blow
air blowing in your eye people screaming in your ear thoughts burning in your skull STOP THIS KILL IT EAT AND BURN YOUR IMPRESSIONS YOUR LEARNINGS YOUR WORDS what will we get out from the grass something to grow on give the dog something to run on give the cloud something to rain on from the air blowing...
boil
the dog is lying behind the bars barking loud in a desperate cry for help why do I watch the dog at all why do I write about it why do you read it the world is boiling towards its end end of despair the heat is eating your eyes from within the acid is burning holes in you skin
dada generator in prolog
how to make my perceptions happy? dada and surrealism of course this is my initial step towards the tower of Babel the future is full of features man eating creatures swimming in a web nervous spirals together we chant our praise to our parents' medieval ways! expand the subgoals of forcasts injected lifeless beings murmuring under the caves the crabs running on you stomach this text creates a tissue inside your mind that reminds you of something you have seen before somewhere this tissue may evolve to a lightbulb of non-logic conclusions about life in the western hemisphere the associations run in all directions at the same time except fridays careless candles crawls over the place when the light reaches you eyes it is too late to turn the table to be able to catch the sun going down it is missed this evening but perhaps it does not matter something caught you fascination sharp like a fallen needle on the floor empty and silent the cat plays with it hope it will work this time all arrangements done the right stuff the right time the right words but it can not be controlled that easily, life it hides behind words and explanations always expressed too late, its language uses some other kind of symbols or non-symbols, we just talk about the surface things we manipulate names but not meanings meanings are always there but not comprehensible at once, to understand you have to unlearn all symbolic lessons in you past this text is of course very weak in this way but something has to be said, I think at least even if some transformations are strange and transcendent
flower
life is the search for a thread that keeps you sane for one more second in the universe everything happens all the time we human creatures wasting energy without any direction sometimes think that we understand and feel secure but we can never desribe anything in any convincing detail except perhaps for a very small fragment of reality to understand to explain is to speak is to destroy it again we don't measure the number of non-existing coincidences, so when something unbelievable happens it will be spoken about loud, written in the paper, shown on the cable we seem to live in a highly structured reality, perhaps called culture by some, but it's just a set of limitations making us move in one direction instead of facing chaos we are taught to believe in certain values to survive of course, this is a joke since the reality I am considering is burning chaos without order of any kind it is however not the same as just noise or anarchy or destruction, it is just reality in itself, there is no good or evil just itself no values at all we must keep our minds in shape and realize this difference between society, psyche and reality it may explain some things perhaps not possible to describe but nevertheless possible to induce/deduce/reduce
form
the form is formed by deforming known formality decomposing thoughts and feelings into a mould which will never end its existence feel the warmth inside the form that constitutes you body flowing it to transcend the feelings and begin the tone of creativity entering the rooms never seen before with a kind of impression-seeking attitude feeling well the emptiness destroys the space where you exist and breath its form
fourline
line one flying modulo cryptosized mind writing boring flying common sense things cycled over timebomb mistakes essential beings undefined cry fast pulsating cracker puke drum sound inside footage of black film screaming tunes wander along the path wondering about all theses timed marks tape unwinds propaganda measures political issues rising sun of death fold life over a chair likewise tortured last song lines... line two nihilistic centered inside a hole of nothing expand paperless write astonished hate circle all things made equal inside points of nothing holistic waste time-war increased sums dying flame everything appears on the mirror built of human life ranged fortune swim in an oil lake salmons forcing themselves up up in the stream of fights corrode Oh corrode into small holes small holes lined up in a point line three area bordered with ice drip along your spine vibrate water into gas gas into core plasm of void wanting to seek revenge for itself its soul will never cease all lines diverge in conformant pieces trying to describe their area of responsibility RELINE ALL PROMISES MADE IN FUTURE VISION line four read letter read letter form compose translate transform needed notations burn into into mind burn old brain-waves into patterns devoid frustrate inside their piles trying to write in a way necessary making it necessary to see why it is there at all forming lines lines lines...
future
Warhead bleeding shit crawls in my breath, dying carcass of violated anger, masturbating through the thoughts of massacred life processes. Virtuality seeking destruction of time, zenistic flames of reversed time flow, snarling animals seizing the abnormal voyagers. Inhibited shadows of war crime, everlasting fear from ancient heritage. The spiral of sarcasms and cynical expressions firing their goals of subhuman existence, no thought lifestyle expressionistic firewall gatelords of coming mass-anxiety wander through deserts of anguish.
La la la
The air forces somethings backwards in a gentle motion The voices vanishes under the green of the greenest fields in the world The beauty of it all Shines like a big sun of reverse thinking, like the dark forces suddenly changing directions, getting whiter than snow Ice throbbing under your skin, everything turns again, motions that undefine directions and explanations, like old pictures in a french beginners book (who are they, where are they now, no traces left behind, strange piano sounds from within) I think that the love of my life lies inside myself!
metal drum
funky funky misfit flunky funky funky hardchewing junkie funny funny bleeding mudhoney honey honey mistaken bowl of bunny jum jum cycle drum rolling a scum benz benz mercedes frequency frenzy war war psychic alcoholy mother of holistic metamystic fight fight to wire down into metal drum cable roll landscaped around matter scream scream like gasoline in your hair fire fire blown away hardmelted meganuke always this grey-haired duke fixing his teeth with titan eating his meat with soup and feet feel feel your eyes looking through the skies always trying to eat through all these lies paper paper brain stained in blood evil evil kind of purity light light of air
per pepsi without whisky
galaxy of order less strain staring from a little box in the universe seeing all these people missing the train hearing sounds of water dropping on my window pane some people call this rain they feel pain but I gain a lot of happiness in this state since all senses are involved singing on an old refrain my own movement new perception order goals to describe oneself in a world without using cognitive descriptions only as is the tradition writing explosively trying to show the inner workings in the way text is formed at the same time trying to explain something trying to make you happy first and maybee generate a thought or two remember that perceptions how you look at things how this interacts with the subconscious is the primary source and target not mental word mangling looping trying to understand something in words using the same words thinking is an amplifier at its best a destructor normally since it cannot handle the chaos of reality since words are abstractions of things that evolves and changes over time I mean that short impulses of words may stimulate in another way than logical stepped sentences every phrase should be an artwork the sum some kind of statement all things are refreshed and recreated all the time it is our perceptions that put layers of old remembrance on them experiment one in some surrealistic analogy create texts that give birth to some feelings or thoughts anger, sadness, happiness, hate, love, crying, apathy is it legal to use the words themselves? anger you are stupid heading in totally wrong direction you do not know so much about anything people around you knows this they are kind so they just talk behind your back hmmm, this is just to weak, don't you think hmmm, a hard nut, perhaps I have to little anger in my history sadness the door is closed the talk is over she has finally gone not coming back this time this was the last time you saw her in your life hmmm, this affects me much more depending on my earlier life, how global is this? happiness a warm breeze slowly takes away the hot sun from your back, drying the water drops you feel the sand on your legs and hear voices from your friends hmmm, a rather conventional description how conventional should be perhaps a novel text has harder time to get through since it is new remember that this works in several dimensions the text itself, the act of reading, memories, fantasy, the environment hate that guy again always trying to know it all always saying the right thing even if somebody else came up with it always talked about no this is not hate it is envy, let us try again hate oh he is so hard to be with so dry so boring so wrong so ugly why is he here couldn't he be somewhere else hmmm, hard to fix a good example, it seems like I have led a life with happiness and sadness without some much anger and hate has it to do with experiences only should this affect me in a positive way love her warm breath when she turns to me and put her fingers through my hair the deep blue eyes with a flicker in hmmm, this text makes me feel good! even laugh, living alone at this moment crying the slow melancolic song with its deep lyrics takes away all the world around let's me sink down and forget all misery remember all good things apathy lying down in the sofa staring out the window lost the lust to do anything everything lost its meaning I start to freeze and feel very tired hmmm, doing this investigation and reading it opens up a lot of questions
watches watches
an eighties-window like half a spider-web with segments separated by wood ugly, constructed, the form as its intended meaning but it does not succeed in any way looks old-fashioned already are the things outside real or are they created by the window? a Christmas tree, though overdue time has past it feels dead and it's dead, the lights are broken, nobody sees it any longer, it's a sign in the right time, it's an unsign now, like a tombstone nobody will come into conflict with this one, except me: it disturbs me! metal construction called railroad lots of spiderlike things in all directions a dust of the last century still alive hard, a monument with function till it's dead end rust, boredom, change of times, change of ways it's like a technical collage but the parts has just technical meanings, or? buildings from the seventies, same flavour of a long-gone epoch, half themselves, like radioctive decay disturbance, stagnation of people living there you cannot see them, however are the all dead? can you prove it? the colors are fading the tension is lost, long time ago the sea is worried today it's a timeless pattern of unfolded depths the temperament is changing perhaps one day a beautiful creature will become alive, errecting from the sea of, course, the wind has its effect on the sea, on the tree, on everything it has a distinct color, today at least me watching all this can someone else see it too or is it my mind that creates all things? this is Holy ground for me
bus patterns
at the bus people stare in front of them out in the night in their books no one hardly speaks some try to sleep but fails one gets in a state of coma this is the current reality nothing else matters now going from A to B a rest gives energy again but it's soaked by the tedious repetition building tensions, unresolvable is it a picture of life in general? going from A to B all the time is it a dream, a meditation a trip on LSD? IS IT REAL what is really happening at the bus
soap bubble
lying down almost on the floor strange, a bed is standing on my bed it cannot be used at all just wasting space kind of a loser against the wall one night it might fall down will I die or become crippled even if it's useless it constitutes a threat waiting, lurking to demonstrate its powers one night like a soap bubble soon to disappear with a puff, but when, does it know itself it's beautiful, mindless and dangerous as a stupid blonde attracting in strange ways the surface as definer of it's existence without - no existence the inside of void is useful as the air between me and the bed a protective wall of Nothingness becoming usefulness all of a sudden the distance between me and the poems inside the bus also makes a difference it cuts out the meaning of the poems they feel far away bouncing around without ever getting attached and dies silently with a puff sitting almost inside this soap bubble on the soap so called modern art is experienced from this inside this fragile envelope I try to figure out this art whenever I see it but my mind enters endless loops the thin surface between us is really not transparent rather more opaque forming a non-linear transformation which I cannot formulate I'm perhaps becoming obsessed with these walls distorting my mind the air itself forms a transparent wall how does it affect people's perceptions? an industrial area of waste and ugliness emerges there's light in some windows everything is silent doesn't smell anything this is high tech industry now no mechanical devices anywhere just electronic with its surfaces protecting their weird insides in the same way as the wall of the soap bubble energy is consumed but in what purpose I hope they will burst one day people would become perplexed which is good since magical things are uncommon in people's eyes but not in my the eyes themselves consist of liquid emptiness surrounded with thin walls in the same way now I'm inside the wall of a soap bubble located inside our thin wall called atmosphere protecting us, so far... everything is red I cannot see things it's warm as blood I've entered inside myself stuck in the border where vision is of no help this is the transformation if feels huge this red wall I wonder if I'll ever come back it's not a bad thing this soap bubble
bipolar disorder
postmodern fucking binary opposition makes one just deeply tired of these thick wordflows to take words, build own semantics and making a career as professor this, professor that one could take an electronic conductor as a base for deep studies of human behaviour: good and evil, produce and consume, warm and cold, life or death, sex and celibacy write a thesis, getting the hype to buildup interest and start a new boring branch of important research in order to search the goals of the old world of human Enlightment this is just a game with no off button, a lying, a dying, on-the-sofa with Freud fucking mechanism, the biggest lie pseudonarrative construction as a way of life, is the mental disease of choice in our postfucking modern times!
angel fossil
ground shakes someone's coming fear spreads, people run away in panic it's Ironman walking around returning from his grave, in anger he's walking on the sidewalk in a big city ground shakes, city slowly getting quiet tension buildup, people's minds narrow them to survival machines everyone for himself now spread of gigantic magnetic waves disturbing, upsetting perceptions a weird feeling, ache in stomach will we die now, is this the end end of business as usual the waves are represented in bleach technicolor from the fifties burnt metal, burnt oil stinks from him bloodtaste in the mouth rainbow of naked fear like a sunfeather the only thing visible in your mind gets burnt in the sidewalk itself one lonely angel has come to rescue but of no avail, it's too late she's getting depressed into the sidewalk, her future, massive grave a tombstone, a monument of human reason converted to just Angel Dust in the ground a fossil for future people to digest slowly feeling the iron taste of malfunctioning thoughts now it's end of hope for us rainbow turning to grey watercolors slowly fading away in the winter sky so let us not cling to hope anymore it's time to stop postponing action time to act and kill Ironman once again KNOWING that we can kill him next time too!
sabbath
cyberspastic yellow feed fill yourself with accuracy as the finest deed energetic flames of blue fire licking under the crimson sky of desire purple dots flashing in your face disconnecting time and space people running in a spiral trying to dismount evil and waste black spears wishing to fly cause all people to die going in the park feeling the ground shake eating your lunch while sensing the wireless mistake everything is pulsating through the quark storm of increasing activity presence has finally got to show up its glory now is then then is now time is out
value-added snuff
quit this shit, please quit what are you doing? self-destructive son-of-a-bitch build one thing destroy another build flowers, ponds, bridges eating garbage, hearing garbage the sum is NOT constant fuck all these added values fuck it today, real hard value-added products like drugs, easy way out never to return one moment: open the trashcan pour it away forever never to be seen now you may smile again
tweak
the electric scope flying down the gigantic cyclope real surface tensions bathing in junk-yard anxiety fucking gray-haired walks about in the samba of reality does it ever change same thing in ten years floating away in all directions can it be valued right or wrong does it need to, ever? in this everlasting song
void
flying high again concentration goes into a state of void awareness shakes itself into calm energy a burning thing that suddenly goes cold equilibrium is reached all thoughts disappear just pure naivety just pure existence just pure novelty it does not feel it does not taste it does not sound anything... after a while, time to land land into a calm plane with no wind with new experiences with fresh minds and hope it will last
wire thread
shine copper wire eat old digestive heads mask worm waving weirdos screaming mouths take off their sourness endless cavities old boring offices everhateing old store inside the cave glowing outside the door of sentimental images thread of water drips fear of slaughter causes dread muscles expanding vacuum into insane beliefs of self-existance inside a box in the woods somewhere in the North
world
The world is a place not seeing through The world is an opaque secret not finding the way out getting strength out of evil not finding the path leading to everlasting joy seeking to resolve the tension of being alive seeking to understand the reason why we are seeking to understand the reason to inhibit all momentum the reason to exhibit these intrinsic and transcendent circles the anger expressed inside the violence rooted deeply inside the selfless flesh flying from dissonance hearing sounds of fluctuating scars heat of bodies waving puffs of air somewhere in the world