lonely saturday night batch of zolpies

TWO DAGGERS

mists of vampyric fumes i walk through
with poison-dart and the mana of fire
two daggers are in my belt
  and the key and the lock rests in my separate hands
separate like the sun and the moon
          or like flesh and man
                 or like love and romance
                       but conjoined
                            except for the last one

THE SEMIEN KINGDOM
the semienite kings erected stelae
to the kingdom of the struggle with god
ethiopian lands
         under the flag of the star

judit war command
 the queen casts her leather noose
   and steers the forces of beta israel
         into a battle of redemption and of honor
conducted in a strong and hebraic iron tradition
   not even a holocaust could ever quell

WAR AND WILL

war and will
statues of heroism
bronze and terracotta
   the hero-gaze of lapis lazuli 
           or coast-blue
             or menses-red

the light emitted from
   the unshamed worship of masculinity
cooled in the shadows cast
by great eagles with amber wings
 and their beaks as diamond and pearl 
held together the manichaean ubiquity of life

steel and marble dedications below their flapping wings
edelweiss and kruppstahl shine above in the horizon
the walpurgis fire luminating it
 from down below

NOT ONCE

not once have my body become under attack
and not once blood have spilled to the ground
without I having exercuted proper reprimand
and not once it shall ever ever happen

war and will
   retaliation
      conquest
the valor of revenge
is a cultural-historical constant
and it is in the core interest of every healthy culture
to perserve it
  and to nurture it

FOLD MY SOUL
if i could fold my soul just a thousand times
 it would be as thick or thicker
   than the conventional dimensions of space-time



TRIAL BY PUBLIC OPINION

female collaborator
passionate romantic lover
 total and unforgivable traitor
or cringing victim of horrendous rape
  they know not

shave her head
   in a grotesque ceremony of humiliation
     they do
         nevertheless

2019_1

         86 – SPINALONGA       POETRY FROM A LEPER COLONY
                   PARTS I-V
    I

the lighthouse outside Spinalonga
  how it collapsed a moon ago
   or maybe many moons ago
   not one person can remember


      (not even the harbors nor the trees remember)

as the city of the lepers had fallen,
        those with arms and hands left
           and those whose legs still retained some function
  founded and tended an Eden-garden
    where weed and thistle first grew out of the towerfall rubble
    and in the very middle of that garden
    the lepers erected  a  d o l m e n 
    as in honour, an epitaph
           in sacred and endless remembrance
    of the mythic pharos which once stood there

    they spellbound it with some hokus pokus magic
    during forty days and nights of arduous ritual-work,
    as to alchemically render it a watchtower anew -
     and sometimes apparently magic fucking works
      so nowadays
     it emanates a light so strong
      that even Leviathan becomes grumpy from it
       as its rays penetrate the shallower waters
       and rouses her from the deeps
       a hundred-thousand fathoms beneath
        the jasmin veil of night
              s w a y i n g
                 like the dark eternity
                    a b o v e .

      II

   there was once a duchess on Spinalonga
   a burdened widow of remorse    yes
       her duke had died from dysentery
         and he had left beautiful paintings
     which he had made from the the emetic eruptions
        (which is to say, his vomit)
           caused by the dysentery

    and some of them still hang in the tower stairway
  and once in this very tower had i a vision imbued by them
  and it was a vision of the duchess herself

      she was naked
      and had an ancient woman's body
      as if she had laid in a bog for centuries
         and also she had very long black hair
             which was kind of beautiful
         had not her face been the face of a bloated human corpse
      with eyes pushing out of their sockets
        and her skin black as coal      and leathery

      her face was that of a sorceress
       and her heart was black as the soot of life
        and when she so opened her bewitching mouth
         a serpent came from thereout
         and bore speech to all the lepers of the colony
            but as one of them did not smile and greet in glory the duchess,
            she changed her mind abruptly
               and the serpent retracted throatward

                  the duchess uttered not a word more
                  but only a haunting stare of death shook them

               and - she remained silent;
                        she has not spoken since

     III

 the arch of Lazarus hangs welcoming
  over the entrance to the brothel of lynched children
     and as the rotting ones pass this gateway of sighs,
     all the oubliettes beneath
          which are hidden in the bedrock all around the island
     smile in the sullen undergrowth
    for we find in them, in the soil thereunder,
    failed but courageous heroines,
    the skeletal and obsequial remains of them,
     their tombs and their old ossuaries...
    and scratches from their nails adorn the walls ...
   for not any wrath can outcompare the wrath of a leprous harlot

   indeed there is no corpse which exudes
   a sulphur-gas of odium more vitriolic
    than the corpse of a wronged, hurt and vengeful woman.

        may these spirits reach the angstloch
              as to release themselves?

  we need getting into the catacombs of Spinalonga
    as to save them! or rather, what is left of these mazeways,
the ones which are buried under an age of rubble and ruin,
 sleeping under ash and the golden pumice
  from that forlorn time when the heavens had opened up
      like childrens' mouths
       and volcanic rock poured out therefrom
            and cracked and broke thunderously
         in a most wonderful play
                        of the gods

     IV

     i had a dream.
     i understand now:
          i am it
     this tower! the lighthouse.

    and i have fallen - but still
    i guard the coast with hawk's eye,
    and strike do i with beak and with claw
    and terror shall not stop me in my tracks - if i am strong!
    and i piss also in the ocean like gods do
      with nonchalance and with bravado

    i am i    
     in opia
    with the devil's eye of storms
    i am locked with it
      as if punishment,
      inside it, immured into it,
      and the light i emit
 is a light which leers like a sore
   around which
      beetles crawl
         and botflies swarm
        V

   Spingalonga - island of death and rot:
     concentration camp of human refuse,
     citadel of the defeat of the human body
              fortress of failed flesh

       everywhere, rotten faces like faces of black haunting dogs,
    maschalized infant botchings are scattered like drops of rain, and
    young girls have been left in pits after their rapes and murders;
      their mothers could no longer defend their daughters
      for they themselves had perished in a morbid and self-inflicted marasmus

        the world is built out of syringes, white powders, small plastic bags
         and old lighters which do not work anymore;
     the pazuzu-fever-plague of death and suffering,
             all the molested and murdered prostitutes
                           without mothers and fathers to bury them;
              all the holy martyrs of the wrong truth
                           which fought with valour for the wrong side;
              all the betrayed resistance fighters
                            from Łódź to Lwów  to Wilno to Warszawa
                                     (peace be upon you all)
             and the wailing spectres of pained ghosts
                           over the taiga of the eastern front

        leprosy colony Spingalonga
                  welcomes all

   Spinalonga is
      like a brave new world
                 but a failed new world
                  a world reduced
         to an exhibition of dirt and of excrement -
         a world where coprolith
           outvalues amber
           and is regarded with higher aesthetic esteem

             and it has become a world
              a scolding earth
             crisp from lava and flame,
               scorched and burnt,
                but confused still,
             scared, and lonely, abject and aloof
                              indeed,
                                       like
                                          the human

2019

what will happen in 2019?

- a new N.S.B. kurdish electro technocratic sonic war ecstasy assault
- a brand fucking new SLUTET lp
- a definite SLUTET back catalogue (2014-2017) compilation through our ally Behest
- a LOVEBOY magnum opus interpreting the Holocaust through ambient sonic terror in reverence to its victims and the events, a final 2 hour piece wrapping this shit project up for good
- the definite completion of the "sword of angst" poetry anthology
- hopefully some other projects will release shit too, like SOUTHERN SPRUCE and AVGÅNG

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  Swisha MÄNNISKOHANDEL till 9004805 för att ge ett valfritt belopp.

Pipes that suck and gurgle,

are they choking on sick spit?

Did you wash the world off,

and cleanse this room with filth?

The ducts are stuffed with stuff

grime hair and sweat and shit

and clogged frothy greenish piss.

DISGUSTING ZOLPIE

[DELETED]

new years' zolpie

THE SODOMITES

the sodomites are the first to strangle each other
  and their bed is stale with syrup and feces
 the lavender scent of genitalia
   turns into the reek
     of something dying but not altogether dead

   the clock strikes midnight
     who will be the last in line
          and therefore end it all
            with the final and monumental suicide?

a zolpie

a torn anal cavity
of the so-called virgin
rushes armageddon
into place
and the so-called virgin chases its own tail
 until it has become vertiginious
       and sick and tired
        and until it has
       abandoned the very message it ought to have delivered

another zolpie

MATHEOLUS LICKING 
   SAMARIS' ASS

great matheolus
  great bard great poet of mud
   you held a great strangle-noose
            which captured
              the woman.
  
      but this woman is a jaguar
          in the form of succubi flesh
            and she commands.

       matheolus licking cum
          dripping on the marble
              of dignity
                       depleted. 

another zolpiece for the new year

VOMITORIUM INTO DEATH'S HEAD'S ARENA

SS-totenkopfverbände
guard the gate to the vomitorium
the entrance the passage
unto all that is holy and also unholy
 the death's head's arena
  the ultimate struggle for corporeal
    as well as psychological
      and religious survival

a very very very very angry observation

The modern man is driven to the cliff's edge; no longer is he content with life in spirit for he is an adventurer by heart: when people are shot and killed on the street, he watches in confused content from his window, and when natural disasters hit, he laughs in pace with the whipping of flood-water; when wars break out across the globe, however far off or close, just he gets the whiff of them, there is a silly side to him, a silly person within him who could not be happier; the modern man is so bored by the current world that anything which might potentially throw it out of balance, will be rejoiced and welcomed by principal. But maybe I should stop painting with big brushes, and maybe I should stop referring to myself as the "modern man", because I am not at all typical of him; I speak about myself and I make no crude generalizations, for it is I who want to revel in the bloodied excesses of terrorism and barrel-bombing, not my neighbor nor my colleague at work; for them, everything is good and nice as it is. Always as it is. As long as it is comfortable for them. Swine, I say.

i have no idea what this really means but otters are cool and humans belong in their assholes

There is a little pouch on an otters' body where it can keep its favorite rock. The otter also has an asshole, and therein it keeps its favorite human. 

hail paglia, the empress of the only modern-western incarnation of feminism worthy a single fuck

Only a weak woman would not admit the great potency and the great achievements of men, but by the same token, only a pathetic and puny man would not admit the woman to possess intrinsically a similar potentiality for glory as do men.

"ego death" has just become a hollow meme spread like gonorrhea by pseudo-religious assholes trying to appear pristine in mind and in praxis but they are mostly just shallow losers with no understanding beyond the surface of things

I remain a skeptic to this, the ever-revigorating myth of ego-death as an intrinsical existential ideal, and I conclude the matter hereby saying that ego-life is a thousand times more important for the religious human than any ego-death.

Something new from the Throat of the Zorza

"THE SPEECH ABOUT THE GREAT ENVY OF MAN"
FROM THE BOOK, FIRST DRAFT;
YET TO BE COMPLETED.

"Perhaps the man is envious of the woman! And from this, he is forcing her as a means of psycho-social compensation to struggle like some eunuch of a wisdom unaccessible to her, and, as a means of clouded self-insecurity he will condemn her, with all the earthly domination he can muster forth, to walk on the dead clay of the bottoms of the stratas and to beg along the dirt-roads at the base of our hierarchies, given only what man chewed and spat out, to eat? Could this, but in part, give some explanation or shed some light, but a frail glimpse of lucidity, on the sick masculine tendency, personal as well as collective; historical as well as contemporary, of repressively subordinating the other sex into orders of power built on the strained shoulders of female worth itself, erected with the scaffolding of her disadvantage, made worse and worse and worse by the violent and pathological gender-gender hostility it generates, and perpetuated by the evolutionary intendency of nature, the seeming unhappening, of the permittance of man to develop the same child-bearing abilities as those of the woman. If there is any merit to this theory of psychology, could this possibly be a factor in driving men furthermore, as a means of resentful overcompensation and not only as some mechanism of psycho-biological and hormonal realities, to pursue other objectives in life such as those found in and around, for example, the fields of commerce, architecture, technology, law, economics and politics? Even in ascetic isolation perhaps man may find indirect domination over woman... in fact, the potential of man dominating woman is great in every domain and in every area of human life, it is a cold and stark truth, with the exception being found in the domain of the actual creating of it. Perhaps for the futile and bitter man, this tendency can grow into the bitterest of them all, outshadowing all of their other bitternesses, causing them deep disharmony and confusion, incentivizing in them the humiliation of women over the self-authenticization their souls weep for in the deepest depth of them? There are inarguably fields of human activity from where women, statistically and historically, have scattered, and on the basis of temperament and of psychology, they seem to continually even in our gender-equal, industrialized, socio-economically and materially privileged modernity to avoid these domains, albeit not in as profound numbers as before. The reasons for these human behaviors are obscure, to say the least; be it created out of social-political policy or be it self-developed from innate temperamental difference en masse... different people fancy different explanations to this reality, but real it is (I personally would argue both explanations are correct and indeed not mutually exclusive). Indeed there are fields from which women gravitate outward, and these are indeed fields around which no feminist can boast with huge numbers of participation on behalf of their female kin, and these are fields which can not be described with any female significance next to the significance of the achievements of man, given it is possible to measure achievements in such a clumsy and simplifying manner (...for they are never tantamount only to their total numerical statistics, but rather they should be understood and valued with the measuring rod of passion and of authenticity, and their weight should be weighed in terms of their direct influence and of their indirect influence, in both the material-political as well as in the spiritual-empathetical realm - but that is a completely different discussion).

Who knows the truth? I do not. But I always liked the theory, and I think it can have some serious grounding in the reality of things, and it may put into light some of the tendencies of the social structuring we can observe through-out the lineage of human societes running like a life-vein all along the avenue of history, from the archaic and ruinous cities of Sumer and Egypt to the misogynist-Islamist theocracies of our contemporary world... But, caveat, even if it has some bearing as a science and as a theory, I refute the notion that it would account for the whole of the various incomprehensibly complex and multifaceted explanations to these conundrums... But, if I am allowed playing with the thought for a bit, jolly in a Socratic spirit, I propose that the envy of the womb is an envy man might feel, though not all men feel it (for it is a sign of male patheticness; not all males are pathetic), but those who do, may not do so necessarily consciously... but it can be a psychological mechanism to whom its subject remains unaware. I can say that I believe that the idea of a male envy felt about a woman's sovereignty in the domain of the parturition and sustenance of life itself is a complex and serious idea, and I often think, if bearing any real credence, about if this then would be more of a cultural and psychosocial tendency within the collective and within the larger movements of societies across time, or if it is rather actually more to be considered an innate and inseparable trait of primordial masculine psychology, or both... either way, it seems clear to me that the manifestations of womb-envy straddles over a vast spectrum like a horse-courier of the Mongolians is running his epistles to the ambassadors and the vassals of the hinterland across the largest expanses of wasteland (there are as many explanations to it as there are rocks and stones on the steppe): it may show itself with a thousand different manifestations; from the unconscious and indirect but ultimately harmless frustrations of a young boy, to the unconscious and indirect but ultimately devastating resentments of powerful men in group; from the clearly lucid and conscious and direct but ultimately disregardable and unnoticable provocations of the unloved teenage boy, to the malevolently conscious and direct machinations of men's social structuring around the idea of the feminine as somehow - partially or totally - valuably lesser, something which - disastrously, I would add - culminates often but not always in socio-political and philosophical structures endorsing sheer feminine inferiority, ranging from notions of seemingly empathetic pity towards women, the second class, to more despicable and debased notions of sheer and resentful misogyny...


I ask myself: what, really, is the need for female belittlement, if not a viscious attack on the void of femininity within man himself? And where, for example, is the moral justice in incredulous accusations of witchraft en masse? Men have always produced, promulgated and defended both philosophy and morality - then, where is its justification, where lies its impediment to divine and unquestionable justice? Is every unjust disregard for the female achievements contra those of the male borne out of a fear of out-competition? Sometimes it strikes me, as if a bolt of lightning from the grey and shaking sky, although I am aware of the academic unrootedness of these theories, that the womb-envy might be a powerful and elementary factor in the psychological and, necessarily, egoical insecurities of the basic man: a man's insecurity before (what may honestly be perceived of as) the miraculous biological and reproductive capabilities of the female body may impel the man to seek definitions of identity which are in blatant opposition to womanhood in itself, and cause him, because of this blinding phosphene in his spiritual eye, to pursue ideals not in authenticity with his own heart and spirit, but in spite of everything "unmanly", and in doing so, creating the most destructive and severe of all masculine pathologies. Hence, men who are distraught over, and even suffer within, this psychological deformation may start to delineate a blind and often radical dichotomization between the masculine and the feminine, original to, and exacerbated by, the insistance that what constitutes the "real man" must be, by clear and pristine definition, "not-a-woman". In accord with this miscarriage of spirituality and in service of this psycho-pathology which might steer whole societes and whole histories to their irrevocable collapses and dooms, they seek to socially and/or physically dominate women as a pathetic compensation for what men can not achieve biologically - which is, the fecundation of the very seed of life itself. Simply put, this psycho-social tendency produces and agitates misogyny in neurotic men, and it may give, and have given a thousand or a million times before, rise to political systems which suppress the woman as subject and the feminine as archetype to the extreme of hardly even considering them anymore the harbourers of any noticeable intrinsical human value at all. Is the patriarchy, in marginal or in greater part, founded on man's resentful desire for the woman's advantage of the power of parturition - a power which, in most spiritual and mythological systems, well outshine the advantages of the man, struck with the inferiority complex neither he nor his sister, spouse, daughter nor mother can understand, down on the ground, appearing rich and jubilant in bounty with all the earthly delights any king could dream of, and with the captured slave-girls entertaining him carnally, kissing his feet in submission and in esoteric coercion... but what is the sum of all worldly opulence in comparison to the absolute and self-aggrandizing power of harnessing life - as it is, in itself - the very quantum of material existence on earth?"