Metamorphosis

Walking silently about the house
Having minor moments of dissociation
I am surrounded by these vital
Elegants
While showers come down
And die right down again

In presence
I cannot control the shedding
Just as I can't control the spread
Of tainted lamb's blood
On the bedding
The sickly scent
It gives me euphoria
A perfect disrupted trinity
My painted hips
My sainted lips
My black honey
My fingertips
All are replaced and remade each night

Le Lendemain.

le lendemain
and then and then

if you do decide
to walk the plank
to blossom out
to lose your mind
shaving your eye-white tusks
crisscrossed for red
convivial lymph
(but I could never love
a pile of ash)
unhook my sutures
burst out of my scars
laid over each other
again and again
over to le lendemain
the scars paint a little love heart

make your presence known
to my drunk and surly phages
my neurons are nearly
burnt all out
the only muscle remaining
that I can feel
(because my skin is charred
coal
barren)
is the smooth striated
fibers
around my heart and out my
aorta
my pulmonary sweetheart
I will take a row of
hypodermic knives
and needles
remove the key from your
jeans pocket
I will make for you
a pair of
angry wings

to fly above the current
and watch the back-formed ghost
that echoes in your eye
and know his flaw

Shape.

Is there no vocabulary
For what I'm hearing

There is no word to define a cadence
Or to crystallize
Reverberation
The music of the world is
Trapped

The free sensory interchange
Interpretive totality
That's my one and only dream

.

Chatter chatter
What's the matter
Cling to cliffs and earthly matter
A slick of oil
A black smattering
Layer ourselves in steel
And prepare now for the shattering

-

Dreams are for yourself
And you can share
If you really wish
No one's dreams can be forced on another
There's no such thing as ownership
Possession counts for nothing

.

Carrying cups of tea to my room
I mitigate the spilling of the
Life blood
It burns my hand
I let it

My mathematics teacher lied to me
She claimed that it would help
To think and proceed through the motions

I have my own solution
To the life blood equation
My solution is
Don't think

Don't think for a second that
Hope is gone
Don't think
Don't think
Don't think

Yes I am talking to myself
Should anyone be listening
I thank you for your time

Fear is the mind-killer.

I don't have the words to express how I feel, so I'm going to steal the words of a few things and lay them out here as a reference for myself.

• I must not fear
  Fear is the mind-killer
  Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration
  I will face my fear
  I will permit it to pass over me and through me
  And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path
  Where the fear has gone there will be nothing
  Only I will remain

The Bene Gesserit Litany Against Fear; Dune, Frank Herbet

• Well I've been bound and gagged
  I've been terrorized
  I've been castrated
  And I've been lobotomized
  But never has my tormentor come
  In such a cunning disguise
  I let love in
  I let love in

I Let Love In; Let Love In, Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds

And this is just something from French studies that stayed with me:

• One of the things that defined surrealism, in fact the driving philosophy of surrealism, was the departure from rational thought. Most of the techniques the surrealists employed in their art were designed to bypass rational thought: the juxtaposition of unrelated objects to confound rational interpretation, automatism, shock and violence. This rejection of rationalism was a rejection of the ordering of French society itself. A defining feature of the establishment of the Third Republic was the solid foundation of rationality, which came to manifest itself as a society founded on reason, logic, and science: an efficient society free from the shackles of superstition. In the aftermath of the Great War, the progenitors of the surrealist movement figured that the advancement of rationality and a logical society had led to a profoundly illogical end. An efficient society had been geared into a war machine.
  The only course of action was simple (to the French, naturally): an irrational revolution. A complete overhaul of the then predisposed manner of perception. It was necessary to free the French people from rational thought. Logic is a cage that only allows itself.

There is no space here for rational, ordered, logical thinking. That would lead to something horrific.

Vacuous rhymes because reasons.

As a blind man
Running from a black
God
Dead trod
Smoke sod
Rising from a
Hell train
Grease stain
Dull pain
Opens up the
Old wound
Ungroomed
Harpooned stuck against the
Back wall
Grace fall
Hoarse call
Right down to the
Blind man

Par les soirs bleus.

I keep a pen in my pocket

And to keep such words

Against me

They are crushed and spill

Out on my skin

And stain me white to blue

To keep two things so close together

Will stain them both

Or kill them equally

Three is risen.

I think I'd like to lose my sight

If only for the things I'd write

Imagine all the letters free

Divorced from the ugly alphabet

I'd write something nice

I'll bet

I think I'd like to lose my eyes

And let my two ears rise and rise

If I wasn't shafted by my sight

I'd hear the truth

And I'd be set

I could never lose my ears

I've relied on those for years and years
In the shower I oft close my eyes
To escape the visual cacophony
To shield me from the lies

I've seen so many things
And I am
Tired

I'm Spent.

Hopelessness feels like
Lead fingers
A cage about my knuckles
As all my carpals turn to ash
And fragile bitter ivory

I am weakened for the crescendo
And I diminish in fifths and thirds
And the whole of me shatters
In the resolution

Midnight butterfly.

It was necessary

To write this in the evening

At the end of a day

At the end of a

Day's worth of work

Before I am able to 

Sleep off the hurt

Before my chrysalis bed

Makes me another late night butterfly

With completely new patterns

Beautiful, yes, no doubt

But

I often regret not writing it down

And I know

I just know

I just fucking know

That the words might come to me in bed

Or in dreams

Or some other ageless and disconnected location

So I will right(write) this at night

Before the day ends

Because this is about the day

Or the sun rather

And the passion it brings

The symphony it sings

Such things must only happen in day

(Must or should?)

In every book I've read

And every song I sing

Hear

Make with my mouth

Every lily-white perfect parchment I find

I've even seen it written in the sky

The clouds that shape my dreams

Can mock me too

And rain into a pond and my chaos eyes

Can only see the same thing there

A ripple a shake a pattern embedded

In life

Though it's no objective truth

It is written in the minds of every hopeless

Dreamer and romantic I meet

And they beam it to me with their eyes

Their perfect burning starstruck eyes

How do they know?

They've seen it too and actually listened

A common red thread wired into

Every single thing I see

Art is only extant for this single truth

Or so it seems to me

Because my focus only goes so far

You love someone-

You know the love of which I speak

Yes? You know it too

The total love resplendent and complete

That artists try to crystallise

(And fail, as I am now)

They couldn't and they never could

Never will find the formula

To keep this love in a jar

In a box

Under locks and keys

The love is wild

Yes, that love

You hear it said

(In books in songs)

That this love begets a need

A full need

Like the knockout from a deep red wine

Full and total and palate staining

I feel this need

I feel this needing to complete

Something

I'm not sure at all

A love can only come full circle

With utter knowing

Or so says the red thread

In everything

And like the totality of the thing

I need to know more

I hunger for more

I die every time I realise

That strangers might know more of you

Think me not so petulant as

To be unable to share

(My feelings on the matter are no secret

I love to let love happen)

But the heartbreak is that I don't share

I simply can't

When it isn't even mine to share

I wrote this at night
And through it I greeted the new day

strawback

jawbone jackknifes jumper cables
through my eyes to my pineal
gland to make me dream

strawback sleeping in a sit down shed
its eyes strain to recall the book that it read
strawback breaks the crest of his cortex
it's not the snap but the whiplash
that makes you well and truly dead

.

Too many too much
To delineate
Pathetic
Pathetic
Short gasps short bursts
Worthless in the scheme
But still I cannot dream

.

Perhaps I'm wrong and it's
Romantic:
If I peel back a layer
I can see my heart beating
Shuddering under the new weight of the air
But the only response is fear
Disgust
A loathing that I crush underfinger
But the breakneck is too near
And if I scrub some more then it's
Possible to find new life
Even if old death is what I crave
In a hollowed out and fleshy cave
Covered in a fine white fuzz
New ions could even take the stage
Belligerent and red with rage rebelling from my fingernails

.

I make no sound but for the cracking of my heels
For the beating of my heart
For the gurgling from the pit
From my stomach from my stomach
For the hunger
I cherish it

.

let go of your black whiskeycroak smokestain

let the flowers blossom in your windpipe

and come out of the rain

the beauty of the jungle

the horror of the garden

weeds are only weeds because you

call them that repeatedly

the weed have flowers too

freedom begins on the inside

Family Matters.

With music.

Look
Look around
Hear the trumpets
Hear that God almighty sound
See the wings in the crowd
See the angels
Listen to them sing aloud

The crowd
Parts for one
One manic grin
One smoking brandished gun
One final note from the mass
Two wings disappear
And the angels breathes his last

Gabriel sings
Gabriel cries
Yuriel fights
Yuriel dies
Raphael writes a song for his brother
Michael laments for his father and mother
The angels stop bickering and and sit down for tea
They discuss their extended family
Break their bread and their father's heart
And the angels go their separate ways again

All at once
The wings turn to black
And the hundreds of halos
Take a step back
Love thy neighbour
Ceases to mean anything
A war chant emerges
And the whole crowd sings

Human faces turn to snarls
The wheels in wheels collapse on themselves
A hundred people sing

The manic grin he sings with them too
His eyes have turned an icy blue
And on his back
His wings unfold

The whole world stops and stares
As the culprit emerges in holy glory
Angels murder too

Look
Look around
Hear the trumpets
Hear that God almighty sound
See the wings in the crowd
See the angels
Listen to them sing aloud

.

I pressed my mind to mirror to see

A grown man staring back at me

I shivered and he only laughed

I smiled and laughed with him

The month of evil.

Drains into little pools backwatered
And nourished to grow out thorns
Remembering fondly the most evil of months
An eight-head horsemen given a name

Washing over the apostate strong
In the black and heady tide of time
I claim the evil month as mine

With deep earth roots and tears
Forbidding the undergrowth and canopy
The ivory and oak bomb shelter made for me
To live out the selfsame fears of the opiate-bereft crowds
The maudlin reluctant enemy

A flashing jingle of silver
A crumpled page of a holy book embedded inside my chest
A microscope perspective on the nature of the truth
A word from the management that counts for praise
This and more enriched my days

Perhaps I alone possess the wolf's eyes to
Pierce the month of evil's haze
Yet powerless to halt the tide
The lifeguard pries the floundering seal
Out of the bloodblack tide
To feel it slip back in again and cry for help

I claim the evil month as mine
Perhaps I am immune to time