Friday, 31 October 2008


Your Method is Dubious


glutton fucks and needy greedy hands slithering about flesh, reptilian and wet. dirty finger nails and thumbless hands tippity tapping hemlines and belt buckles. ghostly manouveres with mechanic precision. inquisitive eyes molest and derobe. raised hair on the back of necks, cold breath on hot skin. grease slicked hair clumping at the ends, falling over brow and face...

Thursday, 30 October 2008


A glass factory stretches far upward into the dark and turbulent sky. A barricade of bitter winter wind causes a sway, ominous like a tree in a storm. The screeching wind deafening and haunted urges all beings to stay inside for what is outside is unsanitary, unsavoury and no good...up to no damn good. There is a sense of unease in everything, a streetlamp struggles to stay lit, litter flies through the air and smashes into walls with frantic energy, signs falter in their roots; even the road wants to turn a different way. There is no traffic and few parked vehicles. No cats calling and no tramps slumped in alleyways. Any sign of life is imagined in the pleading architecture and the gravel that coils in fear as it's trodden upon. Not even the dirt wants to be here.

I am here because I am invited. Where people batten their windows and shiver under robes on wooden floors I will be. Where there is caffiene anxiety, nervous chatter and pestering preparation I am coming. I am a wreckless storm, black and dense and unstoppable. I am here to rip apart buildings, to scatter bodies and brick like hay in a barn. I would rip the core of the Earth out and spill magma into the mouths of every human given the power. A toast to the burning end of life and my cup runneth over. [My cup an eviscerated human carcass and my nectar the heart of the world.]

With the speed of the wind I entered this town, this dank brown crotch of AAAA. It was as though not a cell of oxygen had ever entered the place. The people walked as drones with their mouths stitched shut to savour whatever breath that remained in their paling bodies. For whatever reason they wished to prolong their muted lives, they would gather at the cafeteria and await whatever was served. Food was highly rationed and highly dangerous to consume. Deliveres were not made to the grocer, the butcher had no stock, there were no cows for milk or meat for thousands of miles around. Other options were made available and the feebling authority permitted any route as there would certainly be no outside aid. Did they really need all the talk in the first place? Conversation was detrimental to the workplace and restricting it would surely increase output, business would thrive.
Todays serving had gone off before it had been put in the lorry. What was left was ashen pennicillin which rotted cutlery on touch. Still the downtrodden mass gobbled it up quickly as they could and in the only way they could. Veins bulged instead of mouths salivating and cutlery was needles.
In this town people stopped wearing ties as they symbolised suicide, countless numbers were found hanging from their ties in empty rooms or hidden sections of the library. One had been left so long in an obscure corner or literature that even the books in the aisle began to decompose. Letters dripped to the floor and paper flooded onto the carpet.

Monday, 27 October 2008

another day

I slept a slumberless dream. In the magnitude of silver eyes, I swam away. The thousand glistening tadpoles. Ten hundred cells in pure uniform.

Teeth baring under solid silver, metallic clang. A voice of an officer. Shouting, rasping, angry as barter. Tulips leak a fluid which flees from every orifice. Escaping bloom in spring, in dignity.

There is a depthless pool of gutted carcass. Stark, black + white. A majestic kingdom of white blood and ice.

The elongated being with a red rooster neck was sitting slumped in a brown orifice chair, fetted with a million years of dust and bugs. His long neck craned at the sound of any coercing voice. They sound of nectar, pure and honey.

The words dripped from his lips thick as come. Unspeakable acts wrapped silently in secrecy of sodomy and solitude.


Monday, 13 October 2008

oh one oh one

I'm not sure exactly as to what I am meant to write here. Surely there should be some forewarned reason or list of literary intent?

I am grossly drawn to the dreary side of human mentality. I love the mundane, apparently boring, aspects of human life. To sit beside someone for however many hours watching recurrent television is, to me, bliss. Why?

I like to feel the oxyen beneath the ribcage. I imagine the breathing human apparatus inside the web of flesh, the operational calcium, the sternum heaving heavily outward. I can see the pink and heat of lungs and air. The heart is sending life to every external. Between my legs the pulse in his thigh is beating. Our veins collide as they stretch for space, forcing their barrier outward into one another. I feel nauseated and soothed in the same moment. Tentatively grabbing for comfort, imagining thickening blood and blue tracts beneath the delicate skin of the inner wrist.

Such soft comfort. The pulse in the forehead like beating winds on a branch, tangled and furious in a storm.
A hero would not be a hero nor a villain a villain if they had not committed to their actions. Thus whatever I say should be accounted to truly give record of what or who I am. To delete any word would indeed be censorship and who am I to hide the world from my own imagination? What would be the point to speak at all if I weren't to bare all thoughts for the public domain?

I would stand as some icon, some lie, some christchild I could never live up to be.

I am me. I am Mika. Michael. Whoever. I am these bones within muscle within skin, typing at the command of a synapse. I am a thoughtful being. A thoughtless monster.

To be now, to vow....should I utter such words to curse myself as forever being..honest?

Can I really be the vitriol and hate I feel? Can I be as truthful as Honesty itself?

There is so much trouble and danger in bringing out the bad and Good. For one I know I have much faith in humankind; but I, of ill-will intent, am troubled. I feed off negative things that benefit me, such a human infliction. Will I ever overcome selfishness or will it become me? In my search for purity what, what, WHAT will I turn into?
What will I uncover?

Wednesday, 1 October 2008

She had the widest smile, her lips were far apart.
She let all the boys know how happy she was
With the mouth beneath her heart.
I'm having frequent nightmares.

There was one boy, the decapitator. He slashed open the thick throats of men and pulled everything out. He severed the heads of beautiful women, stretched the skin of their mouths back so far they had a permanent and full grimace. They were wild eyed with horror yet smiling all the same.

The floor was filling with sticky blood. One cadaver left in a bathtub began to decompose rapidly, began to bubble and burst, spilling over the edges. Green and gore and skin and hair started to fill the room. Bodies melted together in unholy union. The sound was like a boiling kettle and everything in view was angry liquid rising...

I looked down at my knife and woke up.