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leper romantique
leper romantique
(a panopitic viewing)
sunday, 5 am,
the haze blurs right to the Head.
now saturday 4:21
and nowhere again.
sunday once more, 3.40 am,
the haze remains but the head, well,
seems we have ceased one another.
i have been forced to sicken and abuse myself into such a state,
only to find it all a waste and profitless utterly.
i cannot speak with this blackened ungulate tongue. I cannot, shallnot write;
cannot blink or think at all!
i am dying of the toxicity of loneliness
in this tomb of a body,
- how exhausting it is you can only imagine!
but where, he said, does onnui lead?
answer : no place one needs to be.
AH !
curse and curse again this brain of ill-repute!
what little it seems we have in mind
when last we design to magnetize .
here from her phosphonium fist of sea-shards
spills forth thee old bones
and tea-leaves dancing , falling,
sprawling criss-cross
all a-cross our yard of black glass
but speaking not, oh no ,
to what an old-new future is this,
or these enchantments (entrapments?) therein,
being ever odd
these days, i mean,
becoming strange and stranger
(danger danger!)
coming up and always down
like machine-oils in the mouth
dripping pouring thru our windows wide
to chill the in-human exclamation /
head first and pendulous
thru the doors of deception,
outdistancing thee body, the room, roof,
and walls, and fire, and feeling.
here in the beauty of our all-black all-quiet hour,
the knot in my head speaks of no one in particular and I is as always
everywhere, and nothing, and no one at once; half whispered
,three-quarters shouted, (no no never remember'd)
like his soft breath twas once
fine-finger'd scarfs of precious silk
upon my merchantile skin
of veinful mercury within
&turning now, twisting tourniquet clockwise around
in the towering shadow of the Eternal City of No Substance, my heart,
surrounded block by block by
the western wasteland and her
everlong canopy of
pornographic Venus in hellfire licking flames.
Please do find me a new century, for
in this one
I am ripe for the snuffing,
and really rather useless!
jackhammer now I the music
into my brain to combat the fever;
i hold my head under endless depths of pure water
but the undersea she only lies herself clean
while i
mediocre the murmur
& bubble under double-time.
oh what a pitiful melancholy this is ! please do look away!
i beg-
ged
like the clockwork heart wound
between the bars
of serrated night ,
twined in black bile
by screwloose'd hands
fastened tight .
O glistening Thou, i feel you listening still,
like jackals at the heel of disinterested Christ,
and even more detached I,
like
prisms of floodlights staggering in
the graveyard of fell'd revolutionaries !
flooding fathomless lusts within my prison of sound,
and i cannot reconcile
the smile now void
of thought,,, void of language, yet quite well-off (as always )
in interruption.
all the metaphors of the world
uselessly entwined
in red wine, my heart
and ambitions all,
being a rather grandiose dreamscape of escape
,and frightful fancy waning
thru and thru,
my ambitions being altogether too rich to fit the poverty of my head.
& me i'm simply
same as i ever was,
me i'm simply
Caliban in cannibal threads
gnawing the bones of selfsame self
til we meet at ends.
and all the hardcore of the moment
from which i seek and drink with a thirst much like violence.
as hell urges always the one and self towards it,
mapped in the stars
by hands much more cognizant
than these disordered meathooks of mine .
and HARK! she cried
into the ceaseless distance of my arms,
reiterating again and over
the transmutations of diluted day
"see O thee,
these leper romances ,/
see,
ne'ver much stand a chance/
why,
they simply fall to pieces
at a glance .
*self-portrait by Caliban DREGGSS
(a panopitic viewing)
sunday, 5 am,
the haze blurs right to the Head.
now saturday 4:21
and nowhere again.
sunday once more, 3.40 am,
the haze remains but the head, well,
seems we have ceased one another.
i have been forced to sicken and abuse myself into such a state,
only to find it all a waste and profitless utterly.
i cannot speak with this blackened ungulate tongue. I cannot, shallnot write;
cannot blink or think at all!
i am dying of the toxicity of loneliness
in this tomb of a body,
- how exhausting it is you can only imagine!
but where, he said, does onnui lead?
answer : no place one needs to be.
AH !
curse and curse again this brain of ill-repute!
what little it seems we have in mind
when last we design to magnetize .
here from her phosphonium fist of sea-shards
spills forth thee old bones
and tea-leaves dancing , falling,
sprawling criss-cross
all a-cross our yard of black glass
but speaking not, oh no ,
to what an old-new future is this,
or these enchantments (entrapments?) therein,
being ever odd
these days, i mean,
becoming strange and stranger
(danger danger!)
coming up and always down
like machine-oils in the mouth
dripping pouring thru our windows wide
to chill the in-human exclamation /
head first and pendulous
thru the doors of deception,
outdistancing thee body, the room, roof,
and walls, and fire, and feeling.
here in the beauty of our all-black all-quiet hour,
the knot in my head speaks of no one in particular and I is as always
everywhere, and nothing, and no one at once; half whispered
,three-quarters shouted, (no no never remember'd)
like his soft breath twas once
fine-finger'd scarfs of precious silk
upon my merchantile skin
of veinful mercury within
&turning now, twisting tourniquet clockwise around
in the towering shadow of the Eternal City of No Substance, my heart,
surrounded block by block by
the western wasteland and her
everlong canopy of
pornographic Venus in hellfire licking flames.
Please do find me a new century, for
in this one
I am ripe for the snuffing,
and really rather useless!
jackhammer now I the music
into my brain to combat the fever;
i hold my head under endless depths of pure water
but the undersea she only lies herself clean
while i
mediocre the murmur
& bubble under double-time.
oh what a pitiful melancholy this is ! please do look away!
i beg-
ged
like the clockwork heart wound
between the bars
of serrated night ,
twined in black bile
by screwloose'd hands
fastened tight .
O glistening Thou, i feel you listening still,
like jackals at the heel of disinterested Christ,
and even more detached I,
like
prisms of floodlights staggering in
the graveyard of fell'd revolutionaries !
flooding fathomless lusts within my prison of sound,
and i cannot reconcile
the smile now void
of thought,,, void of language, yet quite well-off (as always )
in interruption.
all the metaphors of the world
uselessly entwined
in red wine, my heart
and ambitions all,
being a rather grandiose dreamscape of escape
,and frightful fancy waning
thru and thru,
my ambitions being altogether too rich to fit the poverty of my head.
& me i'm simply
same as i ever was,
me i'm simply
Caliban in cannibal threads
gnawing the bones of selfsame self
til we meet at ends.
and all the hardcore of the moment
from which i seek and drink with a thirst much like violence.
as hell urges always the one and self towards it,
mapped in the stars
by hands much more cognizant
than these disordered meathooks of mine .
and HARK! she cried
into the ceaseless distance of my arms,
reiterating again and over
the transmutations of diluted day
"see O thee,
these leper romances ,/
see,
ne'ver much stand a chance/
why,
they simply fall to pieces
at a glance .
*self-portrait by Caliban DREGGSS
Published 3rd Mar 2013
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Anonymous
3rd Mar 2013 7:42pm
Cal, you have such a unique dark desolate writing style. This is just such glimmering melancholic poetry. Just amazing! Its almost as if you come from another, time another place....
Great write
Great write
4th Mar 2013 1:06am
everytime
everyplace
magnificent roll of thought/scream[ing]of consciousness....
th'horrors of humansoul that nearly all deny...
eXhilerating read of psyche bared ---- made Artaud pop
into this dour old wearied mind
bravo Caliban....special to have sef'potrait art
accompanying --- Nice!(but not in any prissy type usuality)
everyplace
magnificent roll of thought/scream[ing]of consciousness....
th'horrors of humansoul that nearly all deny...
eXhilerating read of psyche bared ---- made Artaud pop
into this dour old wearied mind
bravo Caliban....special to have sef'potrait art
accompanying --- Nice!(but not in any prissy type usuality)
4th Mar 2013 12:27pm
Anonymous
8th Mar 2013 4:15pm
Damn.
