8 okt. 2018

after spending a few lazy years basically just writing and compiling short works of poetic existentialist drivel, culminating in a collection I call "Sword of Angst - Existential Poems", I have decided to emply a quite different approach now, at least predominately, and I wish to focus on more surreal, nightmarish,  stream-of-consciousness-like attacks of poetry, shorter in length and with an even stronger emphasis on graphic violence and human debasement than before; I want to, but for a time at least, paint my stupid poems with a more dreamlike brush than before; I want, in certain ways, an even more offensive and grisly approach, as opposed to the sometimes overtly technical and terminological works that can be found in "sword of angst". as much as I feel some kind of distant pride over "sword...", I have decided to take a break from its mode of conduct because it has come to bore me. I will save the philosophical ramblings for the book... but it is important to notice that I can not seem to stop writing about my (quite mediocre, in my own estimation) hogwash of existential philosophy, psychology and theology, so surely it will rear its face  here and there in the "newer" poems too. also i want to utilize fucked up punctuation and weird sentence structures way more than before, as to confuse and make intellectually dizzy the reader. In this sense I want to try to be a modernist for a while, or, in maybe more suitable terms, a lingustic terrorist. There is only one rule, and that is that these poems must be written under the influence of certain sleeping pills of the Z-analogue class - zolpidem and zopiclone, to be precise. when i feel it has been completed, i will call this anthology "The Tower of Sleep - The Zolpidem Poems". 

also i would like to mention that the music bands INFESTER and NUCLEAR DEATH, both in their lyrical and musical exploits, are huge influences on this undertaking, for these are the two musical outfits i have found that to me captures insanity, depravation, cruelty, perversion, disgust, and plain nightmare the best.  along with certain poetes maudits writers and also all the disgusting things i see in my everyday life.  i want these poems to be  revulsive, surreal, mystical, weird and dark - for the most part - but, if you know me in person, you know that there is a great and vigorous love in everything i do which can potentially smash every darkness to bits and pieces. but i can also allow for the darkness to suffocate that love, for i decide it, and i decide to do so in these works, but not until it dies. i just want love to really think it will die. only then i stop (for a while).

COME BLOOD EAGLE


    panzer night sky salute come blood eagle
         with morbid mercury and grace urine
              flapping wings like limp dicks
               of once courageous conquerors and kings
                mark the pathway entrance
                      to the place where time dies
                     with claw and talon of death's bird
               conquer the sky
                  with bronze and beak
                    fuck the stars
                       until they say please stop 


 THE TOWER SINKS INTO THE SEA

the air is thick as blood
   a moat of vomit and stench
    the tower sinks into the sea
     the paradigm offends and revokes itself
              by revealing its most fundamental truths
                   about life



 IGNIVOMOUS HYDRA

phosphor and fire
 like wings engulf
  the throne of optimism.
    phosphor, fire, the ignivomous hydra
      offer mortality itself as a sacrifice!
        it exhales the breath of life
             from at least seven throats
          and now the eucharist of genocide
             has been delivered
               to the whore-children of gomorrah
glorious future
     or apocalypse
          who can tell? 


 THE FLOWER OF LIFE

  semen dry over the flower of life
     and the fearsome skeletal woman
     creates a husk from this human stearine
     as to evermore put it in capsule
        as a means of savoring it from the enemies.


 SMASHED IVORY TOWERS

smashed ivory towers i can see
fallen brickwork
 dying dragons gasping for carbon dioxide
  stomped hamsters
      raped dogs
      destroyed bridges
        fallen in the chasms of the cliffs
  all the bees have died out as well
  and the mounds of death and stone
          everywhere
     mark the memorial
   of debris, doom and destruction
   and a fallen and ruinous volcano
    creates a new throat for the world
    and its spit is lava
    and its breath is a fog of demons
          created and fostered by fire 
i can see people torn inside out
    and their purtenance is an oily and secretious offal
     and gravel is put inside the vacancy it leaves
             in their bellies.
12 salty mouths of 12 great imams pray
to wetten their tongues on the stone of absolution
  but gets rewarded
      for arrogance
        instead more and more blocks of salt.



BASILISK OF CROWN AND SPIRE

 to confront with sword and spellbook
the hydra-headed beast of the kingdom,
a feat of heroic courageousness...
or a puny cowardice of survival -
        i know not.

i can not separate these concepts
                  from one another. 


 THE ONE WHO SITS IN FIRE

a saprophytic mist of parasite
   surrounds he who sits in fire
      leprous and forlorn
    on the throne of dead calliphoridae
   and from his mouth
      a vortex births a storm
    through the throat tunnel of something vertiginous
  and the tidal current of the sea-worm
          unhinges over the dark ocean
          which sleeps like a child in utero
             before the rape of its bearing mother

            the one who sits in fire
                boils with the blood of doom
       and a vomit-cyclone bursts
              from the storm-eye of belial.

                   everything ends
                            without pride

                       and everything reboots
                             beyond purpose

 THE BRAZEN BULL

smite the world
  but build the fire slowly.

        cram yourself into
  the brazen bull, yes, that same one,
   the one of hope and of moral
   in which you cook and boil your enemies!

spare yourself not
   your grazing cattle,
     ox nor sheep;
      pig nor ass;
 spare not even the beloved daughter nor a son!
 
     all shall wail the song of false hope
             from inside the bull of bronze...


TOWER AND LIGHTNING


the tower is hit by a lightning
that can only be observed
 in the purest and most constant vacuum
    of spacelessness
.


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