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  Aug 2020 zebra
Mateuš Conrad
./*because thinking about money is always a "near-miss"... this hierarchy of transvaluation... money and the philosopher's stone... compound the paradox... toying with nouns and adjective to imply almost anything... to compose an artifact that could turn a stone into gold... put money: which is now a f.i.a.t. *****-wonka... that money isn't even paper anymore... some major ****** blues... what's the point of thinking about money seriously... when... clearly... there's such a defire to not spend it... let alone earn it... to subsequently spend it... for a contest of "life" outside the realm of "existence" as defined by auxiliary strategy of: because the theatre allowed me to pass the time... mere mortal man... a month's worth of time: with pressing interludes... i dedicate to a juggling act between a charles dickens' novel and a milan kundera essay... "somehow" i listen to the adverts and i am inclined to be immune to them... since... if i only have enough for a bowl of rice... real or hypothetical scenario... or: i only want a bowl of rice... the advert is like a t.v.: a 20th century pièce de résistance... how can you make adverts for people: who are unable / unwilling to spend "money"... mough-knee... mow-mow? last time i heard my student loan is written off after... 15 years? and i am not supposed to pay a pound of it... if i... do not earn... over 15 thousand pounds a year... such the pleasures of thought: after a while.... you can almost forget a pleasure of spending money... let alone earning it... otherwise... such a fluidity goo section of life: when earning also implies: spending... on non-essentials... a concept of money akin to something essential like wielding a spear... or throwing a stone... but... tipping a waiter... because... it's somehow socially "convenient": the aesthetic of having to over-price a cooked meal in a public event... *

   by no extension of the "claim"...
it's impossible to claim a cognitive coherence:
a narrative... these days...
there's still barrage of lukewarm giggling
events though...

ad hoc: hammer / nail...

        and... a priori / a posteriori?

or rather: that there is an an hoc
hammer / nail...

             most certainly there's an a priori
hammer / nail...
          
the a posteriori hammer? a ******
tool...

       the a priori hammer:
                       is clearly defined by...
   the action of hammering something...
most probably to break it open...
rather than also stumble upon
nails... and subsequently
worked on planks of wood...

            the a priori hammer is:
           a "hammer"...
                it's only a stone...
  there is no handle there's only the head...
or that the head is flat...
which would pre-supposed nails...

then again... the a posteriori hammer:
can be the ad hoc hammer
but it can also be the a priori hammer
should such murderous thoughts
of hypotheticals tangle...

          lazily inhibited or otherwise making
a leisure of a coherence...
once upon a time there was the existential
thorough-through-and-through
of "concern"...
                 now this burdening:
  
cope via bearing -
             it is exhaustive to merely cope...
to fit the shoes of mediocre pretences...
the burden of coping is
somehow... not a concern:
along the way so many ad hoc propositions
lie inquisitively numbed...
a skull envy of brain mushroom juice...
a wholly adjective project
of...             "detail"...
      something a question of an ottoman romance...
at the height of their imperialism...
there was the victorian novel and a london:
ad hoc: for the purpose of the mythos
of jack the ripper...
an elder hyde... a dorian gray..

  jack the ripper is unlike a clear cut
media celebrity of the h'american way of:
beside thinking...
      the credentials of making a...
profiling spectacle...
    jack / jacob was never...
sentenced... alluded to... made into
a certainty...
      rummaging in victorian detail London...
a height of an empire...
readying for the decay...
               there's a scent of...
a trust in ottoman hair / bear oils...
then the stink of mastering
the unfathomable foe of one's own hair
using nothing but rain water...

this romance of history: as with all history:
a look toward a past is
always a look toward:
yes, there i was... rich and grievous with pride
akin to a Cicero...
the past... when one had the money...
is always a prized concern for staging
nostalgia coup d'etats...
                and such....

                        nothing in the currency
of... to have invested in a currency of a surname...
one must have been born with...
a concern to bereave an upstanding
via lady mort...
       it's not like i was...
the ******* son of... the Merovingian...
loiter further to loot...

             if i were the born satire of Mr. Kalashnikoff...
a hybrid non-essential sour...
and sorrow of a son...
the cooker oyster...
the... hardly pickled cucumber...

bunny-bon-weaver...
    come the tail like cotton candy and
the forever missing 1960s
nostalgia that: once upon a time...
a spacing... mirroring nostalgia for...
a past...

        no            no            no
this part... of "disappearing" into the sunset...
my hardly best exercise in
the use of language...
such an objective detail of "concerning"
grammar...
           it's beginning to last...
having this language... not as an indigenous
lifeline and rehab...
             to speak only one
language in this... globalist choir-practice
of inferno...
             it'z alzmozt amasing...
                     it was bound to reach
fever-pitch of: a "happeningz"...

                          i would like to veto...
but no... it's not a philosophy of an exercise of vote..
i simply... default...
                 to barricade fudge-packaging
factory dynamic of stealing: stool.

- the sanctity of the most tyrannical...
echo-whimpering...
       that it's forever the night...
                         that there's a shadow-body replica
to invest in... could a dream-world
architecture come into play...
a *** a wine a ***** cocktail...
alcohol is not a perfume base
or a piña colada "after-party"...

  repentant drunks and people:
who dwell on alcohol having some...
ulterior purpose...
beside... a numbing altruism...
teasing at a solipsism...
    
as of: forever "passing" as  "pass grade"...
this lobotomy encompass
this harvest of:
there's a cat sleeping in
a place where my head
should align itself to the purpose
of quickening lacklustre:

that there's greenwich and that that there's
a loon'don..
somehow there was "someone"
sensible dragging my carcass
to the foundation of salt...
for the possibility of:
that there's water too...
but a stone!
                      i want to find
a crease... and sand too!
zebra Aug 2020
there is a door
obscura
in my mind

a black ocean
that smears alizarin mist

between love
and the dissolute

i hear
a storm of thick whispers
a breath calling
in free fall

my malleable lover
plays voodoo poppet
carousel of lady buddhas
diagramed unholy ***** *****
with scumbag eyeballs
contort for eager ruin
an ornamental cadaver
bejeweled
in a lake of tears

give me flesh
smell my rich ****
bouquet of **** the *****
transfixed eyes of flames
******* wide
thigh spillway buttered

loving the snag
and strangle
of a silk tourniquet
watch me shunt
and glassy stare
a glittering doll shimmies
blood bauble
and flapping tongue
torrent of curving jaws
clever teeth
to tear
and lips to be torn
a cockeyed brain
drowning in
illegible consciousness
for foot slaves
in a sweat and ****
magick show

body of irresistible horror
in descending spirals
to love
in the grotto
of furies
imbued with prayers
that fill the spaces
in her throat

martyr of transfiguration
she falls as
dust falls

i depend on her

tapestry of shuddering lust
in moist air
locked behind
a blood stained door
marked no exit

this savage pageant
"Blessed be You, oh Our Lord God,
King of the universe, who allow what is forbidden"
[Mattir Issurim]
zebra Aug 2020
a mishap fudged together in a blur
by the onerous fate autonomy
a throw away girl
death addict
in a racket of echoes
fingernails
******* and spit
for relics of witchcraft
in a foot licking satanic ritual

she picked him
like a con mark
for the realization
of her shadow dream
to escape from form
in a shaking bed
spread herself wide
feeling the black sound
like musical water
to drown in
with weight
that holds immovable storms
of brazen villain's and glistening *****
who pumped her mouth like gas
for obliterations throat bashing she loved
causing the hideous end of herself
splayed straddled a ****** archaeology 
of kisses withering in an ancient pudding

razor peeled ******* blooming 
betrayed whorish curdling screams
in a deviant propulsion

glitter mucous and blood
drizzled from her lush red smeared lips
with tears of mascara 
in a ghoulish basement
an object of desire for demons 
on the ceiling

she abandons all hope
lubricated her **** and ****
opened her thighs
for a freakish novelty
of soaked vibrating machine gun tongues
for a hemorrhaging orgiastic suicide

her blade slit tongue
still undulating
and pinned it in bits 
to a **** toy 
******
for valentine's day

her love and guts like a buffet 
glamorously featured 
with photo pics
in Mademoiselle magazine
smiling cockeyed
drugged and staggering

she put a rope 
around her neck
as if in an embrace
and blew her brains 
a spiraling horror
of diabolical appeal
in a ghastly enterprise of roulette 
of pants off dance off 
scattered gauze bikini  
and a head wreath of hair 
glittered like a half-eaten pomegranate
under disco lights
https://www.vice.com/en_us/article/j5e833/your-brain-on-****-why-getting-spanked-and-tied-up-makes-you-feel-high
zebra Aug 2020
YAH
in a dark laboratory **** hospital
blood in the mouth
**** & **** thank you

bleeding milk cow
needle kissed
love enema
for a wild ***** monster in heat

***** of love

gnosis in action an anti path
fires of existence burning Sulphur

third eye bleeds light beyond existence
the left handed path

desire
the creative gone mad

after the liberation
comes the revolution of spirit
through sexualization
of the human world
a life beyond the ritualistic gesture

dissolution into the abyss
containing all
comingling the divine
and human spheres

devolutive
i consolidate my desires in her

addiction file
smoke
drink
****
die
and thank you very much

the flesh of god
"melts with the one who
creates him"
......
In a universe created by the separation of Void and Chaos you are your Flesh – העין שמאלית
....
Q.309 is the definitive rite of exit from ritual and separation; represents the code of access to metabolic energy flows that are cognitive tools.
The atomization of the rite, the rupture of the chain of being.
The ardor of prostitution (πορνεία) is intended to solicit the dynamic contraction of the Divine.
intertexted from quadrato 309
V.L.F. Laboratories.
zebra Aug 2020
distorted ***
transmuting into exaggerated realms
of bizarre emotional
and mental surrealisms
heightening to extremes
in ways
that can only be thought of 
by the rational mind
as insane

We Are Not Insane!

this is a religion 
that meditates 
on the fundamental contradiction of existence

we have chosen the pleasures of the taboo 
freedoms dictated
by the most base 
and demonically sensual nature
which remain a powerful 
liberating force 

a contemplation 
mapping our  
experience of shadow desire 
we live this violent contradiction
of excess 
to be free
of reasons agony
giving form to the formless
******* it
moving back and forth
between the centerpiece of life 
and the intersectional void  death 
where most deny
both mortality and the forbidden
Intertexted from reviews  on Georges Batatille
zebra Aug 2020
we must change completely
or cease to exist

the world we belong to
gives us little to love

existence is limited
to commodities

living in a world
we can not love to death

representing nothing
but an obligation to work

hideous and ill conceived
absent of ecstasy
a world of educated vulgarity
where one profits from
degradation

misunderstanding ecstasy
we are incomplete
where people only exist
to justify themselves
slaves to the universe
neutered and empty

some among us discovered
not god
who represents prohibitions
but a headless monster
with a *******
who ignores all prohibitions

it takes him about ten minutes
after being eaten
to realize he's dead

his meat stick
is so enormous
he can touch ****
from a great distance

women like his intensity
causing them insanity
which never ends
so they strangle themselves
oh what artists they are

terrorizing the earth
with their offspring
noise zombies
promised the absence
of a future
the living thrown in
amongst the  dead
there is no moderation
on earth

we live in holes
that separate
the absence of man
from the absence of god

I'm making progress
I'm making progress
I'm making progress

the terrible laughter
of an idiot
haahaahaa
heeheehee
haahaahaa

get up
go to bed
get up
go to bed
get up
go to bed

we live on a
garbage heap
of corpses
living the reality
of a banal fiction

self-conscious nothings
married to a rock
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