L.D. 50

mg

to

kg
ratio,

add a bit
for all the catching up.

happy new year.

you learn all your life & die a fool

I've made 34 
the other day

feel like 68
in the morning.

sadly mr. greenway,
the symptoms have persisted.

there's pain observed & than there's a pain endured

the difference is a whole world
that stands between us
&
it's absolute.


it's not your stomach 
that is empty
or plowed by shrapnel,

raked by fake empathy.

organized religion pisses me off

a list of symptoms
exclamated by metaphysics,
is not a diagnose.


it's a list of symptoms
exclamated by metaphysics.

i am wearing my fears just fine.

the ease with which they dispense humiliation is caustic

fail proof,
fail proof & simple diagnostic method;

hitchhiking reveals the appalling consistency
of subjects reactions.

        with these people
        it's not mentality,
        it's morbidity.

so. sad.

taking a statistical approach,
presumptions & misleading
as it so often is;
in this matter cements my conviction just
nicely.
        just a fraction under 94% cunts.

so.sad.

around 80% of sample total
being cross worshipers,
the amount of hypocrisy makes me wanna procure a
Tokarev,
&
blast their fucking vehicles as they pass me by,
acting dumb, deaf & blind.

         just a fraction under 94% cunts.

my people.

derailed or " will fails you- fuck you", limp on

nothing like a day of
 a honest work
to turn you into a pile of shit.
      "remember,
       nothing of this makes any sense
       unless repeated infinitely."

i can't digest their pachydermal
   bullshit.

20 mg
of benzos,
& pass out 'till tomorrow.





       repeat.

surrender

the sound of my
blood
of my lungs
cloths moving
downstream
downstream
hart beat
alone at night.

i can't remember any of my dreams, but they surely must be of heroin

340 days of stumbling,
       
       stuttering

& falling into salvation,
for the lack of a better
idea.
  

the futility of this exercise
is slowly mowing from bitter
       to humorous.

insomnia or war of attrition

          6 A.M
          - 8 degrees Celsius.

          " it's not schizophrenia,
             it is just consciousness"

short lived relief.

politics or a semantic fuckup of civilisational proportions

if there is wisdom
in accepting defeat,
i can't find it.

like most other criteria
it seams largely circumstantial
& arbitrary.

          his supremely sculpted hair
          & manicured fingernails
          curse in language
          neither of us understands;
        he'll use it anyway.

...& i could reply in elegant,
mathematical formulas
of internal, external & terminal ballistics;
          if i wasn't caught in mid step
          between everything until now
          &  tomorrow.
always arriving at the same solution.

the inevitability
necessity
of evolution.

saint of cyanosis, pupile constriction & respiratory depression

prison routine
2+ hours of sleep

no dreams.

     I've named my apnea 
            Vasili,
and I'm waiting for it
to live up to the name.

one novel a day.
500 pages of distraction.

cataract or i piss on your reason

gods in progress
&
marginally aware.

mankind is pathologically scared.

walls, batons, hounds,
judgement, currency & corruption.

everyone doing their job.

midlife crisis or a shitty hand

got lost
against the background
of utter
squalor&depravity;
    like flu.

if you know what I'm talking about, fine
if not, well, fuck.

in my line of killing
one can never be sure
&
who cares
anyway.

smoke fills my home,
I reek of primordial life,
of destitution.
   voices vibrate the glass,
young, scented& desirable;
    hormonal sounds.
a failed psychopath, i ignore the stimuli.

thursday will come.
eventually.
&
I'll add some more muck to the mural
of the real..

can't fucking wait.

mutation or i am a fucking alien & it's far less fun than you might think

bonded in filth
&
coagulated blood.
there's no rapture left
to elevate
&
no time.
it's either hatred
or we're stuck together.
i hear through steel,
in tongue of dark
venous blood.
 umbilical has stretched far
 beyond a romance
 a noose;
swings a caricature
falling long but so slow,
the neck hasn't cracked.

a gasp
a hartbeat
a year
explosion
supernova with every impulse
this can go on for quite a while.
a caricature.
it's either hatred or nothing.

see, this is what happens when insanity holds back for fucking years, seamingly out of spite

easy enough to recognize this pattern.
it's dying.
it's "time" dissipating into
uselessness
a slow motion K.O.

futility of staring into futility

no point in pointing out
it ain't going anywhere.
entropy has had enough.

small pockets of affection,
not nearly enough for a life.

trigger or how internal ballistics make an excellent metaphor for what i'd rather not say outloud

   irregular intervals

memory span too short,
or I'm just too dumb to figure out
a pattern.

the fucking thing won't die.

emotional soup as useless
as appendix
&
subject to annoying inflammations.
annoying.

@irregular intervals.
too dumb;
&
you might add:
too frail
or broken
or cowardly
or stuck
or whatfuckingever,
to cut the bullshit to proper measure.
&
i might add:
....
well
useless to argue
&
disturbing.
loss.
it's got to be simple pathology.
@irregular intervals.

i really rather wouldn't

a guilt to deal with
&
quite well i do.
with
or without
a proper
full,
non selective agonist.

it's this void "inside"
where,
supposedly
self is residing,
that's sucking in the rest.

hole like a fucking unattended grave.

a hermit,
i am used to
&
abused by
(non)human condition.
&
a hermits reward
is a more literal hole.
revelations
&
burning bushes.
not nearly good enough.
not nearly.

"... the boys called me el hombre invisible..."

enjoying summer or snow,
enjoying whatever
for the sake of it;

rain...
conversation.

enjoying my body,
or someone elses,

walk
for the sake of it.
enjoying warmth, music
&
a good meal.
a hot bath.

enjoying all those things i loved
&
might have been good at.

stars.

high,
& a good book.

enjoying
my
life
strenght
family

enjoying a birthday.
being human.

i kind of miss that.

bowel movement? ! ? a glorious day, indeed!

        the little things in life.....

well...

depends...

how little are 

we talking?

exactly?

that mirror is surelly warped or the right of ownership does not extend to self

your attempts are feeble

             &

insignificant.

that's what i hear

as i drive the fist

through the glass.

affections aside,

i can't help

but agree.

this accumulated time

weighs 

tons.

up&down/ all ways sidewind or mood swings & their health significance from a septic pool

  mouse shit
&  
  rat shit
&
  cockroach chatter
across my personal space.
slippery.

m.o.r. in my gut attest

to that.

  mouse shit
&  
  rat shit
&
cockroach sludge
smeared across
my personal space.

fuck you, abraham
or whoever ghostwrited your
scam.

my god is going to die alone
with no electricity
landline
or pension.
to be found by chance a few days 

into decomposing.

deteriorate? nothing to it; like riding a bike.

 more&more&
         all
on its own
getting increasingly
relaxed
with the notion of dying
&
with dying itself.
interesting as it is
it is not helping
at all.

will is a stupid
      stupid thing.
stupid&stubborn&unseeing.
never survives the contact
with reality;

even when it holds up,
the laughter i hear is the sound
of something else breaking.
most likely
another portion of my

sanity.

laughter i hear
&
the tearing i feel.

absorb  klonazepam
collapse into sleep
dream of fucking
&
shooting;
what little love
i
got
&
gave;
respectively.
all the strain my resistance ever
secretly yearned.
laughter rises in pitch;
what has snapped this time,
i do not bother to inspect.

i can picture it more clearly than you can stomach

steel hurts
more than it should

blunt all ready
fucking standards or
more precisely the lack of,

assured tear on exit
but
,
push against the pain
a bit more
&
pop,

we're in.

negative pressure
vacuum gives to red

8 seconds of
countdown
5 of
timelesness.
a single rewarding experience left
no rewarding experiences left.

i told you so or format all drives & keep your fingers & feelings to yourself

how to mend
this flesh and bone,
i don't know.

you take things apart
to see what's inside,
end up missing
parts.

you cry your face through
the loose mask,
the leakage reminds
of gauze;
of hospice.
trembling mimetics,
trembling all 22.

deep crack down the middle
up swept brow
unsettling loss of
control
shit,
a genuine
 human falling apart.
terminal.

neurotransmiter reset in 31536000- 1 and counting

mime on neuroleptics,
i can't relax my face.

migraine.

the supposed rapture
turned out to be
a centripetal acceleration,

shit circling the drain.
circling the drain.

hands in the air
&
make some noise;
shit circling the drain.

sewer sweet sewer.

there is something hopelessly romantic about social revolution pt.3

it is not quite daydreaming

if you smell the smoke.
,
& my peripheral vision is on fire
all 360 degrees of it.

a lack of effective options
for bomb
delivery;
as all & everyone
has become
the enemy.

these days,
true revolution exhausts itself
in suicide.

animal trap

hormones drive the meaT
superimposed
nearly impossible to beat.

give in

the only way out
is the way in.
way out
way in.

out.
in.

hypnotizing.
relentless.
give in.

superstructure sets,

sets like lead.
like lead

no,
like neutrons.

hardwired.
wet
control
humiliating
hardcoded
give in.

cognitive dissonance or surprising persistence of happy memories & other unwanted junk

miss her in every & all ways.
      the sheer injustice of
      not being able
      to afford the treatment,
stales the air.

a fine,
fine sadness suspended in space
beauty clean of cliche.

nostalgic grin
&
dry lips.

    injustice
no abstract concept,
just a stupidly inflicted
self injury.
yes.

in every & all ways.

pulling batteries out of clocks,
silence anchors all bullshit
in just the right spot.
just the right spot.
     block out the visual
                          image
                          memory
her beauty in sleep.

suicide's my kin

mental health goes
only so far

until it
rolls back.

sane reason cuts both ways

& i've put fine

edges

       on that blade.

civilisational peak

the stink permiates
along every coordinate.

erectile disfunction is hillarious

anaerobic mode
breathing phosphorus
ruber smoke,
a reall quality show.

suffocating fent calm,
stalls on contact
inoculates the sounds.

      that's better.

pry out the vagus nerve
soak in organochlorides,
that should stint the fallacy
of getting what's deserved.

    a pinch
of Parkinsons.

the clown sttuters and drools
a toluene seer
teratogenic joke.

   laughing my fucking kidney stones off.

fuck history with no place for Makhno

strictly speaking,
it is not impossible,
that
somewhere
some student
is doing an esay
on dead dear Nestor.

he will forget all about it,
as soon as he
grabs the life by the scrotum,
or vice versa
mutatis mutandis.

just as all you oxygenwasters did.

entropy

dust specks
borring through the skin
what a shitty design.
malfunction has outlasted it's usefulness.

tuesday holliday

.80 gauge
a fine caliber,
as long as it's fresh.

artificial colors,
aromas
& presevants,
it's all good.

or so I'm told.
amazing,
considering the death
toll.

never the less,
it's been a while,
& it's happy to see me.
knocks the breath out of my
lungs,
shuts the lights in my eyes
fuck,
you're beautiful.

nostalgia

first time for everything.
including blood poisoning.

this fucking fixation is getting tiresome

I liked it better with no dreams
whatsoever.

irritating
little
pieces
of
rot.

20 cc rigs
&
going for the femoral.
full frontal nudity
completely asexual.
        " what's it like
          sifting an artery?

          you'll know when
          you hit it."

pH short of 3
but, ain't gonna waste,
better waste
a pipeline.
        " went burning red
           from wrist to shoulder
           & stung like fuck.
           but it's ok now."

tools blunted out
ragged edges to the
delicate tissues.
200 grit'll fix it.
        " it's moving about
          but it doesn't hurt
          unless i touch it.
          you think it's a cloth?"

a long day with no past or future
&; hardly any present.
inside-out
the ghosts don't age.

the red blooms

vascular system in vacuum
rats in marrow,

frenzy,

the mirage is aroused
amused
the red light won't show.

butcher probes the meat
hand still
& purposeful,
calous.

a pig merchants touch.

the ironic metaphor
of a collapsed vein
&
absces.
the marrow.
gangrene
butterflies in gut
red.
rush.
beautiful.
in fractal motion.

the mirage laughs
& 
so do I.
the contempt is mutual.

like glycerine, really0deacetylation of 3rd position yields0falling slow0deacetylation0the mind recoils0deacetylation of 3rd position0the horrors0yields0the mind recoils0yields0so slow0yields0 like glycerine03rd position0the horrors0yields

spent
discarded
or
pushed in a corner

centrifuge

the silt

statistically average base
average statistical misgivings

the silt
has a mind of its own

all blunt
kinetic packed
blind

the horrors i've seen
and forgotten

hepatic metabolism close to normal

ah......


terrorism....


my inner child
never got over the fact
that R.A.F. was before
   
      its time.



refuge for the Broken
             &
         
  Maladjusted
 
Saints.


the third Newtons law
cheers me up a bit.

the future will be
Interesting. 

evolution finds its way

after 30+ years
I can say with content
that i have

       nothing
but my flesh&
       sinews.

a certain content.

all that I have learned-
 ambiguous at best.

though, one thing i realized,
and comprehension cuts deeper
than knowledge:
     I am going to Die.
          Cease.

Comforting.
       no more petty fears
       no more petty ambitions

Aspirations.

only Tao.
one foot in front of the
other.

and than it's over.

hello

    nobody knows me
and I'm fine with that.

name number
birthday

type 0 negative
ulcer
repressed memories

something wrong with
prostate.

skinpaint
failure.

  nobody knows me
and I'm fine with that.

addict
addictive personality
lactose intolerant

emotionally crippled

something wrong with
spine
wasted talent
failure.
   nobody knows me
I can't remember the last time
I cared.

the fallen or fuck you&everything you stand for

a Single molecular thread connected me

with life
     &
all was bare.

Single lie against the
     Myriad.

all was exterior
    &
tangible.

the poison path tolerates no bullshit
but the price is high.

cold hungry sick
i can't help
but laugh
    &
laugh.

I am my fathers son part 3

these days
my preoccupation is:

am I going to die before my father,
or vice versa?

the polite thing to do
would be
to wait for him.

there is something hopelessly romantic about social revolution pt.2

        Pigs.


gimme a sword&scales.

I'll sort 'em out.

make it Personal.
           
            Personal.

my consciousness
will take it.

I'll make it Personal
all the way across the Neck.

on the second thought,
ditch the scales.

a sword will do.

make it Personal.

sort 'em out.

cancer thrives everywhere, you just have to look for it

the City is Swelling
and Fuming.

occasional loud fart
marks the demise of one
or more of its cells.

         this is not just a half assed
                 metaphor.

it reeks of carcass.

Walks  Talks
Buzzes with Biz
           Decomposing.

and,
        It Metastases.
spreads.

Conurbating   Polluting  Assimilating
        Functioning.

happy as maggots and bacteria,
we live death inside our
         skulls.

         Oblivious.
         Inoperable.

not many threads left in this rope

My body is an Alien form.

screaming from too many
            places,
 
I can't smother them all.

gimme an epidural to the
        brain stem,

gimme a lidocaine
         bath.
the Resolve is wearing thin.

Anger is getting
        
Sour.

DIRECT ACTION

the handle vibrates
in high frequency
 
              the EYEs are
              half her face

tip buried half an inch
firm in the wood

             mouth the other half
             I can see her rotten molars.

That's right ma'am.
Fill up
            I don't want to redecorate you.

running out of ways to run

base to salt
...citric

aqueous solution all the solution

staying strong, what a fucking joke.


with a bit of luck
         and
material fatigue

this could be my LAST.

ABORT, ABORT!!

right....

embalming fluid embargoed, what now?

two months down
flushed pipelines

relevant sources vague.
my experience clear.

    nowhere near the paradigm shift.
 

in the words of a man
   far better than me:
"can't figure out who is coning who, and why!"

spot on my dear ST

spot on.

the acute done.
post acute close to nothing,
considering who i am and where i came from.

so,
feels pretty much the same.

too old, too seasoned for psychosomatic bullshit.

feels pretty much the same.
        maybe someone fucked up my tests,
hepatitis could account for at least some of the symptoms.
        too bad i ain't a hypochondriac.

running on obligations ( scarce)
               scruples (scarcer)

I still feel sick all the time.

full of shit to the lid, who cares where it came from

gave myself 2 years.
after that

i will make an example out of myself

and the lot of you.

hope it won't come to that.

hepatic metabolism not yet near normal

it's in the shape 

behind my eyelids,

it's in the shape

of white noise

of meditation.

the path.

martyrdom.

disgrace.

" all pigs must die"

......

you are with me everywhere
you sit within me
with hands full of knives
and this cup of coffee is getting cold
    i want to kill us

every god damn night it is the same
serrated pillows
broken glass textures
    i want to kill us

HOW TO DIVORCE EVERY FUCKING THING

junk is all i kept.

The things that separate me from the dreams of yesterday.

Savage ruthless cut
no sterility in mind.

Leaving wounds that fester and rot.
    I rub it in.
Every waking hour inflammation progresses.

    Nurse,
    we'll have to amputate that

    unattended,
    god forbid,
    it might get better.
Fire purifies all.

room with wooden floors

pile the bodies in the western corner
i need the eastern wall free,
sit in the lotus,
in the rectangle of light
    reading,reading
    cobwebs   
    DUST
through this dirty pane
the world is looking smeared
    second rate impressionist
mass produced dream

Gigers Dreamscapes on the northern wall
cheap printed trivial fantasies
covering mold, penicillin.

Gray.
Black.

hairy whitish thing, so delicate to fingers
just like the curtain on the southern doors.
a mothers touch of laced white
over my tinny window.
    Not so white anymore.
outside this dirty pane
particles of  premature spring
gliding down my rectangle of light.
Landing on the pages i so desperately read.

the rattle that never goes away

I
 carry my death around in my pocket
    we are familiar,
i wear my lies on my face at all times
    we are familiar.
I
am
so stupid
when trying my hardest,

it never fails to amaze

receptors
worn down,
tear ducts
dried out

never fails to amaze.

    my death rattles in my pocket,
    it's a little game we have.
    unleash a bit of disaster down my bloodstream
    i want to feel that stiffening take hold

...

i just spin and spin in this stressful space,


dimensionLESS,

claustrophobic,

godFORSAKEN

place,
in my head 

i am fucked in my mind.

               however,


today, additives are falling into place,

amalgams for my panicking gaps,

             narcoticized


i'll bury the day,

in my head

i am fucked in my mind.

    than, in mornings, it's tunneled vision again
    my screen is there, awaiting me.

hOme

stranded,
more frequently i forget to breathe.
 
               
        they say that's treatable.


empty homes along the road,Mud and Dogs and
 Filthy Snow.


stranded.

desperation gone routine.
                
        they say that's treatable.



boarded windows.


lives now artefacts.

Night and Owls.



stranded.

P.A.W.S. or beginning from scratch for the n-th time and quite possibly too late

 opportunities

opportunities 

what the fuck am I doing?
                     why
                     why
                     why
is this pull so strong,

I don't want prosthetics.

                a plan
                a plan
sorry,
      spinal HRC too high
to take the strain.

             no plan
             no plan.

           ageing 30+ years
           every day
           what the fuck am I doing
           still moving this mess of molecules around
           way past expiry date.

W.D. or mandatory fuckup of all i was

First of  all

I am not a christian.
hence, I don't believe in hell.


        Hell.
" after initial excruciation,
   it'll get better
     with every
        passing
            day"

Well,
        fuck you Manual
        it is not.

cycling whatever benzos

they aren't cutting through.


      Hell.

why believe?
I don't believe in gravity, neither.

I am living it through and with.

      counting days 
      against my veins.

can't help it.

CAUSALITY

I was growing tumors

        merely cosmetic,
 
fuck the social skills
and bloodshot eyes.

writing on skin
        &
piercing nipples with safety pins.

Just for the sake of distinguishing from the Clean.

              
          I  still wear the same suit
             still nurture the same rage.

it's just....

        the point of aim has shifted.

parallax error?
conscious decision?

too  early to say.

won't fit?
can't  fit?

        than Hammer it in.

Broken?

should have known better.

I leave the pieces behind.

it is Tao.

trying not to look back.

it is Tao.

.

...and I thought that i was getting pretty good at being alone

be it Smack, Opium, Morphine
or plain Old Time,

I am a different being now.
       Synergy maybe?

pointless to think in terms
of Right  and  Wrong;

Exhaustion alone was enough
to Cure me of that.
Climbing up from zeromovement 

            temperatures 

took All I had in me.

           torment.
and than it dawns on you;

how miserable it is 

to be without

to be without

a human Being
Capable of Laughing for you.

not to mention fuck
and wake up late, so you can

watch her while she Sleeps.

n 02 a

you fucked up all that i could be.
Truth be told you'd never succeed 
          
        without

my wholehearted help.

How I loved your touch within my
           
         Gut.

How  I  dream of you entering

         Me.

Can't hate you yet. 

you fucked up a love that was fake.
So i guess that's a good thing.

you fucked up every talent
that i was ever 
Passionate about.
        and quite a few there were.

With My Wholehearted Help.

that's how it works.

it's Love.
and
it
killed
me.

LE ✦ PENDU

Now it's within me

now it's me.

Allways was, but now it's official.
                But,

Now it's official.

I know what it means,
I don't know whether
            
             I  like it or not.

Can't be   Duchamp
Can't be   Tzara
Can't be   Vranjkovic
Can't  even be 
          William Seward.

whether i get there or not
now i am
the hanged man.

4 - (2 aminoethyl) benzene -1, 2- diol shortage

1. it is cold

2. it is fucking cold

3. RLS

4. phantom pains all over

5. fuck you for reading, and not getting it

6. snowfall

7. north wind shattered glass

8. obligations outreaching capacity

9. it is even more cold

10. i hate my job

11. i hate what I'm about to do 

12. insomnia ( should've been higher, but i forgot)

13. RLS

14. why do i fucking bother 

15. scarred

ambivalence and still on Tao

too many years to count

or even diagnose
what the fuck got broken .

stupid and childish.
still palpable.

it's a little knot you feel for 

fearing 


        the tumor.

since AK47

and SVD

and Vintorez.

i would really love a Vintorez 9x39.
an awesome machine of rugged simple efficiency.

all our wars fell on my perspective
all of them i missed.

so it seams it is long over due.

desperation is the raw material of drastic change...

  or something in the vein

can't be bothered to look up a cleaner quote.

now,
it appears the Old Pig Feeder was right.

Too fucking bad we shat out 
 most, or all of the pearls,

and spade loads there were.
          for sure.

Too fucking bad he's long since dead
and let me tell you,

Dead mans words
are as dead as he is.

Echo  through timelessness 
         and Dead.

Too fucking bad i never got
   to know him,
i am sure he wouldn't like me 


    at all. 

maturity

I don't laugh as most my teeth rotted

 away
 I don't cry as good times were a long time

 ago
 I don't eat as i can't afford
               it.
 I don't live as i have thought it through thoroughly.


 quarter by quarter half by half horizon never got close.

YOU KNOW THAT MOMENT WHEN YOU REALIZE THAT IMPACT IS IMMINENT.... WHAT DO YOU DO? GRAB SOMETHING, SCREAM, OR MAKE A STUPID FACE? GUESS WHAT I DID...

on the verge of

happening

slow

senseless

run

one good reason

after all

running

away or to

difference is irrelevant

at this point.

you were my only

good reason

what a petty fool

how i wish i could

senseless

not too much

to look forward

to

every scenario

that i can write

excludes

you.

i

am on the verge

of happening

it slides

so slow.

i bet it's going to hurt

like dying

all over again.

ALIGN THE PIPELINES INSERT IMPLODE

peculiar, how this vertigo seems to last every time...

the instance between parting of flesh

and searing, gut moving rapture

i understand all in that blink of suspension

i lose it all the moment it hits

you know my filth

i'm split down the middle in front of you

this is why we do it

for one billion goodbyes.

A SURPRISINGLY RICH DAY

spineless

that's the word....

i am spineless.

stupid and selfish.

merely living is a responsibility

as is loving.

i am stupid.

had it too easy

way too easy to understand.

shame.

shame

that by now

epiphanies

are overdue.

calm.