Eschatology

          This morning I fell through the back of a dream. We were on an island somewhere off the coast of England. You could smell the thing. There was a lighthouse there and we were participating in group activities. Some sort of cult. I was getting ready to paint some model soldiers for an hour when the siren gulped. Light aircraft in the sky. People running: "____ is coming!!!" 

        As a final kindness we can go and see her. In Minneapolis I think. We got in the car and started moving. Somehow we were off the island. The smell had gone. We were somewhere else, like it was made of electricity; a newsreader appeared on a flat projected screen in the sky, squawking on, glitching, mouth gaping, horrible sounds. Changing form. Trees exploding in the ground. The air was heavy and the sky was a sack of orange clouds and fire. We still couldn't see her. Some golden headed Mormons screaming 'she's here! Go back!' Border patrols about, handing us huge buckets of fast food on the way in. Her last kindness. 

"Have I neglected to teach my children to pray?
Have I neglected the religious education of my children?
Gave I failed to bring my children to Sunday Mass?
Have I argued with my spouse in front of my children?
Have I failed to exercise vigilance over what my children read, see on television or on the internet?
Have I been harsh or overbearing to my children?
Have I neglected my children's welfare in any way?"

30.08.13

Those are blanks, he states. But these

are the real muck; a tower of rising

black smoke. A page from it

breathing in, a collapsed balloon.

Accident Rhyme

To the taste the golden pot it
rattles open, needing to pee
rates. Game rates, spartan file out of
the flapping
                   wooden panels, oak
for the mere thought of
                                    tunnel with
this mine basis light i care to
cut at tape, rattle rattle like
a body. She glances straighten
hair and cheeks; put a bit of blood
around the bone, be selection
be cut
           off. Publicity
strangled
where was you
ribbon coming
into warp
                        NO I WANT YOU this is the freckled truth proof at least
                        identity frail this shows you composition this forsakes     O
                        terminal stupor. Natural  bargain, nature piano  wire  fakes

now off with you bleached SUN
stupid fucker, coiled this ridge of
neuron-skin by the possum clothes
and try i do to be everyone elses

close down thought . Muscles make you stupid
like the sun which is systems of thought makes
you clever, limp, clear. With a nappy in hand
makes nothing this makes you clear as water
succubus, Cthulu edge, this makes you Saturn
this week money pours over land over save
preview clothes this makes your paws dirt steam
this makes the hand come down to hurt me

                 NO I WANT YOU NOW COME in(((((hard the floor of bedding
                 lacks properties living can't refuse  your lift my head up colour geld
                 bland to where lacking and all I want fallow to disgrace myself opened
                 'a fist in your womb' cremation bound. This man smells the light of
                 the household fires, brings in a box of vinegar for packing, put your
                 feet into water. Your fingers collect in saps///

spacial /// grips /// gelded /// thumanth /// no peak
to rest. Joyous
as in go
now out
punish
kind and pure
this grace
god gets
knows
how easy
it is more
cold than
possibly
plants and mites
and mistake
                   (health)'s are aplenty lake shine shit
 practicalities
                     haunt me, the very very
                     wealth.

Notes for the Wild Wood

Deep out of Value

I saw the sun. You stupid fucking sun. It was clearing over waste. Waste products. Don't take care. A single form. I sew its weight. 

It is German coloured. You stupid sun. You wreck of a man.

Now I'm beginning to agree with the women who shut you out.

Pincers

around my

rings

around the

world my

round

bulging history

take back

no

edit field 

. 

Stay away you stupid sucker

strip her. Clothes peeling dangle loose. She thinks she's  a bitch and so

do I think

of you

my maps

whilst on

the conceptual

breaking

bulls and

battery.      Guess what

I am not given to kindness to poets, poets suck such jelly

poets get my gild mind hears the cracking toes of words

spilt in my gelatinous frame rate split with head piece wish

me well foolish cunt of a singer wish me fuck like well.

Across the lap

of value my

credit is fallen

limpet 

we will watch

a film

a whisky

take a dung

hole back to my fort darling

wanking and fits of coughs

she closes behind and silks

seduce 

secrete her sweat I am yes gaining in love

and no gaining in anger what was it saying

you scratcher beetle 'sink your fingers down

to the knuckle' pull

back blind

hair lament my.

MINE. MINE. GIVE ME MINE. MINE SOFTENING. GINGERS. 

(health.) 

      (healthy)

put skins labels permalink frosting I write this

for the web log, suck it up, O fused mouth

capital groan I am not a comm sick as I am

not Options Options Reader I marred my process. 

two speakings

so then it goes.

i want to be tied to a...

really.

i want you to hold on. i won’t work for nothing. i really want to work. i want things to work between us.

i’ve been having dreams where i’m executed by my friends. sean stays by the wall. jonny goes across the room. he says ‘keston sutherland!’ he says ‘hey schmoopsie.’ he says ‘trend in by near miss current propel ignore delete stars delete strike that today i saw a woman strike that but new wit is diktat in honey strands / murder how uncentral -’ what is it, grinning.

i want to be a just teen boy or a just pre-teen one, to be captured by girls. to be sexually abused. to be changed and tenderly loved.

how about what we do? who’s the easiest tory to kill. i say these things and my friends are shocked which is all i ever wanted but killing is in fashion look at, you my eyes are crazed my new sleep my lost sister unborn pouring gentle killing smacking hissing eat my feet you fag.

who do you think is the best?

who do you think made your mind?

did you go to eton. did you go to cambridge. did i just destroy you. my settle my balance slip oh disc or level up inland

harm it has to be to suckle lips akin to steel this

is my mouth spraying language

like a fuck like mirrors sorting umbridge gas mask let this list be long and swift my heartfelt public columbines.

why do we fuck to extremes. nowhere. i want to say to this to you to lurch into limits scuppered by tongue aflame to which you promise will my sweltered dolly tapping nil by hand by cross by dachshund scowl i flew my new sister

a sweetly down and drawn to be fucked with

each time you levitate back unsung hero

dream of cowards let’s be young. let’s be sisters. i want to make love with my newest sister.

but all too soon the door will open.

all too soon the daddy’s back.

all too soon the morning opens.

all too soon the wage denies.

all too soon your stately air is cut to watch a litter badly all too soon the air is fasting all too soon i cum too quickly all too soon my pantied bum and all too glad them famished starting every day and every dowry quick a yelp a milk a matter all those nations all that laquer all those come and compaq grouching all too eris all to nature all too wanted legs together all too megan all so Luna all so Michael Vincent Waugh my mouth is open in walks Cathy oval prompt b to ruination all those HP all those vicars all that doubt and mammoth grim all wish smarted ribbbon safron all too peaches pass your lip juice all too kind you’re all too cute and always winning fuck you winning fuck if funny heard fuck the spiral all too compute all this panty all this

i want us all to start kissing on the lips in greeting

and whenever we can.

i want to be unchanged by this. i want you all to tie me up. i want it to be ike the way friends would do it.

we’re tired of all the noises.

who’s going to change the entire world without fucking. what if you’re asexual. i’m sorry. i’m fucked off with the rules of engagement. no i won’t go onto the factory floor. you are still a tourist. you are still from your school of thinking. i don’t care if you’re getting your dick on.

i don’t care if you’re dormant flute, get int suit.

what if i want to exaggerate. i’m sorry that i sometimes tell lies to make the world look better. i’m scared of what you think of me, and a fist invading my visor.

Kalista is this very kindness. don’t be afraid

of what you’re emitting. cancel nothing of you.

why do i make these songbirds stutter. a machine goes off in the pitch of the night i started to say to say that i wondered softly wounds were welcomed Christ and pits and coming down.

where have you gone to now Jonny. do you think she’ll like this? what is that taste in her mouth today. a golden peach. 23 stuck throats aim for collapse.

this is a bit of my weirdest wild.

i want to be a child. i want to be

three years old. i want to be made

to be three years old. cancel shame. cancel privilege. cancel bodies. cancel nothing.

***

what about people with learning difficulties.

i’m sorry for your education.

if you just stand there can you see you’re making us hungry. i’m sorry for your education. weapons. they don’t get to think like you think. i don’t get the words you get. why are your lips so wet. did you have some water.

i’m afraid of danny. we’re on the same side.

***

)(§§§±)±(^£||||}]

Let's chat about 'fluidity'. A block of text for bridging a stumbling block. That there is a space for movement within the contingent flow of 'general' identity. But surely the idea of a generality of identity is normaising? That's only a question insofar as its treatment at this point. It has no permanence as a question. The answer is yes. Fluidity also supposes a single direction, beginning as rain, tiny droplets, ending in the sea. So the analogy we are creating with the notion of 'fluid' (at least this one) is skewed. It supposes that the identity is primal, and that through its fluid journey, its reckoning, it becomes absorbed into the larger porous and populated mass. Some people are okay with that: the inward becomes outward becomes inward becomes outward until the last, most animistic and Christian act of self loss. Blissfully ejected into the ether. Or simply entwining one to the other. Or atomizing into the infinite. There are a lot of ways of putting it. And putting it off. What is lost within fluidity is any kind of half decent analysis of the component body and mind. The tiny fleck, its heteroglossilalic jibber. I don't know what the answer is except 'yes', or how to prove it or otherwise. But I keep talking about gender as fluid. And I am starting to think that because I use it so freely and so much that it must be misleading. It is certainly alarmingly convenient. What I often mean when I say it is that 'gender' describes a lot of small actions, events and patterns. These will often shift and alter. Hence the umbrella gender has the propensity to shift too. But how many of these smaller components create the larger shift? It certainly isn't healthy to think of things like this in terms of some macro balancing act. Can't we just get over this one or the other paradigm? I mean, I had quite a good time being a boy. It's not like being a conservative or something. Although the majority of them are. They want you to take it seriously. Or perhaps this is a 'pataphor. Anyway. I don't have any resolution. But I'm happy. Smash some glass. And fuck off. x

(manifesto - 2)

Transphobia is venom. From the back of your larynx to the symbolic spew of its semblance. People are fucking stupid like that, aren't they. This violence (all violence) is allowed by, in spite of and because of language - that town full of aliens and lights. Submission, sublimation. This is why there is a lot to be said for a marauding act of subjective violence. Symbolic violence is permanent, the entire artifice of the 'modern' human. The liberal. Going totally unchecked, ready to fucking waste your shit.Your death. His report. He will become A BETTER MAN. Standard, Rhyming, multiplicity. Stupid and venomous cohesion. Last night I was told about tolerence. He said that the handiest people in fights round here are 'puffs'. Round here you don't have to care but you totally want to. Invest-in-tolerence... Weak. Speculative rubbish accumulated at the very violent onset of 'normal life'.

• I am who I am is a stupid thing to say.
• I am what I am... At least now a 'what' not a 'who'.
• Your enemies think that you're so brave!