I was enraptured by the unexpected,
that which quietly sits awaiting for us,
with infinite patience,
like the noises made by silence.
You don't need exotic fevers
to access other perception levels.
Often it's just enough to stop,
kill the lights and sit in silence.
miércoles, 30 de octubre de 2013
all the sadness
all the sadness, sorrow
and loneliness that tear
through the veil of the world,
is like the dim orange glow of a sunset
contained in a darkened room,
piercing through.
and loneliness that tear
through the veil of the world,
is like the dim orange glow of a sunset
contained in a darkened room,
piercing through.
sábado, 26 de octubre de 2013
I reject the heavy cutlery
I reject the heavy cutlery
the elaborate ivory inlaid woods.
Please serve my wine
in a simple flat glass.
The chant of a lone sorrowed man
fills me better than the most flamboyant
of virtuose orchestras
in the finest fall.
A broken voice if you will.
I don't come here to steal
your livelihood, but to get mine.
Salt, bread and some warmth.
Then I'll be gone
and you can proceed to go on
with your haste for nothingness.
the elaborate ivory inlaid woods.
Please serve my wine
in a simple flat glass.
The chant of a lone sorrowed man
fills me better than the most flamboyant
of virtuose orchestras
in the finest fall.
A broken voice if you will.
I don't come here to steal
your livelihood, but to get mine.
Salt, bread and some warmth.
Then I'll be gone
and you can proceed to go on
with your haste for nothingness.
take me
take me, take me like flame
would sear a summer-dry prairie.
past desires remain with us
like scars.
take me, take me, as soon
little will remain of me.
all lamps forbidden in this night,
no light is needed
to reveal your true self,
that you kept away from heat
for fear passion would burn your life
to cinders.
and I ask, would it not be better
at the very end,
to be a cinder
than just a dead piece of log
that's never been adrift?
would sear a summer-dry prairie.
past desires remain with us
like scars.
take me, take me, as soon
little will remain of me.
all lamps forbidden in this night,
no light is needed
to reveal your true self,
that you kept away from heat
for fear passion would burn your life
to cinders.
and I ask, would it not be better
at the very end,
to be a cinder
than just a dead piece of log
that's never been adrift?
viernes, 25 de octubre de 2013
miércoles, 23 de octubre de 2013
martes, 22 de octubre de 2013
absolution
attending a nerdy conference
I discovered the best solution ever
to the scarring destabilizing problem
of quick and adequate clothes storage.
What a shitfesto for the mind!
You'd think there would never be
a demand for insurance, online training
and chinese printer cartridges
at the same time, but there is.
Behold then the glory of lex creationis.
Duplicate the cock size,
cut in half the road to success.
That's two too many promises,
like everripe oranges.
Find somebody special in three days.
I remain blessed everyday,
even if I never remembered
when it was I bought that absolution,
must be the fucking itunes at it again,
but hey! claim your compensations anyway.
I discovered the best solution ever
to the scarring destabilizing problem
of quick and adequate clothes storage.
What a shitfesto for the mind!
You'd think there would never be
a demand for insurance, online training
and chinese printer cartridges
at the same time, but there is.
Behold then the glory of lex creationis.
Duplicate the cock size,
cut in half the road to success.
That's two too many promises,
like everripe oranges.
Find somebody special in three days.
I remain blessed everyday,
even if I never remembered
when it was I bought that absolution,
must be the fucking itunes at it again,
but hey! claim your compensations anyway.
untitled
Shit
tends to be
more complex
than
necessary.
We also tend
to be
more asshole
than
context
calls for.
The drive
to claim
rightfulness,
to impose
right
on everyone
else,
is
often
too strong
to resist.
tends to be
more complex
than
necessary.
We also tend
to be
more asshole
than
context
calls for.
The drive
to claim
rightfulness,
to impose
right
on everyone
else,
is
often
too strong
to resist.
modern poetry
It's early on a Sunday morning
and I was thinking,
(as a prelude to the expected
Sunday evening angst)
a poem should be like a brutal
and relentless lashing
at your naked disgusting flesh
and not a soft arcadian bullshit.
That's so over now.
We need a crazy whore on crack,
with a loose tongue.
Fucking scaldic that is.
Not a guy searching for his lover
in the woods,
transfixed by the beauty of the landscape
(which is sometimes appropriate anyway)
And don't get me started about religious poetry,
even when my poems are religious in a way.
A horror museum for conscience
is called for.
Cry yourself to sleep
while masturbating to the bedside gun.
Such is the atmosphere of the age.
Such the crushing weight.
Such the leverage.
Nothing is as weakening as a group of
untalented and unwilling people
working on problems nobody really cares about.
And I’m still not sure what defines you more,
the opportunities you take or the ones you miss.
That's why, never pass the chance
of a good lashing. Till arm's hurt.
and I was thinking,
(as a prelude to the expected
Sunday evening angst)
a poem should be like a brutal
and relentless lashing
at your naked disgusting flesh
and not a soft arcadian bullshit.
That's so over now.
We need a crazy whore on crack,
with a loose tongue.
Fucking scaldic that is.
Not a guy searching for his lover
in the woods,
transfixed by the beauty of the landscape
(which is sometimes appropriate anyway)
And don't get me started about religious poetry,
even when my poems are religious in a way.
A horror museum for conscience
is called for.
Cry yourself to sleep
while masturbating to the bedside gun.
Such is the atmosphere of the age.
Such the crushing weight.
Such the leverage.
Nothing is as weakening as a group of
untalented and unwilling people
working on problems nobody really cares about.
And I’m still not sure what defines you more,
the opportunities you take or the ones you miss.
That's why, never pass the chance
of a good lashing. Till arm's hurt.
lunes, 21 de octubre de 2013
jueves, 17 de octubre de 2013
from the visions series, canticle III ( part one )
the theory goes that information
is that which resolves uncertainty,
(as opposed to entropy)
but that is not what I see on a daily basis,
and if that's what it is suppossed
then we're doomed.
I just see a lot of uncertainty.
It's not only tomorrow that we fear,
but we also have been induced to fear
the past.
Forever ruminating the emasculating
ramifications of the decisions of years ago.
No, suffering is not the key to immortality,
it's the other way round,
immortality would be unbearable
and would lead to a perpetuation of suffering,
unbearable at best.
***********************************************
[excerpt from internet chat room
ref # 28848558793-A7CC991
date: sometime in late-ish 2013
scholars do not agree on the right date
as there are several sources]
NEED JOB TO PAY FOR INTERNET CONNECTION
IN ORDER TO BE IN THIS FRUITFUL CHAT ROOM
THIS ROOM IS THE LIGHT OF MY LIFE
THE COMPASS THAT GUIDES MY ENTIRE EXISTENCE
I AM A SERF TO YOU ALL
A COMTEMPTIBLE VESSEL OF HUMILIATION
UNDESERVING RECEPTACLE OF FAECES
***********************************************
Only cliffs should be jumped into fast,
not conclusions.
***********************************************
No matter what judgement or blame
you try to put on my shoulder
I can't feel anything
this makes me the most powerfull being here
always.
In most conservative families
mom and dad have sex on Wednesday
and Saturday nights
oh wait Wednesdays too? lucky fuckers!
CROWD CHANT 1:
This is Hell.
Presided over by the God
of a thousand whores,
ejaculator of fire,
spawn of the ziggurat,
father of all destruction,
he who relishes taking life,
cockslapper of the universe.
***********************************************
[excerpt from internet chat room
ref # 84849295211-07D9001
date: sometime in late-ish 2013
scholars do not agree either on the right date
as there are several sources]
this was taken from a discussion on the relative merits
of the term 'anal krieg' as a monicker for a very aggressive
black metal outfit
apparently the band exists although
that much is not clear
nicknames from the chat room
have been changed to protect
the innocent and also those not so
[Chat Room Inhabitant X]: anal krieg is an excellent name
[Chat Room Inhabitant X]: I will tattoo that on my knuckles
[Chat Room Inhabitant Y]: it won't fit
[Chat Room Inhabitant X]: yes, it will
[Chat Room Inhabitant X]: I lost one finger inside your sister's cunt
[Chat Room Inhabitant Y]: what is it? the Westernized name of an obscure Chinese corporation?[Chat Room Inhabitant X]: I lost one finger inside your sister's cunt
[Chat Room Inhabitant Y]: uh oh
[Chat Room Inhabitant X]: apparently the name is taken already, tho'[Chat Room Inhabitant X]: that'd be an awesome name for a M&A consulting firm
***********************************************
My desire is to burrow deeper,
in search of the perfect item of information,
context-less, eternal, perfect.
To carve more precisely
the contours of this sinister map,
after the surgeon's fashion.
The subject matter does not matter.
All that matters is the perfect information.
Beg thee, friend!
to not consign to oblivion the radiance
of this darkness, for that defines me
and sets me apart from the undiscerning crowd.
I got used to traversing the blurring lines,
can't live without the heightened sensibility,
that pressure in my chest,
not unlike a ghost limb, although I never had
one of those.
[the collector of heart attacks says to himself]
little do I care for your smallness
and herd mentality.
Feeling the pins feels so much better.
I see things in different colors.
***********************************************
*** PRAYER BOX ****************
* ask me brilliance,
* ask me hard work,
* ask me greatness,
* make me jump the ropes,
* ask me drudgery if you will,
* because I've no will,
* I can only do if I do for you,
* but do not leave me here unused
********************************
[Voice of the salaryman,
toying with the thought of karoshi already]:
I relish the vision of the empty desks,
the sterile aisles, silent cubicles.
I always prefer the muted spaces,
more favorable to introspection.
The shade of suicide in all blank screens.
Fax machines dead yet warm,
like organs and glands
extracted from a dead dragon.
One feels less vulnerable bathing in the echoes
of past presences, diluted now
in embraces and farewells
that went, largely, unnoticed.
And that's why the subway feels better
late at night.
I remain to wander across the holes
and admire the people who have the strength
to build up things,
wondering what's the gene that I lack then.
I did not get those chronic nosebleed
from panic or anxiety binging, so I guess I was
somewhat a stronger person,
but one that was never taught to dream of leading,
of building, just repentance and mistrust,
learned indentured servancy.
I was made an empty vessel.
Not fit for having a great party,
much less for throwing it,
entertaining hosts or delivering the great line.
If I put my suicide tape online,
it would only gather a few visits,
mostly wrong clicks.
No, I am just adequate for listening to music
and getting lost in thought.
So, not much of a marketable skill set there.
[after this bit, the transcription of the salary man
gets unreliable and fragmentary, so we move on
to the turmoil is his boss' head]
The order in which the rules apply
is no longer important!
the result we strive to reach
is struggle per se. Not death.
Much less victory.
(putrid air in the CxO league).
Just urgency, all the time, all over the place.
Struggle justifies our existence.
War is the real spoils of war.
(My cufflinks are more expensive
and I bought them in Paris).
Revolutions are an alternate
path to imagined riches and cold fact Sodom.
(real leather, not Alcantara, please).
Leverage! Leverage!
let's cross cocks next corporate retreat.
I'll wipe my muck on your tie!
(mergers and acquisitions, the realm
of the überlawyer with the hermés suit).
Aaaah, the sustainability report!
A gilded cage of compromise.
YOU WORTHLESS PILE OF CRUD
4.20 am is the most intimate part of night.
Nothing should be moving or happening.
The world stopped for maintenance,
a few short minutes for catching up breath.
Then, you wake up trembling.
(99.9% SLA)
A host of fears matted, knotted on a stick
dwells in your chest and in your blackberry.
***********************************************
Editor's note:
The second part is being restored, from amended sources.
Our experts are currently contrasting sources and performing
exegesis in order to bring to you the most faithful account
of what happened afterwards.
Please stay tuned!
miércoles, 16 de octubre de 2013
untitled stanza
The walls of your vagina
have scratchings and marks
from the desperate attempts
of panicked creatures
to escape that heinous cave.
have scratchings and marks
from the desperate attempts
of panicked creatures
to escape that heinous cave.
¿te gusta conducir?
¡Quita, hostia! que quites, coño.
[...]
Mira el tío, será mamonazo,
¡cómo se ha metido!
[...]
(acompañar la lectura del poema
con gestos obscenos y toques de claxon
ad lib)
[...]
Mira el tío, será mamonazo,
¡cómo se ha metido!
[...]
No, tu no me dejes pasar, eh
no vayas a llegar tarde
[...]
Hijoputaaaaa,
gilipollas
[...]
¡Venga, coño! arranca, hostia
que se va a poner en rojo, coño.
[...]
Joder, que despacio va este gilipollas.
Anda, muérete.
[...]
¿No ves la señal, gilipollas?
¿Qué pasa, qué quieres? No te pongas tonto
[...]
te meto dos hostias
[...]
(acompañar la lectura del poema
con gestos obscenos y toques de claxon
ad lib)
from the visions series, canticle II (a.k.a. the fuck yeah song with no known end)
feed me so much data,
all the time,
that I become just smitten with it
and no longer question anything,
dragged into a maelstrom
that never felt this good.
I feel like a hidden king.
In fact we all are, yet unheeded,
unheralded, unheard of,
each in his own obscure saga with no bards,
hence vanity metrics
(no scribes waiting at our command).
but this is what I desire, oh masters!
in a certain way I envy
the life of those wholly absorbed
by their work
(I write this anonimously
in case my wife susses it out)
that way they can escape all the time,
hide from them the cold dead fact
of this fishy thing called life
that needs dealt with all the time.
The salaryman has shown us all the way of salvation.
All hail the Zaibatsu of the Heavens.
Oh here come the scions!
They want the secrets open and revealed,
to harvest the power.
The fight will be brutal, as are the spoils
accordingly.
that way, there's always time
for a lonely beer at a commuter tavern,
for practing golf in the dark,
insulating ourselves from the inmense loneliness inside
for a few precious seconds,
for a silent numbing whoreing stop
before heading back home,
thru' the smelly and windy guts of the system.
But I digress.
I was talkin' about data, yeah, data.
The oldest virus ever and it shows no signs
of weakening, unlike our species,
impossible to wean us off the umbilical wormhole
to our reptilian average,
our cruellest amygdala hijack
(the one most activated when driving).
Eternity will sure be disappointed.
The void itself will fucking yawn in exasperation,
maybe thus spawning new universes
with better chances
and more amenable tv rights.
Tardigrades will inherit the earth.
Not the meek or the mild or any of them other-cheek-headstrongs.
Those will be exterminated ruthlessly.
(...and rightly so, if I may add,
says the broken voicemail of the dream visitors
that will never be caught alive
having a sandwich in the park along with all the other salarymen).
The weight of the disdain is growing
and it soon will surpass the capabilities of the event horizon.
*********************************************
I once spent 7064 days urinating,
on one of the moons off Jupiter.
I felt like a good few seconds of relief, tho'.
Given enough commuting time
any man will hallucinate tiny portals into higher awareness.
Sadly these tend to last for a few milliseconds,
and it's hard to do any exploring in those conditions.
At most, the wisest can jot down something later on.
*********************************************
A strong ale and a good mix of vital bitterness.
What a concoction we got there.
Broody as fuck.
In those moments, you can let go of your identity.
And it feels sweet.
As if you never had one and you just realized
you had been living under a benevolent lie,
but there were no further consequences anyway.
(felt like an unexpected holiday, that day in the middle
of the week where you can doze off
and maybe make love to your wife).
*********************************************
They found a goblet full of teeth,
effulgent and emerald in color,
with a strange script carved in tiny crevasses.
*********************************************
why do they have to change the placement
of the fucking Ctrl key from fucking computer to
motherfucking computer?
Why on earth can't fucking there be a fucking standard for that?
It fucks up with my muscle memory,
and I look like a fucking ass in front of others
godfuckindammit!
SO HELP ME GOD!
(after this message
from our sponsors
we will now welcome
our contestants)
*********************************************
Oh ThE SeNex FoRRRniCat0rs aRR on tHE PrOWl!
Untenable positions are the funniest
for the sake of arguments.
Must be amazing to lobby for the threadbarest of claims,
the fuckingest of complains.
the night is askew
with mind-bending
vastness.
Howling industrial din.
Angels that work night shift
processing oil.
If that guy is really able to provide every other suicide bomber
with 72 virgins, then you gotta commend
his command and streamlining of his supply chain!
*********************************************
I am at a loss trying to imagine
how silicon / methane -based life shoud look life.
I probably would lose my job very quickly
in that universe, if I ever got one.
People screaming aimlessly
walking the streets like they just had some K,
screaming in search of their machines
whatever that is.
Everyone asks everyone about their lost machines,
and nobody thinks of going to the pawn shop
and kill the fencers, while you're at it.
co-workers should not fuck in the company toilets. period.
Why is this NSFW?
Is it because all the profanity?
Well, fuck you.
all the time,
that I become just smitten with it
and no longer question anything,
dragged into a maelstrom
that never felt this good.
I feel like a hidden king.
In fact we all are, yet unheeded,
unheralded, unheard of,
each in his own obscure saga with no bards,
hence vanity metrics
(no scribes waiting at our command).
but this is what I desire, oh masters!
in a certain way I envy
the life of those wholly absorbed
by their work
(I write this anonimously
in case my wife susses it out)
that way they can escape all the time,
hide from them the cold dead fact
of this fishy thing called life
that needs dealt with all the time.
The salaryman has shown us all the way of salvation.
All hail the Zaibatsu of the Heavens.
Oh here come the scions!
They want the secrets open and revealed,
to harvest the power.
The fight will be brutal, as are the spoils
accordingly.
that way, there's always time
for a lonely beer at a commuter tavern,
for practing golf in the dark,
insulating ourselves from the inmense loneliness inside
for a few precious seconds,
for a silent numbing whoreing stop
before heading back home,
thru' the smelly and windy guts of the system.
But I digress.
I was talkin' about data, yeah, data.
The oldest virus ever and it shows no signs
of weakening, unlike our species,
impossible to wean us off the umbilical wormhole
to our reptilian average,
our cruellest amygdala hijack
(the one most activated when driving).
Eternity will sure be disappointed.
The void itself will fucking yawn in exasperation,
maybe thus spawning new universes
with better chances
and more amenable tv rights.
Tardigrades will inherit the earth.
Not the meek or the mild or any of them other-cheek-headstrongs.
Those will be exterminated ruthlessly.
(...and rightly so, if I may add,
says the broken voicemail of the dream visitors
that will never be caught alive
having a sandwich in the park along with all the other salarymen).
The weight of the disdain is growing
and it soon will surpass the capabilities of the event horizon.
*********************************************
I once spent 7064 days urinating,
on one of the moons off Jupiter.
I felt like a good few seconds of relief, tho'.
Given enough commuting time
any man will hallucinate tiny portals into higher awareness.
Sadly these tend to last for a few milliseconds,
and it's hard to do any exploring in those conditions.
At most, the wisest can jot down something later on.
*********************************************
A strong ale and a good mix of vital bitterness.
What a concoction we got there.
Broody as fuck.
In those moments, you can let go of your identity.
And it feels sweet.
As if you never had one and you just realized
you had been living under a benevolent lie,
but there were no further consequences anyway.
(felt like an unexpected holiday, that day in the middle
of the week where you can doze off
and maybe make love to your wife).
*********************************************
They found a goblet full of teeth,
effulgent and emerald in color,
with a strange script carved in tiny crevasses.
*********************************************
why do they have to change the placement
of the fucking Ctrl key from fucking computer to
motherfucking computer?
Why on earth can't fucking there be a fucking standard for that?
It fucks up with my muscle memory,
and I look like a fucking ass in front of others
godfuckindammit!
SO HELP ME GOD!
(after this message
from our sponsors
we will now welcome
our contestants)
*********************************************
Oh ThE SeNex FoRRRniCat0rs aRR on tHE PrOWl!
Untenable positions are the funniest
for the sake of arguments.
Must be amazing to lobby for the threadbarest of claims,
the fuckingest of complains.
the night is askew
with mind-bending
vastness.
Howling industrial din.
Angels that work night shift
processing oil.
If that guy is really able to provide every other suicide bomber
with 72 virgins, then you gotta commend
his command and streamlining of his supply chain!
*********************************************
I am at a loss trying to imagine
how silicon / methane -based life shoud look life.
I probably would lose my job very quickly
in that universe, if I ever got one.
People screaming aimlessly
walking the streets like they just had some K,
screaming in search of their machines
whatever that is.
Everyone asks everyone about their lost machines,
and nobody thinks of going to the pawn shop
and kill the fencers, while you're at it.
co-workers should not fuck in the company toilets. period.
Why is this NSFW?
Is it because all the profanity?
Well, fuck you.
the visit
watch the assemblage of the chosen ones
around their reference figure,
patriarchal and avuncular at the same time,
but with no strings attached,
not fatherly, no.
He will take his first class flight back
to the promised land, and leave you behind.
But for a minute, behold the elite ones,
basking in his bronze glory.
You should check their instagram feeds
and twitter streams for a sample of the juices
and the exotic wines you'll never taste,
the luxurious food in the undisclosed location,
and please do feel excluded and envious,
because that's what they wanted.
Do them a favour and do salivate
and guess about their lofty conversations,
high-flown semantics that escape a serf like you.
Then he left. All came back to normal.
The piece was taken from the website.
Everyone forgot.
The elite shrank back to its rightful size.
And everyone forgot about them,
until the next emperor in touring comes back
and the ritual is performed again,
according to the unscripted book.
around their reference figure,
patriarchal and avuncular at the same time,
but with no strings attached,
not fatherly, no.
He will take his first class flight back
to the promised land, and leave you behind.
But for a minute, behold the elite ones,
basking in his bronze glory.
You should check their instagram feeds
and twitter streams for a sample of the juices
and the exotic wines you'll never taste,
the luxurious food in the undisclosed location,
and please do feel excluded and envious,
because that's what they wanted.
Do them a favour and do salivate
and guess about their lofty conversations,
high-flown semantics that escape a serf like you.
Then he left. All came back to normal.
The piece was taken from the website.
Everyone forgot.
The elite shrank back to its rightful size.
And everyone forgot about them,
until the next emperor in touring comes back
and the ritual is performed again,
according to the unscripted book.
martes, 15 de octubre de 2013
from the visions series, canticle I
I dreamt that six hundred
ambient raw black metal
and industrial drone bands
played in an inmense
rock-sculpted cavern.
An enormous dirge, choired,
so vast and dense
it could actually slow down time,
and sideline it to a discreet
second plane.
A place where the terms
early morning or careering
have no sense,
as you'd be nothing there,
just the exhaust of the wrong century.
I have to admit that I never managed
to sleep on the pavement,
to filter down the cracks
and transform myself into a ciggy butt
or a piece of discared spit,
dislodged from mouths like a tongue
that speaks inappropriate things.
You heard of the satan jugend
but you never found out how to apply.
The city was sorrounded by a perfect
circle of flame those days,
and I was as disoriented as a koi fish
in a nebular metal pond.
I always considered that my fate
would be to see my friends fly away,
their growing wings catching wind, heady,
and bestowed the gift of moving stuff around
while I was just this mutilated wood torso,
like a forgotten old idol nobody prays to.
That was not to happen, though,
which was a good thing.
That was before I realized the world
works better for those adept at lying.
You can try to prepare and foresee,
but everything looks strange no matter what.
Each ring and stage of existence
has its own mysteries, and it takes an entire life
to master only one,
and that was how reincarnation was invented.
A necessary breakthrough.
Was it immanent or imminent?
Can't bother to remember that,
because the sprawl is here already,
in its infinite glory
and endless supply of chance
for the laborious traveller that kneels at her stairs,
that mouth into the utterest dark,
like licorice in a blackout.
The competition for the CEO of the impoverished
is getting very cut-throat, nastily so.
I am pulling out.
Those who seek the truth will find out
it's the path who actually seeks you.
And when one spins out of tack,
usually because of self-induced confusion,
it's the industrial drone
and the fruits of its supply chain
that brings one back into formation.
That gives one peace, and so one
can proceed to his daily tasks, diligently
and happy.
Suddenly you're back there, and it snaps
so quick, that you feel out for a bit
and it takes a minute to begin comprenhending
the grand logic of this design,
the universe stool of a benevolent goddie thing.
It's only then that the screaming ceases
and the dirge recovers its eternal echoing breve.
ambient raw black metal
and industrial drone bands
played in an inmense
rock-sculpted cavern.
An enormous dirge, choired,
so vast and dense
it could actually slow down time,
and sideline it to a discreet
second plane.
A place where the terms
early morning or careering
have no sense,
as you'd be nothing there,
just the exhaust of the wrong century.
I have to admit that I never managed
to sleep on the pavement,
to filter down the cracks
and transform myself into a ciggy butt
or a piece of discared spit,
dislodged from mouths like a tongue
that speaks inappropriate things.
You heard of the satan jugend
but you never found out how to apply.
The city was sorrounded by a perfect
circle of flame those days,
and I was as disoriented as a koi fish
in a nebular metal pond.
I always considered that my fate
would be to see my friends fly away,
their growing wings catching wind, heady,
and bestowed the gift of moving stuff around
while I was just this mutilated wood torso,
like a forgotten old idol nobody prays to.
That was not to happen, though,
which was a good thing.
That was before I realized the world
works better for those adept at lying.
You can try to prepare and foresee,
but everything looks strange no matter what.
Each ring and stage of existence
has its own mysteries, and it takes an entire life
to master only one,
and that was how reincarnation was invented.
A necessary breakthrough.
Was it immanent or imminent?
Can't bother to remember that,
because the sprawl is here already,
in its infinite glory
and endless supply of chance
for the laborious traveller that kneels at her stairs,
that mouth into the utterest dark,
like licorice in a blackout.
The competition for the CEO of the impoverished
is getting very cut-throat, nastily so.
I am pulling out.
Those who seek the truth will find out
it's the path who actually seeks you.
And when one spins out of tack,
usually because of self-induced confusion,
it's the industrial drone
and the fruits of its supply chain
that brings one back into formation.
That gives one peace, and so one
can proceed to his daily tasks, diligently
and happy.
Suddenly you're back there, and it snaps
so quick, that you feel out for a bit
and it takes a minute to begin comprenhending
the grand logic of this design,
the universe stool of a benevolent goddie thing.
It's only then that the screaming ceases
and the dirge recovers its eternal echoing breve.
scholar's song
panta rei, uk menei,
it doesn't really matter;
future's drab, the world will grey
and I will just get fatter.
faith in armour
fate autocompletes on my screen
oracles these days use google search,
just like anyone else,
except the people who still cough up
for tv divination services (them poor cunts).
I want to exist as a mixture of sexiness and danger,
I want to exist forever,
I want not to exist
(because some times it's an insufferable bore).
death and taxes are certain,
but of the two, only death can bring relief.
I want to drink the clearest water
(that pretty much rules out your blood,
much as you don't have any courage anyway).
It seems that desire is a word tied up
to that funny guy, as in
"I desire to depart and be with da lord"
Ensconsced in our thick coat of first world problems
we proceed docile along the master lines.
(mmm entering the fishy banks of
conspiracy memeland here).
My conscience is like a mackintosh coat.
Water just slides down
and it shelters me from the cold.
I numbed it.
Yes, of course.
On fucking purpose.
I want to dress myself in an arcane aura
(sounds sexy, even if dont know what that is)
that somehow accelerates me out from the reach
of this pervading mediocrity.
The virtous chain of thralls and ever lesser ranks
- devouring each other in a storm of error messages
and ignored compiler warnings -
(oh the ungrateful life of a warning,
ignored by everyone and on the minimum wage)
there's this contradiction between
the desire for immortality
and the wish for release.
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T H E T E M P L E S O F S Y R I N X H A V E F A L L E N ! W E H A V E C O M M A N D E D O U R F O R C E S T O V I C T O R Y. M A N Y W E R E L O S T, B U T T H I S C A N N O T A N D W I L L N O T I N T E R F E R E W I T H O U R Q U E S T F O R A U N I V E R S A L H I V E M I N D. T H E H I V E A B O V E A L L. T H E O N E TH I N G T H A T T R O U B L E S M E I S T H E F A C T T H A T I O N C E B E L O N G E D T O T H I S I N S I G N I F I C A N T R E S I S T A N C E I N O W F I G H T A G A I N S T. T H E H I V E I S L O V E. T H E H I V E I S L I F E.
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and once we're all in there, in the hive,
there will be no problems.
Eradicate.
Isolate.
Carry your bribe money with you at all times.
I could not find a present for you
that represents adequately what I am today,
because today is a transient mirage anyway.
I would congratulate you on your 176th birthday
but I stopped counting years back in Sumer.
(those holidays were killer).
I saw no purpose.
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A L L O F Y O U R M I N D A R E N O W B E L O N G T O U S
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L O L! Y O L O
said the priest to himself in his grin
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Understanding is overrated,
we could do away with half the meaning in things,
which probably don't have much to begin with.
I used to enjoy deserted avenues,
but I am scared to be mugged by unemployed cicadas,
in hoodies and with strange accents.
My world just let go of the color green.
But you get used to it.
Not much point in painting concrete green.
When the first time machine was invented
project managers staged their best revenge ever.
Apparently there's a word in the Welsh language
that can wake up some old Babilonian devil-gods.
The full armour of god will protect me,
so that we might stand firm in the battles of life.
Your light, oh lord, is the armour to battle the darkness
that enshouds us since we left your garden
(oh, our folly).
Mal 3:2 (NAS) But who can endure the day of His coming?
Whaddya mean his coming? He is coming?
Is he gonna leave little copies of himself
all over the place?
I will step down from my pulpit of praise
with a quote to accompany all of you in your sleep
Luke 21:36 (NIV) "Be always on the watch,
and pray that you may be able to escape
that is about to happen,
and that you may be able to stand
before the Son of Man."
the wolves are at the door
the wolves, the wolves are at the door,
and all the courage you can muster
is a blank face,
the stupefied O of a mouth that's good only
for throwing processed fat at,
and the occasional 5 minutes of tired oral sex;
what stunned hole !
the wolves sport the swords you'll fall on,
pink blobby belly first.
(and you still asking for the free cookie rebate,
now that's a learned gag reflex).
That's command and control for you.
The wolves are at the door,
and god's tests are harshest at night,
and we believe pills better when they're white.
These are bad translations of the original instructions,
the clay tablets disfigured in the noon heat.
The tires of the warlords' jeeps
did them no good either, in their vast numbers.
and all the courage you can muster
is a blank face,
the stupefied O of a mouth that's good only
for throwing processed fat at,
and the occasional 5 minutes of tired oral sex;
what stunned hole !
the wolves sport the swords you'll fall on,
pink blobby belly first.
(and you still asking for the free cookie rebate,
now that's a learned gag reflex).
That's command and control for you.
The wolves are at the door,
and god's tests are harshest at night,
and we believe pills better when they're white.
These are bad translations of the original instructions,
the clay tablets disfigured in the noon heat.
The tires of the warlords' jeeps
did them no good either, in their vast numbers.
domingo, 6 de octubre de 2013
transcription #29289848492992
the following excerpt is a transcription of
a recording damaged, or incomplete,
due to sabotage.
darling, have you seen my bottle of soma?
[...]
No, I can't find it.
[...]
No, it's no there either, I'm telling you.
I'm late for work,
and they'll screen us there.
[...]
No, it's not fucking there.
You know I always leave it on the bedside table.
[...]
Ok, fuck it, guiss some of yours then.
[...]
What you mean you got none left?
[...]
You'll pick it up today from the government stall
in the factory?
[...]
Well, fucking bring double the amount!
[...]
Yes, yes, yes, ... YES!
(fist hits table)
I know perfectly that's impossible.
(sighs resigned)
[...]
Ah fuck the camera, darling.
I'm fed up with this rationing.
(screaming) I fucking want more soma.
[...]
Why you screaming now too?
getting on my nerves now. You fat sow.
[...]
What you mean they coming?
Who the fuck is coming?
[...]
Did you call anybody?
Did you fucking grass me out??!?
[...]
I need my fucking soma!!!!!
[...]
(indistinct noise, things breaking)
[...]
I'm sorry, I'm sorry
(making hissing noises)
jueves, 3 de octubre de 2013
powers of two
I'm sure you know the type, these folks who
seem to have been born not to just 2 straight normal folks
but to 4 mixed-race mixed-language parents
in non-conventional rich backgrounds
who seem to naturally speak 4 languages,
but can manage to find their way in at least 8
who have lived in at least 16 different places
where they have 32 great amazing friends, like, forever
(in each, 'f course)
these people irritating and dwindling you
because they took these 64 great journeys,
sabbaticals and what not
and they can't help telling everybody about it
who portray themselves as having 128 natural talents,
whereas I seem to have hardly 2 or 4
people who can make you feel 256fold smaller
because they had these great 512 experiences
to which you cannot relate
their vanity metrics and curated life soars 1024 kms
into the fucking sky,
from the depth of my pit that makes 2048 kms.
seem to have been born not to just 2 straight normal folks
but to 4 mixed-race mixed-language parents
in non-conventional rich backgrounds
who seem to naturally speak 4 languages,
but can manage to find their way in at least 8
who have lived in at least 16 different places
where they have 32 great amazing friends, like, forever
(in each, 'f course)
these people irritating and dwindling you
because they took these 64 great journeys,
sabbaticals and what not
and they can't help telling everybody about it
who portray themselves as having 128 natural talents,
whereas I seem to have hardly 2 or 4
people who can make you feel 256fold smaller
because they had these great 512 experiences
to which you cannot relate
their vanity metrics and curated life soars 1024 kms
into the fucking sky,
from the depth of my pit that makes 2048 kms.
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