The Establishment. Issue One. Rectal Concealment Device. Coming Soon.
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posted by Luke 6:19 AM
I know a boy who can fart through his mouth. His favorite trick is to get right up close to someone, fart and blow the stinky methane right into his victims face. It’s fucking disgusting, even though it is sort of funny.
posted by Luke 9:13 AM
The Ferret Wheel.
Fulsome forest.
Burning.
Craters. Brackish Water.
Fulsome Secret. Blossoming.
Billowing.
In copper domes, wet, bulging with rainforest. Coiled with brightly coloured snakes and long armed monkeys. Howling and croaking.
Bulge eyed monkeys, panic-striken and bellowing.
Fire lights the forest. Smoke fills the dome.
Moonwater. Dusty and milky.
In sports arenas and thunderdomes, refugees huddle under blankets, listen to static on transistor radios, hallucinate voices, abstract messages from the hiss and crackle.
Religous cults gather around the radio to hear the revelation.
Under dark skies warped with lightning, swarming with rain bugs.
Smoking braziers, wooden pallets and picket fences broken for firewood. Milk and moonshine.
Rats frolic like rabbits, fat and carefree.
The War God has returned. Fire engulfs the world.
Palidromes and thunderclaps, post-it notes in a filofax. A department store.
Ageing carpets and low lighting. Sales assistants with the outfits and attitudes of street hookers.
The merchandise is all unsold 1950s stock. Dust grows like a grey moss on every surface.
The manager scuttles acorss the shop floor like a cockroach when the kitchen lights go on.
A sales assistant asks if i need any help, then turns around and shows me her arse, cellulite in fishnets, thong-split.
I feel vaguely uncomfortable.
As i turn to leave the shop staff bare their teeth and make noises like wounded animals. I start to run and as i do so the staff run too, they chase me down aisles of kitchenware and lingere, stationry and perfumes. They are howling, a horrible hysterical screaming which makes the blood run cold.
As i run i notice the cold eyed mannequins, dressed in tweed and gingham, these are not men and women of plastic! These are the embalmed bodies of the dead!
posted by Luke 12:12 PM
In the Control Towers tall, thin men, like skeletons, parceled in wax paper, plot the events of next year.
The God of War is returning.
His worshippers greet him with bombs and murder,
lay garlands of entrails at his feet.
The God of War is returning.
The people quail at his feet.
Abase themselves in the dust.
'To Fear me is to Worship me.'
posted by Luke 10:49 AM
introducing KURT SLAUGHTER.
posted by Luke 2:25 PM
turkey whispers (doggerel-unfinished)
Avast! lonely Derringer
a vast!
lone and last, lolling lowly last
avast! loping loving last, limping, loping past
Avast! lonely Derringer Avast!
Sherry trifle! Avast! perriwinkles! Avast! Cockatiels and spaniel pups, silk cravats and swine
brigadiers and belfry bats, buccanners and brine
earwigs and candy wax, lavender and burr, blackberry and merriment, fiddlesticks and fur.
a thousand thanks my merry men, a barrell full of tripe, a funeral for a turkey stick, tobbaco for my pipe
a dowager for christmas, a concubine for March, a saucepan full of celery, a louchely waxed moustache
Avast my hearty lovelies, time is wearing thin, march with me till Easter in armour made of tin.
we'll gather up the auttumn leaves and make a roaring fire, we'll shout and yell and dance about until the flames expire
we'll wear all types of jewellry, emerald earings and cufflinks too, we'll try on dresses made of grass with stockings from Peru
we'll burnish all the banisters and buckle every shoe, we'll bankrupt every harlequin from here to Timbucktoo
we'll tighten every torniquet and bolster every brook, we'll tickle every cockatrice and cranny every nook
we'll grow our beards till august and set them all on fire
we'll rob every single bank in town and then we'll all retire.
Avast my hearty lovelies, all lusty and full fed, we'll make a man of liquorice with a mollusc for his head
we'll raid the seas for starfish and plunder every reef, we'll fence with every swordfish and never brush our teeth
the sun is shining brightly, the sea shimmers with its light, rum for every man aboard, with the stomach for a fight
we'll wrestle with the octupi and tangle with the squid
a laurel wreath for every man aboard that ever derring-did.
A vast and desolate desert populated by vultures and lizards and scorpions. A man walks through the desert in rags, laughing.
The sun is white like hot metal.
The man chews on a scorpion like a toffee apple. He is delioroulsy happy. Life has given him all he has asked for.
posted by Luke 2:32 PM
Nebulous stanchions, expansions and contractions, heart-sighs and starbeams,
Heart-speared and swooning, stuck with arrow and moonspear.
Here now, inhaling and exhaling, drifting through starfields, on peak and precipice,
On mountain-top to overlook,
Dense expanses of limitless space, immensities and prodigies,
dark, compacted infinity.
Fiery nebulas, stellar implosions, the spiralling of vast orbs, flaring comets…
Shivering in dark valleys while lights tremble, twist and spiral like smoke in a sunbeam.
Expansion, outreaching,
Space, the star forest, fluid light moving through heavy darkness
Breathing, heart-bud opening,
Skin peeled back, naked nerves flare and tremble, church with no roof but the sky.
_________________________________-
Crows circling the seminary,
Starbeams and snowflakes, a thousand tiny deaths.
Expirations.
Light which is white and cold. Quite pitiless.
A brilliant fire burning with a cold light.
Circuitry. Symmetry. Cemetery.
Solitary.
In thick, dark night
Crepuscular mountain, crabbed and sinewy, with trees, hunched in the rocky scree, with no fruit in the branches but crows.
Dwarfed, limbs tormented, knotted, twisted and deformed, forced into contortions, underwind, clinging to rockface. A strength born under duress.
Willows stroke your face
Light pours through the holes in the skull.
Lust-led, and possessed
Borne along on swollen rivers
On floodwaters carried, half-conscious, fearful and exultant, trusting and not trusting,
Blind tarantula
Sharkhead nebula
Copper canal. Copper sky. Dead conduit.
Copper conduit under dead sky.
Empty,
Minded cosmos
Grandiloquent and casually dishonest.
Torpid purgatory
Blank fathoms. Compressed air.
A thick and suffocating silence.
A feeling that gravity had increased, the limbs felt heavier, the body fatigued, the nerves leaden. A smaller store of energy from which to draw. Air like sawdust.
Men grown pinched and distrustful. Guarded.
A coded language of intimation and suggestion,
The insult, the taunt or threat, the expression of contempt and disgust, the dismissal, disapproval, censure, hate,
Coded into small talk, a subtext of hidden meanings, the id of any conversation
Cruel, barbed and violent, hissing and scratching beneath the surface of polite conversation.
Paranoia tunnels. Doubt tunnels. Cave complexes of fears and social anxieties.
___________________________-----
Emeraldine meadows, and streams bell-like
Woozy pastures, hills and scything valleys, grass squirming beneath bare feet, courting butterflys and birdsong, cicadas, the soft breathing of woods and meadows.
Perfect summers. Lolling daydreams in haystack shadows. Warm, shimmering Arcadys.
In faultless love, lamb-like, gambolling on summer pastures, trysts in fields vivid with sunlight and wildflower, playful kisses under shady oak and a race to crest the green hill.
Happyville! We made it!
And down the hill walk to Happyville, hand in hand, through streets in early evening.
The sun setting, the shops shutting and the cats purring on the porches.
Gentle evening. One evening in Happyville. We can never return here/
________________________________--
Time, a trickle of treacle.
Eye in the hand.
Lights in the sky
Ascend!
Blood of the saints!
Toenails and beard clippings. Earwax and phlegm.
Win them all! Relics of the Holy Saints! Most revered and Sacrified!
A millstream. Tombola. Old women in coloured tights. Ginger cake and currant buns.
Betwixt hell and heaven, not deserving of either.
Church like a dog, threatening, with shoulder squared.
cobweb of shadows on white stone portico.
Strange attractor, broiling sea
Grotto of expansions and contractions.
Fleshpot. Bilious vice.
A stormer of fortresses. Dark-centered explosions.
Lust led him by the nose, an accomplice, and willing too
Aiding and abetting.
Adrift on a strange ocean. Or pond in municipal park.
Swamp of illusions. Fervid hopes and fears both, casting strange figures against the sky.
Arabesques and curlicles. Minatory engines. Sound of thunder and angels.
Impossible promises
Spinning madalas. The opening lotus. Peacock. Eagle. Owl.
Flowering turbines. Wheels turning. A-spin. Horrifying wheel.
A-turning.
Rolling pitilessly.
A traitors meeting in the pine forest. Where moss muffles the footfalls and the treetops blot out the moon.
A fox wriggles out into the night, den beneath a gravestone.
coral. minarets. smog.
Don’t betray the desire.
Here, the great dining hall.
Hall of cobwebs and dim chandeliers.
Banquets of medlars, snuff and wax fruit. A ghost sits silently in the corner.
A cold wind stumbles through the room like a drunk, knocking objects from the table, disturbing the bats.
Fog rises in the dining hall. Silver, moonlike in the fog.
The mounted head of a stag looks out over the fog. Two glass eyes.
Two mice, giddy with love, run and leap across the floors, skidding on marble, tiny paws on marble floors, scrabbling for grip.
And furniture burns in the fireplace. Things are not as they were.
Fire on Moon Beach. Orange star-embers fading on black sand sky.
Unattainable.
Blind swarming terror.
Keening ice. The sound of icebergs clashing and splintering.
A descent into polar caverns. Pillars, bridges and arches of ice. Lifeless, unable to support life.
Floating, a frozen music, ice chimes and polar winds, grief of great beauty, aching, beauties which do not belong to us, music not for our ears. Beauty of eternities and the communications of stars, migrating winds, glaciers and of all those who die too young.
Trains of Bedouins.
Begone!
Legal secretaries in pencil skirts.
Ice age, Venerable Icybeard.
Heart- stone entangled by ivy, like a gravestone.
Frost in his beard and eyelashes.
Contraction. Indwelling, gathering inwards.
Tiny point of light. Ball of impossibly concentrated matter. Atom containing all potentialities. All possibilities. World-seed. Progenitor of all things.
The earth’s core. Centre from which all path radiate.
A fruitful silence.
Twinkling streets. Dusky. Heartsore.
Walk, through the noise of traffic and drunkenness, in a tunnel of silence.
Lights twinkle.
posted by Luke 4:02 PM
this is not finished, but i wanted to post something. i don't know why. come back in a couple od days, i'll tray to complete it.
Nebulous stanchions, expansions and contractions, heart-sighs and starbeams
Heart-speared and swooning, stuck with arrows and moonspears,
Breathing the blissful air, agonies of bliss, starfields, plains and prairies of the mind.
The open spaces, the expanses, immensities and prodigies, dark, compacted infinity.
Firey nebulas, vales of terrible pleasures…
Tightrope, not treacherous, but hard, so hard…
Requiring almost superhuman efforts of concentration, of focus, of balance, of slow, deliberate movements, a strength that is supple and yielding, a courage that does not falter,
1-pointed
Crows circling the seminary,
Starbeams and snowflakes, a thousand tiny deaths.
Light which is white and cold. Quite pitiless. A brilliant fire that burns with a cold light.
Circuitry. Symmetry. Cemetery.
Solitary.
In thick, dark night
Crepuscular mountain, crabbed and sinewy, between rocks, trees, crabbed and sinewy, dwarfed, limbs tormented, twisted and deformed, forced into contortions, underwind, clinging to rockface…
Willows stroke your face
Light pours through the holes in the skull.
Lust-led, and possessed
Borne along on swollen rivers
On floodwaters
Blind tarantula
Sharkhead nebula
Cuttlefish.
Empty,
Minded cosmos
Grandiloquent and casually dishonest.
Torpid purgatory
Blank fathoms. Compressed air.
Thick and suffocating silence.
A feeling of gravity having increased, the limbs feel heavier, the body fatigued. A smaller store of energy from which to draw.
Muttered insults, coded insults
The insult, the taunt, the attitude of contempt and disgust, the dismissal, disapproval
Coded into small talk, a subtext of hidden meanings, the id of any conversation
Cruel, barbed and violent, hissing and scratching beneath the surface of small talk…
Paranoia tunnels. Doubt tunnels. Cave complexes of fears and social anxieties.
Emeraldine meadows, and streams bell-like
Woozy pastures, trysts in long yellow grass, a playful kiss beneath a tree, and run, together, to crest the green hill.
Happyville! We made it! And hand in hand,
walk through streets in early evening, when everything is peaceful, and the setting sun spreads silken veils across the sky and cats lie on the porches and draw in the last rays of the sun, and the shopekeepers are shutting their shops and the mothers call playing children from in off the street and think
maybe we could live here, you and I. Maybe we could find a home in happiness.
Maybe.
Time, a trickle of treacle.
Eye in the hand.
Lights in the sky
Ascend!
A millstream. Tombola. Old women in coloured tights.
Betwixt hell and heaven, not deserving of either.
Strange attractor, broiling sea
Grotto of expansions and contractions.
Fleshpot. Bilious vice.
A stormer of fortresses. Dark-centered explosions.
Lust led him by the nose, an accomplice, and willing too
Aiding and abetting.
Adrift on a strange ocean. Or pond in municipal park.
Swamp of illusions. Fervid hopes and fears both, casting strange figures against the sky.
Arabesques and curlicues. Minatory engines. Sound of thunder and angels.
Impossible promises
Spinning madalas. The opening lotus. Peacock. Eagle. Owl.
Flowering turbines. Wheels turning. Aspin. Horrifying wheel.
Aturning.
Rolling pitiless.
coral. minarets. smog.
Don’t betray the desire.
Here, the great dining hall. Hall of cobwebs and dim chandeliers. Grotesque statuary. Suits of oppressive armour.
Banquets of medlars and wax fruit.
A cold wind stumbles through the room like a drunk, knocking objects from the table.
Fog rises in the dining hall. Silver candlesticks rise from the fog. The mounted head of a stag looks out over the fog.
__________________________________________________---
(unfinished continued..-)
Here, the great dining hall.
Hall of cobwebs and dim chandeliers. Grotesque statuary. A wall lined with a guard of empty armour. Suits of armour held up by metal rods. Silver which needs polishing.
Grim-faced ancestors stare down from their portraits on panelled oak walls. In judgement. In condemnation.
Banquets of medlars, snuff and wax fruit. A ghost sits silently in the corner.
A cold wind stumbles through the room like a drunk, knocking objects from the table, disturbing the bats.
Fog rises in the dining hall. Silver, moonlike in the fog.
The mounted head of a stag looks out over the fog. Two glass eyes.
Two mice, giddy with love, run and leap, parting and rejoining, hide and seek, skidding on marble, tiny paws on marble floors, scrabbling for grip.
And furniture burns in the fireplace. Things are not as they were.
Fire on Moon Beach. Orange star-embers fading on black sand sky.
Unattainable.
Sump of illusion.
Generous bequests to provincial museums.
Portraits of honoraries and dignitaries, lumps of flint and rusted metal, candelabra and chamber pots, fishing rods, tapestries and washing-boards, snake skin shoes and crocodile teeth, tribal masks, shrunken heads, ten-galleon hats, prayer mats, Persian rugs and comic books, blown glass and cobblestones, wishbones, penny whistles, memories of telly shows, humbugs, black jacks and acid drops, yo-yos and bottle tops, skipping ropes and porno mags, Tupperware, chemistry sets, transistor radios and plastic bags, Polaroid cameras, stuffed hares, foxes, badgers, stoats, weasels and birds, juicers, ice-cream makers, asparagus steamers, butterflies pinned to chipboard, the recordings of dead pop stars, belt buckles, sovereign rings, charm bracelets and amulets, duvet covers and tea cosies, coffee tables and ironing boards, brilliantine, cut throat razors, football programmes and Ovaltine, sickles, thimbles, bridles and spurs, tinderboxes and cereal boxes, phonebooks, darts trophies and tea-chests, old coins and bits of lint. Memories in matter. Things which no longer exist.
Blind swarming terror.
Keening ice. The sound of icebergs clashing and splintering.
A descent into polar caverns. Pillars, bridges and arches of ice. Lifeless, unable to support life.
Floating, a frozen music, ice chimes and polar winds, grief of great beauty, aching, beauties which do not belong to us, music not for our ears. Beauty of eternities and the communications of stars, migrating winds, glaciers and of all those who die too young.
Trains of Bedouins.
Begone!
Legal secretaries in pencil skirts.
Ice age, Venerable Icybeard.
Heart- stone entangled by ivy, like a gravestone.
Frost in his beard and eyelashes.
Twinkling streets. Dusky. Heartsore.
Walk, through the noise of traffic and drunkenness, in a tunnel of silence.
Lights twinkle. Women with kind faces. Faces which give comfort. A kindness in their bearing. Making coffee in the café perhaps, or just passing in the street.
Or intercepting a smile meant for someone else, and feeling sad, that it wasn’t meant for you, and guilty for having stolen it.
Lillys in a robe of dewy vapour.
Prisons,
rows of cages, rows of eyes.
posted by Luke 4:49 PM