance tax, Pope,
Dalai Lama...
Emir of Baghdad...
Sufiz of Damascus

      i petty mortal living a life
on a loan
this body
this brain this everything loaned
not something i can credit
with bad decision
without the debtor's sinking into
a wheel of money a chair
of money a lamp of money
a paracetamol of money
a book of money
a cushion a bed a house a money
in logical inflation from £100,000
to £0.01
                          the blood
and vitality of inanimate, dead objects,
that they get moved
sold
contested
abbreviated and joyed at

     hands that move chairs
and make chairs
hand each other pocket doses of
value and devalue
nothing mystical except the slow
realization
by purge so rewarding
by purge so electrifying
so illuminating
that one hour residing
in bed while the day busies itself
with its busiest selves

perhaps alternatively
on a Faroe Island
      and aging to some Scandinavian myth
with solitude and letters
not this champagne milkshake
of human emotions
this snot these tears
this phlegm and all the love juices
this ear wax this sinew
these tendons and shaking hands...

Mellstroy -
so my father wasn't bullshitting me...

"Three pitch invaders stormed the Wembley turf at the Champions League final after being promised £300,000 by a controversial Russian streamer, it has emerged. The troublemakers wore t-shirts promoting 'Mellstroy', a scandalous vlogger who offered the prize reward to anyone who would invade the pitch in his name."

      https://www.dailymail.co.uk/sport/football/article-13484263/Champions-League-final-pitch-invaders-Russian-streamer-Mellstory.­html

archiving websites...
that's actually an art in a way
well it is a bureaucratic art-form

/blog.pagefreezer.com/how-do-you-archive-website

$7.2 million USD
by some count of the casino
and i think of myself
and my use of bet365
and in general everything that i do
and my life
and i do think about my life
and if i were brain frozen
half my grey matter evaporated
in my frontal cortex
and that's Martin
two massive holes in his mind
and i can literally throw
anything in there
like Joyce threw Finnegans Wake
into his schizophrenic daughter
is that price
we pay to venture into writing
beyond what's offered in
the Bible
i just wonder how can we dare
to want so much
as to not speak
and instead write

the grey and metallic tinge
of Warsaw on a cloudy day
while very sunny in London
and Glasgow...

perhaps if half my brain evaporated
i would write some astounding
poems that
perhaps i could foresee
no better life than that on the page
like right now
because beyond what's available
there is no mojito under a palm tree
on a beach with the woman
i just might love

this life is brutal and how begging
we are to disbelieve that to be true.

singular,
reverberating off itself
and all the empty words
full of hollow meanings
uttered to make the void feel voidless
and all it ever does
is show a lack of walls
nothing to hold on to
in a substance lacking story
made of our choices
full of plot holes and inconsistencies
with the only truth formed by this
bizarre form of echo location
giving us a second sonic sight
that tells us we are nothing but
alone