The Specimen of Monday's intonations

The Specimen of Monday's intonations




beyond the dream of the book
producing a sob within the spine
I trample upon them
I wipe them out
obliterate them
nullified by my efforts
affecting their minds
I eat them with desolation and destruction
everything was reduced to ashes
I am a cancerous growth
a certain ape that uses charcoal
sketching the bars of its own cage
that eats away the good flesh
poisoning each tissue
a curious and debased love
each day I am uglier than the next
I remove everything that belongs to you
I erase your memories
you have forgotten how to be human
I have made you an obsession
you are unknown and absolutely alone
beginning to dissolve and vanish
it was a breaking of a social boundary
I swallow you up
your world is crumbling in my hands
passionate love
the world is my talisman
with it I dig a trench of little understanding
In my little hole I have become obscure
I have realized that the mystery of this world is obscurity
to be obscure is to be a king
I approached the meaning of this life with fear and trembling
I was aware that a greatness had been revealed to me
that I had passed a rite of initiation
when I looked for understanding it ran away from me
when I ignored it, it came running after me
all things began to fall in their place
the world was moving with me
life disappeared from sight
I became invisible
everything is flung wide open
the past and the future rush up to greet me
they are horrified by the metamorphosis
making me tremble with just one look
a contemptuous look mixed with real feeling
not something you can buy off the shelf
she howled inside her
a storm of anguish
head down and muttering
desperate with her feelings of loss
twisted and formed by human hands
wandering with the forlorn and desperate
I am swimming in her incandescent light
revealing everything and concealing nothing
upside down as Siamese twins
a simple sheath of saturation
I looked through the holes of her life
with fits of tremolo
a fevered dream
we lived like human flesh
perpetual fornication
a benevolent eye stealing through the curtains
her smooth lips
I know her every crevice
violently jerked by her strings
the gift of transformation
spotting the ripe carcass
pouncing upon the ovaries
stone quiet at the base of my spine
jaw bones and blessed omens
she devours the young
an orgy in her cavern
the lunatics line up at her bedroom door
their cocks in their hands
working out their salvation
one orgasm at a time
with gnostic texts written by drunken priests
the broken necks of the beer bottles
this is Valhalla
to big to fail
I'm not into finance, I,m into romance
doubt, fear, and jealousy
I became the victim of my own creation
I inspired horror and dread
exposing the monster
she was a long distance message
a fire produced by friction
absolute in her emptiness
fucking me like a maniac
I forgot who she was
her flesh slid off into endlessness
she became a brief afternoon
transparently alive
breathing in the light of substance abuse
we are fucking over the world
with limited passion
copulating with double-barreled shotguns
she hides her loneliness
striving to meet jumbled sentences
to live like a hysterical ranting
a kind of dread that is experienced in the body
it takes work to understand
to slow things down
dedicated to the seriousness of the craft
leaping over the world
she is vivid like flesh and blood
a happy afternoon creature
an abandoned quest
she was my starting point
the internal self, a pregnant abstraction
I learned to cover her with my darkness
I filled her with the gates of hell
she could not resist my bloody work
my energies thrown into the creation of death
building her fearless apparatus
hypnotic eyes of personification
I showed her the limits of the world
and she taught me how to recover my stolen ground
I deceived her fanatics with big guns
condemned to recognize the unique
her blameless face
a familiar breeze
she was fascinated by my innocence
it coiled through the pores of my skin
awareness of the depths of pain
the pain that comes with love
we can't be alone
we need each other
yet, this need comes with suffocation
the panic at the first sign of retreat
a struggle between the two forces
the need to get beyond the self
the best way we know how
you have filled my whole vision
looking for authenticity
that which we are afraid of
to be formulaic
the lush banality
I am a bastard
shielded by decorum
shot through with your disease
surrender yourself to me
fresh from the land of subjectivity
that layer of motif
kicking out your teeth
in a respectful manner
a real hunger
in direct confrontation
the crux of my work
spinning out
a kind of roller coaster
an enormous stimulus
feeling a certain kind of self-hatred
this is unacceptable
I cannot perceive anyone else
there is only me
my own personal hell
taking you with me
into my own sadness
such strong terms
this is precisely what I feel
I am not trying to sell you anything
not offering you a sales pitch
there is something weird in this world
shooting into the sky
watching and not living
the world is in my hands
not fully genuine
expressing my insincerity
let them figure out my primary concerns
the traditional need for values
extremely bizarre and disorientated
connecting to nothing
a victim to my own devices
hanging from a hook
most of our lives are irrelevant
comprised of nothing significant
we are standing at the opening scene
the ideas about our states of mind
a horrific struggle
past the tilting buildings
where we invented rust
taking shotguns of wowie
someday we will be very old
still cleaning out the seeds
a psychiatric report
we focus on your mental state
blind to the needs of other
the point of no return
self-obsessed
a small melancholy
being inductive
that is part of the story
something that is beyond all this
across the erie lands
they all start out as being sincere
bottoms up and falling off
knocking long and hard at my door
she was a beacon that flickered
under the shudder of the world
sometimes things don't work out the way I planned
but they always work out in the end
it takes faith in the process
the cards always come through
the torture is the between times
getting from point a to point b
that is where the struggle comes in
wearing myself out with the tugging
instead of floating with the tide
feeling sorry for the emptiness of the street
walking around hoping you get lucky
putting your heart behind
seeing it as possible and beautiful
doing something that strikes a chord
the periphery seeps in like a poison
an emptiness fills the whole world
it is not dark matter that fills the between spaces
it is the emptiness
I am supported by my loneliness and terror
sliding between ghost and ghosts to
those that are ignorant and cruel
wanting to electrify the cosmos
removing my spiritual body
they looked at me with useless eyes
cutting heads with a tin can
this is not a progressive nation
being forced to reflect on ones life
thinking about life itself
32 stories tall with no windows
inspiring to be a colossus
running through your theories of social inequality
never reaching the limits of your expectations
I am robbing you of your rational human mind
an indifferent universe
this is part of our nature
born with this sense of fairness
you can't own the diversity of your ideas
your virtue is not always rewarded
a happy rock guarantees with stolen goods
and the world just doesn't care
you thought bureaucracy is real
telling me about it on the subway
sitting in a sling back chair
promising me that justice would be my friend
condemned to a lifetime of futility
the same thing over and over again