Life begins with an anomoly from which there is no escape from the pale poor young man a question demanding an infinite response
The prophet Tzara following on from Nietzsche sprake the death of God the demise of Art the deletion of History the invisibility of Ideology/
the insanity of man howled while i was sleeping/ Rushed confessions offensive arseholes always open to impulsive resistence of shit
by the very nature of the uterine/ jealously guarded secrets of the right to reply to the superficial/ when I am asleep I do not think
indicating that life has indeed begun while I was unconscious/ a place I can never return to where death is subversive/
where language is unnecessary and only symbols breathe/ signifiers slide overlap and circulate maggots in the words
thru yr complicity in easing intelligent eyes and the lips of a woman/ I am that shadow that follows me and which I flee
either/or travelled away from or towards crawl into yr anonimity of lies and deciet knowing is always more or less pretending to know
walk with yr face extended in solitude of guilt/ if there is not two there can only be one lighting up the night only makes it more obvious
are we the men of poetic sensibility and theoretic suicide awareness replaced by the desiring machines to justify the world evil cops bullshit
who sense intuitively as if erections werent enough the conflicting ironies gender imperatives mania for the irrational
of our own engendering wish for androgyny as males we have the Teknoid PhallusXX and the power so who gives a fuk
how slowly you live DaDaMaX with yr moonDog at heel how might yr torso have had bizarre abstract powerful thoughts
if stimulated from the beginning with brain food and by things which can be measured as with lungs muscles tongues
rather than the poverty of hearts which can only be submissive / I think I love you said the Assassin disguised as a Toxic Soldier
blind / you reach for the door speaking word dust and collapse into the crime of optimism / as for me I dont give a fuk
falling failing futile frantic frenetic finished off rebellion against all false obsoletes for me the best periods are the worst
a revolt against arbitrary power i grab my phallus and beat you to death/ its only the weaklings that explain themselves
the terminal symptons wave after wave of blows the psychosis of entrapment is the language of immortal illusion
speaking the fate that is the key to everything at the mercy of yr strident fears how derisively you make me laugh
Fears of veins and rough scrapped skin encased the bent toes a map of abuse that promises a fragile middle age
velocity of the forthcoming post human condition the excess of banal sexual predators I have found that no goal is worth the effort
the body marked with the tattoo of the Jew mauling fingers searching out last loves before perpetual exstacy of pain in filth
fissures of pleasure of extremes nailed to my spine or extremity extracting first loves elevation I have forgotten how to breathe
technology comes alive while we sleep as evocative wetware under interrogation life is a fact no less and above all no more
producing a passive inscribed with dullness and boredom obsessed with the specular of the imaginary
that flood the diminishing space of the social arena eaten up by the delirious rhizome the iron clad skitzophrenic
unto extinction damned and in a state of fugue DaDaMaX and MooNDoG descend from heaven in rags ands
under a lunar eclipse I is not a valuable commodity and when it happens it happens fast suicide should be a vocation
the lungs wheeze from mustard gas the heart a thinly worn gunshot wound life is not the effort of departing it
sewn on yr sleeve and the Teknoid Phallic XX whispers under the stars I shall be serious as serious as anger or despair
we are worthless without conflict without friction without change without dead flowers in a graveside jar/
Here we are in the century of information that is too say the uninformed/the ignorant the stupidity of clinging to life
Theres not much I take seriously just my boredom my genius /womens attraction for me/ and the regret at having being born/
Regards Kwo?
.JPG)
No comments:
Post a Comment