a dragon’s beak fixated
the eye shrapnel
like the moon without black iris
light whose day never expires
ill defined green night
medusa gazes down
anxious bursts of flaming mushrooms
on pedestals of shadows
only the after effect ever occurred
these walls of mighty troy
rise like the flood

voyeuristic angels stare
from within the windows
not from the inside out, but outside in
like whores from behind the freedom of their curtains
at the horizon
columns of gold
burnt down like ephese
horrendous shrieks
seconds in eternity
stream below these windows

vega single star all stars fallen
the melted day
stains like car horns
heretic shrouds of milky clouds
the whores again behind their windows
i cannot torn their ass apart
these mussels of goodness
remain closed
i here in the enclosed open
on my chest, on my back
fragile with forsaken gesture
alone in spasms of nothingness
their nightmare
their delivery

oh pray for civic chivalric cybele
to escape me and my nightly cruelty
the clouds drift by
like sand running through my fingers
measuring time
but i leave nothing standing
i alone and one star beneath me
the water’s rush of traffic
blind and burning windows
flickering amber
the sea awaits me
for ten long years
the siren’s song sings
in the ruffle of leaves
her naked breasts i suckle from
the maenadic orgy of the bronze night
i the orphan

Tom Baker, Village Night Song (for Langston Hughes)

Howl by Alan Ginsberg (1956)

The Shitclock

The shitclock of your life is ticking
ssssh you hush your self
better to shut up sometimes
make the rules work for you
Bite your tongue, swallow
whatever words are on your cowish mind
if you can dumb yourself down
just for now and dont be seen
to have it shoved up
this cornucopia of crap
never silent truths
it keeps beating in your chest,
it drums in your ears
it pumps around in your head
yet you tie yourself to the mast
you resist the lure
you resist yourself
because there is so much to think of
a stuffed womb burning with your poignant gism
if not in mind in flesh
to disappropiate her belly
a house to house that stuffed cooking
of rinkled flesh of cries
the years 401 lightyears away
to extend, preserve a drained life
to keep regretting
to depend upon fear
but now finally free!
and so there is the endless path
narrow and steep of sacrifice
oh of course
to the golgotha of civic voided compliance
and you listen to the ever ticking
of the shitclock
but one day
till your rectum shits it all
in a long sigh of relief
a final jerk at last of carelessness

John Dear Mowing Club ft. Daniel Johnston – Devils

Sorrow there is for the devils
In one self that run too hard
To love and to smother from
The bottom of the heart

Could any body love
The madness of the mind
That is stronger than the goodness
Of the devils kind

The child that speaks to me
Has never told the end
Of the story that I was to tell
Of the angel and the man

Sorrow there is for the devils
Stronger than the goodness
Of the angel and the man

I look upon the many
the multitudes they make
I look at the whole of herd
the huddled masses engrossed
I see these people packed
canaille with their faces cast
spickled with their vulgar eyes
thin lips that form uncertain lines
weak and bleak expressions
of hollow hollered words
that wallow willingful
a force of the merging many
a motion moving mass
I look upon this swarming hope
astonishingly full of filling
and I feel emptiness

we
are animals
that know
we know
beasts that mumble
rumbling ants
crumbling on the skirt of the universe
matter of volatile imbalance,
reluctant, resist to movement
we
no matter
moderate
our stumbling lines of sense
sentences of
falsity in confusion
that is repressed into this subconscious,
we
formulated truths of a shallow puddle
so multi layered
we fail to see
simply direction in timeless space
there we exist, pass, last, decay
in a slow gesture of weak intellect,
thoughts like air bubbling to the surface,
suffocating words that grasp
for a breath of consciousness
so we roll our rock like Sisyphus uphill
reach to quell our thirst like Tantalus
fly like Icarus to the sun
in which we are spots
for a sparkle of enlightenment
uplift ourselves
from the muddy traces on this dirt road of life
we live this senseless time
and fill this emptiness
with half a heart
attribute meaning to its hollow caves
appearing as flickering shadows
reflecting the essential nothingness
that hoovers still

lies lie on our tongue
a sharp blade’s edge cuts flesh
icy crystal brightly melts
light that hovers
light that covers
our eyes be blinded
leading down
guide of darkness
the single soul
in this
deepness of our heart finds
but a shallow water to wallow
comfort in our unholy role
that plays this holy part of solitude
is another life remaining yet
at the bottom of this fate
fate with no end, endlessly
sigh of breath
that blows life into our soul

Ik koester een exceptioneel grote haat voor een buitengewoon klein land
Is dat nu wel redelijk vraagt een nette meneer die naast mij zit
Kut vent
Ouwe hoer
Het is altijd verborgen gebleven
Misschien wel alleen maar achter mijn rug
In absentia
Een sinister cynisme dat mijn schaduw werd
In een dovend licht flikkert er nog een vlam
Een lont dat smeulen blijft en ja dan eindelijk weer opleeft
Ontsnapt aan de hellepoort
Tegen de overmacht
Van kleinburgerlijke ordentelijkheid en de enge blikken van sardienen
Op een uitgedroogde brakke polder
Een vissenkom als waarzegger

Ontsnapt maar niet aan de haat van bekrompen razzias
Schoolmeesters en hun Katholieke almacht
Klein geluk in overtal
Gedachtenloze zelfgenoegzaamheid
Van halfgeletterde burgers en hun bijbelse tv
Aan welke zij de hogere waarheid onttrekken
In hd bespiegelen zij hun tenenkrommende gelijk
Dat altijd het maaiveld kort houdt

De nette heer zegt gedag en ik zwijg
Zo dichtbij ligt mijn weerzin voor een ver land
Ik hoor hem niet meer
Zijn voeten schoffelen uit mijn ooghoeken weg
Op het getij van continenten
Drijven twee werelden uiteen

I see a smile in the rain
there is another day for Sunday
now turn around and move away
take a breath and look again

Nie wie der
der Himmel ueber die Stadt
zaertige Wolken ziehen vorbei

Bitte, verzeihe mir,
zuesse Traenen der Vergangenheit
Bittere Traenen heute
Wir sind allen
Zeugen des Massakers
wie die Sonne treiben
die liebste Momenten ueber
Sie gehoeren mir
nicht mehr zu