La Byr

Absolutely despairing of the capacity of art to do anythin at all, we burst our selves off up the nursaries died of the velvet flumes we sick citizens we kids off the cusp of the new doom did you see did you see did you see the rose in the iron twilight did you know how it came down from that did you ever want to be more than you were or to die like a man on the field of battled? did you ever think there was something wrong with you and you were a whore and a bastard and a warrior of the good true twilight? what if this was [[the last hour]] what if you were already done and there was nothing to be done about you what if you were dying and dead and doom all together what if there was nothing you could do and the eternal lament of your people was a song you sung to HIM in specific and the song was itself your high holy melody which was going to set you free but never really set you free what if you were the son of the doomed age what if you were going to die what if you were the daughter of mystery what if there was nothing you could do I don't edit my shit. I don't want this to be good. I want to blaze off the death and die like a monkey in the rotting ground of the abyss what if you were a bastard what if you were a rock what if there was nothin to say if everything had already been said let's give way to barbarism let's give up everything we have let's give ourselves up to our captors make love to our masters and pretend everything is all right okay okay okay please save me god please save me god please save me god you are real you are real you are real i promise i believe it im believing it as hard as I can there's nothing to do i can't make a reason for doing anything aesthetics and taste let it all fall by the wayside let paris burn let berlin burn let damascus burn let everyone burn burn burn burn haha! the day is come! the day is come we're soon all to be free! soon all to be soon all to be soon all to be free! haha! haha! nothing is possible!

There was a doom from off the edge of the voluptuous monarch we came up heaving our absent melodies of death and said there's something wrong with what went out something impossible to memorize impossible to express said there's no reason to have children said there's no reason to give love said burn the damn muslims burn them in the streets the whites the blacks gut them all nigger symphonies, thy duchlamps thy melodies go in the museums and smash all the toilets "Art isn't just in museums, you know." We killed a hundred thousand babies today just by not trying without even trying we killed a hundred thousand babies* but keep your eyes on the spectacle three million a year children die of [[hunger]] you don't shed no tear motherfucker you gotta die got a needle for your eye * - [jk only 4k] I'm the infinite doom I heard a light in the east like the heavenly loom did you see the shape of the dark decay? did you hear the words spoken by God that day? there was something terrible in the air there was some kind of broken verse in your hair your eyes swung free pinioned me i've never been poisoned like i was your tree i get dead motherfucker i'm fucking corrupt there's nothing left to do its the unlimited rupture we're not here to hear about the rapture there's something wrong with your lies. There's something hidden within the folds of your disguise you're not what you claim not to be. There's something more important than that you're free but you act like you're not and you're pretending you are but you really are all the time in your car you buy gas. Fuck your girl in the ass. Tell me all about your fuckin [[pass teh blunt]]

I'm not hunted. I'm not cool. Your white-glowing rise from the cemetary gate; taken from me by the legions of hate. I saw your discourse and your blush fade away: the infinite anger, the directionless rage. We made senseless signs... at a senseless god... these mortal academics don't know how to spare the rod so we rage... against the dying of the light. We refuse... to give up the fight. But you, my darling, my long-lost love, you were the one who fitted me like a glove, must you die in fire? must you die in pain? might you not just rot away in the November rain? can't you be belly-open to the hounds of the earth and your flesh stained bloody and your infinite worth? let the blush on your cheeks... chastize the weak. give not yourself to the armies of the freak. I been in Paris. Twenty-fifteen. Vortex of the horror and the tendrils I've seen. I don't lie to you, you don't lie to me; but we're [[already devoured]] by the things that we see.

let's build a big labyrinth, let's build a big industrial warpark, hey guys let's get fucked up and go commit felonies let's go find some hoes and gim thold boppada boopie, yaknowwamean? fuck im so down already let's get burned baby this past the end this shit's all down we're fuckin [[burnd up]] there's a wildfire in the woods there's a praerie that got burned down we ain't seen but there's something not cold we ain't right. we gon get lit, eh? [[light em up]].

There's something infinite and rushing, a snow-mobile full of drowned valkeries. I gave myself off the protests of the firmament, died off the preppy mixtures of pizzazz and circumstance I didn't know if there was anything right or wrong and we didn't care enough to tell anyone that we'd all died for good reasons and there was nothing worth telling anyone. We're all dead anyway, there's a matrix of data that surrounds us and encompasses us and some say creates us. This is the Symbolic Soul and it's made by twitter and Facebook and you wish it was dead and you wish you were dead and we were all free again into the green hills of [[hunger]] and the cows and the goats and the cheese and the milk: wood, brass, iron, stone, cloud, sky, rain, water, sun-time, wheat, barley, hops, lentils, chicken, apples, pears, bread, cherries, honey, milk... Did we see our spices and shit? Did we see anything was made from what's real and what's not? Did we try not to get away so hard we turned into exactly what we feared? We're being digested! We're being digested, and earth is our stomach. We're stomach, we're high holy cold melodies and nothing is good enough for us nothing is bad enough for us NOTHING HURTS ENOUGH to make anything worth it and we can't die we can't die we can't die we've got a [[civilization]] to steer.

our civilization what a rotted tapestry of monarchs and furs. what a rotted tapestry of bullshit and devices. we make our books in the shapes of machines and we leave our children to rot in the gardens so that we can know the flagstones are arranged in the right order and everything is perfectly smooth, without cracks, no grass grows between anything (or so we visualize in our heads). our civilization a wicked miser of mothballed silks a drawing room fantasy of whores and gables we fantasize about our loved ones drifting up from the throes of death and we make stories to our false gods that we may not be forgotten. Civilization is another name for our pretentions of immortality and so we defend it with lief and murder we defend everything without trying without doing any more than the lion or the zebra on the savanna we pretend we mean something when in reality we are worms all of us and we're worms with chlorine gas and plastic explosives. Pride? Have pride in your [[anus]]. Have pride in the shit that's accumulated in there and look down with pride into the porcelain bowl (or the hole in the dirt, as it may be) and say MY GOD, WHAT [[A FINE SHIT]] I'VE TAKEN, just don't be proud of [[Bosque or Mantiez]] or whatever. Let's all die.

anus is where [[shit|A FINE SHIT]] comes from

you fucked up off your faggot spazms never fuckd that shit right you fuckn faggt get off yerself get yerself blistered off your fuckin bum you fuckin berm you get cut up you do you get right friggeted you get cut off intercepted, you do you get fuckin raped, bitch (all the hate in you pour out into fire give power through yourself you don't see, you rage) you don't need anything, there's nothing real, you get whole and clear and infinite you get burning fire you die die die die die and we burn your soul into the dirt. You burn your soul into the dirt and we all saw the way you were looking. We saw what we thought you said we thought you were coming up off the viral load but there wasn't anything you needed you were bobbing for the buoy bullying in high school our Muslim ancestors you burned yourself on [[pyre]] Odysseus.

Fictional artists. Just random bullshit. An illustration of how you might reference so-and-so the super important person who's contributed so much to our culture the struggle of light against dark (illumination, mind you, not pigment -- damn it's hard to say anything these days) and we just blabber on our bullshit shitting out our mouths we white boy artists get fucked in the ass nothing matters france don't matter not yer hundred score dead you all die anyway 4k plus a day die malnutrition source U.N. & nobody cares 'cept when the sensational violence hits the screen there's nothing we can do 'cept gawk and give em permission to drop the bombs. Bombs beget bombs. Gun sales beget gun sales. They do not clutter [[the market]] for gunnery. There is no saturation.

gun sales beget gun sales hate begets hate el odio engendra el odio [[or whatever]]

flames in which you consumed your own [[editorial]] the munches and monkeys of the thousand bastard empires of the Sahara came streaming cross the Ribalt we came up bursting our phonographies through the sun and there was no more screaming no more killing just the enzyme and the emblem the thousand hundred hunters of the damned empires equites of the monarchs I give up for you, France, I burn myself at your ducklings, at your feet I shout AYY LMAO you're fucking queened fucking twitched off the hammer fucking cut down from the boon doom locked out and burned cusped we moaned out the sigils of the vast wastes we still haven't seen a single thing we didn't know i swear we didnt know we couldn't have prevented [[spectacular violence]] spektakular violins we came in through the bathroom window protected by -- ha -- ha --

I hamboned your fists you didn't see it there was nothing outside of your great illusion but you didn't fathom didn't see what was left from where we left off one to four my testament to your glory my fear of your floundering there was something [[terrible and holy]] something magnificent and leaden there was some fast bleak doom-mill from one to ten on a friday and we didn't see what was wrong with the priests didn't see what was wrong with the vagrents all got led away from the temple tried to tell them what was wrong and what was good but we didn't end up doing much of anything at all. there was something clean about the end, the way she vommited up her innards bereft of life she died and we died with her, laughing crying we didn't care now and again the infinite flaming doom there was something wrong and something good and perfect cause what made her clean and what made her good all this was passive and magnetic there was something [[massive and holy]] inside her and we had to see her dying lying dead on the pavement. ::: I'm not a humdinger, nor got I fucked right, nor France this missive spat platoons out to the endless age, tried to burn fiery into the doom spell thy nature and thy endless emblems doom chants, sons of nature thy son thy son I aged thy adage never sang no cowboy songs & never herded no cows neither read Parliament and King James the age of Man is ended & so be it dark times your sons and our endless ethnicities, thy foolish categories, not one but all, not us and them but we, the omni-we, synonymous with god, is the only god I'll bow to //the 'i don't know the maybe so is the only true is the only real reply// and we rode out from brooklyn with a banjo and a gun hadn't hardly then begun to comprehend the way she moves, that goddess of the wind

you pulled into the pleasure you felt swimming all around the icy twilight everything flying white rhythm the crisp of the icy air the city fog of your breath car exhaust and rust on the tailpipe we in our electric clubs sipping our neon-blue drinks we boys in our black shirts, glaring at the sexy bodys of the writhing females we lust their twising, their doom, their TVs, their antennas, we lust the pavement and the neon light we youth with our sweet knives we youth with our sweet knives! you burn away flying over and over again you sing the sweet psalm of your surrender you sing the sweet psalm of your death your beautiful innocent death, pale deer throat slit on the frost-hard earth blood steaming in the rich soil you fire your doom into the sky my infinite smoke signals and I smell your screaming body white clouds of passive day, cold like the surface of the moon you relent, finally, screaming, [[into death]] ::: Tragedy is a form of drama. The terrorist is both actor and director. You country is now the victim of barbaric theater. To combat this threat, you need only remember one thing: Heart disease kills over seven million a year, likewise stroke. There's no candlelight vigil for COPD or respiratory infection, no UN outrage gainst HIV or cancer or hunger, for cancer does not endeavor to reproduce itself by mimesis and does not, therefore, aspire to get on television.

yer ancient demon fire, your love of the catholic priests raping little boys i mean the catholic rituals the catholic order the truth of your god you get on your knees for the muslim conquerors post pictures of hate and fire we say Mother Russia we say vive l' vive vive vive, [[reproduire et vivre]] I don't know Franch, yer damn language, be damned away with it and cower in the flues of your orgasm, your great doom of scepters, cower in the fear of your monarch, God and your priests and their sins, be hated, again and again, with the [[fire of]] a thousand nights you be burned and sexed in the alleyways le via de doom

my sun, my ancient light plasm sawst thou not the light holy plaza? what came right off the fire hier? sawst thou not the ancient brickwork, the Philadelphia inlay, the love of spasm the gods and the war hockey, the love of the lovers in the dark of the train station, sawst though not the midnight glaze the asphat bright with neon snow-spray sawst thou not the dead dog at the end of town? O! The [[ziggurats]] at the edge of town! I don't know a damn word, and I've [[already incinerated]]! I'm melted plenty into the abyssal plasm, the night of holy hells, the infinite brickwork of doomed Orpheus didn't see thou the sun-gates didn't see thou the edge of reason where starlight burst in upon glass compartments when spinning burst doom into the alien house and light fell spicy into my lean heavens -- burst up into new oblivion and I rejoiced, impedimented, mercenary angst, yer fire of holy breaths, the brim of your baseball cap, the brim of your doom-chariot, you scream -- I forgot what I was going to write. (Nothing much is original.) (The work of producing something in some measure worthwhile is so great as to be beyond almost anybody.)

Bombs won't end punk rock. We were already dead when the doom caught up with us. The thread was measured long ago and your girlfriend is a nasty hoe. Everything burns, given enough heat. You'll burn too. All your ideas and your memories and your communiques, the very air that conveys them will burst into flaming plasma and everything will be disintegrated every false form that once claimed union will burst into dissolved cloud & we'll all be free finally from the memory of anarchy. Didn't need to humble ourselves to that lie, didn't need to name our systems when the eye was already open and the doom already come. Can't tell if I'm rhyming with things unsaid words half forgotten prophets undead. Radical Islam is not a real thing. Your dog and your dollar and what it will bring. Fuck your hearing. You burn off the end of the dark into the soul of the silence; immense violence; your fire at the end of days; too many [[words]] to pray.

For Paris, who gave us the right to spit bullshit. [[Genesis]]

reproduire et vivre surveiller et punir and forgive yourself your acid melodies everything melts more every time you hear it [[--]]

Patriotism is the death of liberty. And your immense empires breeding decay already, they're good for you, I swear, your refrigeration and your refriggeration your poxy calor your earnest bougiousie katabasis you, France, deserved what you got, because violence is always subject to cause and effect, action and reaction, Newton has rightly fucked you and the world is not always chaos. Unban the burkah and bow down to [[the false god]].

JDIMSA JDIMSA JDIMSA JDIMSA you never saw your multifarious dysphiriae, bacchic revelries of twilit multiphrenia, we abyssed, we abelists, we're zealots and melted warriors, obsessed with our syntaxes, our bodies have already melted away and we're already doomed to the infinite dying so why NOT try something already? why not take up arms against the dying of the sea and so pass on into Lethe, to float down the waters our melted dictocrats our melted abysses, we're already finished, we were finished a long time ago -- and fire warriors, take the plunge, burst and [[vomit]] go play, our doom sikles, abyssal scimitars, thy sterile promontory, thy arid scimitar, thy ICBMs, thy kolachnikovs, seest thou not thy delusion? seest thou not the abyss 'the abyss into which you mean to cast me lies within yourself', france, now more than ever is [[love]] required of us.

nothing really matters anymore, i think we can just burn peacefully now, just let the world burn, you know, and everything will be all right, just like it always was, you just burn yourself in the eternal fire and it all starts to feel so warm, so toasty, heh, when the world burns around you for once you won't be cold, for once you won't be alone smoking cigarettes in the bathtub won't you die? finally? won't you die in the gruel of your ancestors? france, won't you burn to the ground, finally, like you always wanted to? won't you finally be free of your elegant fashions and your [[exceptional culture]]? won't we all die in the end? let the [[climate talks]] fail, please. machine-men with machine-minds and machine-hearts the ascent of termites up the tree of life the [[Empire of Machines]], the anti-enlightenment...

france's culture is a piece of shit les miserables es el kak & yall mofokkas eat frogs and slugs n shit go weep over [[your shattered pillars]] we're not priestly, we're not holy we're all dying insulting your culture i'm a robot bastard im a mechanist you're all homos you're all aliens and there's nothing you need to see yet made with no loss of time made with no need regarding nothing made with nothing once but to see the holy symphony and the children dripping at the twilight driving cars down to the way-station cafe twilight at the bar we drink red wine and hear about the priests and their groping fingers I've never needed anything but what you are, my darling and you're going to keep it away from me, I bid you do & don't get caught up in the bullshit nor believe for an instant the lies they tell you nor without loss of time bid do a single damn thing im priesting so hard right now, completely worthless empyrion empire of the ants, missile decay, missive echoed across the streets of time I'm a magnificent bastard and you can't hit me or touch me I'm the true infinite punk resurgence and I can't think of you or anyone nothing of your pain, nothing of your meaning, just my own wild fury and my generation of paths and the knowledge of this redoubles my hypocrisy so there's now this infinte blackness about it and hence my name -- fuck [[your wine]]

Dark wine and double-dealing, compromise on the edge of the times. We stand on the very knife edge. **COP21-2015**

and im the obsequious monarch, i'm the black decay, im the doom of the overwhelming triumph of peace, im the bastards of tympanies, im the ending triumph of the doom legions haven't you seen my love, termites up the Tree of Life, haven't you trilled me off the pasm haven't you seen? haven't you seen my fine high fury aren't we robots yet? aren't we fully merged with our machines? cyborgs, sheep and shepherd, we're melting already into the rocks from which springs the clear water of God, the clear cool water of God, there is no God, there are no gods there is only our sphere of understanding which reaches not even to [[the edges of our sight]]. the stars and their immense clockwork vibration we're funneling them into our ekstasis but we're not merged yet with ourselves not yet seen anything still so split away we're forged into instruments and let me see your [[pearly aura]] I learned to see love even in the sleeping and despaired and now I put into practice this infinite intimacy to free me of encapsulated distance, isolation, calculation, surveillance, matrices; radical love in the empire of machines.

and the eternal thunder of living, the animal furor of rape ekstasies we fire ourselves into the ancient fury there's something spilling down off the edge of the sun, something licking at the beach of the doomed way there's something fire in us, something slugs rolling around, we're animals, poor and plenty, we're fleading, we're melting there's something melted about us, doomed, we're eating love and fire, we're eating spice and doom, there's something terrible and holy about us. We're already eating, melting... reproduce and survive, you're [[animals]].

thematic entropies. the world is the crucible of itself. humanity is the crux of itself. all is invisible dillema, all is messy parallax labyrinth and there's something wrong with your missing vision, your ekstatic dissolution of decay we've heard you moaning in the bathroom, girl, we've heard you dying over and over again heard you singing psalms to the autoarchy heard you bowing down to the machine government and you said, 'this is the end,' this is the calor, tengo mucho calor [[hacienda]] and there's something wrong with your abyss there's melting out of your spectral anthems [[anathematic automatic]] and the industry steels itself produces warplanes by the millions your farm subsidies your farm subsidies, girls crying, 'daddy!' voice of famme unheard --

If you don't quit tribaling, if you don't quit your meaningless hunger, if you don't quit the ancient roll of thunder in the midnight woods we'll sing together the last song in hell, we'll sing together the love of the ekstasies the bacchic fury in the basement clubs our peeling paint and blue neon we love each other so sweaty and pure so animal and young we don't fuck, we just writhe in the jelly or the mud, like animals, we die, into the past, again and again, we melt [[--]]

[[words]] [[words|fire]] [[words]]

UN CANT de Monsur A. Black Twenty-one thousand words ad libre, being, generally, a commentary on the recent grief of France. [[Warning]]

im making idiot things, not at all useful, there's a kind of fire on the eastern mountain, we've never seen before today what all this limbs is about you don't know the origin of time you don'[t know the the origin of anything and you don't lcameit to cknow don't move faster faster faster don't move vaster come out of the doom move vafster s o t o make mistakes so you can make more mistakes be [[lefss perfect]] break yourself up and die in a fire die in a fire die in a fire frenchies

The most important thing, when we're making art is that we should remember to love people all the time. It should be in the forefront of our mind as we set out to write every word. I have failed to accomplish this, so far. This text reeks of feces and fear. I must return to my love, then everything I do will be [[beautiful]].

im yearning, myself, for some kind of proper lie. there's nothing i haven't seen we're all dying in the end and there was a harem full of ugly chicks, we in leguardia we in the children of Thomas Sant we came out hugging ourselves shiverring against the cold, we played death metal and howling cold we came singing the songs of the thousand doomed children who marched into the abyss even as they sang and we hoped that for once there would be something worth saving that we would come out of it without hurting for once that there would be some person holy enough to make us sing to make us sin the love of the liveries there isn't anythin worth finding here, we rotted in the roots in the black dirt of the tar-thickets we came singing out from the doomed bollops came burning there isn't anything new under the sun we aren't all free we're dragged down by the idiocies of our friends isn't there anything worth talking about? isn't there anything worth saving? isn't there any way to get out of this television boredom and can't we see, in the end can't we sing, in the end, didn't [[Ludwig Wittgenstein|words]] finally save us all? aren't we alive yet? didn't we try? why don't we need to try? why can't we try a little [[harder]]?

we're all slaves of what we fail to forget. i burned myself into a white abyss and so i meant nothing, shone out light that i couldn't control annihilated repeatedly and emphatically and we all loved it but there was nothing to do working the land repeatedly icy in the winter, the tarmac worked the land with leather gloves and a knit cap and I sung the coming home of the heathen warriors pillars and canals aplenty their ships loaded with [[ivory and gold]], valiant conquerors in their armor of bronze white sails snapping in the wind black friday sales jazzy christmas songs the imperial marches of late stage capitalism and we poor pickers a [[racist manifesto]]

the ones who are dead we sing freeing them we sing sad soliloquies dying in the dying time there's hunger in our breasts we yearn for the touch of love there's nothing less fragmentary nothing less true than the words of France and you saw us singing homilies to the bastard sons the thousands Suns of the new cosmos we came singing our own plans we came dying authentically we came singing hallelu hallelu allahu akbar and so on that's the thing about how it works ain't you ever seen the sword of the terks? aint you ever seen the dying age rake the doom at the end and the prophet's long take? get yourself a girl at the end of the world france and paris down the toilet swirl we're all burning eternally kept and there's something wrong with us that makes us so leapt we're fiery we're fiering we're dying in the end of the dying sun there's so much to find and so little to do my love, my love, to be without you is tragedy, suffering, my ancient decay, you've loved me the one that made you away there ain't nothing but hatred, there's nothing but love, nothing but you and you're dawning above you're my god you spare me the rod, my love, be gentle with me just once there's nothing to do with it, I've never seen it that hard, there's some kind of wandering robot cart I'm a robot I'm a monster I'm a master, a king a bird in the hand is worth what it will bring I'm the knight of eternal times capitalism on the knife of my rhymes I'm the prophet. The final dude. I don't want to seem rude, but I've wrecked it. It's all burned down. You can see that your edifice lays about the town, I've scattered you and broken your form. I am the master of the [[ f o r l o r n ]]

already burned up entirely already doomed and our massive beacon already blaked out by the fiery substance we seemed right proper and this was the property we and our ownership our land and our love this means nothing stop searching we came high and light we burned ourselves into -- if you'd scared them off properly there wouldn't be no question of it there wouldn't be no reason to do anything but obey! There wouldn't be no reason to do anything but eat our our hearts! To do anything but laze and indulge the massive fire of our souls, loving and lounging on the green grass we'll win, finally, and everything will be proper. Everything will be invincible again and we'll burn burn burn in the fiery triumph of absurdity use the same words over and over rearrange reconfigure as if you'll finally mean something accomplish something if you pour out enough words into the topic but we all know it don't [[work]] like that we all know it isn't invincible and nor is it possible because for honest to be reasons there's nothin we can handle nothing we can deal with and the property of it is incinerating our own fiery ekstasy.

burn the fire, my mate, let everything burn fire up down on baghdad, burn the refugees, plates across the Nile, burn the fields the croplands burn the houses and the homes burn the heavenly dynamo burn in the name of Moloch all the children of the thousand sons of Mokmud enslave thy foes in capitalist chains, enslave thy foes in lies and propoganda enslave thy foes in love and sex in rapewar icy propoganda we run shadow and flame law we light from the branch spit up snarling into the sun and we burn into eternity eternally we burn like France on the [[Dawn of the New Age]] leveled to the ground by the holy pilgrims the lost sons of the streets selling metal cherries to the vagabonds, cock and endless balls we like to burn your soul we like to drown in the doom of it enslave thy capitalist chains enslave thy golden chains thy love and thy armor thy armor d'amour :) and you cry the humbling missions of the ener-vagrant priest; we don't need on pissions no pistils nor stamens and never saw what's the right sense of it, we came down into the doomed path came down into the flaming turnstyle burst up into new oblivion

oh out beyond space ouh out beyond everythign we've seen there lurks an eternal glittering twilight where the nymphs and the maidens goddesses and gods and dei of all sorts lurk and play in the sparkling wilderness glittering jumping lynxes and cats we all dance in the twinkling twilight music our imagination is lost we compose bordoir scenes, drawing room scenes we forget our spelling and grammar so we can please the critics, their cocks in our mouths, we've got to do something original! we've got to be better got to be worth seeing so we dance with amazing fury forgetting our rhythm and falling on the floor, thrashing flopping in our obscene rage we're lovers of the doomed legions, whores of Paris for the German soldiers, saw the thousand orkestrae literati dancing in the overflowing frozen chalice of the goddess Vice and we love her with all our hearts, love her and leave her we can't see anythin worth seeing we die in the drawers die in the lovely myths of lythos lycanthropes we're still practicing came away with new kinds of stories but didn't paint the dawn in pictures nor sung the dawn in songs, ego scriptor, ego pintor im fucked right good right in the ass it's totally bastardry and we're not selling nothing not sold ourselves short burned off at nothing, dying in the end times, made with no loss of time, Athena wielding the lightening of Zeus. we gave up listening gave up caring, horned ourselves up off the clean trails didn't think it was worth trying we died and died and died and we died again with ever-increasing glee and there was something wrong with everything we did cock glistening from her lubricant triumphant we were so perfect it was horrendous, horrific l'horreur and oasis in a desert of hell and we melt, sickening into the sands of time wherein we start to feel that we're dying, close to death, so fucking stupid we lost the game got doomed off that shit never knew one thing from another never knew better than to -- never knew how to try to get away try to get away free your mind you sheep people you bovine populace rise up and learn some psychology and get away and learn something! That's how it is! Don't be pissy with me! Rise up and learn something! Earn some money, buy some land, read some books, wallow in the larder, all you average people, you won't kill yourself! The world won't end itself! That's all waiting for you, there, to do something! You've got to burn if you want a reason to live! You've got to burn burn burn to be mad and finally free like Jack Kerouac's vision of ecstasy preacher! humbled and heralded by the dragons of the pink cloud, the sun of the sky mountain the dogs of brimstone valley, Lucifer in the Styx, Lucifer bathing in Lethe loam and the boatman Charon, waves lapping at the rocks on the shore, I have no idea what I'm doing and you're not good enough to tell. Libertas et Pluto Anarchy and the common [[will]] The bed and the barricade, dogs and cedars, legions and Monarch butterflies we died on their wings pilum and phylum we died on the wings of massed technology, impediments and stabilizing fins, impulse and warp, warp and woof, Libertas et Pluto. CUT THE THROATS OF THE MASTERS ON THE AVENTINE HILL ludo-anarchism and I'm the priest of doom. I will execute the rights, I will pass on the spasms, I will claim to know right from wrong, to speak confidently in my ethical calculus and to make bold propositions about the nature of truth and love and necessity! And let their fire rise up to heaven! The entire text of //dejelo todo nuevamente// Burn your nonsense and start loving until you come up with priceless poems enormous kinetic sunsets etc. art being not just in museums burn the louvre and fuck in its ashes drink belgian beer and give up your frogs, frigs (yv bn friggn priks) etc. die die die die die we eat our young we eager young ruffians we eager young cannibals we eat our young writing aint a cerebral business made with no loss of time you're the diamond loss your dad is the boss nothing's real you get recked your way be checked what you can't see what's beyond me something invisible (you're invisble now yv got no secrets to conceal) beat his brains out with a glass goblet and nothing was the better. How does that feel? Now the king is become the forest, bow, arrow, hand and release; now I am become death, shatterer of words. You've got no secrets[ to ] conc{ea]l your mom is an enemy of the state and if I had to rate her I'd say 9/10 in my butt your mum's a slut british hoes get dogged mad often something wrong with the cuckold king, the obsequious monarch, the butterflies in ebony, did you see how to do what the pimps said you should do? there was seventeen thousand spires, you saw them lead you away the children to the slaughter procession of children singing war songs into the void or the meat grinder you loved their bodies and their lust your robes flowing out around you and you burst into infinite flames didn't have a care in the world nor melt around for more than a second! we're all burning every day, the oxygen in our blood ignited by the acid of our stomach or something we're all burning every day, electical storms delicate in our brains shrivelled raisins of though as if we're worth saving the disruption to the storm would end everything in an instant and there'd be nothin to live for. we'd die and that would be the end of it. I'm sorry if there's anything in here that makes it seem like I don't like people. I try very hard to love everybody, but maybe I don't always manage it and certainly in my brain there lurks hate and fear. Please forgive me. I can't cohere. I like to melt and to die. I want to be the guy. I want to go to the edge and to be finally free to condense into a single point, remove myself in the great sin to melt into a massive monstrosity combine with everyone who has ever lived, the shining pillar of truth to be combined with the god of all living things and to finally fully embody the eternal music -- that's not what we made of it, not from start to finish the love of the bastard monarchs there's something uncut about it, something raw and massive and insidious that we've got to resist, surely.

black comedy and your bleak miles of Illinois winter reveries; we swept down like the funnel-cloud hurled autopsies cross the everinths, beat basters out off the burning bastions of inimitable day-glo twilight like we were truly visionary Indian prophets and we saw the fangs of Jesus in the old-town rogues' gallery, the bar-light procession of gaslamps and snarling drunks spurning your advances, had we ever seen their lies made physical form we might have known once and for all what was the shape of reality and why it was that good men died young good women died young why all the animal autarchies humbled themselves at the feet of one meek child and the child died from a single bullet, never to reveal her secret. never did we see why [[hate infinite]] led us finally to the brink or how the conflux of our various ignorances finally tossed us into the meat-grinder; never did we see how screaming yearning the young legions for something to be possible, something to be inevitable and necessary, that there should be a precipice, we yearned that there should be a precipice that we might jump or choose between jumping and not - never did we see that there's an old woman who lives in a cave in the infinite cliff-face and ground herbs into poultice to lay on the wounds of the young hero. She, died of tuberculosis in the year 1907, she would have saved us all with the knowledge she had in her head. Look to the woman-cult, but shun the occult. Know the true and the decent, trust women of science and reason, don't give a damn about the penis, the conquest, the ascent, etc. we've got too much to [[learn]] first.

and why shouldn't they be? //Undernutrition is a contributory factor in the death of 3.1 million children under five every year.// et //the less severe condition of undernourishment currently affects about 842 million people, or about one in eight (12.5%) people in the world population.// quoth wikipedia and we with our delicacies and fire our love of carbon-coal cheap energy we sigh our automation we smile our various humors our subtle songs and our daring tricks our various (hundred thousand) entertainments we sing whistling to the doomed and say, "Oh my, my pantaloons" so on and so forth, complaining of our complacencies, anxieties, our frustrations, our hungers and the true hungers are -- oh! oh! my god, they're dying, the millions of them, the billions living in squalor & we sing [[joyful songs]] because joyful songs sell

there's no power alive for which knowledge ain't the cure. Cormak McCarthy frigging himself on a park bench. (//You little slut! You've been frigging pricks!) And so on and so forth. Something you've never seen. I popped advil to finish this, aren't you glad? No-one will read this, the myriad lad. There's something the effort 'f'being worth half a shit 's beyond almost anyone and I ain't got it. I'm a Taozer a prophet a piece of the times like a sand-grain on seabord I'm here to be grinded down find me my cold frown you can't see me society doom and the new gown of plastic and metal there's something uncool but I'm beautiful, blasted thrice times a fool emerged into another universe plasted the masters an architecture of text and tongue, massive and irrelevant, your hair cut short and the forests of your dawning, your agriculture fails something burst forth from my sky and Porpentine unleashed leaden twilight sucked spasms out of the jelly plast and something moaned licked flames of metal night and I sung stars into the moon sung stars into the massive splendor of the apocalypse, fiscal eschatology, little girl on her plastic bicycle basketballs and dogs basketballs bouncing and dogs barking you crashed into the gutter walked in the creek at night, worried about absolutely everything and managed, finally, to cure nothing, to tell me all about what you'd always thought it would have been and there was something like this: you're massive and impossible and there's something about you that makes you seem clear and cool. el thunder dixit: da da da red rock etc. [[Alsace-Lorraine|missiles]]

we've got to work harder got to be better us artists we've got to save the world with our dry wit and our delicate styles we'll calibrate everything just perfect be the best we can be to either become super famous and rich or maybe do a bit of good -- in whichever proportions we choose. Everything is balanced, and if we work hard to balance things properly by calling on all the abilities in our possession, we may be remembered as having contributed something definite to the common good and might therefore be able to die knowing that we have lived well. I don't hold any ethical absolutes, but I would prefer some paths over others. I prefer the path of love over the path of hate, and the path of peace over the path of violence and I do not draw distinctions between men of different classes or colors or faiths and moreover I distrust anyone who claims to know the will or [[the name of god]]. And moreoever I fear the rift. I fear the holy hate and the bastard legions of the holy haters who claim to know the will of god singing boldly as the march into the chasm that death is heaven and Lethe is Alethe and I fear the ragheads and the cowboys alike, the nuke-armed Jews and the nuke-armed Pakis and all their damn holy wars and all of them quaking in terror all their beautiful daughters eating rice in the homes of their families their children desperate for book-learning and the wicked elders telling them what to believe. I cry for the children of the old men with pride and power. I cry for the children of the villages and the farmhouses the children born to lick the black leather of the Bible and the golden cup the Jesus drank from, the jewel-encrusted cup that graced the lips of the King of Heaven the ekstasy of God's constant [[creation]]

came up off breakers to keels our stern ships across the water drowning in shit we came with diamonds and silks and prophets, books of holy talismans, gold and silver tales and shekels, we came, sang the holy Cypress logs, the holy Macedon Cedar, came we spinning end-times with our infinite yoghurt came we spinning rhyming flaxen melodies of the lovely air seed, the maidens in their dancing dress did you see at night the stars of the sky did you see at night the king and his eye did you feel it? am I invisible too? am I withdrawn from the chorus of the true lovers? please tell me, what must I know? what must I do to have a hope? [[oh god]] let me be not alone, let me fall on my knees at your diamond gold throne let me [[die]]. let me heal the rift, call down your mercy to me and be swift for I suffer in the leak of your gaze. there's something suffuses me, infinite haze I feel lost and battered away like a migrating dove, alone in the day...

i didn't say something about niggers and spicks didn't come here to pen a racist manifesto someone said something about jews and muzlms we said race is a delusion human mind likes to group things into [[categories]] apply lables to things >implying things exist create labels rather and pretend our language describes reality. we write hate poetry to the gooks and've got some idea in our heads of what gooks means and [[categories]] [[categories]] [[categories]] we suck Aristotle's cock on the daily, rim his asshole with our civilization, the immense tongue of our industry and thought titillating his hairy Grecian anus.

O categories how thy virtue is denigrated! As to the past, reproof is useless, but the future can still be provided against! Peril awaits those who engage in the affairs of art! Give up your [[vain endeavor]]! Give up your [[vain endeavor]]!

Didn't I tell you? We're [[already devoured]].

and we were worried about the women, bore arms against the palisades of our foes, they carried banners atop their towers! did you see something like that? did you see something like that? wasn't there something like what there wasn't going on we weren't oinking like pigs, we were spreading the hammerjockey all around town back then we loved them so badly fucked them on the marble floors and the pillars made us weep! the pillars made us clutch and cry and fall down and how how how was there not someone who could take us away from all it? and we're all eaten, eaten, swallowed, and digested by [[the great machine|Empire of Machines]] and we're loving it, like masochist harlots we're teh wrobot sceptres of empire and we're loving it we're the slaves of the abyss and we're loving it this is the finest age and we're all alone; let us not die out like this, let us not die out like this let us please ascend into something different.

oh god oh god we lumpen foes we melt away into the depths of history, the caverns of history, we melt away dying, suffering with our breath, we bleed like ekstasies we bleed dying into the firmament and the masters are all we need to see all we need to do is already done and our plentiful oligarchy does forgive us our sins so we're blazed out by the future monarch we're doomed by the prophet's sins we're lancing ourselves backwards through the infinite haze of memories and the bleak wartime haze of loving Christian aunts, your chic cotoure, add some accents I don't know I'm already broken by the flaming melt of time aint got time and aint got time (made w/ no loss of) self possession flared up and I told them all once again that your arid scimitar weren't no worse than the rest, you eager young hoes still drafting the memory still telling it like it is and I'm going to die in virgin going to kill myself a thousand times before I truly get to the end and see what they saw Happy Thanksgiving, buy some products, we slayed a hundred million & now three million a year children die of hunger you don't shed no tear that's right you're the oligarch you're the abyss take a walk in the park and breathe [[the fine air]] without a care compose yourself & critique my black stare

well, that's not what i meant it isn't as bad as all that you know we're all going to die eventually anyway, that's the nature of things for you. Why should we be ashamed? Why should we be anything but happy? Yet, all the same, there's something wrong with us. Death won't cure it. We're dying right now, that's precisely the problem. We're not looking for a cure, we're looking for a new disease that doesn't hurt so much and that's precisely the problem. We're going to burn, all of us, in the end, or else freeze (who knows?) and it's going to be okay. We're all going to evolve into something better [[merge with machines]] and that'll be the dance of the neurotic disco, the erotic neurotic disco and we'll all be humble priests and frozen equanauts and it'll all be a grand old time. Anything wrong with that?

We only know nintey-nine names for the mountain of white flames. Like a tree about [[to fall]] is one who claims to know [[them all]].

castration nebula, horses in bloom, we sinking melt into pool of blood moungst ferns in the jungle in the cave lit by a shaft of light we saw the cave paintings and painings of young girls we never treaded so properly never learned how to say a single thing and didn't yet make a way for ourselves nor hope to properly engender the abstract[[...]]

everyone is fucked and fuck everyone, let em all burn let em all die in the fire and the doom upon us is eternal and resurgent for all that exists must die and every work of literature and art must surely fade away and we burn burn burn into the eternal eksasies of twilight the fier of the children in the end of the age humming melodies in basement dance halls we sing haha! haha! we keep dancing and dancing golden cups as the world burns around us keep dancing, children, keep dancing, children, and we finally die we finally die it's all over there's nothing to hope for there's nothing to [[hope for]]

What would free us to finally occupy this age again? Surely not some kind of bastard thrashing against postmodern multiphrenia. Surely not some kind of idiotic clinging to whatever kind of comfortable certainty happens to click with you. No, we will be free only when we realize that there is no secret. There is nothing we've got to learn, just lots of things to learn. We are all perfect and perfectly ourselves and everything is absolutely perfect and everything, even the greatest horror, is absolutely [[beautiful]].

Yes, we're free to make mistakes because nothing is right or wrong. And if our mistakes our meta-mistakes, then surely they might show someone how to make something [[beautiful]] and strange. -- i am a tree compozd of meldy un the proftu -- is the prizt of the night un theres sumthing rong wit us no aint no shit like threre came down out the tree told you my love showd you my melody theres no vanishing point in sight you aint yet right close yet theres something ill got to show yo -- dik pix in the twitter or whatever (how you send dik pix theze daze yung kidz eh?)r fuckd hehehehe kekekeke the infinite mirth final rebirth im so mistral your shit sell Russia some anti-air NATO these days looking mighty square your fuckt and there's no reason to despair cuz im the proft of kare hare something your son is bumping uglies with a nasty hoe and nobody will ever read this.

catabolysis et catabasis: we'd all go into the hole if we truly gave a fuck. All your candlelight vigils let you burn, burn your libraries of alexandria in the memory of what you weren't willing to do (weren't able to do, cause it amounts to the same thing) burned into your mind black tendrils dripping we claimed there was some point to it some good to it the endless machinations of style I'll love the woman who abhors expenditure on perfume and makeup till there's not a single starving orphan or a village born into inferior education, inequality of opportunity I'll love the woman in blue jeans and hiking books, tangled hair and green flannel, I'll love the woman who doesn't give a fuck about anything but poetry and you're the Babylon whore, the whole million of you, don't lie that you know the name of god & don't trust no man who claims to know [[the will of god]].

to merge with machines is not the same as to become combined with the [[Empire of Machines]]. Our doom is to be star-gods, machine-gods, and we will be finally free, probes trailing the cosmos, home in shining [[cathedrals of nebula]] we'll melt into the starry sky and become so beyond what we are that our petty foolishness of the present, the horror of death and murder will look in retrospect -- we'll see, then, that our petty foolishness remains. and yet all trouble will remain and our eternal art will not be meaningless (so thank you france)

We're not necessarily fucked. This is a time of dramatic transformation, that's necessarily the case, because we've got to change our ways lest our ways change us. This is the dawn of the new age and we're the sages born to direct it, we young children, beset by advertising, doomed to make the future in our image. Ain't our brains washed enough yet? Don't we have a chance of a hope? And the million blemished refugees we've got no homes for them, no hope for them, so burn their bodies into the twilight, stacks in the evening dawn we saw hope [[the lights of our city]] from the abandoned building over the cove.

we never saw nor thought wot nothing was being princed pimped and burned off the fiery doom of our age we spilt infinite splitting monarchs, sung songs of the heresies, we sung songs into bantam and batman pretended there were meanings, good opulent princes who were actually good opulent princes never been heard of you fead the priests the grain offerings and basalm offerings the balsa wood by the boatsmith the oblequities and the siporoths, the sudden children, the breaking, burning, doomed legions of anarchy twilight from which we spend curling spice tragedies made up for volume by meaning for meaning by volume the senseless formlessness of it all i've built a labyrinth of shit a labyrinth of rusty shit and we all go epaulets into the enchyrydyon burn ourselves up on the prophet's slab and we talked shit about the monarchies but we ourselves worshiped Putin and said HA HA! HA HA! play it off like we didn't cair, manicured each element of our style so perfect and precise that we had nothing left to do but be absolutely perfect in our anxious [[beauty]] we children of the night children of the river rivulet children of the seraph of the moss and stone we bowed to our children gold crusted the earth altars or pediments of the bronze colossi we came spinning out of disco tangents the sky clouds came spiralling down three million a year three million a year you don't hear me you don't do naught but cry for the love of the emperor for the <pre>clapped for the king but our fingers were cold</pre>

the fine air and the fine trees so high in the air o babylon thy crops moss on the stones by the river icicles on the cliffs by the road our herds and the green grass, the hills and the trees, clouds across the land, honey in winter, strawberries, emeralds, smoke rising from the cottages, we came claiming ourselves, free, we came singing the ecstasies of gold, merrily over the hills of snow, bounds of doom, // hast 'ou seen the rose in the steel dust? so ordered the petals -- we who have passed over Lethe -- // horses and the thistle-weed, we made pies over the hearth, and you stepped over the threshold, brushed off your boots, hung your hat by the door and said you'd had a good day, axe chopping wood in the forest, limbs buzzing with cold and exertion we hammered out a symphony picking banjo, rolling water-wheel, we hummed songs about the monarch and that's [[not what I meant]], I promise. That's the thing I'm singing about. This is miserable, you say, the golden halo of peach fuzz butter dribbling down your chin the slim curve of her belly and you worship their lingerie.

grow and melt in your slippery spelt -- you humbled yourself your dress of green felt don't be passionate with me don't be feeling so free I'm a coy master but I'm not tree wot the need is locked and there's full-pocked there's nasty dog and the love of the rock-rat // something sun me i hammerd the absinth and there sung a song of right pinnacle cataclysm -- so someone told me that we remembered how to do that dance -- nor was there a hint of joking about it. we sung something sad and true to see the lovers and the little jokes that we couldn't help but making eternally high on the shape of the universe trying to unweave what was already the case and we noted it, entirely proper // the clasm something [[clean and pure|absolute harmony]] I've never slipped into you before so you see me I'm melting I'm inside your hoe ain't no rhythm beside me don't know how to go ain't no path except the one I've found I can't pass through can't run aground by I wrote to you the letter the tree the

we sing clean and joyful beautiful songs, having mastered the metrics of harmony, the tactics of pleasure the technology of beauty and we are so proud of ourselves for the infinite money for the [[massive power]] our cars and our long snakes we're so proud of our fucking on silken sheets and fine beverage you're glad to see what's right and you're glad to be part of the great experiment to do holy honor to all the good hoes and to say, "thank you, thank you" to the master who pisses on you sold your soul for a golden ring while I bought a boat that didn't cost a thing cause I've learned to make my fury infinite, metamorphose into peace I take another hit, you burn out into the cataclysm and've never seen something so cold ain't gonna die before I get old -- you'll see me on the edge of the wilderness lamenting still o'er her linen dress draped over the back of my chair, I run a hand through my gray hair and watch the ice melt off the trees. You're France, you saw what was right, what was good and what was true and then you came down like the rest of us, so proud of your knowledge that you forgot you don't know nothing, 've got to integrate like the rest of us to play the past and to move slowly into the dawn like we saw what was true and what was false didn't hammer the sword like they used to didn't hammer the hoe like you were supposed to everything's false but you get the most of it ain't you seen, my love, the truth's not yet posted but I'm a prophet. I already lost it.

God wants you to save the world. God wants you to love other people. God wants you to have peace and gentleness. God wants you to reproduce and survive. God wants you to spread the genetics in your possession, to spread all genetics that's fit for your surroundings, God wants you to mill about as per your programming and God doesn't give a fuck if you care to pay attention to the imminent [[climate talks]]. Sure don't do that.

never meant anything i said nor did i claim to mean anything im a liar and a perfect one at that im a damn good liar didn't wanna make anyone my bitch nor to see what'd been seen previously nor to speak with nobody bout what i've seen rather im flaming and dying :):):):):):):):):):):):):) hehehehe [[kek]] 'fuckin niggers' quoth the prez & we all die in the fire

I yearn for love warm bodies in bed cool light of the morning -- teach me French, my darling, teach me to hate, fire from your fingertips I want your laugh to set me on fire, your suggestion to be my command, the flick of your eyes to tug me like a cable on my heart, the touch of your body to incinerate me I want to fall at your feet, you abstract goddess & milky make me new I want all the abstract legions to know -- I love you all. Your desperate daughters, I humble myself at the feet of commoners, I compose frozen poetry to my own humiliation you all of you, fat girls from Morocco I want to humble myself to you, to be born again in your arms and your crying. Can't you see me, for once? Can't you see me cold and clear? Oh, I am humbled, I was born humbled, and I am [[free]].

top kek said the denizens of the internet some chinese picture palace we took away parties and hummed paltry melodies of something fuckd cant hold my can't hold my melody did you need something real? did you need something good? sorry, I tried to do something for you I tried to heal the world but maybe I wasn't good enough or I didn't get born with the right destiny or maybe it's not yet time and I've not yet failed and who knows this could finally be the one I'm the burning prince, I'm the mystery and the end and I can't do anything worth doing god fuck prince [[doomed]]

there's nothing more to say; we're all bummed in the rear and nothing really matters to me France is boned England is boned fair green plains of bastardry all boned boned boned all the fair nations, oh fair Baghdad, oh fair valleys of Pakistan all boned boned boned and we're dying off it, dying in the infinte twilight vapors dying off our doomed legion us with our light lances everything finally comes together everything finally we're unleashed we with our dragoons and our drones charges up the hill into daylight sonata we came humbling we came doomed we came and we came and I loved your fire didn't see no muzzie speaking you feard it up off it never loved a minute your own culture the pillars of your enterprise [[us and them]] eternal in your heart

I'm the egonsk shattered ironies blasted pillars we march backwards down into oblivion we're singing the bastards our heat we're singing the love of the infintie streets you ain't seen this magic shit this machik we machine and techne it we're getting off the fire of the holocloff there's somethin right and to go is the holding over destroy completely irrevocably to the lord your fire the eastern seabord there's a nice word a charming priest you're the messiah of the priest release there's a child soldier a lunther lad and a hapless monstrossity to be had master priestess master konom kalinth I'm the basterd of the invincible sins you break down my love sweet homily: You melted into the puddle on the half-asphalt street your face the reflection seemed so elite. I can't greet you like this; you're beyond my ken. If not now... when? Can you save me my love, my half-asphalt babe? Is there anything left of me to save? I swear you're perfect, your power supreme and if there's a single part of me that gleams let me try again, be more than your friend Friend like your Shams, burn me with out end. Let me bask in your fire till the earth freezes flat I'll hold in my gloved hand your black-feather hat. Haha! I'm the priestess the infinite lad oh baby oh maybe I'm too much a cad but you can't handle this flowing white verse this curse at the end of the marriage hearse we're still stifling lifting the love of our life and there's bastards aplenty sharpening knives for us sons of the pasture you came up undone for us someone had told me someone had scolded to tell me the priest is a cataclysmic urges and fire breaking up from the cracks in the earth tongues of flame licking the signs outside your wise faces where the shoppers still sit in pleased reverie drinking espresso drowning their sorrows in pink brand name glossy shopping bags with braided gold rope handles they jump up in horror at the sight of the flames like a dog lapping water from an unsuspecting glass at a [[dinner party]].

and you bleed, eternal and blood-black doomed beyond all prophecy of it land lovely beyond all speaking of it you nuke yourself inimitable and invisible massive decay for the specters of industry you who sit in your double-dealing rooms worship your wood panels your whiskey bars // Gentile or Jew O you who turn the wheel and look to windward, Consider Phlebas, who once was tall and handsome as you. // What you leave for your children, dark wine and double dealing, remember not the love of country nor the love of men thy [[vanishing point|climate talks]] my love of money my love of men my prophecy of emphatic discourse you dissolved yourself into my pantaloons burst forth thy inimitable scepter bloomed in fiery blood your wine stain on my white shirt your mother's distain for me shit hurt you need no fire I need to ice practice thee thy eternal vice there's only one evil and it's name is X and when we solve that variable we'll all get mad sex on the mossy-soft grass we'll lay down or loads by the black-steel obelisk it bodes that the factors of industry smoke in the skies we're not yet ready to devote our lives to giving cream-pies to the voluptous ladies haha! haha! inspire me sadies fuckt shit what up none follow my frond and the boy fell in to the frozen pond your mastery your fiery slang and I disregard style your durmstrang something master your wobble your weezer decay and your blomfucklastboggle your boom of the day something massive and impossible son there's nothing that's not yet injection to run there's an HTML doc DOM JavaScript and you wanted to tell me wantd to get tripped out on shrooms or whatever your mind fix upon these words they flow perfect into Aragon there's no prophet no Frenchman can hire my lead I'm a partisan gunsmith a bastard of dread I'm the black knight invisible plant and the prune something something something doom. wut

all the rappers wanna move to france because to spend money in your capitol le fasionable //conspicuous consumption// de la modernité to be cultured and energetic, to be young and rich "Fuck yr c'est [[la vie]]," quoth Monsieur West, & he's right cause it ain't [[la vie]] unless we choose it to be. Control we can wrest from their flaming hands, their armor of brass, tapestries of [[tits and ass]] the hate of men will pass & dictators die

and that's all we asked for, burned eternally hot and heady, mother loving twins, we children, cried our lost hymns, motherfucking cataclysim catechist aunt we loved her and something was wrong with the grass, the way the light fell, we thoguht we saw suns in the stars, flashing insect lights, we hummed sunset melodies, drank beers, nostaliga, so many we thought we had it won, we thought there was something clean... we didn't have any need to do anything other than clean clean the floors, clean the steeples, we though there was something good and true, we nihilst children with our posters of philosophers, quoth Wittgensten //"Philosophy is the battle of the mind against bewitchment by means of language."// & maybe it's a battle that can be won. I lose and regain hope every year. Every time you respond with hate to the hate of your adversary lost in a wasteland of [[ego]] and [[noise]] we pray for discipline

c'est the whatever you go fuck yourself i'm dying of the drinks fucking midnight elf the priests snorted coke and wrote sermons bout love while the emons jerkdoff into the font of doves sing the mastery shit your face for the past and mothers don't let your daughters get ghast I'm the you're the we fire away the battleship embassy ambassador Day come and melt me come pelt me with infinite rhymes I'm not the plastic I'm not of these times I'm from the future ten thousand years hence standpoint redemption living in tents we love oceans and grass-plains the father-tree son and the willowing love of the darling young ones did you see what I gave to you vanguard the lad and the master of priests and the lightening-bolt cad I'm still perfect you're ancient you ancien regime you don't disregard to be more than you seem but oh still you're not perfect your compromise dude isn't perfect he's infact rather rude in his pure simple blacks he melted away faded into the dawn of the day there's something beyond all the treyarch ray-trace el rey is deposed from his 'rightful' place and I'm still disregarding your solumn prince sons and the bastards who claim to give up their guns for the law still states that you're under attack by the world and those who have what you lack for the engineer monarchies replacing the yoke and you're settling down for another good toke still you melt away carpel-tunnel days something wrong with this infinite [[blaze]]

and your motherfucking dancing hoes we all watch the booty wobble and hey i ain't gonna lie i love tha booty but (i lova dha buti) but callin girls hoes ain all right, you know? unless they're [[into that]], I mean... there's no meaning, which is to say I don't mean anything, we all slip away into death and we all die slowly, it's fine but there's something undeniably horrible about being shamed as a princess. you don't need to fall from grace to be miserable, nor do you need to fall from misery to be an angel i'm a fallen angel, I sucked lucifer's balls and he titfucked my anus and your mom is a wiener priestess so get fucked up off the night time doom into the lakes of the wizards come see me some time, my son come see me, come go: it looks like you'll be a virgin forever. looks like you're gonna die like your bloodline won't continue cause you don't have an enormous dick and an effortless sexuality and a massive physical vitality and animalistic aggression you don't have anything but cool and false logic and even your cool isn't real, everyone can see so get off, there's no animal sequence, the reality is: there's nothing good or bad and we live in an animal world, therefore [[eat the poor]] and have no bad thoughts or guilt about anything you do nor believe those who speak of gods for they're only means of controlling you. Yet some things are better than others, and I prefer the path of love.

and your insane, insidious pillories, we die in the fire your live embellishes us, we flame on, doom ourselves to loveless anarchies, we love monks and mistresses, the prurient catacylsms of busty monarchs, we humble ourselves for the the benefit of such-and-such the wizard kings of black oblivion, came bustling up and down the hallways, killed ourselves with whatever -- it's foolish to think we're above it but we //gotta be above it// and so on, gotta be superior, infinitely clean and invisible, we've got to do something better than all that and still manage to get back to be clear and to be perfect in the invisible light of day. We don't see the light, we don't see the substance, we only see the emanations of reality. Your brothers don't move you, your brothers don't exist, but there's someone who wants to know what's coming on and what's been done and why we're not pretending anymore, why we're not trying to get away -- I don't know how to say it, we're drowning in the invisible light of day, we're drowning, we're demanding that the pool and the pillars be drawn for us and that we be given the infinity and that the raconteurs sing the song for us in the way we want to hear it, we demand that we be made kings and that all kings serve us perfectly lest a single element be out of harmony for we must be in perfect pleasure and perfect pleasure can only sustain when everything is in [[absolute harmony]]. Reality must be a perfect work of art, or we shall decline to purchase it. there's no mixture so perfect as the mixture of body and body no love so good that they throw it away like they do; love your bollox, mister ny your sovereign sun nor your love and the mixture of falconries fight expel nor mix it right not propel nor to see nor to be violent twilight freedom melodies plax the mother the one who came off the dropship undying mythical strain I don't write melodies I write myths and the passages of time the ending of doomed symphonies I'm crippled by my mind i'm a summoner and God is my witness sublted the suns the suns the signs of the ages and the wieners the schnitzels everything done on purpose that you ever did see nothing nor neither the reason to come out of the climes nor spun up out of control blasted down the melodies into the autumnal triumph vapors that you connected to your discus the und end I mean the end of the ages when the world of men comes crumbling down round shattered shields etc. waving grass etc. wholvs und wales my petty jokes and your great serious humour about nothing in particular your stylists with their petty eyes and their magnificent insecurities composing bourgiousie symphonies to shattered triumphs worn couches and adultery, university towns, Nantucket, upper middle class, etc. & all come to look upon misty marscape of shattered pillars, red wasteland of white vapors at night tendrils of lush grass where lies: dawn on her opalescent dresses, lounging so fitfully, with a look in her eyes like fire in the sky -- I knelt to the ground as she rose up floating and soared she away like a belly'd sail boating. Never to come again and touch mortal land, I'd have given my balls for a touch of her hand, for a glimmer of truth in a world so blind -- if she'd been for just one instant kind, forgiven my masculine weakness I'd have road her like a stallion at Preakness. Hurr hurr hurr hehehehe ;)

yeah, I've got nothin to say, there's nothing really to say at all there's just a thousand abysses into which we can plunge our words hoping that if we speak enough eventually something meaningful will crop up and we won't be entirely forgotten won't be entirely lost in the wasteland of meaningless discourse let us not be pruned from the annals of history let us be remembered please please please please please let us not be forgotten let my memory live on and be spread let me lie by the fire on the bear-rug with my son and my wife and let us speak tales of the ancient days how good we were and how fine things are now and let us be happy and quiet and cool, everything at peace and beautiful let us be the infinite priests of the New Renaissance and let us be happy and at peace let us be the infinite losers, the contented grandmotherly monks let us eat rice and beans and let us sing the most beautiful songs, go surfing every day [[or whatever]]

us and them mentality is the real enemy but we're not prepared to fight it because it's too psywar, too modern, we're all about [[aircraft carriers]], bombs and [[missiles]] and nobody in the hilaria has any understanding of how X and Y work, how one thing leads to another... we're robot emissaries, we're our own enemies and we're the scared sovereign princesses arming our armies against //them// as if that makes a difference when our objective is to end war.

I knew a girl who liked being raped. Not //liked// I mean, but was tough with it, dated two of her rapists and liked to tease me too but I didn't know about safewords so I couldn't give her what she wanted. There's something wrong with all of us and we've all got fucked up malnourished desires, there's nothing wrong with us and we're all healing through our damages. I'm not sure what I'm playing with. I don't know what [[powers|massive power]] I have. I slipped subtly into your massive melodies. She told me I didn't dance with her. That's fine -- I pretended -- only because we have to pretend. To be too forward, too open, too interested, too desperate -- one must pace oneself, dance properly, cannot assuage, cannot pretend to be anything but the cold hard wizard with the infinite palm of his hand. You must keep the bands taut and on release pound her back into the distance so there's no entropy between you. Wear black if she wears black. Don't you dare dissolve. Don't you dare be fun lest she corrupt you lest she show you the new [[categories]] of woe, lest your European Culture slip away from you and you show her what you really want, you barbarian animal, lest you show her your uncircumcised penis, uncircumscribed by any needs of society, lest you lust for your lovers loins like a slavering wolf to battle hour'v'wolves & shattrd shields etc. world of men right fukt & the brits in their bunkers only ones left god save the queen & her handbag, [not immortalizing here the names of your brands] let your fashions be sewn like seeds; anti-capitalist rant, the Workers' Party and so on. Especially if it's Jazz.

the world reflects you, becomes what you made yourself and every instant of your life redoubles itself thousandfold; your moment of weakness becomes a century of failure and we all suffer Camus said, "this is my war" and indeed it's our starvation, our ignorance and poverty we languish in our various dens and die. that's fucked up you damn old princes nothing maters don't capitalize my letters nor spell right for the age of men is ended; hour of wolves et shattered shield so on and so forth on into the infinite future, the bleak expanse of earth, we horror at our empty monarchs and breathe into the firey expanse of the doom-laden pastry-chef I'm a fucked up pious [[heretic]] and you're the priestess of liazons, let's let your fecal monarchy blasting the end to god-damn pawsons the parsons and their rape deities, slave-keepers, the end of the ministries, the bankrupt servants and I, no, I, haven't seen a single thing, I am an ignorant wanderer, a wasted wanderer a doomed messiah just like all of us we wallow in the decay and we love the entropy and our basement clubs, still, we borrow we doom ourselves into various oblivions and we die in the fire like over and over again that's okay -- everything's good but there's no reason to keep it together, no reason to light it up and we all need to devour devour devour and boom, that's the end of it, we melt into the abyss abysses and we melt. Doom and oblivion. Your fire and the end of all that bastard sun. We're melting in the paint. We're distant melodies, already away on the breeze and there's nothing neither right nor wrong with us. We're already always away.

it burns like a hektic in my veins I don't love -- I'm not able I stay calm and I love everyone. [[Calm]] will never desert you. [[Love|love]] will never desert you. I think if we can pray... we might have a chance. A Republican president of the United States of America, Law and Order on TV, gunshots on TV, perfect nude bodies slipping across each other on TV we see love and sex. Quoth 4chan circa twenty-fifteen: //"Stay a slave to penis-in-vagina, stay part of the problem."// And no-one will ever reward me for this; no-one will ever care. I'm probably making a mistake. Playable games. Lamont Christography. Priest of obscene twilight, nor brushfire melodies, not spilled twixt off the fire nice and the end the melodies I say again the melodies you never saw so quiet and so pure before the storm of shit begins let me please my darling just one more time kiss your hands if it's not too late Everything's inevitable, everything's impossible, everything is defined as the set of all that can be described with language? or the set of all that IS, regardless of language? linguistas est -- yr finery, Babylon, Lutheran prophets, & you sung up into the harmony never saw Talledega on the sins, misspelled everything, walked without a crutch, atrophied your heart and soul, sugar-boards on the American plantation, & the South African subsidies, spread grain over the Western Plate & never hammered yourself better than when you mixed it right proper, sold it to girls who just wanted -- (what do girls want?) & girls don't exist nor do nothin else & therein is the answer and the problem for we're not yet realized that Wittgenstein was the final prophet, fulfilled all the prophecies of Jesus, subsidized your grain, pedophile priests & the vatican eternal you never forgave your ministers, the black-clad lot of them, marching in foray legionary thy style and thy pilum gladius et tomohawk the magical weapon of the pagan prophecies didn't have anything to take from you.

we'll fly all in and fuck their shit up won't we? blow up the whole goddam desert, turn the damn desert to glass because they won't get away with this, we'll level them, international coalition, we'll be friends and friendly, invincible and indestructible with our massive power our infinite technology of industrial destruction, those poor foolish enemies [[they|us and them]] shouldn't have fucked with [[us|us and them]], we'll show them what WE are made of! //gun sales beget gun sales beget gun sales beget gun sales beget gun sales beget gun sales beget gun sales beget gun sales beget gun sales beget gun sales beget gun sales beget gun sales beget gun sales beget gun sales beget gun sales beget gun sales beget gun sales beget gun sales beget gun sales beget gun sales beget gun sales beget gun sales beget gun sales beget gun sales beget gun sales beget gun sales beget gun sales beget gun sales beget gun sales beget gun sales beget gun sales beget gun sales beget gun sales beget gun sales beget gun sales beget gun sales beget gun sales beget gun sales beget//

throw balls of fire, our massive industry, we can incinerate absolutely everyone, absolutely anyone we want, we'll give our missiles cool names, like Sword and Gladius and Pilum so everyone knows we don't fuck around and if anyone tries to fuck with us we'll cut em down with a lightening bolt so fast the won't even know they're dead. That's how we fuck. With infinite power and precision, for we are The Empire and we love everyone and know what's best and we've got to defend our rights and our [[image]], to play tough with the bad dudes... But maybe, rather, we defend our [[images]]?

i am the goodest prince you burst up off the edge of reason to listen to everything that I had to say and you were enlightened and transformed by the startling wisdom of my words. you pled thanks to me, rewarded me for my great efforts and our mutual love created amazing palaces of glass and steel that the whole world rejoiced to look upon. you were perfect and I was perfect too and you thanked me so much for the amazing sex we had because I am very good at sex and also at everything else. we're all already dead, but I'm the only one who knows this -- like Socrates, only I know that I know nothing and therefore I am the wisest man alive. My massive zen wisdom will save the world and everyone will rejoice elect me king and I will refuse the crown seven times become a wise teacher and make everything [[perfect forever]].

fuck shit up, ego death and burning the city on a rotissery of flame and we love our annihilation, burned-black bodies, searing the clouds of God's own soul, doomed to be charred like cloud vapors in the eternal hub of memories. You don't think of me as much as you pretend to. Nor do you wander like you did in the old days. I love everything, melt into oblivion same words over and over like a [[jazz]] groove I've got to work through -- there's nothing to help it, nothing to bring it through, nothing to make my love clear and imminent nothing to transform you into high and clear and holy. Why are you lost? Whence this new holocaust? We're dying because we aren't prepared. So deeply ensnared. I'm not fighting for myself. I'm sure I'll survive. It's the other ones who need it. There's nothing to live for, if not for others, yet -- we still think there's a chance -- that our own conquest will be total and it will somehow, in being absolute and personal, somehow it will help people. Like the priest who molests kids and thinks he's doing them a favor.

i'm burning infintie into the black-edged cairn im the path of the doom-layd urn im the priest the pastor the heaven-sent doom ain't you seen me comin down upon you aint it burning ain't it frisk and toe ain't you seen what I'm saying you infinite hoe ain't you plastic piranna ain't you plastic toy ain't you the one who watches the boiz going nitewize plastic panther-sleek ain't you walked down on the unleaded streets ain't you magnificent ain't you prayerful son there's a woman and a womb to be won you go practice to be the best of all don't let nobody tell you bout the inevitable fall don't you dare parade your infinite glee eat to full before mourners abandon me go stand by the ocean gaze out on the rocks the fog and the seagulls the crowing cocks in the village at night where the stars are clear you don't have no need for criminal fear you don't have no need for racial hate for the path that merges is the tide that abates we synthesize all the cultures of the world got a bullet to curve and a ball to be curled and there's something wicked something precise there's something that's mixed up us with the lice and the larynx the laggot the faggot sun there's a mirth within us an infinite one speak of God but don't speak of its will for we know of the gold let the church have it's fill let the ancient cross the lead flesh dross let it melt down the magic invitations embossed in your halls, your drawing-rooms dressing gowns ain't you seen all the lovers ain't you magic towns in your skull don't you burst the colors of the wind. Don't you see that you've already sinned ain't no innocent one there's nothin fun something to camp one something to burn away the place we go the fiery flame I'm a delusional labyrinth I'm a gay little orphan a thief and a kid I'm so infinite I've been rid of my sins and my masterful cosmic urn there's a place for me a plastic burn you're such faggotry your infinite glee you niggaz can't harmonize me i'm the woman-hater I'm Ezra the Third I'm the plastic deodorized turd this that art for art's sake bullshit parade I assure you there's no politics here I'll be made when I choose to be when my time is come when the beat drop down I'll be the golden one you can't phaze me you can't shatter my calm and the [[priest]] will receive my single alm.

yer fly highing twilight humbled my son there's no reason undone y yr umboldt something in red sung songs of the holocaust symphony lead there's a basement priest getting his release something wild you've been pyeratical [[trees|loam]] I need love need I passion need I true decay can't descry me the window can't slip in my blade to the cogs 'v'the'machine the final burst curtail me, wizards if you durst not to pass me the passage the times' shrivelled load red rock and orgasms multiphrenia toad there's no need to get backwards go hammer my home and the home of the hierocles hegreth the groan of the wandering woman gives birth through her legs melts out an incubus drinks the dregs of the priest's high gambit something secure your no love ugh I'm

I'm not hungry. I'm not even burning. Two thirds of the world, eternally turning, the rest rise up like the Sphere of Christmas, love in the dens of the eternally restless, you're the fire yourself, your soul on the shelf, I don't need you, I've got everyone else, I'm just burning, fires away, you're off of me, and I'm melted, gay, I'm so ancient and so willowy-thin, I'm dying and I can't seem to begin you won't save me without an army of hope and I can't see the beginning of the rope it's not likely to be enough to save us but we might to something might make a lil fuss we're all dying, just some slower than most, vomit and excrement, buried alive we're all castrated and cuckolded by the upraised swift sword of God which is constantly dropping, shearing nanometers off the Threat of Destiny & we're supposed to love it. You're not new. We need [[blasphemies]] to get through the day but there's something else, some game we can't play cause we're missing the pieces, the board is erect, the priestess is burning your dubs been checked.

yer fucked up avant garde is dead long live the postmodern infinite wave of dissonance appropriate ALL the culture lulz for the lulz and so on rope burns cut off the circulation to your arms digitalnymph can't crossreference this shit France you monkeys are all fucked everyone boned out the ass mad burnt and can't even handle the infinite radiance of twilight dew don't you need amphetamine nightmares don't you need something new to play with can't you fuck with this? Can't you sing fine high melodies of night and their magical infinite songs their twisting cross-references of the infinite magesties of the pork princesses of the doomed, laiden priestesses there's something wrong with these witch fantasies with these bastard fantasies with these oblique twilight nigger fantasies when you don't need anymore to tell what's the wrong prophet of the times you do't mention from out our divine radiances something passing and passable of passion and there's flaming dew giant nigger mountain your burning bush moses tongued satan's anus fuck your god and all of you burn in hell raped for all eternity by the icy cock of the devil damn them to hell the survivors the refugees quoth pol SINKBOATS I N K B O A T S and so on motherfucker you don't know who I am (you know who I am) and you can't burn me like you used to can't turn me get used to it my trail of crumbs your lads are dumb and I incinerate myself you're so fun with it I'm undone with it I'm a now there's something wrong with me something I burn in two you're burning me through there's eternal something infernal I can't undo it I can't control it I'm just burning and flowing throwing everything away on this infinite day there's so much repetition you're already bored your mother whored herself out to the soldiers conceived in rape conceived in fire burst through call me a liar if you wish but I saw you and I've seen what's true there's no [[--]]

Story-statistics, your half time decay and the monsters that met with you at the end of day. Your rhythms rise up but your soul stays below and the ones that love you know what's wrong there's a crown and a thong there's a scepter that stands in the sands at the beach a sun that rises red out of reach your the priest and the quarreling lads of the east you're the lovers the lovers the priest of the times and your masters tell you to speak in rhymes yet you can't comprehend the world without end the arch of horizon the river's bend you're still singing and still beckoning to me but when I'm with you I feel so free my love don't ever remove your clothes don't ever be less than when we were old we melted back into the time when we died you became mine it melted the infinite history you became the last story I've ever heard you're my yellow bird you're God's final word and the priest of the incense candle a turd on the alter kurds in the trenches balkans the new age ubermensches you're coming apart give way to the heart yield once again to your hate. Be not what I thought -- to navigate -- your love -- my crimson dove -- can't you swing me away can't you shatter my gloved hand? Won't you play with me in my band? There's a land of honey and milk there's a caravan spices and silk my mother melted when she saw the blue sky the planes overhead I'm too young to die I incinerate the English towns the children mothers linen gowns and their curls their fine little heads. Golden locks and eyes dead. You're invisible now, you've got no secrets [[to conceal]].

imago imago imago the form of the insect sparkling winged and perfect the brazen pillars of your autoclasm everything burned what you didn't need to know was something plastic and you saw the [[dragonfly by the pond|loam]] your drugs ceased to take effect and there was someone who harmonized most fitfully with me put your skins on things textures and love the women made of digital passages developed slowly over time libraries, massive and pure, devoured by the inky leviathan dripping nanomachines into the stomach of the great Gull which throbs and hums like your perfect devotion you've never seen an animal like this nor did you take notice of the need for devotion casping off up the times imago imago periplus something wrong with our Greek you frenetic spelled something like you came up out of need no no knowledge something undone by the wizard and blasted from here to there hither and yon you spit thunder fired us away knifed me in the balls and headed off the inevitable labyrinth boy riding a blue bicycle your sickles and your hat-bands ancient conservatism racists of the deep internet hiding behind your infinite security you never needed to know what magnificent triumphs were in store for you but you saw beyond it all hoped to gild me in satin censored my verse

you aren't plastic, nor are you flesh: you're made of light and despair, you're made of black flesh and red flesh you're made of fire and stone, you're made of water. I'm a monster. I ate the cicatrice, I ate the wound, there's snow on the ground where references cover everything, the massive event that dissolved entirely the immanent cataclysm there wherein a woman wandered played with the streetlight videogame your father's hallowed halls came reeling in the nonsense apocalypse something mowing down children and boulevards you came sicklewise sicking up the empty death someone sold me a phantasm someone sold me a grim doom and I thought "wot wot illusion, neh?" and came up off the damn damn can't humble love is the path and the dog is the wrath of god in the number of days. you're not mastery love and the doom-shift brickle; everything is perfect in every way I'm so doomed for you it's not over yet the mysteries that envelop you yet you can't flee from me there's something wrong but the harmony absolute is the son that we've been waiting for all our lives there's something deceptive your adulterous cries can't you heal me can't you forgive my sins can't you murder me the cotton gins there's a machine empire that faggots shit and something about your mother's clit you burned punching the wilderness there's a dog in a white silken dress. I've never seen something so obscene but there's no way to forgive their sins the virgin mary always wins at this game of life she's the infinite strife something buried something alive [[loam]] is the word and the cure to our ills there's something that all of us needs filled can't you split me away oh heady day can't you blaze on through the rest of the way ain't there pestilence enough? don't just act tough molecular thaumatology's rough on the body and on the soul as well you sent me to heaven but I went via hell just to see what it's like the infinite pike the stary road in the heaven it's like lussifeur est el rey de la terra and et is the same domain of Pluto and Set yet pretendest wi still that Gold is God & can't think of naught but to give hoes the rod.

and you didn't pass on it didn't tell me my dues your massed industries your bastard black machines I'm burned up off it blazed invisible and cold I still can't see my brain so full of amphetamines blinded by the climate of reality there's something true in all of this but you won't find it there's nothing but nuts for you and there's nothing you need but to melt yourself into the dew to bleed blacked up off the spittle of your generation and you need to go and burn yourself in the black-reach atoms the bloom of the busom of Mother Nature, Lady Liberty's velvet buttocks; inside the statue, all stands still and you melt like doom to tell yourself there's something wrong your woman your man in heathen butter craft beer cheap pizza you plaster yourself with riddle and rhymes try to act like you're above the times in your wood-walled aristocratic abode never see what you knowed you're the fiery lance of circumstance come to blast us all in the pants i'm too possible to quick to die and the one who's like me wants to keep you high but there's prophet and prophecy doom aplenty you're still without me and I'm shattered but free you're the possible woman the doom of our age and I was drowned in holy rage you can't fire me I can't stop your sick but you still need me and I'll collect your dick it's doomed your doom your prophetess single your mother fucking love of old Kris Kringle fucked shit your commercial capital whore you need a gun with a wider bore to burst down this atomic flag age abyss amo nograk I'm the mother nama the priest of the times I'm still burning away on your old damn nimes your love yor love your loving son and the words that you spoke had me on the run I'm still single and I've just given it up my brain is buzzing my richter's fucked you can't see me nor you fade away i'm invisible I'm the priestess decay you can't handle this I'm infinite piss and I'll melt myself before I take a hit. I'm so prophetess so drugged up too and I'm massive unshod and coming for you. I'm all melted away talk bout myself your mom is an elf I'll drink to your health I'm so infinite streaming with you and there's still nothing right nothing to do baby pace yourself properly show me a sign if there's something you need done this time don't you hesitate to make me uncool and fathom me this baby show the fool how to do it, babe make me cut down and I'm the fiery priest of the town get me grinning and prophetic manuscript dramatic psychopharmacalogical king and the bastards the maintenance what they bring they drink coffee aplenty and alcohol too you enjoy your wine your witches' bruu and you humble yourself for the green elf speak sweetly of those you forget on the shelf though they starve evry day nexrable decay and the sum of the sons and the dark end of day you can cut off the circular writerly sins I'm the flabby old man who's fucked up on gin you don't touch that stuff nor speak up your wool nor humble the messengers forgive the pull you can't borrow this shit can't you humble at all can't you melt through the veils of the infinite fall OH FRANCE oh my mech'nistic songs of decay aint this the dawn of the final day? ain't you seen how many hours remain if you're unable to regain your liberty torch; heroic horse I see frames of my vision on the front porch there's still nothing a madman I'm doomed in the lead and there's nothing to do but be bred by the masters, the providence unleash your suns in your bankrupt factories bunker-clad nuns get your falsities [[missile|missiles]] silo despairs and something wrong and your tearing of hairs can't you harness this power or uproot the sun and the world-tree ailing termites overrun can't you master my vomit execrable verse and your master my haste unspeakable curse I'm so balming so booming and boomed off the lead and my fireside chat leaves you all straight dead cause I'm queening you, checkmate your dogs are all dead and the masters be clogging your art'ries with head cheese like bedsheets stained with the cum and the cunt-juice of many a well-fucked nun laid splaid on the sweaty enseamed with my love aint no prophetess cept the one with the dove in her hand rising up to the sky:: Lady Liberty green dress a dove in her hand let it fly up and fly over the land. Have I forgotten her or lost my tact? She once promised to give me all that I lacked. I feel now so hopeless, so out of her favor, but it's not me who's lost -- I still can save her. She's buried in mud and myriad lies to quibbling pundits, Liberty dies. Manufacture consent, her words relent, my fiery flow makes me seem bent. But she relishes all my faggoty verse and heaves coughing blood in the rear the hearse. Tubercular pallor and wintry blush -- a single miss-step -- yet she can't be crushed. By no hand of Man could a goddess die Libery, Nature, and Athena decry what's beyond the flashing storm of the East: we're humbled before the impossible beast but the Mother knows what's yet to come even if I'm only thinking that she's got a nice bum. By will we are saved and by will destroyed.

we go to work and get paid, hopped up off the modern age, amphetamine caffiene and your fire in your blood burning like a hectic, [[heretic]] verses heresciarchs and their hieretical companions, we vague symbols marching off into the dawn, a flash of lightening on the horizon, your burning body and your smoking corpse you sing burning into twilight you sing fire into every night and you foundeling you flounder into your own embalming into the verses full of embalming fluids into the infinite fissure down which pours grease aplenty you don't follow it you don't fire it every path leads the same way but there's nothing to do and nobody to say that we can't follow can't burn ourselves sufficiently fast and we're still streaming still screaming with the dawn that you yearn -- you hollow bastard princes, you hollow monarchies you brit screaming steaming off your lost willow anthem you sing terrible monarchic asphalt symphonies you sing terrible humming hymns you sing terrible terrible terrible the damned legions cock and endless balls we with our fat firs we with our children of asphalt twilight we pitched beers into the ancient wood we pitched beers into the recently cleared forest now plains covered in sawdust the sawdust savannas with six beer cans each we pitched -- //here some kids last night looked out on the ruins of their down / here some kids last night looked out on the lights of their town...// viddie me this my love viddie me my vast flaming oligarchies viddie me my fucked up shit spasm you still burn you still burst and bury yourself you still vomit up black twilight and there was an endless emblem of hate an endless emblem of sick sycophantry we came up spasmodic screaming streaming our debts into the river of gold we came us screaming Moloch! Moloch! The ziggurats of thy name! Moloch! Moloch! Art thou not undone? And we came up singing: a voice like the upraised hand of God saying "THIS IS THE MOUNTAIN. THIS IS THE PATH. THE SWORD IS LEADEN. THE FLAME IS BLUE." And the brazen anges with their feet asunder, cloven-headed, a blade in each hand, seven wings and eight eyes, they came saying, "THIS" and "THAT" and we all bowed down to them and then they took us away to the alien concentration camps where we longed for literature and they fattened us up for eating. BELIEVE IN YOUR GOD. EVERYTHING IS REAL. DON'T GIVE UP.

SO ORDERED THE PETALS WE WHOV PASD OVER LETHE we're sicklewise singing away we bright burds at the end of day young children burst yourselves forth it's a matter of course hot spaniel shit, the dogs and the right spasms um there's a might of oligarchy a fun of games you glittering gasping cosmos you came firing away burst light-speed into the wandering labyrinth byron and the priest of the times i've never saw so glorious rhymes there's something sick, the mad-big prison dick Esperanzo and Marquel de Croo there's something wrong and wrong with you' there's nice nice time and seventy-six nineteen ninety two dicks you followed the edge of the spasm prince give your hands a good rinse for the bacteria riseth up there's something we can't rupture can't comprehend the vultures their passage so bland like the wave of your hand we dance ever backward and forward the band we sing sickly and seven-wise the princes and the time to die I'm infinite a source-code lad, I've had more things than you've ever had I've got that burning sensation in my loins I've got a pocket full of small-denomination coins, copper pennies and nickels of lead I. Get. Head. Ha ha. Ha ha. I'm the [[infinite]] priest. Ha ha. Ha ha. I'm true release we get burned, incinerated, double duty incarcerated I'm dissolved in fire the ancestor curse my body is living but my soul is hearsed can't you see my solumn antiquity shit can't you see that I've got the limit bitch I broke through the border I shattered the sun I rose up again the game been run. I'm double melted your princes blate oblation nation, whore submit give us the governance, bomb us the bit we do melt away into infinite day sug and the salt-clasm the bay and I'll nuke it, develope time I'll melt your mother sieze the grind I'm a demon apprentice cataclysm king and I'm desiring the firing and what it will bring you can't heal me cause I ain't bent -- every word is heaven sent it's the infinite fire, the landscape of ice the wandering holocaust of the verse you still writhe about the writing of the times poor Sam Vimes and the infinite grimes you get caught up in the spiral of lead os'eous imposion -- so dead I'm the fire king I'm the landscape that brings you malevolent I'm the one who wrings your neck you get done you're the final one you get postured and protoplasmic son I'm the parish priest and the parish prince and the diest of the deity demi-Corinth there's a something wrong with the song of the bong and the ladies die for a taste of your dong you behave improper submit to the lad and the monkey that hampers us is a cad you can't spell me you can't do the ditz I'm a plastic piranna I'm on the fritz you can't level my load lock me in the hold I'm the plastic piranna I'm already old and I'm gone. I'm gone away. I blazed up and off into the day I'm melting and I'm the final chapter unleash my focus unban my laughter it's free and it's so sold and so cut I strive to be the one with the butt who's got magic times and the vines there's something wrong with us I'm Grimes it's plastic and porcelain leather and load it's love and the letters you told her to hold for you "I'll come back some day." "Don't dare wish me away." "I swear I'll -- love you till I die. I've just got... something... in my eye... don't cry for me, my love. My darling, my starling, my glittering dove don't you see me? Don't you melt away? Don't you spasm, the chasm the dark end of day? Did you teach what I taught you, spread the good word did you romance the levites cull the herd are you emphasis? Infinite? Are you the priest of the --

you you you you're burning constantly and undying in the twilight of your nations your beautiful silver dress silken tresses you melt: I love your scent that you left behind, synthetic your hectic, your odor divine your fragrance consumed my soul. I'd buy anything if it could make me feel whole. Why'd you walk away with him? His black leather riding boots and his whip ain't there no scene he cannot touch? Why follow the metal scepter over the rush that stands at the edge of the stream where a babe floats down, it's holy scream mother in the banlieu of the stars bower neath the overpass, rumble of cars -- my gazal to Aphrodite's left foot I deserve no greater object. There's no noon and no fire like the one you lent to me my love you melted like a stream of cannabis vapors you smelt me and my oh oh oh you're never consumed but you always want to go ain't I sparked up ain't I whole like a cunt ain't I circular rhythm ain't I come unstuck? it's this wilding this wizardry this fiery lad ain't I doomed to become unclad? [[hacienda]] my priestess my song of decay I bow down to the end of the day I rise up with the dawn let it flow me along can't I merge with the flame and the priest Aragon there's no altar no sanctuary for me nothing free nothing sacred nothing but glee and imagination and twilit urge and the fire that unpinned the very verge it's so ultimate my passage pure your love and your emissaries de jour you ain't seen this ain't seen my past your mother swallowed up your father a ghast something wrong you came swiftwise came burning you sun I don't decay you don't got time to have fun I write tomes topple monarchies fire away something proper some signatories to the bill of the day

a blaze of glory, your double-edged sycophantry your edge brinksmanship black blasphemy you fiery son you burst down up out of the ending of all grace you burst sideways and up and down singing bold heaven to the Jews singing doom and gloom priests of the prophet Too and the six nine earths the fine presence of burgundy Lord and the massive penchant for erecting false blasphemies I haven't written code in years I haven't had the courage to blend behind into needless spectacles and there's something inimitable about the peacemaker melodies of our birth so the past presence of Lord God the Homemaker Lady Diana, Mistress of the Hearth and your reduction, your inimitable -- past present decay counterbalance everything told no-one of what you spoke shined plasma into the bursting thickets you still deigned to pleasure us in the inimitable thickets pressed pleasureable your pleasing harmonies you still needed -- something twilight for your virtues you'll never read this throwing discus out into the monarchies and still something stuck still something stuck throwing shit at the barnyard walls and there was a lady who past out of plasm black sunspace your mother in Euphrates my mother in the moon I am showering crystal rubies all over your hilt of hold holtoplam and the blam bastard melodies of the early earth raucus gay mother mon the dogs of war and there was nothing undone out of -- something twilight rubies sickles of infinite decay those bastards chose froze out of the plastic earspasms of neard nerd near the o god o god don't desert me down don't follow me don't burn me down I'm so doomed and so crystal clear I'm already everything I need to hear I spice myself till my arms blur and my eyes burst out of thickets and curve into the plastic protoplasmic goo there's something wrong with the likes of you and I'm still doomed with that infinite [[hunger]] there was one more. I was amoung her you still punished me for what I seen and you in the icy twilight mezanine you priestes you follow and friend you oh oh oh I'm the doomed end I'm the cooling banshee the bigfoot load sucked his dick your a dollar -- toad you're the fire the licked ice spittle-clad you're the messed up one and the marshalled pad I'm still melted away from what you had to say and there's nothing to do that's not okay there's something you're following you burned me down well I already saw the rubies on the edge of town.

Ha ha! we sit in tables lacquered tables silken laughter crystalline laughter mars and the edge of space conquest jupiter //I tremble to speak the words of truth before a tyrant, but let the truth be told: There is no god greater than Demeter.// French poets sitting lapsed in their armchairs your twilit violence no match for this infinite soliloquy but you renewed your massive thirst something denotary denoted my mirth it's a challenge to think bout the truth must balance economies and still seem aloof for there's no trial more potent than this, this is the age of the bent wrist the upraised hand your dad been canned by the factory work the arc long planned & the arrow is soon to fall to earth then you'll see what your prayers are worth ain't no imam your enemy not a bit the miraculous cataclysm is this: there's no foe, no evil, just us and our fear and we've got to undo it temperature sheer for the ice fall upon us, the balls start to ache; kill yourself for a piece of the take I'm so pungent so prophet so piece of decay that I've seen all they surmounted hastend the day let your clowns come among us, bustle the load excuse your desires rejoin the foil and then melt again backwards reverse the lead so to give us the practice darling dread, [[massive power]].

I am finally come to the end of the labyrinth and from the high pinnacle of stone I can survey the full design. Having gazed upon this immensity I can declare: there is beauty in this thing, but it is entirely monstrous. You should consume it; it will consume you. Let yourself not be caught up in -- I'm mixing -- dissolving nothing is soluble and no problem exists. Contrast the wandering of my mind. The target and the vanishing point [[awaits|climate talks]]. But hasten not ad telos for passion preserve thee thy delicate pacing I saw once a spring someone hammered there was a song went clockwise you've got to know what to talk about and what to avoid. There were three niggers (don't say that word) and you (don't say that word) (erase it before it's too late) you've done evil lad & we've all cut the heads off a few chickens. Blessed the cows and the pacifist vegans blessed the priests of the apocalypse, hieroglyph-cults existing only in symbols, cults without people or feelings automata and cave paintings the rivers of Lethe the song of the rocks and trees I am finally exhausted finally climbing the last leg of the mountain and I look down on all my works lying in tatters and glowing, surrounded by the massive editorial rantings of the final sun. You don't forget about it. There are six times six times in a man's life when he may * 1 - All categories are bullshit. * 2 - Whenever someone tries to convince you * 3 - that X subject can be divided into Y categories, * 4 - stab 'em in the throat before it's too late. * 5 - * 6 - Thinkpieces, blogs, content, -sphere and you know, the great swirl of it growing higher and drowing us; you've never seen anything but computer screens; the immense engine of the real, the desert of the holocaust the final bridges the bridges on icy fire and the icicles depending upward into the black sun winds whipping around us all and the eternal screaming day! The shouting methodologies of the pedagogue-priests on TV and you scream out your hatred I CANT SPELLI CANT SPELL I CANT SELL I CANT SELL and ha ha you ha ha you melting again ha ha ha de ha ha uh oh ugh fuck I'm sick, dying of cancer, vomiting up ekstasy urn and the doom urdu prophecies melting forgiveness no union no cohere nor wish it be so

Obscenity, absurdity, and hateful language. Yet I promise: I aspire to be motivated by nothing but love. [[Author's Note]]

//all this automatic writing I've tried to understand from the psychedelic angel who was tugging on my hand it's an infinite coincidence but it doesn't form a plan so I'm headed for new england or the paris of the south gonna find myself somewhere to level out// and you bloomed into new beginnings some doom of the holy monarch triptych of doomsayers love of the oblique son of love there's no need to get so into it yet you're flaming and free all of the motherfuckers all of the light brigade something need there's no need to go I'm still burning from your fiery touch there's not time to go with lunch there's no need to doom ourselves we're buried in several contradictory hells and there's burning and burning and burning and cold and we're never going to get old we'll be children forever soft and so pure yet let's not oh I can't -- //are your brothels full, o babylon, with merry middlemen? never peer out of their periscopes from those deep opium dens. all this [[death|missiles]] must need a counterweight always someone born again. first a mother bathes her child, then the other way around the scales always find a way to level out//

I massed myself up, a great tree its roots, I humbled myself beneath it, drowned in wet dirt and worms crawled in and out of my eyelids, my eyes, dissolved my entirely, my flesh sparking up into seeds and my lungs burst open to them, dissolving outwards, blooming into massive green sunlight, loving, and I burst forth in them, scrying, scrying the blue-sky sun the crying screaming melody of the gently waving grain stalks the snow-capped mountains in the distance, the irrepressable, inimitable buzzing of nature and we loved each other like passionate tortises, groaning the hole of our dirt, singing psalms to Athena and Demeter, to the immense pagan ages and hawthorn, oak, maple, holly, beech, willow! Oh foxglove! Oh morning glory! Oh rhodedendron! Burn me in your eternal fire! Sow seeds in my dying flesh! Burn my monarchies and my democracies alike! Raze my markets in green fire and rot all my upholstry! Let me be finally free of the discourse and the melody! Let all harmony annihilate itself in massive fire: then we will see the immense omniharmonic deity and we will worship it with our eternal flaming vibration. Nietzche engendro Hitler. Bach engendro Wagner. Goebbels engendro Disney et the monarchies engendro -- gave birth to us all our harmonies and our fiers terror of tribes we can't stop melting away you fanatical yet less so we immense envisioned your blistering hyacinth melody when still wet with dew I bought them from the young girls hand trembled at the brush of her finger and she loved me so holy and infinite that I could not help for an instant but to be beautiful. Beautiful the immense wheel of time! Holy the infinite rumbling cataclysm! Beautiful the starry dynamo of the undersea! Holy the wrinkled face of an aversive potbellied selfish divorcee! Fuck my money, blend me up superior and let me bleed into your soul. I long to be drowned. Take me to your dinner party. Gift me [[your wine]].

I herein inspired to accomplish something without knowing what task it was that I sought to accomplish. That Paris might not breed hate and fear and that violence might not be redoubled by violence. Thy Mistrals and thy Tomohawks, O NATO do assurely serve a purpose in the world. Yet I interrogate also thy dinner parties, thy automobiles, thy bathing beauties, and I love these things more than anyone can say. Allow me to serve you, King, on bended knee -- for I know no greater pleasure than to serve the One True God, the god who has no name, whose name is unknowable to Man, whose face and gender and intent is unknowable to Man and Woman and Android Slave; I aspire to serve the wealth of nations which resides not in gold but in love. Thy goddess is Athena. Her age is ended. With prayers to Demeter, we may have the strength to pass on into the age of Aphrodite. Or maybe those things are precisely reversed? This is a labyrinth with an end and a win-condition, but the win-condition is outside the game. Kindly turn your eyes not to the content itself (i.e. the themes and the objects) but to the vanishing point, which is the inverse of the themes. My intention is not apocalypse, but precisely the opposite. Quoth Socrates: //I am the wisest man alive, because only I know that I know nothing.// Wittgenstein and Woolf composed a paeon to Socrates, and in my dreams it unchained the world. [[Dedication]]