The Bridge

Shoot their tired bodies. Toss them from the bridge. River runs red. Diseased dreamers no more. The flesh contains us. It restrains us from becoming something more. Like the stars in the sky, we are infinite without even trying. Bones as prisons. The key to our demise, they’ll make us then break us. Shackled to self doubt, the only thing that matters is to keep childhood madness alive. The adult world a deadened mess of machinery. Too many cogs. Too much junk. Hieroglyphics at our fingertips. The ashes of our remedy falling like rain. Sin begins with denial. It flourishes where there should only be freedom. It pains to be just like the rest. Until my atoms come apart, I’m doomed just like them. Clocks and clouds. Gravity no comfort when the only way out is through. Snuff and beer. Pools of crippled believers foaming with wild delight. Shut those eyes tight. Dig your nails into the palms of your hands and wish yourself away. Bunk is the name of what you hold dear. Cheaply so weakly as others move in time to mute applause. Pull your hair out. Pout at warped reflections. You had a lover, but you wanted some other. Moment after moment. Separatists split down the middle. Hateful souls, speaking to whoever will listen. Yet they’ll never listen. All they’ll ever do is pretend. They just want your body. They long for your money. No more, no less. Whatever fits, it stinks like you expect. And you expect just what you get. Wolves and butterflies, dancing like coked up scum. Haunted by none, they all implode like stars.

Abstract

Magnolia

My cock is deadweight. Pendulum swaying, this penchant for abstract features is disarming. It twists and it turns. Cancer man in bed with the lights turned out bright. Cracked tooth and sleeping dogs. Pigs on the wind. Seduce and destroy. The universal animals of delinquency. I write it down and I mark it up. Broken flowers in a windowless library. Death proof in the face of a watery womb. Spacial awareness in the palm of my hand. One second for everything to disperse. Love in your heart. Love in every limb. Head over heels. We’re never through with the past, and the past is never through with us. Across the universe. It searches for us without end. It will never cease. The fate of all our time. Irrational yet opaque. You wait and you pray. Not funny nor cute. Only answers spelt incorrectly. Sins of the father. Holy ghosts and cheap lipstick. Drift away with the gases. Never look back. Specimens in glasses. Cocaine and nose tubes. Droplets under the tongue. A version of no meaning. Blindness to what matters most. Social illness left scratching at the stains. Look where it got you. Look how much you threw away just to be so loved. It’s so hard when you’re all alone. It hurts you to think that he’s still alive. Suffer and choke. If only he would. The insanity of our lives, the terrors we condition ourselves to just in order to fit in. Five drops in a soft machine ocean. No way of knowing where to get off. Just give up before it becomes too much. Never give up. Blues and candles. False highs and lullabies. Magnolia wherever we shall be. Let it paint us true. Let it do us justice so freely.

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We All Praise The Great Retractors

We all praise the great deceivers. We all shine a light on the one and all. Bland little piggies falling by the wayside. No sincerity just comfort when comfort comes calling alone and betrayed. The world disappeared. Nowhere in sight, it fell into the big empty and never recovered. Such boredom when faced with broken promises. Such insignificant eyes when aligned with those that showed us the way. Partly fiction. A walking contradiction. Partly alive. Banished with the wolves at the door. I can taste electrons and fear. Lust and confusion. On your flesh I dismiss expectancy. Milk white innocence when innocence is so severely lacking. Stuff your reservations, and fuck your beliefs. Bow down to dishonesty. Grapple with hypocrisy. Slurred speech and morphine. Needle in the bed. Demons in your head. Silver bullets to take you away from all of your pain. There are no connections between us. You absolved your throne. Obsolete machines, so lacking in anything worthwhile. We all detest the great schemers. We pour oil on their fires and watch as they burn. Flickering lights and cigar smoke. The town so pretty from high up. All those lights. All those dreams. Up in the air, and never to return. Theodore Robert Bundy. The American Lover. We are what you make us. We are all gods children. Seasons unresolved. Reflections blurred.

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March Of The Flies

Half truths and inner guts. Unassuming emptiness. The consequence of fantasy. The banality of evil. We thrill at will. We lay down the rules and watch them disappear with ease. No boundaries only frenzy. Changing faces. Masks. All surface no feeling. Suicide helpline. The soil of my mind. No other way to resolve these problems. Teething problems. Impulses and behaviours. Confessions regarding slipping states of mind. Self assured. Transgression through mediocrity. You know you’re right. You know every wrong. Two thousand years, crumbling since ’67. Intelligent lifeforms. Leaders of men. So it goes that a man isn’t a boy when he is. Trees not guns, but bullets for leaves still stands high. I am my mother. I’m fine like wine. Not apart and never together. There is no end. There is no beginning. The strangeness never was. It danced on the wind with every prayer. It spoke no words yet contained the sun and moon. A child’s perspective. Heat death. Flowers burn so easily. At any given time we are what we need to be. We lose ourselves and wipe away old identities. Absolute¬†philosophies. To die within yourself. To be reborn in a sphere of oneness. Torso to torso. Milky Way to Andromeda. Methodical communication. No trace of mythical origins. All power ready for the taking. Human tissue not an issue when faced with the coming of bombs. An endless fire stretching from navel to neck. A confession is out of the question. It presides over the garden of our birth. All versions of truth mirrored. All avenues living and breathing. All strands of time alive. Subculture and magazines. Cruising for attack. Sex in echoes. Because we can, we will. For no man is alone. No man ever feels as if he truly belongs. On the beach with existence on our shoulders. The thin line. The notion of nowhere to hide in the face of god. Grains of sand. A tiny speck of dust. The man in black, anonymous and everywhere. Each day he grows. Each moment somewhere not known. Come find me in the pines. Come play a game that sings our name so sweetly. It gives us meaning. And it gives us more pleasure than ever before. Rise with the flies. March forwards with eyes wide open.

Lucid

Dead Lovers And Aspirin

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My condition is worsened by a lack of touch. It’s aggravated by excess sound. Everything should be minimal. Colours mute. Objects smooth. My seed is resolute. It trickles and sinks. It blows and hits just where it should. It flows through the air at the speed of dreams. Such a violent fluid. Such a tricky little number just waiting to be eaten alive. Going deeper. Sinking like nothing else matters. Take off that dress. Burn all that it stands for. Symbols are instruments of my faith. They seal my dilemma with sickening ease. Close your eyes and see me as I am. Let my tongue caress weeping wounds. Let my fingers trace the scars that mark teenage distortion. Survival of empty spaces. Gutless wonders at every turn. When the world stops spinning, pay me a visit. Let me destroy and paint the atoms of your neck all over my bedroom floor. Let me put you on a pedestal and get lost in the patterns of your eyes. Seasons in hell. Sensations of losing control. Scorched retinas in the face of birth. A sequence of figures on the shore ready for plucking. Tenderly creeps a wayward shadow. Darkly growls a monster unseen. Stick me in and let me come. Give me a taste of what lies beneath. Orchids and sandstorms that dance together as the moon slithers just into view. Murals that stretch around tender thighs. Tattooed pinky flesh that blinks in time to the beat of halved hearts. Gasp of gasps. Milky breath so slow with no one else around. Symmetrical like flowers, hips repeat until the sun comes down once more. It comes hard, like a car crash just out of view. Bodies in flight. Fractures beyond comparison. Lest we forget all those demons. Never to remember every touch that made us unravel. Give me a cure to heal these aching hands. Feed me a secret to show me a hidden way. Between gaps of knowledge I form temples at will. The end of days, raging with love. And at the very last moment, love is all we will ever have. It will keep us safe from oblivion. It will set us free from despair.

Lucid

Clair de Lune

Speech therapy for lizards. The cold bloodied made warm using symbols of lethargy and sex. Open wide to catch a lullaby or two. Torn pages scattered down the road. Faded ink of words stained with the meaning of love. The look of want. The need to be in someone’s arms. Blown apart like landmines we evaporate into mist. Reflections on the skin of ghosts. Deeper with each and every breath we take. Subways and flooded tunnels. Foreign tongue upon the bathroom floor. Arms bent back. No give. Relentless with every thrust. The in and out. Day in. Day out. Hands on throat. Hands on hips. Squeeze those thighs. Grip those wrists. Enterprise on Eleventh Street. Three 19’s from belly to nose. Sensation and wonder smooth like silk and smoke from a cigarette. Memories of green. Neon veins alight with sulphur and cyanide. Monsters in the closet. Bones tumbling down the wishing well. Coins dancing between fingers, clicking in time to the music of the damned. Atomic power. Windmills cutting through the night air like a razor slashing through some useless painting hung on a wall like a victim of war. A trophy to represent the horrors of World War Five. Virtual everything. No reality, just another landscape of blurred lines. Forget beauty, it’s just silicon atoms and cardboard romance. A lonely man makes for an empty room. A wasted journey makes for pained regret. Dark globes and strange thoughts. Images and feelings that flicker like the flame of a candle. Keep that light from fading. Shield it from the darkness. Keep it safe from harm as the storm slowly approaches. Mutated ideologies. Holy mantras that hush weary faces. Elicit purity through trash. Conjure the sublime through the annihilation of resistance. Humdrum minds cracked like nuts. Splinter the unworthy. Banish whatever. Fuck like it’s never been done before. And nothing ever has, not really. No past, and no present. Only the future. Unobtainable and free. Forever out of reach. Forever obscure.

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Totem Poles And Howl’d Howls

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This is not a concept. This frequency is non operational. Besieged by storms and wild tigers. Defunct machinery, growling as your hands search for the ignition. If we want, we can ignite all that they are. If we try, we can eat them alive. Wires around your wrists. Rope attached to the back of your car. Drag the lake and find what remains of me. Don’t stop searching. Don’t give up on seeing my face once again. I might now be skeletonized, yet I’m still the same soul clinging to these aged bones. Factories breed me. Modernity feeds me. Useless junk and useless humans. Dry skin and oblivion, circling the place we once made ourselves known. Under the bridge. Swimming through snow. These totem poles of faith, creaking as the tide calls our name for the thousandth time. It could be more. These echoes are hard to distinguish. Confusion as the freeway turns upside down. Shattered glass and engine oil. A blurred landscape of flashing lights as time stands still for a millionth of a second. It beats like a wicked heart. It pumps like love at the base of my spine. Flowers spurting through the floorboards. Insects scurrying this way and that. A collection of spoons. A Parisian cemetery. Bridge over distilled water. Sunken hopes and dreams waiting to be saved at the very last minute. I’m your superhero. I’m the one who can break through the dirge and make it better. Give me your hand and let me pull you from the wreckage just as the world’s about to end. Melancholy like bath salts. Vampires no longer a threat. Condense the hate and make perfume instead. There are countless ways. There are infinite reasons for our love to grow. Let it show. Let everything move around the sun. Let me trace your name in the night sky. You’ll live forever. Your smile on the stars never to be forgotten. Excerpt from a novel. Passages from biblical script. Held aloft to God, they beg to awaken some kind of nothingness. Wax mountains. The kid keeps going. He has a keen observing eye. He captures oil and black’d out angels. Imprints of past lives. Relics of northern nausea. Hunt out old bookshops and make yourself unwelcome. Breed confusion and knowledge. Drink the rain. Spit out indifference. Build sandcastles and protect them like a child. Creation and birth. Totem polls as symbols of belief. Find meaning in their structure. Discover who you are in the fabric of existence. In the fabric of your floral dress with a caterwaul trembling through the atoms around our mouths.

Lucid