funeral junkie

In the most nondescript fragrance of terror and heart-cut desolance, I stare as leathered and worn wings sprout from her shoulder blades. They, dry as a bone and chipped from air storms, extend in displaced film chopped. chopped. chopped. chopped. chopped. She looks into me and I transform to granite. In this stone life, I am made intimately aware with every buzz of bee and filtering of light. The room is dark and the elephant men congregate in their necrotic chants and their perverse logic. A picnic, they say! The blanket is spread across the grass, the elephant men move like wires to be nourished by their mother food. “You do not care about me.” This isn’t true, please remove me from this place, God. “You do not love me.” I hate you, can you not see that I have? I hate those eyes that are so black they are deranged and speak more than your mouth. She hyperventilates in stone. Please calm a bit. “We have to talk,” she says. One wing curls across to her back. It hides the side of her face. Through the other eye she stares still. “We have to talk.” Bells are ringing in every fucking alcove, and delusions evade the focus of my eye but here, and there, and there they are! Hello, trunks, hello tusks! Hello ears! “We have to talk,” she says to me.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/africa/4748292.stm Vocals and words:Havarthe Dirge architect:Saquib

“Am I the one to decide? It isn’t like I don’t love you.”

neurosis, isis, autechre, bauhaus, dead can dance, esoteric, brutal truth, noise, strange,

crystals, powders, infinitesemally small, microgram levels of crystalline consciousness, alkaloids, acids, uppers, downers, various spontaneous combustion/inhalation devices, glass, bottles, limbs, devil grass, entwined ayahuasca serpents, and other sonically conscious particles

In the name of Satan, by me joshing with the lord, a billion solar systems have just been formed from his anus, another billion from his urine which he cannot hold, from laughing a third billion from the saliva that drooled from his gaping maw, and a fourth but not final billion from the twinkle in his eyes reminiscent of old saint nick, that jolly fat old man. I say it again Praise the lord, Hail satan, I will laugh as he laughs, with all the girls, at all the girls, as the girls laugh at me and at each other in their massive lesbian orgy of pillow fights in the nude, shattering the innocents of youth in incelibate decadence rivaling the worst of the devil’s whores and the sex fiends of the streets, and the fuck fests of fallen angels of doom. Feathers surge from their cases, set fire to the earth and combust, and all the world is scorched in flames, the very fires of hell. Ashes fall densely on the grass and on the trees, choking and killing all vegetables and fruits and flowers and ferns, leaving nothing but flowers of bone, flowers that burst in the blossom. Jagged, white in the night. Raptures feast on the flesh of fallen fellow lizard kings, but soon they too suffer from psychological exhaustion. The methane of God kills all things. There is rain for forty years and forty-hundred thousand nights. Water sweeps clean the fertilized dung of God. We are left entirely alone, for our minds are our worlds, our only worlds.