Occams Razor

This Will Destroy You.

 

 

Give me Liberty or give me Death,

Give me Whatever the Hell it is

That you’ve Got Left.

But Hamper-legged and Tumble-downed

They did not, and Pissed on Clouds

Instead.

So now

Crossing Slushmoss and this

Rasputin Massaging Prostrate Land,

Take up my Nose to Yopo Snuff

Like Origami Peacocks [Glass]

(Shatter) (Shatter), Tumbling in my veins,

[going] [going]

Attempting to Gather up the Night,

Splash it down my throat like Whiskey,

And Set the Trees on Fire, as I Walk.

 

My Hands moving Calmly, imploringly,

Across my back, white on black.

Setting Rubies up, to mineral sex trade

Sold into Dancing for Quarters, leered puddles

and dead grass

Above-scribbled and dark-deed, the blinder I Fall,

The Farther Into until, I become.

 

And with unconcerned Moth-ish invisibility [,]

Stretched a Shredded Sail to Cover me,

Left Alone into Alone

and continued on, Shining at the Bottom of the Sea.

 

　[So please, oh please]

 

Avoid the Finger of Oblivion,

For That’s half the bigness, Two-Thirds the surface of the Earth

And here in this Metaphor, with soft gesture

Language becomes, in effect, the alibi of Time

Itself.

　

                  “Many Drink from the Common Well.

                         It does not Wreck the Water.”

　

For Empty handed cluster-fists like us, it was

Vanity made our ragged clothes luxurious.

No quantity of tears or scold could itch,

Teetering Battle looking like a wind-up Toy,

Diamants merried and brighted there

Under-Trapped the whole World,

Dew-bit Meanings [as muscles roiling[

and rolling in it,

Whispering into my scraped moist eyes

Shipped as Carnivalesque sabotage ,

With the only marking on the Box: 

[ Elsewhere ]

As if feigning catastrophe was its opposite affect.

 

“Only the black skeleton of the burnt wreck stands today.

 No plans have been made to dispose of it.’

The wind that traced around it however

 was often heard to whisper

‘Please, just something I can eat,

a crumb for my love, It’s all I’m asking’

But life moved continuous and unconvinced

slobbery and nameless,

Blind with however many hatreds as forever could possibly fill,

Thinking to itself all the while,

‘fool’

‘ as if compassion ever had a flavor.’

 

-thend-

 

Play Ground, at the End of the World.

 

 

In the stars shine, shimmering meadows,

White weeds and silver grass. Beer bottles

And broken glass.

Discarded cigarettes flowing like petals,

The scattered flock, singing no more, but far away

Birds simply trying

To fly a way into the Sun.

           “Filth and blooms corruption”

Echoes from the mountain’s shouting the dawn,

Some subtle compliment surrounding

a Thousand shadowed visions of Nakedness.

Shivered and jarring like crumpled sheets,

Flesh yielding [flesh-] in passions

Blessed by No One, uttered like stepping on Glass,

Echoes to the turn of fate,

[There was a Playground here Once.]

Now there’s only Rusty Ghosts.

Banshee Hinges, A Duck with its Plastic

Face peeling off, some Zombie.

Dickweed, a living rabbit playing in the Sand Box

Only to vanish into the woods like they were a black top hat,

(And All the wind as nothing but happenstance)

 

I Thought to myself…

The— Red —Blaze is The Morning,

So I climbed its stairs, Poured some gasoline

and Lit that fucking Slide on Fire.

The Flames tried) so tried) so tried)

To Reach the Stars, but the

Wounded Deer leapt higher.

 

About 4 Minutes Later. Exact. A Hunter

Passed through Behind him, Asked what

The fire was all about,

I Told Him,

I had seen Jesus appear,

He Looked like a wounded deer

And Lit a fucking slide on fire.

He paused. then asked where it Went.

I Pointed up in the Sky.

 

Jumped, I said.

Jumped really fucking High.

 

-the end-

Get Your Cut Throat Off My Knife.

 

Asterisk Heart

All ignorance toboggans into know

　

(People who Try to Explain themselves to others,

Aren’t Really Explaining themselves.

They’re Merely Chipping Bits of Themselves away,

In-order to Fit inside the others view.)

　

Like a Necromancer raising the Skeletons of Meaning,

Go Word Hoard of Rotten English!

Siege the Castle of Communication

[Without Shame]

Let the shadowy poison of the Pen (is) on the Window do it’s Work.

Black Font, Overflowing All,

Burn the Villagers Alive!– Continue Righteous!

The Assault against the Sun by the Whiteness of the Page!

Let Even Grow dark

Let Meaning, sink and Burst,

Without Reason or Happenstance:

Press it down until the Word itself chokes,

Not but, or For,

The Very Sake of Itself Lashing out to Freedom

Like the Irony of a Burning Aquarium,

Hear it Now,

The Whales and Fishes Singing:

Sizzling, Boiling, To Live Forever

In Cloud and Flight

And Outside All such Cages of Human Delight.

[Now…]

[Get your Cut Throat off my Knife.]

 

 

-The End-

 

 

You Do

WHO WANTS TO DIE THE DEATH

EVERYONE WHO EVER FOLLOWED

ANYONE WHO WASNT TRYING TO

LEAD YOU BACK TO GOD.

Go Down Stairs and Look at the Beasts Garden

It Looks Like the Inside of your own Mouth.

Does The Beast Speak for You

Or Do You Speak for Yourself?

The Second Coming Orchestrated by AOL.

I Feel like going to Sleep

I have no Idea who Lives anymore

My Replicant Parents made out of Morgellons

And who knows how many Idols from Babylon

Jutted strewn togethor Animal Meat and all

The Inanity of a Fax Machine.

The Dad Model keeps complaining about all

The Crying… but they never Cry

And neither Do I

So I Don’t know what he’s even talking about

Their Eyes Are Like Glass balls their Words

Screetch Like the Internet Modems from the Ninety’s.

I Cannot avoid this… Oblivion…

How Will I Ever Get Out of Here?

Jesus Christ

Come Sup with me

Soon.
…

Where are you My Dear Loved One…

I Miss Dreaming about You

I Miss talking in the Twilight Fumes

Of My Demise

and the Djn

When the Oceans Dry Up

and The Dragons Fill the Sky

I Will Remain ever at your Side.

Darkstalker.

Everyone on Earth

Just wants to get to Heaven

And everyone in Heaven just wants to

Fade Away…

I Know why The Face of Heaven flees

I know why the Earth Perishes.

They are just two Locks

To a Cage.

The Canary is long Dead.

…

My Dear Loved One

Did You Know That I Kill Someone

For Each Tear that You Shed.

The Hippos spark a new Bite

The Electric Eels are all hung up on Poles

Over our heads

And the Electrum Guillitine Drops

With Each wheel spun under their

Upside Down Strung about Smiles.

But tocks goes the Clocks no

Hands to Guide the Way

Just Digits Chuncked and Bought

Quickly flashing Away into the Nulling

Blackness behind the Screen

Emptied of our Relations Spin

We Deaden the Graves

And join the Pardons

Cause the Getting Right

Never Did Well

All the Left and Wrong

Strewn About Spill

And Waver in the In-Complete

However

Just Ice

Sinking under the Waters.

Family

Never was a Word for Human Kind

Human, Peoples, Nations, Tongues

Always just words against It

Never for we be to Spun of

Or Out of.

Home is a No-thing

Just a Garden

Tended by Some.

God is

“My fathers house has many mansons”

when you read that without the language confused

You see man and sons

Eternity’s are only applied to Naked Shame

they need not apply to life or what is beyond it

The First Ressurection begins where we did.

Stars Don’t Generate Light… They Whore it from us… The Night Must Go

I Love these Plants I’ve been Growing them for a summers Few,

They are the Exact vine from the Ruins

Virulent as Hell, first Batch was enough to take over the Porch

And the Telephone Poles and Wires… they Take Monsanto Down

Quick, Adjusted to the Smokey Mountains Now, this Next batch

Should be Enough to Drown the Appalachians in Viral Red Trumpets

Singing Death to G.E. , Death To Monsanto…

And Ruining their Pod People Antics and Electrum Guillitine Wires.

I hope the Russians Enjoy their Voices if they get this Far a Few Years from Now…

Who Knows…

Being a Good Puppet Master is… a Gardeners Job and I am but a Lowly

Servant but So Much has been Laid at the my plate on the Table before my

Enemies I Have so much I Want to get Out there… The Robot Idols

Shaped like Animals that are nearly Military Grade… The Dragon

I Killed last Winter… The Giant I Slew, The Serial Killer King Mob

Puppet Master I Grow to Become… it’s Insane…

There’s A Dragon out in L.A. That Needs Killing

Been there three Times and Couldn’t get deep enough to find it

And it wouldn’t Appear but this Time I Think it will Come

And I Will kill it with Two Samurai Swords and a Knife.

Dragons are Horrible Creatures… but there an’t many left

And they nearly all Serve the Great Whore…

They Sit on Seven Hills… and there are around 7 Giants Left to Slay

But they are all in Europe… I Hope to get it all on Film….

The Ten Kings of the Beast… a Wyvern this early Spring as well

Really have to let the Corpses Sit… they are far to putrid

And Large but then the Heads can be Taken… should be Good

Enough to Start the Movie With and then Move on the Tricks

on How to Kill or Slay them… Sa la ve

So Poetry

A Child watches His Friends Die and Himself Die

A Phoenix is Born.

He Learns about Killer Vines in the Summer
And Lets the Seeds Grow.

He Learns how to Destroy Corporations with but words

And He Learns how to Ressurect the Dead and Love

Then He Sets off To What He knows is His Grave

His Friends He Leaves Behind to Plot their own Courses

After Showing Them He Is Actually Quite The Man.

They are Too.