i know neither well these fresh waters nor this dew of clouds, though beautiful as they all are. the umbelliferous flower shakes and twists afore me, dancing almost humanlike... which is alluring... i can feel the mushroom take hostage my senses. the medusae sing the sorrow of ancient pylons, which, by the way, reach heaven; these girls built what babylonians could not muster, and now they converse with the divine.

first childish attempt at a polish poem

     "Noc egzystencjalna, świt samobójstwa"

miłość z pewnością uwolni cię, to prawda!
      ale jeśli nie nienawidzisz,
      nigdy nie będziesz miał najmniejszego pojęcia, co
      zostaliście uwolnieni.
  ognisty miłość, ekstatyczny szewska pasja,
      i subiektywny trwający całe życie logoterapia
      jeżeli jest prawdziwa, wytrzyma każdą
      egzystencjalny gorączka i mdłości.

unedited draft 30 min sexiness

my knife has been kept sharpened at all times, and my sheath is crafted with a strong leather, sewn with robust threads; my knife has not been a tool of murder --- situations have rarely digressed to such perilous violence ---, nor has it been in its primary functions a tool of hunting; flaying; butchering: i lack the skills, and besides, i am starting to fear i am not capable of killing something that lives outside of slowly killing myself, spoiled with riches and conveniences as i have become softly over the lapse of years; more so my knife has been one of self-harm; my camping-fire have rarely seen the meat of a killed animal --- mostly i have gathered my foods from the ground and from the bush; out of cowardice on one hand, out of laziness on another: no, i am no killer, not yet, but i am one who cuts; there is where my experience nests; how many times have i not armoured the coward gladiator in me the spatha of burning passions, the sword that cuts right through the bloodlines and memories of all passed things, before entering the jubilant colloseum of my body; arena of human flesh? have i not still, puny and pathetic as my trembling cuts have often been, revelled in the sense of rebellion with my drug-fiery eyes fixed on the small gutters the blade leaves in its wake, flooding with the brightest blood, glowing with a spiteful requital of renunciation; i have held the dagger firmly and its numinous qualities have entranced me manyfold; i have meditated deeply on necro-phenomenology, and how all flesh is so eager to come apart like the red sea at the command of the prophet... it has invited me to consult with the all reveries of the graveyard and it has battered perspectives into my frontal lobe, whipping about like hell-storms; i have been listening to the oracles, for whom i came in distress, heeding the intuition i had of future being comforting and rewarding --- wrong. the foretellers have been mean and cruel and they have lectured me harshly; they have been scathing me like the Lord scathed Cain and they have taught me the classes in the ethos of war and love: i have been brought afore the Great Elk, Deathly Scholar, for he is all-powerful, and he has spoken to me; i have been caught in the rancidity of his breath, for which i have genuflected: he has spoken and I have written down. So have I learned a very complicated lesson of life, and so have i understood the golden rule amongst a hundred others... that suicidal ideation is a tool less of practical self-death than it is one of affirming absolute freedom...

https://vimeo.com/157916578

this one just deserves to be emphasized

I do not want to be where I am, when I turn the world away from me.
And fold myself, into myself.

Where is it I go to, when I am not here with you?
Where is it I go to, when I am not here with you?
Where is it I go to, when I am not here with you?
Where is it I go to, when I am not here with you?
Where is it I go to, when I am not here with you?
Where is it I go to, when I am not here with you?
Where is it I go to, when I am not here with you?
Where is it I go to, when I am not here with you?
Where is it I go to, when I am not here with you?
Where is it I go to, when I am not here with you?

I've been here all along. So where did I go to? Did here go too?

She was easy.

He was hard,
stiff and resentful.

She was easy

He was hard,
bitter and poison.

She is here to eat your excrement.
And to present
the anal birth
of a world less decadent: