30.4.10

..

29.4.10

I imagine hate mail. I imagine answers to my own questions which are hateful and hate-filled. I imagine, so to speak, animal, geographic metaphors, played out as a rhetoric for my desire to, as it were, popularise the primitive as I define it. I am, that is to say, seeking to enter a phase of personal intoleration and spiralling-down.

Immigrant songs extended my family. We smile as people ask people about our homeland. We smile as we become, therein and thereby, ever more private, ever more in-situ. We despise robot determinists and their version of polity; with its endless invasions on TV. We emit low howls as we reluctantly view. Vacuity is their paradigm-shift. We degenerate in opposition, relentlessly.

28.4.10


.




I have been re-arranged.
That is things are not what they were.
Shapes.
drift.
drift.

My futures have solidified into robust fantasy.

Sh e Knows

But what can I say when traffic pours a poison onto my empty streets. The sodium of dusk chills the evergreen, fills the night with a pause for thought but thoughts are vacant philosophy.




27.4.10

Calamity of the past
























Now you got me interested
and got me integrated...into your mind.

You are so hard to find,
I am lost...lost inside your mind.

Your figure is a finely sculpted bust...
Your eyes are covered in gray dust...
...Your body has fallen to rust, mold and things that rot inside of you...

The chains that bond our crusted veins,
and bottle our busted brains.

That shivers
the maggots inside you.

That buzzing of flies,
yes the flies come out when it rains,
flies that cover our sighs.

You got me so integrated... when you leave...
You leave me disintegrated,
lying in wait for our next unreal connection.




25.4.10

Eyesores

...ports of exit

24.4.10

23.4.10

On the pig's back...

Restless




i want to drown in your ocean and feel your sapid salt drip from my tongue. i want to feel the blunt geometry of your hips rise against me like a tide. to trace the marbled carriageway of your thighs with fingertips that flutter like moths across the hungry swell of your vulva. to lay face down at the altar of your being and breathe in that intoxicating scent. to feel the stubborn mystery of your belly as hands steal over your undulating camber, desperate to devour the hard swelling yet softly yielding fullness of your breast.
lips brush lips. petal soft and blushing pink.
my tongue a traveler in the rebus of you.

i want to trace the echo of your spine and draw electric circles on the soft down at the nape of your neck and follow the bump and dip of your back with shallow bites and kisses down to the cushioned pillow that softens the point of your hips. i want to press my mouth to you perineum. between anus and vagina. listen to your sighs. watch you shudder. legs part to the push from my knee. my hand grips your moist desire and i lift you up to me. a peach impaled. a fruit that weeps its wanting. your hands claw the sheets carving crazy patterns in the linen. your head drops and rises to the rhythm of my thrusts.
you grunt in time to the rhythm. low animal sounds.
my maleness a provocateur in the fervor of you.

and after, when ardor has grown and flown like the explosive beat of nightingales wings bursting from the womb of venus and we lay extinguished like super novas grown cold. like stars that have burnt incandescently bright and now spin in a limpid orbit. captive to tangled limbs. coated in a gloss of sweet sweat. in the battleground wreckage that is the disheveled ruin of our bed. and after, when passion is spent and mirrored by our flacid flesh. our hands explore. the muscle in my jaw. the fine delineation of your cheek. our nipples now soft. your hair a confusion of wanton pleasure. your hair that hangs heavy and black and redolent with jasmine.
we smile. smug, self satisfied grins.



22.4.10

Proposals

20.4.10

Anarchic Freak Show (act II)

Hi!

19.4.10

Storm Then Haze

Storm Then Haze by undRess Béton

Les Blancs Save pas Dancer

stand off






THE NEEDLE IN MY HAND


THE HEROIN IN MY VEIN


I WATCH CLOUDS CHASE HEAVEN

I TRY TO CATCH THE RAIN




skin is faster then the word

18.4.10

spur tan

'Spur Tan' - undRess Béton + dawn Melancholic

item #0010

[groaning] The sadist has water in his hand. His hand is enough just for one. His chair stands beside that of my father’s. (There is something loving about that gesture.) I am, as ever, unevened, the product of their endearment. In turn, I flush out their indications, with animal regard - me, the dangle, the imaginer, facing all this dependency. My very life closes his hand, and I am around him, the philosopher, like an insect. I loved how small it all was.

Die

00:55


17.4.10

.
cornered


Photobucket

.

hocu:necu

we see


I do civilize:


.

so when this becomes a dress, we do unleash the temper

private property scam

inbox rock


sleepy malicious animal

lonesome peak

!


you really got me piss on the fact you’re still standing the plundered pain in front of my thorny door pissing blood

makes me sad drinking the new cell shaded by all the expelled threshold emotions kept away of flight bulb constitutions


delay of smiles makes me puke inside the farted comfort you have established because of my wires


becoming the killer saint

become the queen


as in once though while becomes south hampton maggot shoe gaze as figures spreading legs

there’s trouble tomorrow

take what you want!

i dry son as soonest the sun becomes my skin of lust


looking at venus

not yet, but we belong to broken bones

i’m down by the sand cluttered smiles of frowns


do we depend in rage of mothers pain of love

i die in front of your bed drying my tears of yielded grand wizards bowels

can the hut be ours

i crave sentimental through the architecture of noise spilling the touch of miss poroese

she encountered my flavor as centrifugal orientation matters of ooze changing times in between thy arms

ma fleur -(simply part of my heart)

did we -

there’s a brick, will I ever attach to the head


think as little pink places coaled water perils brush stellar constellations

dwelling the touch of skins being of no fooling as only them become realm bypassing the second part


again as rendered emotions scare the minute

they depend on focus through eclectic narrow halls as smack

vein in trusted big paradise cream whip speaker switch becomes her pants

shipping flares beyond wind blise statt klise


now telling the testimonial becomes a strawberry panic - rumbles beyond furniture of trust

welcome fact of inspirations, I spill my life to your floor of fruit attacks!


decay becomes engaged with peaks of mountains dripping of lust for ike too fly

so much of lester’ed times I can’t tell, but now of none it appraise of how much I can fulfill the you

i want to absorb the mentioned tenderness of your skirt


melanche&olives trusted performers hide deep inside

hollow hurts béton, spoils laquer as he nails their teeth to thighs

she loves she smiles I cry why must I he thinks about herself

but else the lightening is anthological mentionable notice of white leather pockets patched as signs displaying force to their knees of fortune


in a state of beyond he would travel by pleasures of wheels trending purses being slaughtered as symbols

when again did the time rise as he fell perhaps the tide was ready to come

wall wall fly call by read as 30’s_bpm to find the 50’s coin hearted flavor on duty to finally meet as the commerce drooled name


as I can quote my beloved insantiy

‘bricks of thunder, I love and smile beyond walls’


i will let you fall apart

-

conversation

16.4.10

item #8991

I privilege your dirty little pleasures and endow financial totalities within secure photo-less pages directed only at the professions. I can be everything when I'm away.

inferno

since when less

it’s only blank


my emotion


a

bullet shooting brush is aware of time

else lost of wicked mercy threads

I am no will of being

decry the color

i spent only a part of time in seconds

mom taught me metal smiles through locked doors

when I spelled the name of my god times were gone as her careless hair was tied to my back of lies

bored of word passing introspection it’s backseat slapped the beat to my cuts across by grill

sensed razors slammed the chin of infinite thresholds passing ball pen eyes as fear of now

if she looked the walls curled to fault emotion tempers of hated scents tearing the vain to floor

becoming the unbecoming of sorrow’s comedy repeatedly spending voices on choir spasms

slumber my walk through science days of trusted tears wearing belts on fire

other buttons tied notion to the bang of heads spilling chars upon my eyes

trees expelled vomit

since when less

was trench

we met

forget

the sticky became flies far degree

stomach reality

confirmed dried lips

stealthy hair

broomstick mentality

brrr

eik

wench thirst

pies plunge the spoil

bagpipe maneuver


depressions m a tt er


something remains

#
















FALIBLE AS HUMANS
FRAIL AS INSECTS
THESE ARE THE DAYS OF WISDOM AND WONDER
WHEN YOU HAVE NOTHING YOU HAVE NOTHING TO LOSE














15.4.10

nacht

...

High-Pitched

-

by undRess Béton

14.4.10

Mind Fine

You dine like your all fine,
face flustered, eye's batted
the stars away, you drifted
like you never drifted before
dreaming of another season
with a chill that made the skeletons
shiver.

Your fine but it's only the wine
that's got you bobbed in a waste of your own
a place of your own, much like the mind
inside of you, you got a nerve
that resins black in your eye's,
knee's blacken from swaying..
swaying in the dirt.

You drink the wine and climb the vine
inside your head, the many paths connecting
giving you sighs from another's lies,
the parallels that got you swirled
up in a bin, pressing empathy into
a jar.

You climb the vine to where you dine
Everything in front of you
is the painting on the wall so perfectly
fitting for you a room of your own,
a place that makes the skeletons
shiver...

13.4.10

suoıʇɔəlɟəɹ

Shatter the mirrors,
Behind them lies the truth
Or lies.
Tonight you weave a twisted melody
Yet tomorrow you will dance in daylight,
Proclaiming some inane fable for others to despise.

Such fanciful ramblings, my sweet,
Whores love stained glass windows.

And so too do demons love to be bitter
And so too do children love to chatter.

I put my hand through a wavering mirror and
In the explosion of glass and blood,
I found a serpent of smoke.

This is screaming.
.

from yesterday and tomorrow


march2010
.

Prophecies

12.4.10

Cold Drem

"I've got bones in my pocket and I don't know why."
"I've got bugs in my lungs that don't want to die."
"I've got these miniature guys in my eye's they make me get high."

"Oh Why Oh Why" I asked... Why have I got to spy?

Spy on the twirling gig figs, that sat on the rigs,
the ones who washed the back of st. peter on a boiling heater,
coasted in a coat of wet paint
while defiling a saint
chose to pick many horsed throats instead of one.
finalized the chess game in a duel,
now play the mule

Come on Press The Button.
Press the Button.
make haste
While we still got time to waste.

pieces of me...

-

-

11.4.10

more discharge

Anarchic Freak Show

Discharge

Facebook



Triptych - A day at the Beach...


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一件

...he does not see why he would draw a Devil Fruit unless...

9.4.10

pieces of me...

...

Lurker Within

8.4.10


yes
so it seemed while the bRittle time wouldn't pass but take care of circuits being polluted
she would belief in the last liquid soul of rituals


*smiles*

'*smiles*' by undRess Béton

...

reptile

'reptile' by undRess Béton

..

Gods Left Part








Troubled Water

Is discharge Dada? No, it is not. Influenced by and with a similar attitude to, but not Dada..

Is discharge Fluxus? No, it is not. Influenced by and with a similar attitude to, but not Fluxus.

Is discharge art for intellectuals? No, discharge is for anyone and everyone who appreciates creativity in all its myriad forms. Be it static visual, audio or moving image; the written word or the deconstructed, non-linear form. The spoken word and noise.

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The discharge Chapbook. The discharge Building by Parts book. discharge has no rules. All contributors to discharge are responsible adults. discharge has no leaders although it has an elected body of rotating editors who oversee rather than dictate the flow of the group.

The aim of discharge is to profile creative people and to do away with the pretension of the art world. Everyday people creating art everyday to an exceptional quality.

Art by barrow boys and girls. discharge is international.

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