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 5^th 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.