usother

us.other
nature: expedient
freak out: cave in
expanding appearances: defending fortresses
outrageous antics: quiet simple beats
layering cosmetics: dry, wrinkled skin
shout out, honk: meek curses, sink
mirrors reflect: nobody sees
sheeth of violence: a dove's intention
ornamental social bribes: quelling unsatisfied gripes
lady in chic: a wobbly tweek
hulk: child-bulk
social nets entangle: catch-hook-strangle
rage abound: for that soothing sound
begger. leper: lovlier under
usother

this tidy package) of me

this tidy package) of me
nor she; or he; but per-
haps we,
:but oh! so
tre-che-rous-ly.)
parades the th-ree
flee through with glee
in-to night's star-studded key
which promi-(ses) seductive-ly
-to (be
right at the mo-ment-ar-y plea
to-see what
lies be
-neath these pretti-ly -(ness) of un-sight-ly
puddles
or f-ree-ly floating harmless trees
that sway ever so slight-ly as the
winds of partial (h-e)
and (s-he)
make drafts at me!
me/me/me
- all prim and tid-y
as (entire-ly)
still as possums can po-ssib-ly be :that to
become be is as be is be-ing-ly be so
try: as the we (in me)
makes these three kinds of
rightful throw-a-ways :pressedly
for never (me-in-we) is the sum of she+he; at lea
st not;
not present-ly
((but we shall see((()
even-t/eventual-ly. possi /
oh possib-ly may(be.

the eternal recurrence

See this moment!" I continued. "From this gateway Moment a long eternal lane stretches backward: behind us lies an eternity.

Must not whatever can already have passed this way before? Must not whatever can happen, already have happened, been done, passed by before?

And if everything has already been done before, what do you think of this moment, dwarf? Must this gateway too not already - have been here?

And are not all things firmly knotted together in such a way that this moment draws after it all things to come? Therefore - itself as well?

For, whatever can run, even in this long lane outward - must run it once more!

- Nietzsche: Thus Spoke Zarathustra (part3; section2; On the Vision and the Riddle)

precise entrants. precise mouths.

we are all
slot /\ machines
with
precise. tailor-made ~:entrances:
every hand that
picks up a cOin you f(r)eel>
the clat-ter-ring-ing
of in
-ner clogs
Deny! (them) every third
penny. for
petty pound: at your pre-ferred pre-
tenses
ob-
truses.
.sigh.

(the longest and deepest sigh.)

swallow finger-filled
warm.th: reward them with
silly jester spitt and
spin-n-ing
mockery
as it were>>><:
.precise entrants.
for
.precise mouths.
that map our definit-
ions.
these act
ions.
and those familiar conse-
quences: if only,
it were that
simple, then
commit (no?)
to
that dial:
offortuneoffateofdeath-ly
pre-
monit-
ion.
s
-of volumous vomit that
we
get given
- the harmonious and
disconcert-
ing
trem-bble.

bread

When bread is baked some parts are split at the surface, and these parts which thus open, and have a certain fashion contrary to the purpose of the baker's art, are beautiful in a manner, and in a peculiar way excite a desire for eating.
-Marcus Aurelius

mise-en-abyme

cover me no. 3,
this is not a sweet dream
i need to take some risks
with adequate preventive measures
so turn off this program
and
just stay there
with a surgeon's preciseness
i will come get you
this layer of being)
is getting all the attention
and the next layer is all (too becoming
i will just assume it continues
on and on and on and on and on
awake and you shall find another
cover me no. 4,
i have a recurrent dream.

goodwill cast

(dada dada dada da)
this was their goodwill
cast upon us
(sss
platters s
s sss splat
ter splatsss
s)
.Now,
this is our goodwill
filled to their bbbrriiimmmm ooo
ooooooolucky
me!
for
it
shares
our
(verysameO! lucky
she!)
breaths
...hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
hhhhhhhhh
hhh

wedding bells

cold feet
amidst familial warmth
fidgitting
with you in mind
louder and louder
in my mouth asunder!
bouquets atop
a plunging drop
sweet sweet endearment
i stalk to cast a filament
of shadows so strong
the night is made long
this walk they take
is towards the sunset life
this talk i make
stays embedded like a hidden knife

stranglehold

helpmeforiamwithoutairspaceandapulserate
howlongcanyoutightenthisholdiwillnotresistiwillonlywait
timeismyallybutidontknowhowlongicanlastbeforemysupplyrunsout
stranglemestrangleme ran emestrang e hold ld ldh ol

silly fixed positions

you are my f a r a w a y
iamyournear
she
was my ___ _ (distant)
when-you-were-the-a-d-j-a-c-e-n-t

{i am [anchor] }

the rest shall move ''''*''''
''''*'''''

''''*''''' be there,

not
''''*''''' here

flow, ;;;not fly;;; dear, glide by,,,,,
be ^/over the hill

....yet in the same m....OO.n

this roomisRrOoUuNndD
be lostthen

found!!!

the-s-e ...f,l, u,i ...,d l oc omo ti ve> s

.o.f. .s.i.l.l..y.. .f.i.x.e.d. .p.o.s.i.t.i.o.n.s

koyaanisqatsi

the real intentions are always after the silence
that breath, that air, that introspection
that narrowness, that astute cleanliness, that never-blemished spot
the thing that holds you together are between the eyes
the chaos is always before the violence
of wet-lipped choices, of unforetold gazes, of man-eating dreams
for to be started would mean a towardsness
my trajectory was never taken

(to be out of sync
is to move at a pace away from the rhythmic bar
is to wish them ill
to be out of sync
should always be in fashion
~regrets are for those who do not have plans for otherwise~
to be out of sync
would somehow get you in the guts

and i will awake the fringe classes to bow in awe of it)

silly sanity

ever felt like you just ate but it all seems too empty?
ever felt like you have just lost nothing yet aplenty?
ever felt low - then high - in a split second?
ever tried to cry and then make it all seem as human as you can?

stories of lost friendships, and deeply-embedded pasts
never too much - always too little - and simply too fucking fast
never signs of disappearance
only truths,
years,
and your unchallenged contennances

like a time to heal, or a time to degenerate
liminality seems to be my only fate
whether nice, whether true, whether prim or proper
you'll never be sure till life's last supper

live on for now and make it all matter
throw the spit and glances into the batter
this is a silly poem i must say
but to hell with it, cos it makes my day

moving out (to be unglued)

i am moving
moving out.

to a place that is both hot and cold
where i can be given everything; and be everything

to go, to depart, to leave behind
can be a lifelong journey or a multiple orgasm gone amock

this is the place where i find the glue
and also every possible emotional landmine

this is a place with clearly drawn lines
yet life more than floats here (it's not just the salt)

come along, come along
pack light but feel heavy

you'll need wine, music and to show lots of teeth

i'll be waiting,
(never has leaving been filled with so many impressive instances)

i have moved on...
moved on into love.
(i am going, going, gone...)

the dots that follow

All these accidents that happen
follow the dot
coincidence makes sense
only with you
you don't have to speak - I feel
Emotional landscapes
they puzzle me
then the riddle gets solved
and you push me up to this:

State of emergency : how beautiful to be
state of emergency : is where I want to be

All that no-one sees
you seewhat's inside of me
every nerve that hurts you heal
deep inside of me
you don't have to speak - I feel

Emotional landscapes
they puzzle me
then the riddle gets solved
and you push me up to this:

State of emergency : how beautiful to be
state of emergency : is where I want to be

-Bjork, "Joga"

Incomplete

the heart races...
the feelings linger.
(vibrations, thud, boom, crash, waves, droplets,
sparkles, fireworks, adrenline, caffaine.)

i release a sigh
(can i take it back?)
then i mean to say something
that was already said before

i swallow
i feel ok.

better.


the fingers caress the lips (salty.)
transcendence through these doe-eyes
precious thoughts slip quietly under the skin, cuddling within.

diving in...

Displacement!

this ascent.
i peruse my laying self, (in wonder, i wonder what happens next)
am i...?
am i halfway to heaven from here?

on this bed, i am not resting,
i am burning! (oh these thoughts...!)
never has it been hotter

as i start to think, (but what is there to think?)
(oh... aplenty!) but never much to say.

Swirling randomly:

there is this life i am living,
then there are the necessary lies, there are the undercurrents,
there are the double-ups, the meetings at dark corners,
there are the busy people, all caught up, all oblivious,
there are the towering graces that hold on to everyone's prints.

then there are the kind sheltered stories and the all-so-real documentaries,
there are the sinful cities of beaten wives, kidnappings and traffickings,
of historic migrations and journeys that we all are.

there is politics, even real relationships; then there are the frauds, lovers and all...

then there is you.

none, not one, ever complete without the other
as i can never be

completeness is a myth

i am incomplete and will stay this way
i will live incomplete lives, feel incomplete feelings,
say incomplete lines, perform incompletely,
travel incompletely, write incomplete histories,

make incomplete love!
and
only then
will life make sense to me

don't feel sad... i am not.
it just is.

free-falling...

and then...
complete.

a collector's life

to T:

the prints we leave behind are usually the things that follow us to the end

in our transcience, every trace counts, every profile is worth every second, every breath is worth taking in, every hug and cuddle is warmth that is to be collected, every goodbye kiss is to be framed in that museum of private collections, every hurt is to be felt, no tear is ever wasted, every bit of anger that is shown must be leashed back in again for later use, every emotion recycled, every thought shared, every honest moment treated with care, every glance is caught, every scar on the chest left intact, every sheet imprint ironed and then the bed is re-made, every guilt is swallowed like cum and then regurgitated as tonic for the soul, this collector's edition of life, this phenemonology approach is bound to meet its match and i am waiting for the next encounter, to thrill me, to excite, to brandish, to consume, to allow me to play another role, to visit another lifestyle, to play lover, brother, guide, friend, family and fellow collector; all the hurt in the world cannot blind me from the very ideal that i set for myself, this is my resolve for i am all but drained in the pursuit of everlasting relationships, cynical and broken, but also brave and adventurous, this is the dialectic of my existence and there is just no why. I am why, i am the reason for this, there is no other alternative, this is the alternative, i am defined by who i am and not what i do so i will leave it at that, never let the walls become impending, never let them cave in on me. i am just a boy surviving, like anyone else. The less space you give me, the more i move around, this is not a paradox, this is how i function, just a boy surviving. I seek to be true in every experience and not cry too much, to just release every bit of affect that forms this lifeworld i am in, i leave my own prints in them and i just ask for periodic penchance and eternal memory, in your world travelling world, i am willing to be a plankton, just allow me to be attached to your biggest, bluest whale and never let go. I will die happy even if i am not living because i did. Even life without coherence is a life worth living. I only have to face myself at the end of it and i intend to prepare a smile for me.

the prints we leave behind are usually the things that follow us to the end

Post

Time to get going
to get a-moving
even if you are meant to flow
no one’s going to tow

don’t you ever tell me
that love is what we take it to be
don’t ever say
that for me, you will pray

this is who i am
writing this piece of scam
this is who you are
playing off everyone else’s guitar

I’d cut off some slack now
Mediate every row
For life is ‘Post’
And everyone’s getting toast

Live and loathing in Post
Is it ever my turn to boast?
Die and depending in Pre-
I was never really free

Simulations sweet simulations
Vegas on multiple projections
In this reality of hyperreality
None is actual kin or property

Organic Me

Dogs and their masters
Changlings and their grown-ups
Rays and their intentions
All converge along St. Kilda’s

Waves and their stories
Weeds and their sways
Foams and their yester-years
All along St. Kilda’s

The horizon and its constancy
The scent of the breeze and its orgins
The laughter of joy and sadness
I take it all in, all on St. Kilda’s

This is the time to weep
This is the time to laugh
This is the time to live
This is an organic time

I am better off without words
Without politics, without agendas
I am better off with just my senses
This is me, the organic me

Hold on to the organic you.

(Boats without their oars are still boats)

My Things and I

I hibernate for greater things

fornicate for smaller things

get stoned by slighter things

exfoliate with warmer things

gravitate from heavier things

smoke healthier things

trade for higher things

break for even things

gamble for odd things

pray for ideal things

love simpler things

pine for everything

risk for crazy things

listen to wavy things

smell lighter things

touch similar things

think silly things

run to pointed things

am made for greater things

have achieved nothing

Us, Retold

Alone, listening
I am listening to you

Feeling
I just want to feel you again

Smoldering, glistening
Making it what it should be

This intimacy via waves
Waves of memories that hold us close

The beauty of this moment
In time

Your hand and pulse will guide
As I make my way through

Come away with me
Every now and then

This is Us
Retold