Psychopathic Tendencies

AfterShocks Predated

Marcus Andren

Your house was so empty
No weather forecast
Wind-blown and wood-grain
The dust stung your eyes
The walls wore a veneer
Too tender to last

Ode to the memory of your mamma’s warm heart
Where all was anchored
In the bay of chance

Your words were so empty
No summer clear skies
Wound down the stairs
To the vault of the past
Padlocked and airtight
With time-waxen lies

Ode to the memory of your mamma’s white lies
That sailed on the waters
To an unknown shore

Your eyes are the windows
To nobody’s soul
But lighthouses that guide
This loser back home
Shed of the lies
That we still have not told

Ode to the memory of your mamma’s soft tongue
Where the word was the music
In the ear of sea

Your smile is the stitching
On the morning’s warm hem
Lip-marked the rim
Of a coffee-cup cold
Sub-static hum
From which the future must stem

Ode to the memory of your mamma’s high laugh
Echoing round the houses
Of another world

Ivan Devoto

penumbra . 1

via Jhalal Drut

“Ivan, are you feeling better now?”
“Leave me alone Trinny.”
“Ivan, I don’t think you need to be alone.”
“You’re not supposed to think Trinny; you're a fucking machine.”
“Ivan, I can only make the assumption that you’re resorting to insulting me is a measure of your self-esteem, and will take it as fact from that assumed data that you are not unwell.”
“Fuck off”
Ivan would almost certainly be more comfortable down in the hold with the cargo. In fact, had the whole system not fucked up the launch, that’s exactly where he would be now, suspended in a mental nowhere with his last hopes and dreams frozen at the moment of departure: a deadman. Yes, Ivan is almost certain he’d be more comfortable down in the hold rather than this: trapped in the body of a whale, orbiting the planet with a fucking computer for company.

Chapter Index

Forward

Difficult Question

Perhaps I should add (for those citizens of police states other than this one) that families in London have been threatened with eviction from their council homes because their children were involved in the riots

Pimping The Inverse

via FreakingNews

The moon turns to illuminate
My impatient wait
For the imp of the perverse
Who [typically] turns up late

Mutant Variation

Still from Bela Tarr's astonishingly beautiful The Man From London

from eerie of concrete through slow-time and dead-heart release i watch the monolith breathe all creaking earthquake weather and crackling pigskin pucker soft down the decades to the school of hard knocks subtle in the infinite cut to the bone and i ask the sky am i here all alone?

from this eerie concrete echo slow release and dread heart disease i watch you sleeping breathe all wet willed weather defined and financially hogtied to the crackling decades at the school of soft options infinitely subtitled censorious and i ask the sky am i here all alone?

"I open up my wallet, and it's full of blood"
~ Godspeed You! Black Emperor

I'm Not a Racist But...

David Camerunt; his future Lordship puts down the 2011 peasant revolt

I'll never understand why the English 'working class' wave the flag for queen and country while voting in the these tory pirates - basically sodomising their future in the hope that their lordships will throw them a bone every now and then.

Vertigo

Kubicki

Late summer spiders
Span sedate this Sunday dream
Catch the feted flies
Of muted minutes in-between

Tuck them in goodnight
In beds of gardens green
And hollow out
The future’s opaque screen

Late summer spiders
Across the garden green
Skittle skate Sunday late
The future’s hollow scream