Saturday, March 18, 2017

Our Death 31 / Discipline


Destruction of self is never voluntary. But our judges claim not to know that. They stare at us as we walk past. Something inside us freezes them, and after we vanish, their eyes close. We keep on walking, our deaths concealed inside our mouths. In a way we protect them, our judges, for if they could hear the hoarse and desperate alphabet our broken mouths keep hidden they would crumble, and never again recognise the things they claim to believe. There is nothing worse than a judge. They have whispered specious shit to us for all our lives. For centuries they have been standing outside our doors. They do not believe in doors. They do not believe in the things we keep concealed. In our mouths we carry images poisonous as oceans. 

Sunday, March 12, 2017

Film 7

video

Four sad poems. Lyrics for Kruk. Morphine. from Cancer. From Deep Darkness.

Monday, March 06, 2017

Film 6

video

Two poems from last summer and two recent ones. Methodologies of the wrong apocalypse.