Oiled

Pulling my heart, two beats
somethings in our hands, hands tied
with the flowers behind my back
pulled sunlight under my ears
inside of the blue plum closet
plunged into the spears
morning
is in the door,
back of my head
is gone
pulled my hair, pulling my hair
all the air is gone
closed in the boiling room
dancing wings on the crow
feathers something weird
time in the dirt
born from
the slurp.
I am the rolling stone
gathering all the mold.
half reality, half cartoon
I nodded off,
my rolled up sleeves in check
pigs in the pocket smoke coming
from the sneeze.
her purse held a treasure
ashes in the cold rain
fold in the same
brain.
inches behind the
chicken
tree
you reach
for the remote
under your breath you
say i love you to death
but
the cock roach spoils the show,
i see the flies in your eyes,
they are all unzipped
inside a mind
caressing your soft tender
angel fat.
I don't mind the same same same
thing everyday
if it gets me going keeps me alive
i got the the graves in the notebook
cobble stone feet
trembled hooves on the soiled
black curtain
memory's faded but the buffoon is mentioning
Saturday
cold pain taken by your entrenched heels
saturated so rolled on the hill
two strings broken
on the violin
cover the minds with a white sheet, table
cloth dancers.
outside it much quieter, cracking
down, tuckering down, people living to tell about it.

.

Take Off
acrylic/fluted sbs
35"x28"

If anyone clicks A day without Jesus, or the doesn't kill me button, I'm gonna feed them to the grateful dead

Massive Attack

Hell Is Around The Corner
he called to one of the other monks,
‘Look, brother, I have been drinking stars!’
makes me puke up apple chunks
paint you a picture using those apple chunks
Fascinating letters. Interesting correspondence.
will descend upon the courtyard of Visible Voice
D@D@ is everywhere
choosing you to chat with and then not wishing the chat to end.
the postal system an integral part
Other days I wake up and feel like a shell
Pah. You'd be bored senseless.
There is a much bigger world.
this is probably too sane and rational to ever really take off here in North America...
but some people are trying, so give them props...
In the kingdom of hope there is no winter(so no snowmen, snowballs or hot choco?)
Its freezing cold and pissing rain here/Fuck Pop Idols!
It seems the human tissue in it could indeed be foreskins.
helmets lead to victory
blinkers save our life
starers make us die
Send your good karma waves my way
THE TRUTH.
brewing in your brain for quite some time
And the reason why I play The Game less & less every day.

...

morphinomania

The room filled with silent dogs, absolutely still, staring at me as I sit in the chair. I kept the door open as some sort of offering or opening to the outside world, an invitation, bring me your wisdom and set it before me like so much opal and offal and eyeball, but all that has arrived are the unclaimed dogs of the neighborhood, collected mounds of trash beside the boarded tenements so as to climb inside air ducts and feast on discarded chunks of roadkill baked in the sun until scentless and dessicate. Now they stare here, the expanse of their potential dominion, and all I can do is stare as I have abused opium this afternoon and now want nothing but to stare, to fall into the chair in microscopic steps over secretive hours in the light of the moon. I know I need to get the dogs out, as the compound is rife with delicate technology: decaying synths held together with homemade patch cords and aleaoric electricities, the basement vector processors grinding away, the fungal samples stored in the michael-jars covering the walls of the closets back by the alley exit slowing growing into inhalable forms. I attempt high-frequency ventriloquism, sending the dogs into the street, where they pounce upon a carriage, and I find the cordless phone somewhere in the folds of the chair, and I order a sandwich and beer and a dvd of the Levana Hidden Ballet's performance of Soyez Mysterieuses from the delivery service, and this delivery boy seems to appear instantly, and I warn him to shut the door, tell him to poison the dogs, I will pay him in mutt pelts and stained canines, and he stares at me until I attempt to throw my now-cold tea in his face to shake him from his lethargy but succeed only in spilling it on my bare feet.

The Spider

“The Spider is an ode to my mother. She was my best friend. Like a spider, my mother was a weaver. My family was in the business of tapestry restoration, and my mother was in charge of the workshop. Like spiders, my mother was very clever. Spiders are friendly presences that eat mosquitoes. We know that mosquitoes spread diseases and are therefore unwanted. So, spiders are helpful and protective, just like my mother.”

Louise Bourgeois

screech

Delirious screech, the old fashioned smell of nicotine hits me out the blue, the pleasant brain shiver frontal. A car crumples like an accordion in pixelised blur. All occupants dead it would seem. Uploaded without permission of their will-less bodies.

He has found situationist comfort in rolling dice to determine where the liquids are bought. He has assumed the roll of problem drinker for now and the meanwhile of screen cynosure. This cigarette is good and inhabits like godpuss on a victim in sociopathic lay-by. He realises that the victim is probably a woman and downloads torn hooker clothes for her to wear. He is the needle in her arm and sucks in order to fire up libidinal hits and highs. Gratification tastes of grit and human soil behind a DFS sofa. It wasn't that he couldn't feel, and so he went downstairs to get something from Sarah.

Sarah was on the worn but presentable bank holiday couch painting her toenails, tufts of cotton wool tween her little piggies. She wore less of clothes, split ends and her crooked gorgeous mouth in concentration. She painted in fine details on her hard footbits - one of which was onyxistic, I shit you not - portions of a Corot masterpiece of melancholy and twisted tree-muscle. Sarah had several co-occurrent thoughts running through her head:

Thought one: Should she attend Beachwood Club in SL, after all Viktor Galli would be spinning his arse off as usual.

Thought two: Too much dark grey on the little toe.

Thought three: The sleaze of her life was descending.

I guess a number 4 domestic dialogue happened, but I logged out at this point and described myself into an episode of CSI.

Baptism
acrylic/canvas
aprox. 38"x28"

Reverse Metal - August 2010

GO HERE TO READ THE MONTHLY DISCHARGE JOURNAL...Reverse Metal

'handsome eaters will bite the tongue of pleasures' by undRess Béton

When as else conceded

the travel experience through worship of blue

perhaps may be the transferred lust in to point of exile

while movement as bass bursts the temper in C

lines curled as horizon of aggressions make the night turn into shrimps

the o/tether become the motor of adjusted quartz grin besides shutters

handsome eaters will bite the tongue of pleasures

hazard on tv

eyes as hitchhikers they yelled

‘ohne ein Zentrum wird’s eng’

uwn won them time

I saw you in a dream (don't ask me how I knew it was you, I just knew) and you told me there in fact was one thing which would finally stop the endless ache of the great yearning, this pearl of great price, but it is a thing so valuable that the great mover who puts the clockwork cogs of your organs in motion dropped an entire universe on top of it just to keep it hid real good.

-???-

Don't know

about today

been weened
out

started off

laughing

and not knowing of
painted toenails

mudslinging the loaf

why with them

I don't know

the rum.

the curtain

calls

I want

to
yell out

the voice
so

innocent

i bring the

coated basket

with
the hair

floating down,
pulling

down

will trend on you

why don't

we get yoked up

were lying

with sprinkling fingers.

skulls & bones

FUCKIN ACE by Vomitus Skink

make a cup of tea put a record on

jeez

JEEZ

went in working for the holler

phone in the pants
while they vibrate the collar
pockets full of dollars
now fragments of mirrors
their positively gleaming
boy at the black windows
with a black widows perm
with the canned hands and feet

would you look at the
hate with shape of the crumb
boil it neatly Christmas for me
dancing born knees
Why did i take that break
It was a mistake
pushing back the deep
dark velvet
scene.
the cold rained feet
and our hair give birth
cashing in the bones
on the pole with a coal ring heart
and the bird statue purred
straight hate ten your overalls
with the paints on the walls
baby stop tracking
your crayon hands down the halls
its working in the real dirt
flaunting all the cancer
ridden in the magazine
tv addicted to poppy seed
now i noticed you looked like you got
baby boil bones
can't operate on rhythm
hold up the hands
had started the wild men in the herd.
had it all tucked in the head
I scrap away, them shifty thoughts
so old can you read my lips
"No there all dripping away"
an bend out of shape
why don't you
call
didn't even know the poem
blots appearing on my shirt
if it's not you to be..
inside my head
get out two vanilla eyes
come back
breaching next to me
blood i don't know
what it could be.
because I’m in some
place
with one of my own
away form the dust
all the clout
drink the landscape
on the brink reaching over these eyes
milky white limping
eyes to go away
pay pay
rake
the day,
pull back and fire
I am not for hire.
underneath the yellow
I break the landscape
in to our hives
what a surprise
didn't write my name in ink, sitting
with the pink, ripen tickle
Licking brief cries
under the black light
denies
jeez
Your home
didn't come out
squirted sunlight
for her,
to get rid of the umbrella
I never wanted it.

Δ

INTEX Not Bad

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available with it else forgiving.

Modern Times (turn off your TV and burn your newspapers)

Your Attention Please


The Polar DEW has just warned that
A nuclear rocket strike of
At least one thousand megatons
Has been launched by the enemy
Directly at our major cities.
This announcement will take
Two and a quarter minutes to make,
You therefore have a further
Eight and a quarter minutes
To comply with the shelter
Requirements published in the Civil
Defence Code - section Atomic Attack.
A specially shortened Mass
Will be broadcast at the end
Of this announcement -
Protestant and Jewish services
Will begin simultaneously -
Select your wavelength immediately
According to instructions
In the Defence Code. Do not
Take well-loved pets (including birds)
Into your shelter - they will consume
Fresh air. Leave the old and bed-
ridden, you can do nothing for them.
Remember to press the sealing
Switch when everyone is in
The shelter. Set the radiation
Aerial, turn on the geiger barometer.
Turn off your Television now.
Turn off your radio immediately
The Services end. At the same time
Secure explosion plugs in the ears
Of each member of your family. Take
Down your plasma flasks. Give your children
The pills marked one and two
In the C.D green container, then put
Them to bed. Do not break
The inside airlock seals until
The radiation All Clear shows
(Watch for the cuckoo in your
perspex panel), or your District
Touring Doctor rings your bell.
If before this, your air becomes
Exhousted or if any of your family
In critically injured, administer
The capsules marked 'Valley Forge'
(Red Pocket in No. 1 Survival Kit)
For painless death. (Catholics
Will have been instructed by their priests
What to do in this eventuality).
This announcement is ending. Our President
Has already given orders for
Massive retaliation - it will be
Decisive. Some of us may die.
Remember, statistically
It is not likely to be you.
All flags are flying fully dressed
On Government buildings - the sun is shining.
Death is the least we have to fear.
We are all in the hands of God,
Whatever happens happens by His Will.
Now go quickly to your shelters.


Peter Porter


Your Attention Please, The Scars, 1981

'The Heuristic Cysm'

Horse
digital photo

Tear off the meat - Mind Paintings + DMAH

...

some places left in bitter shrouds where death visited sweetly and girls left secrets hidden in musty books of paintings that fall apart into a billion motes of dust and bone memory.

bludgeon

And so the tories (prounced witout Mr T) have caved in the way for passionate idiots to teach with their probable, peculiar and particular brands of sect magic, and cultish incesticides, rather than flex out the curriculem for all and address the true consumer, the schoolkid. Eat shit schoolkids, in half-bottomed schools and freak texts at your minoritised fingertips, lick up the dribble of the obsessionalist come sage and onion to make you weep in your new found restrictive harnesses hitched up to purile myth. Your teacher taught you and me so much about life, and how much better it'll be when we die, Cos then we'll meet virgins fingering harps on clouds; in a Victorian mannerised way of course. No better bitch, than the dominant narrative, this turd of regurgitation and agitation to repeat stale mantras.

Holy intolerant jism.

Atheist Jihad, WooHooo

Ancient Times

Still the Same

...

invited him in from the dreary weather but he brought the wind hissing through the emaciated pines which slithered under my skirts and rendered the events insensible and all was soon lost which abided just fine by me given the propensity for a life led scattered, often hopelessly shattered of which i endeavored to view in vain through little shiny prisms that only reflected further obfuscation.

#

Passages Ping!

====

remind I spit on my answers eyes

dot sun disc moon

i fork papers listed love

my you see this you're I also them

fly random

you the hies drummer healthy

was out me

as reverse tears during burn

i

run

past

closing the trees leaves...

Passages Ping!

His burning hair

i ears face fear of wales squeezing

the taped belt

her wounds line white

this was tongue and watched to spread the buckle

more Funk

you_ my

while Also

acrossing

====