Walking along the highway.
I am keen on you.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Saturday, July 4, 2009
Carrion Caretaker Part III
Upon the masses there was unleashed,
A wretched, twisted man.
The soul inside contorted, corrupted,
Consumed by Abaddon’s hand
Rivers will run
And flesh will peel.
Obliteration follows in his wake.
And the little hands
Of those little children
Lovingly he’ll take.
Seducing sweetly like Amdusias’ horn,
Until limb from limb
He has them torn.
Raining from his hands:
A cascade of gore.
Drip-drop, drip-drop.
Landing on the floor.
A wretched, twisted man.
The soul inside contorted, corrupted,
Consumed by Abaddon’s hand
Rivers will run
And flesh will peel.
Obliteration follows in his wake.
And the little hands
Of those little children
Lovingly he’ll take.
Seducing sweetly like Amdusias’ horn,
Until limb from limb
He has them torn.
Raining from his hands:
A cascade of gore.
Drip-drop, drip-drop.
Landing on the floor.
Carrion Caretaker Part II
Written by The Caretaker
Sordid crows look upon sordid masses
Breathing nightmares upon them with but a whim
Oh what a notion
To be desired
By this echoing, creeping, growing, lasting, brooding darkness
Soon the feast begins
The tides do change again
I softly take your hand
To become an evil, twisted man
Turn on the masters twin
Subdue the rush
Frost white burial
Death like ceremonial
Passive and extravagant
Contort the will of the fate or destiny or cause or concern or status of world to come
Bleed out the despair
Bleed in the hunger
Feed the madness
Sever the masses
Shape to this wretched crooked throne
Stained in blood and ash
Darkened with age
To affix with this structure so tall and malevolent
To become
Become depraved
Become corrupt
Become wicked and vile
To discern all around you as decrepit and barren
Wake
And totality will overtake the infants
Breeding in the pools of blood
And sweat and tears
Raping the survivors
So they become the last.
Carrion Caretaker Part I
Written by Cellar Dorre and The Caretaker
Where did the thick black outlines go?
They converged with the skin.
Creating a pantheistic mass of colour,
that swirled and lifted to heights once viewed by demi gods and immortals.
Only to plummet back down to the cracked and weary surface of a tangible hell.
and was taken in small increments only to be fed to lepers sitting atop buildings crying their songs to the winds.
Winds that pulled and twisted their sobbing songs into meaningless howls which bounced and battered their way through the crowds.
Slowly one child began to step forward towards the turbulent hellion tower adorned with blood and flesh and bones and vultures at which the gathered beings glared.
Basking in its horrific glory, he almost turned away, yet the magnetic force of fear pulled one leg in front of the other.
The man that sat in the tarnished silver throne beckoned him forth with a wave of his hand speaking into his mind
"Come to me child, and witness the beauty in death. You shall atone for them, they will only suffer. You shall persevere”
Where did the thick black outlines go?
They converged with the skin.
Creating a pantheistic mass of colour,
that swirled and lifted to heights once viewed by demi gods and immortals.
Only to plummet back down to the cracked and weary surface of a tangible hell.
and was taken in small increments only to be fed to lepers sitting atop buildings crying their songs to the winds.
Winds that pulled and twisted their sobbing songs into meaningless howls which bounced and battered their way through the crowds.
Slowly one child began to step forward towards the turbulent hellion tower adorned with blood and flesh and bones and vultures at which the gathered beings glared.
Basking in its horrific glory, he almost turned away, yet the magnetic force of fear pulled one leg in front of the other.
The man that sat in the tarnished silver throne beckoned him forth with a wave of his hand speaking into his mind
"Come to me child, and witness the beauty in death. You shall atone for them, they will only suffer. You shall persevere”
The Magician
Contorted mouth and mottled flesh,
Moth-eaten cape as thin as mesh.
Convex spine laden with sin,
She sees your lies, she sees within.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Order 66
Hold the hand of the one beside you.
Stab the leader in the back.
Elbow the one behind you,
Twist the arm until it cracks.
Desert each of your parents.
Consume the bodies of the young.
Gods were scorchéd from their thrones,
And from our towers, they're hung.
Scar, Smash, Juice, Crush
Scars stretched across black tundra.
Dips and swells galore.
Peel apart the peptide bonds,
Smash, smash, smash against the floor.
Juice small feathers in twisted claws.
Ineffective incandesence,
Crushed between your jaws.
Dismount, Bite, Pull, Feel
Dismount from the pale horse
and chew on the grass a while.
Bite the hand that feeds you
and feel the flesh stretch a mile.
Pull back the starchéd lace
that cauterizes hell.
Feel the bone push through
your adamantium shell.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
The Church Burners: Prologue
The spray of fibres dug into my neck. Each stray hair puncturing my flesh, trying desperately to tunnel it’s way into my throat. Even if I had wanted to scream, I knew I wouldn’t be able to; that tunnel was nothing more than a slit ay this point.
As the rope tightened, bark began to battle the rope hairs for domination of what was once my throat. A sadistic race to the finish. Unfortunately for the tree digging into the back of my head and neck, the rope was winning.
I felt the rope jerk again sending a serpentine burn running beneath my chin. I think my body tried to sob, or heave, or scream, or something. Too bad she wouldn’t let it. She was in control now. Her and that fucking rope. Honestly though, I can’t say that I minded.
An irritating tickling summoned a swarm of bumps across my cheek and neck as the rope brushed against the short hairs lining my skin. This is the part where she was tying the rope. I guess she needed both of her hands.
The air moved as she brushed past my shoulder and walked around to the other side of the tree. She stood in front of me so I could see her face. The left corner of her mouth twitched. I don’t know why I remember that. I don’t think I should’ve remembered that. In fact, her twitching should have been the last thing on my mind since I know it wasn’t on hers.
I could feel myself disintegrating. Blood was finding it harder to pump, pump, pump its way up to my skull. Things began to bleed together; the world was blossoming into a pantheistic mass of colour; where did the thick black outlines go?
I no longer had a face. It was just there. It didn’t belong to me anymore. It was more tree, or rope, or air than it was me. I almost didn’t feel her open mouth crush mine. Looking back, I don’t even know if I did. Have you ever been holding something in your hand and accidentally bashed it against a table or a wall and cried out in pain even though you didn’t feel it at all? I think this was one of those situations.
Who am I kidding? I think I am one of those situations.
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Omnipotence vs. Irreverence: A Dialogue
And there you have it!
A creature of most intricate design.
Bits and pieces rely on next in line.
The start one, you must spark the other,
To spark that one, you must ignite another.
Honestly, I truly am ingenious.
No, you're not!
They'll be too ignorant and so compliant.
They'll follow blindly like the one behind it;
Nothing but a destructive tool!
Or, is that what you want, ignominious fool?
You're simply a tyrant at heart.
But, oh, just wait!
I'll create them solely in my image;
Their bodies modeled after my own visage.
To them my word is law, you see,
All their acts done in the name of me.
I am their head of state.
Alas, your downfall!
Truly you haven't thought this through.
To create a species just like you,
But without the reasons to claim such power?
You have built yourself a crumbling tower.
Thus, my warning call.
A creature of most intricate design.
Bits and pieces rely on next in line.
The start one, you must spark the other,
To spark that one, you must ignite another.
Honestly, I truly am ingenious.
No, you're not!
They'll be too ignorant and so compliant.
They'll follow blindly like the one behind it;
Nothing but a destructive tool!
Or, is that what you want, ignominious fool?
You're simply a tyrant at heart.
But, oh, just wait!
I'll create them solely in my image;
Their bodies modeled after my own visage.
To them my word is law, you see,
All their acts done in the name of me.
I am their head of state.
Alas, your downfall!
Truly you haven't thought this through.
To create a species just like you,
But without the reasons to claim such power?
You have built yourself a crumbling tower.
Thus, my warning call.
Monday, March 30, 2009
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Haiku XXVII & XXVIII
Shatter barriers.
Help me find reality.
Restructure my life.
Opens up your mind,
Ostracizing your vision.
Magic is real now.
Haiku XXV & XXVI
Hold me in your arms.
Embrace me, Euphoria!
Reeling in pleasure.
Organs are failing.
Inside my bones are burning.
Nothing else can cure.
Haiku XXIII & XXIV
Crystaline lover,
Open up my heart and soul.
Connect you and I.
Allow me to feel
Inexplicable pleasure.
Never release me.
Prepare
I
Lungs expand.
Negative space is filled
and frozen.
Moisture oozes in
anticipation.
II
Mouth open.
Poised on the edge of
oblivion.
Waiting to slip through
the cracks.
Bomb Shelter
Intellect masked by insanity.
Beauty is the beast.
Beauty is the beast.
The world turns its head,
points its finger,
and destroys the innocent.
Paper planes to ashes
used as paint to hide
their genius.
Eyes of Fenrir
Incredible.
The eyes of Fenrir penetrating,
shredding, destroying,
the mask of perfection,
sending the worms moving,
running fleeing
to the shelter of the apple
whose flesh
(such a succulent infection)
seduces like a poison.
Oh, those eyes,
such soulful eyes,
burning through my
defences -- seizing my heart
and swinging it
like a pendulum.
The wine is empty
and my eyes are full.
These hands are brushing,
rubbing, scratching
at the maggots
feasting on my misfortune.
So trivial, so futile.
Trying to cut the strings
andbreak the sticks.
A primitive operation
with no anaesthetic,
injection, nor sanitation,
just a desperate struggle.
And those worms,
oh, those silly little worms,
always in pursuit.
A rat race for the apple,
its saccerine body and its
bitter end.
The abhorrent creatures
stop in unison.
Their eyeless faces turned,
hypnotically
transfixed on the pendulum,
the movement, the repition.
One symbiotic mass of
anticipation.
Waiting for the strings to
snap and the pendulum to
stop
and for Fenrir to swallow me
whole.
Propaganda
Ministry standards
explored from differing.
A polished piece is the resulte of the
formative process.
Strong mandatory fulfillment.
Repeated abscences
to create a
summative assessment.
Part: Maternity
I
Snakes feel the bite.
Looking to art for clues.
Sea levels will likely rise.
Avoid contact with eyes.
II
Inteded to feed
still fragile threads
to death.
People will have no interest in them.
III
The wooden coffin,
only dark organic matter,
running beneath the sameness.
Roused from lethargy.
Assimilate
The masses.
Such ignorant narcissists they are.
So ignominious and pale.
Inhale
Exhale
Raping the simulation.
Ripping apart the weak,
Exhuming their sins
for public scrutiny.
Consume.
Reproduce.
Worms running through
veins and arteries,
looking for an escape.
Mechanical operations to raze
what isn't understood.
Such agressive ignorance
consumes all cognition.
Preservation or suicide?
Assimilate.
Eviscerated Pen
I am the pen.
Poised.
Agony then connection.
Collid and assimilate.
Spewing symphonies
in silence.
Breathless, I gasp.
Respiration's futile;
Love's a fallacy.
The pen is eviscerated.
Lungs and heart removed.
I am the paper.
Saturated.
Impregnated.
Paper.
Some Functions of a Corpse
To be silent. To applaud its maker
and destroy the involuntary movements.
To absorb the cold
and disprove the notion of immortality
(excuse me miss, may I touch you here?)
and be little more than an object.
To bloat
willing to decay
and be food.
To be displayed ignominiously
as the creator reaches out of himself
shutting off the morals of
society
to indulge in carnal pleasures, then
having served this short-lived purpose, carefully
eviscerated in a basement.
To be the object of desire.
Synonymous
Hands push through concrete.
Rythm ceases.
Caged silence echoes.
Connections obstructed.
Sheer audacity.
Incapable of sonance.
Intangible asphyxiation.
Senses implode.
Ecstacy or emptiness?
Blossoms Glow
Gold blossoms glow
on hollow oblong pools.
Don't drop,
for jolts turn poor gold to brown.
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