detta är en bögig diktsvit av uppsalas horunge numero uno (på delad förstaplats med mr crakk från reveal). kommer aldrig mer palla skriva på svenska. vackert och ädelt men svårt och snårigt språk. detta är en nedkokning av en diktsamling som skrevs mellan typ 2010-2016, men som nu är raderad för att den sög och jag kom att hata den. kanske 25% av det materialet orkade jag bry mig om att spara och på ett eller annat sätt omarbeta in i ett nytt sammanhang, och det är detta material som denna diktsvit utgör till sin kärna utgör (om än med ganska grova justeringar och omformuleringar). allt som allt så påbörjades detta material 2010 vid åldern 17-18, men jag har inte orkat bemöda mig med att slutföra skiten till någon form av färdigt verk för än till nu, våren 2019. denna svenska dikt har varit ett stor oväsen i mitt liv i nästan 10 år. snart ska jag aldrig mer bry mig om den i någon konstnärlig eller ytterligare kreativ mening. den ska vara helt färdig till sommaren ungefär. så den är fortfarande i arbete. detta är bara ett kort utdrag.

* * * 

WHAT HAPPENED IN CHRISTCHURCH IS THE FIRST OF SOMETHING NEW I THINK
IT IS THE FIRST REAL LIFE BLACK MIRROR EPISODE
LIKE AN ART PERFORMANCE OR LIKE A HUGE SARCASM
THIS IS THE FIRST BLACK MIRROR EPISODE
AND WE HAVE ENTERED THE EPOCH OF A NEW FORM OF TERRORISM
THIS IS WHY IT FASCINATES ME SO MUCH
IT IS VERY CAPTIVATING
THE LIVE VIDEO HE BROADCASTED BECAME SO GRISLY
JUST BECAUSE IT HAD ELEMENTS OF COMEDY IN IT
AND SARCASM
AND MEMES

this is what "Begynnelsen" CD set looks like. I am unsure whether it is available for purchase anymore. Behest did a great job.

SCYTHIAN WAR-WOMEN

into no mans land
the bitter steppes of stri-rajya
   where two queens rule
     over no man
      because there is
                  no man
                           left

any man staying over thirty days
   gets killed

the mountains are full of breasts
    the rivers run from vulvas
          and the geography itself
                is molded into
                 an archetype-statue 
                     of the scythian heroine

SEVEN BILLION PEOPLE

there are seven billion people out there
and somewhere amongst them
waits your perfect partner

that person is your ideal
and your dream
and that person is a perfect piece of your existential puzzle

but you will never meet that person

instead you will settle with someone who is decent
and good enough
and kind and sweet and stable or whatever
in order to satisfy your human need for intimacy
and love
and touch

but its not the dream

and that is a fucking depressing thought

Hi my little weirdos!!! To those of you who were blessed to receive a disposable camera AND RETURNED IT (assholes..) years ago: I am finally picking this project up and developing them. Realizing that there may be some seriously disturbing material on these film rolls, I decided to develope them for myself and I have no idea what I'm doing and might fuck them up but hey at least I tried and I get to play around with strong chemicals and think about the alchemy of light.

To the rest of you, buy a disposable camera (I'm too broke to keep buying these for people), fill it with photos and send it to me. PM for address.

THE MIGHTY PAWS OF LYNX GOD

the lynx is meditating on death
    and on prey
           and on blood
the lynx eyes are fixed
     on the gosling
        and nature has its course

    from the carcass
      of the killed gossling
         something new emerges
           and that something
            we venerate as
             the lynx god
          
               it is the spirit of the animal
                   embodying itself
                         into something beastlike
                     
                         that is what they do
                                 there in the forest
                                   the mighty lynx gods

I am a kind and soft soul and I, to my own dismay, would not slash any throat even in the blackest of thunderous tantrums; no disappoinment, no betrayal nor even the painful fading of love's flickering flame would prompt such murderous lunacy in me; I am not the fist of misogynistic hatreds and violences – rather the opposite, and my striving for the opposite it ardent, since I intensely loathe the haters of women; surely at the end of days before the tribunals of purgatory they shall have their mouths bent open and they shall drink the piss from the judges of the apocalypse... and these contemplations take my mind hostage

But this demands courage: life is not just a scheme to be followed inasmuch as a dance is not just a physical motion and inasmuch as love is not just a chemical randomness, some cluster of hormone... and furthermore, art is not just a chaotic disarray of pigment; music is not just tones sequenced together! A murder is not just the taking of a life, and poetry is more than just a long rope of words...

...only then might I renounce my faith in extremism, 

the polar star of radical individuality growing about on the firmament 

like a rainbow or a phantasm of hope 

after a hundred sombre moons...

from 2019's best book by a great margin

Beasts do not hang themselves over the body of a melancholic lover, nor do they drown themselves in the oceans of questions which emerge all around the human with every faulty move she makes. No, they can not value life, nor can they devalue it... at least not like we can. For them, it just is. They carry on being beasts, and we, we carry on being human… dogs are dogs; cows are cows; pigs are pigs, and sheep are sheep. Snakes are snakes, and falcons, they are always falcons. But humans are something becoming something.

THE TRADITIONALIST

The traditionalist 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, for the traditionalist is a fish on land in modernity, and he is so bored by the current world that anything which might potentially throw it out of balance will be rejoiced and welcomed by principal. This is what it has become, our modernity: we have filled our heads to their brink but we have emptied our hearts in the meanwhile, and we have depleted our sense for wonder for the bargain of facts and for the adoption of ecumenical morality and the latrine-waste of scientism... it is easier that way.

 We scream so loud and we prosper and we develop in what we think is eternity, but we do so without realizing the inherent fallacy of endless growth; because we mock balance and we worship excess. We have become swine of bad standing, and we have lost the nobility of ancestry and of honor; we have replaced tradition with decadence; we have replaced modesty with whoredom; we have replaced strife with technology; we have replaced the adoration of heroism with the martyrization of victimage; every day our finances and our well-being grow in concord with the shrinking of our phalli and we boast our sophistication as our bellies swell in disgusting obesity, as our minds overflow with the weakness of self-pity and as our spines weaken in pathetic fatigue; the modern world has no muscle left, and the wolf is almost extinct here. We brag about philanthropy, humanism, egalitarianism but as we do just this, our children are clawed and ravaged in the darkness of its very negations; we have created a culture where people become "nice", "pleasant" and "decent citizens", but we have completely forsaken how to nurture and foster a hero. This is a culture of mediocrity, where mediocrity is lauded and awarded and where self-constraint and will-power have become some ideals of history better left in the mass graves of some past and primordial primitivity... and this disgusts me profoundly. 

War and love eternal. 

a lil outline for the polynesian gilga

GREAT MAUI

great maui
swing your stone sword as to cleave the earth
and let muck and soil bleed from the wound
rip it open and steal the fire there within
 as to give the powers of it to us humans
   when its cold
         and when its dark
           and when the freezing moon obsesses us

great maui
swing your magic fish-hook crafted from the jawbone
    given as a gift of initiation into manhood and into heroism
          by murirangawhenua
      the grandmother of the hero himsef

great maui
travel quickly like the sun used to do 
   across the sky kinglike
 before your fish-hook caught it 
  and caused it to slow down
  and nowadays tamanuitera the solar king
   is in captivity and in submission

great maui
show me the way to death
and let me die the very way you died
 my hero    
point me the way to the womb-gates of hinenuitepo
  the woman of the night and of the sunset

great maui
 allow me too to change into the shape of the worm
and enter her glorious vagina
 as to escape through her throat
 and leap forthwith out of her mouth
     as she dwelt the sleep of gods and goddesses

and great maui
 allow me too to fail in this plan
  and allow me too to be crushed by the obsidian teeth
    littered all across the labia
         surrounding the collapsed quasar
            the ultramassive black hole
              that is her beautiful vagina
             the cunt from where night itself came
               the awesome darkness of hinenuitepo

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