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And Progress came too soon
We weren't ready for its splendors
Nature, divine artist & sculptor,
hadn't finished w/Her greatest and
noblest work, when, half-alive like
a zombie-child, limbs barely
clinging to a torso
We ran, howling, out into Night
and Creation, to plunder destroy consume
We took Life
by Her wings & clipped them
and proceeded
to bleed & strangle Her
Soon, She will love us no more
And She will turn
vengeful and destructive
The destruction will be ours
-No Fate-
I prefer to have no fate to the deadly
design of an end in the means. Let hunger
reside w/me. I will not starve. I will feast,
perpetually and remain unsated. O 'Thustra.
Mine is an unsensed taste. I am the wolf
alone in his wilderness forever searching
for scent of stalking. I will have no gods
before me. Lands of the creatures. Imageless,
I will expose Mystery like a wanton whore,
spread-eagle and seething.
-"Fuck you!" screamed the drunk from the bar
-Wretch-
Speak the name of the horror
w/rancor
and throaty puking sounds
and shit and urine
& bloody semen of mules,
hyenas and
menstrual death
Vomit the name
and its stinking truth
more horrible than lust
or wrought
Spewn wickedness
I have been borne
-Ruined-
-I'm going to hell,
he tells them offhandedly,
carelessly
and straggles off
toward the dying sun
and consuming seas
Alone is our obscenity
Dawn is our burden
Wrecked in oblivion
Cruel in oblivion
Being in jail is
a soulful atrophy,
we suffer no symmetry
and quintessence
just out of reach
abandoned
like a leach
-"Windows that used
to set us free
mocked our minds
w/what we'd see."
Damnation
of the senses and passions
and prowess
Mindlessness is our stoke
wicked as a satyr
Soon, we must answer Beauty
(or Truth will give our unborne)
-Lythe-
I loved you for your
wretchedness
& your wickedness
and your wildness
and pain
I loved you for
your decadence
& debauchery
& rebellion
I loved you for your
hallows,
your sorrows
and your venoms
I loved you for your
sickness
The draught of enlightenment
is an evil elixir,
I darkenining guzzle
and I became infested,
infected, hell-bent
and exiled
My veins are corruption.
Wilderness-
I shall never be safe
(and never have been)
-Gaggle-
This is my medicine
An insane web
This dark possession is
my power and
rage
This is my humanity-
corrupt as flesh, savage
as sex; blood wine song
naked cunt and breasts,
wretched and low, vile
wicked wrought & damned,
godless filthy stinking
horded contorted
slippering in the
public disease
I am familiar to
blasphemy.
A whore's love is warm
female madness.
Old dreamer
(old and depraved)
Beautiful beast
and horrible flower
(satin and tufted,
oozing silk fuckery
like a seething wound)
O wrecked fiend-
My hair is long
& black
My eyes are sunken
pools
where only despair
and sorrows
reign
This is my motor
a frail machine
(I am wanton
& consumed)
Suffering cold silvery
screams in the dead
city night that fills
the mind w/fear
& speaks gaunt evil
& torments & doubt
& twisted things to the
heart
like a daemon.
Ah, velvet caress
of the Muse,
secret and sensous,
you enthrall my soul
This is my wrath
This is my aggression
This is my edge
(and only cool I know)
And the poet learns about commitment and truth
and contempt in the face of the beast. The duration
of Things resounds magnificently, jubilantly out of
the great void and oblivion of infinite splendor;
grandeur. Maturity, for you, is the responsibility of
reality and the sensed wisdom of necessity. The chaos
is precise in random symmetry. Patterned entropy.
Beauty is a young whore whose hair is long and silk
and covers us over like raiments of soft sun. Ah, gold
embrace of charity! Storms of Universes. Anarchy is
a fine thing (when you're just 16). Nothing matters,
when you're just 16. Tomorrow, I'll be a darker and
more wretched motherfucker. The pinnacles of soul
reach up into the farthest oblivions, barrens.
a feeling of having
done it all before
I could write my
own tragedy
what a specimen;
how horrid and
hideous
& loathesome
The Scene of the Crime...
The scene of the crime was a garish red and
nightmarish and bled. There were bodies & corpses
of bodies everywhere. In the dark garden. The sides and
thighs were engorged in bowels and oozing. Rot gut
adorned sickeningly the luxuriant altars of Fate and
Beauty. There were no winds. Only deadly silence & stench
of the massacre festered and stormed the haunted air.
Screamingly. Slitheringly. The temple of self lay in dregs
like torn deathgrounds of some horrific battle. Oblivion,
smoldering. Ah. The face of the murder crossed borders &
traversed lands, cultures and Worlds of destinies. Loves.
The killers were rogue and mercenary & crushed
and splintered the bones of the dead and the
forests and fields of azure under boot heels
of black boots; steel toed & leather. Chaos
reigned. Who will forgive me?
Even little creatures were
slaughtered.
-Fallen-
Delight in the senses
bestial and depraved
wretched as a jackyl
or vulture
gnawing ripping tearing
limbs, torsoes, bone
and flesh of fresh death
(the desert is dead
and murderous)
-"Ah, wilderness", he guffaws
smugly,
swallowing his final swig of bourbon
-"May flights of devils
wing you to your
rest."
Demons lie
in all unholiness
I want to be unclean
like a pestilence.
-"O dark goddes of fuckery!"
How did we get this way
w/all else?
(Back there, over our shoulder...)
Intoxication is a wanton
whorey corpse; beautiful & cold
The cherub told me so...
-Phantasia-
One fine warm sunstroked day,
a flower began speaking and
angels appeared in the forest,
beautiful aethyrs, nymphs
danced and sang, madly
in the hills all around
(Ah, and what nubile young
bodies which swayed & flowed
and writhed there. The sensuous
perfume of female breaths, flesh.
Their licorice torsoes, their supple
breasts; voluptuous, engorging.)
Inanimate objects moved
w/the mathematical grace of
truest Beauty. They would laugh.
Yes, and devils. Hideous satyrs
in shadow. A wilderness of blood.
New creatures had been invented.
New dawns and new music
(Discovery was our magick)
-"More! More! More!" cried the poet
already drunk on youth and
wild eyed and crazed
In alchemy of spirit,
there is danger and darkness,
there is vision and illumination.
It is better to live
W/out Doubt.
-The Inheritance-
That we are made in His image-
The quintessence is encouraging. Capable men and the
depraved ones. All things human; all consciousness,
every activity. God bless the savage children of the
night who stalk and devour one another. Outlaw warrior
killer and beast. Poet politician prophet and priest. The
carnality of evil is a necessary and hideous stroke on
our sensual canvas. One must suffe and wrath for
lordship. Insane wretch! Pulsing out of pure divinity.
Wreaking hell on all Creation. You are a light. He is its
illumination. Your passions are sordid and holy and
primal. You fiend. You idea of perfect symmetry.
Refracted joy. The child peers in through gentle picture
window and sees his own barbarism, ecstacy.
In the city, the glory of Lethe
hides
like a woman's love.
-Frag-
Alone in his solitude,
he was mad witness
& soulful alchemist,
webbing universes,
binding landscapes and
cities to oceans of sky
w/dark sensual ties
in rivers & orchards
of sun
The moon also knew this
jackyl & miserable
outlaw
Could you say little urchin
& Little Tequila?
Could you hide the wilderness
or a procession of mountains?
Could you hide the night?
Look out
through bestial picture window
& see the future emblazoned
on windswept streets
& derelicts of ruin, excess
Enter the fray like a child,
w/out image, w/out sign
and discover Eternity
& beautiful mystery of Eternity
I can write poetry when I'm high.
Sometimes, when I'm not.
I can create whole
Worlds & insane
architectures of
impossible things
I can change skins
& explore silence
seethingly
like a wizard or ghost
I can describe the Unknown
Insect death
is a hideous comedy
The centuries are burning
and clouds roll by
above us
unscrolling an ancient drama
and testament of riotous
Creation
Time is a spider
which is very old and lives
on the other side of the Void
spinning fates & great
wonders
w/threads & yarns
of pain and tragedy and
miracle and sudden
whim
-Nothin'-
I wanna tell you a story:
This is the way it goes (3x's)
This is the fuckin' way
I ain't sayin' nothin'
Yeah, I ain't sayin' shit
This is the way it goes (3x's)
(-yeah, it's over this way, motherfucker)
I wanna tell you a story
The way it goes
Yeah, and it fuckin' goes
& goes and goes
and fuckin' necrology
and tragedy, comedy
and lore
Culture is a cult complete w/rituals
and songs of worship, disciples
and sacraments and leaders & more
O martial morality
-commercial heresy
Yeah! Uniformly!
I ain't sayin' nothin'
Yeah, I ain't sayin' shit
This is the way it goes (3x's)
and this way fuckin' sucks!
The whole world is desperate
I live in a city, a megalopolis
enamored of violence, naked lunacy
and fuckery. The streets littered
all along w/beggars mourners panderers
breed and I, who am in love w/this
blooded wilderness mire, only shrug
coolly and gently, join its fragments,
deep in the peristaltic
This story has no hero
Merely victims and utter company
in the sepulchre
stinking
w/out sorrow
I'm there, too.
Devastation
in the shrouds surrounds
& all around
and downtown are wicked
deathgrounds
This is a fucked up story
and this is the way it goes
This is the goddamned way
The way it goes
Yeah, and it goes
and goes
and goes
and goes
and
goes
Thirst Great Beast...
Thirst great beast
& hunger on
For all Creation derides
you, deprives you
and the rains of time
avoid you
Can the walls of hell be
broken down?
Can torment cease?
My heart is heavy w/whorls
of horror & sorrow
and fear
The pangs of bestial mourning
clamor furiously to my
wretched leprous entrails
Only the dead know my garish
haunted lament
Rise, soft creature
Rise and lift your gentle gaze
upward into the boundless
loam
The caressing warm whorey
skin of danger & sex
and the animal night
But my heart
is heavy
& overflowing,
outpouring
Evil arrives
fast on the wake
of kisses
and smoke of sweet
lies
& perfume of
drunken vomit
Worms, wounds, venoms
The cruel slithering of
infection
Even Beauty is naked
& stained dark w/red
blood
-The Raven's Song: Poet's Blues-
These old bones,
tired and racked,
have travelled far to greet
you; far from wretched
lust, from beggar's dust and
beaten glamour (I've lost my
armor). The horizons were
beautiful flaming swords or
orchestras of sun, stars, souls
all in conflagration,
adorning and exultant. I've
come far across limits, thru
voids and peoples of drunk
corruption. Sublime as blood.
Fetid as flesh. And I have
warred and scarred & writhed
& bled; wicked and wanton,
dark in wasted eyes,
visionless and suffered.
No safety magick.
Deserts are ancient galleries
and mind plantations.
Spirit nectar suicide love-
It's cool, though. I still
breathe & bathe & laugh and
fuck. I still smoke & fly.
And I still have noble
ambitions & canvas pages
on which to unscroll my
wild delirium, my wilderness
A good woman loves me
and I'm still in one piece
(Well, relative to being
maimed or viciously crippled)
Or total annhilation.
Thanks, Maker,
for the senses and the
symmetry
-3 A.M. And T.V. Death-
3a.m. and t.v.
death
A crow in the night
(and forest of night)
howl scream cries
its horrible lament
at the waking dread
and being born
and the madness of
memory
Ah, sweet beautiful
cruel suffering
decay
And the soft cool rain
washes over my mind
gently, like a song
(At least, I have a good
woman beside me,
there to hold me, to
love and shoulder me)
Wretched fingers;
lords
I keep waiting for cold
doom to name me,
enflame and claim me
Dark vertigo of soul
Monopoly of the senses
-Rancor-
it's All facade
until
the heart bursts
& bleeds
& seethes
and cries out
in pain
ah, dark lacerate flesh
& feasts, severed necks,
naked as breasts
vicious
voracious
vainglorious
in architectures of
gentle delight
your lot is blood
& Fate feels not a wit
for your fucking
feelings
(hideous laughter)
so fuck your ego
& your programmed
pursuits
idyllic lords are
bounding
The insane are still
insane & the dead will
still be mourned
Tomorrow,
there will still be
Mystery,
loss & tragedy
there will still be confusion,
chaos & oblivion
there will still be
Limitlessness
and everything
in evolution of
Continuum
we are momentum
and weary
patterned
timeless
ashen
this way leads you
back going that way
rambling, gambling
yeah, this is the way
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