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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