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03 April 2014

Swallow the dreams from the blood of the flesh...

'Infinitesimal' - white ink and black koki on A4 black card, 2014

Swallow the dreams from the blood of the flesh
Of the meat of the creature I ate all weekend,
Study the images, smoke the grime from fields
Of dripping vines of perception

As I pick up my pen and play Russian roulette
Staying up late listening to my friends
Crushing the jewel cells of discontent, so juicy and
So succulent to separate semantics from the senses

While the lives of silverscreen stars speed up disproportionately
Wrinkles forming grey hair receding perhaps from the years of
Channelled alter characters they feed us, the gaping
Mouths of transfixed, fascinated fans and would-be zombies

Empty out and forget, their dumbed lethargy and
Stupification silencing the last sigil as it falls off the pre-historic temple doors,
The last symbol as it fades from the stela twixt the Sphinx’s paws.
His Story is completely indifferent, apparently

Corroding everything, everything away, we’re getting
Cut off, finally, from our thread, our link with
Bloodhuman past, the meaning of our existence
The sound of antiquity and legacy, all language, vision,

Hypogeum of legend & myth & intrigue is heard no more
Eroding & sinking, melting into the desertifying sands above:
Do we do them injustice after all these carefully complex aeons
Of evolution and do they leave us to drown in our own selfie,

The vicious roar of contemporaneity this 24 hour State
Of emergency, convinced of its own hyperprogressed modernity
And its academic authority - a set of confused experts vying
For the ultimage ego glory: the sole monopoly on

The Truth of this particular Story and the real secrets
lay buried forever or recycled into new dunes swept into
Cheap souvenir hourglasses of the current deluge, our 5th Atlantis, woooo!
How exciting to finally be set free from Karma into Post History

Oh, Precession of the Equinoxes, what have you in store
For us, our 20/20 vision ‘snot enough anymore perhaps was never
Enough. The meridian slowly moves up the sky
How hauntingly thrilling, bone-numbingly chilling to witness

The rapid count back of your numbers over horizons projected
Computer screen configurations, because we truly can’t see, can’t see
How lonely and exasperating to have a taste of this vision
To feel the urge to and actually walk lightly on the earth,

Our lover, friend, our motherfather place o’birth.
So culture dampened and unpracticed
This underdeveloped inkling of an impulse
That it can only be now in these deathly dark ages

Fear of our natures
Epoch reveal where do we come from
__________________________

It takes an ever younger set of newer brains
To review and remove and renew things
And acceptance that only the strong survive
(o’er a long period of time?  What bullshit if

Apprehended outside of original context
‘tmay be I inspire with my scribbling of notes
That I do indeed plan to take over the world
Economically

And thereby incite thoughts of being quieter, kinder,
Smarter and wiser back home b’hind closed doors) as
I walk back ‘cross the beach to escape the south sun.
That’s why Sundays are the best surf days perhaps

And when if ever we don’t feel good it's
Only ever because we’re prevented from
Forbidden to do so and then still
Proceed to get run down

And the weak
Choose to keep at it
The continuously delightful earthbodily loop
Of repeated lives lived on the surface of this planetary Purgatory

For, the longer one’s away from the water, the more
One forgets to replenish, to quench one’s thirst
One’s own loss of hydroelectric power
And things then tend to start getting hectic around ‘round here

And suddenly it’s time to dance things out of the way
Every time something black, for you, comes out of nowhere
Things that have become things you carry about you
Things that travel around with you, invade all thought,

You begin to wither up, die under the gaze of
The airport security badge, the embarrassment of
Your own foolish assumption of inscrutable purity,
The delusion of the human right to authority

In vain you run run run as your entire luminously
Continual experience is reined into the iron vice grip of
This hellish now’s Common Cultural Headcold

Or learn to read the code in between
Faked security, systems of power and control
Which, though ineffectual & incompatible with
any love or feeling,

And formed in retaliation to loss and rejection
Do in fact, in their own little way,
Attempt to deal with the uncertainty of Everything;
And true knowing that the only thing you can truly know

Is that you don’t know the effect you’re having on someone else
That and the inalienable truth of the matter that
There’s nothing you can actually make anyone do.


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