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.