Saturday 24 February 2024

'[unspoken]', (Incunabula Media 2024), reviewed by JG


‘[unspoken]’ drags the reader–wary or not, no difference–through pathless scapes of abandoned rooms and ruptured anatomies, through dead light and undead words. Though in appearance this text seems to be a patchwork of prose-poetic fragments and dramaturgical scraps, literary form is, as ever, a formality at best for Mc Aloran and, more often, even less than that. The relentless flux of decaying bodies and dubious voices stares between the pages’ blank spaces as if they were hemorrhaged eyes gazing through Ed Gein’s dead skin-masks: to further the already-great distance always separating the idiotic pageant of Appearance and whatever assumptions one would like to make of the impersonal, ineffable “real.”

Still, there is always plenty of room for “hyenic laughter”–that somatic signification of a communication-limit having been reached–and the voices which appear more frequently in the book’s latter half provide occasions for such laughter. These voices, even though presumably disembodied, stutter and stumble just as much as if their breath were still mounted in meat. The dialogue in itself, of course, amounts to nothing, so much so that its presentation as a “play” might remind one of an intentionally bad puppet-show in which it almost seems as if these fragments of voices were sheer babble echoing from the depths of some ontic asylum (far from that word’s etymological sense of “refuge”). And the parrying among the disembodied voices moves along with such anguish and futility, leavened with glimpses of meta-mockery, as to suggest that the inadequacy of language has always been at least as much a problem of consciousness as it is of mere anatomy. And should a return of the voice to the body be possible after such severe displacement, it bears the cruel gift of “ventriloquist illuminations…”.

As it seems Mc Aloran has been finding new ways to alienate the “I” via language in his other, more recent books, this text is no exception. Whenever that battered pronoun appears, it is always, according to traditional grammar, verbally mismatched: “‘I’ asks, breaking through the teeth of sudden disavowal…”. The pronoun and verb is in as much disagreement as all of the miserable traces of beings spreading throughout this text appear to harshly disagree with the illusory, though no less onerous, business of selfhood. And, of course, Mc Aloran sometimes states the matter as frankly as anyone could: “‘I’ is a dour cunt…fluctuating…obsolete, an assault…”; “I” could just as well be “it” for how much of subjective experience remains unspoken and, most likely, unspeakable.

This is yet another example of a feverishly-active poet who is thoroughly unwilling to let the reader rest on the well-cushioned though long since-abscessed assumptions regarding meaning, language and selfhood; a perhaps not-so-generally-welcome alternative to whatever trifles any given laureate might be writing any given moment…

Part of a short volume of two dramatic pieces, available here

Saturday 17 February 2024

'ever unto' - Incunabula Media - (2023 edition)


'McAloran's writing always seems to me to be the result of a process of 'removal' more than construction - like patterns left in stone by natural erosion, or almost like words left on an advertising board once the weather and time have done their worst with it. Although lacking in emotion, I find them incredibly beautiful and moving. Skirting the borderline between polemic and asemic, signal and noise, reading McAloran's writing is like taking a trip into the heart of a dead star.'- DM Mitchell.
You can find this book here

Friday 15 December 2023

'at the edge of pulse', available from Incunabula Media


Now available from Incunabula Media:
'A liturgy of absence, a paean to desolation. Shorn of sentiment and vain aspirations, it's as if the words on the page are a testament to vanished humanity, left behind when everything else has eroded and gone...'
"in stray exile of presence child's a-blind in silhouette discern what speech(less) burns in bait of fragment's resolve/ detracts unto edge in desolate brim of shiv till buckled bone arrestation of blood spray upon wild skins once known of null of butcher here or there ever after of in collision breath(e) eclipse of once was severed nothing of the known till once unto a shatter of all pulse resolve"

Sunday 2 July 2023

Monday 5 June 2023

Now available: 'scenes from nowhere', Incunabula Media 2023


"In ‘scenes from nowhere’, written in 2011, we see the foundation of McAloran’s oeuvre beginning to take shape . “This old hulk of bone, meat, this rind... [will] fool the absence into thinking there was ever anything” is a recurring theme through his work, anything, that is, except language to insist on the despair of there never being anything. Beckett-like he says “the growing is the dying”, the world is a “trunk full of rats”, an “abattoir where beasts hang with their throats cut...” ‘scenes’ , however, unlike McAloran’s later works, and despite, or maybe because of his despair with the corporeal, does take a narrative turn, albeit, as one would expect, towards the dark side. The turn, namely centres round his finding a young woman, badly beaten by professional hookers whose patch she’d strayed onto, late one night, lying on the street. He carries her to his room, where he cares for her with a bath and whiskey. His claim “I’ll go on with it, without purpose”, is undermined when duty insists on caring for a fellow human, which he does with purpose, maybe love. ‘scenes’ is an ideal introduction to McAloran’s work. It contradicts his hopelessness in existence, where “dreams are for lesser men”, through his intuitive will to care that is narrated in a moving and compelling passage of the work that may surprise his followers. ‘scenes’ is necessary reading for those who want an introduction to his later works, and for those who have read them but need to know of their genesis."

Dr. Arthur Broomfield.

Available from Incunabula Media

Monday 13 February 2023

'ghostmeat', Incunabula Media, 2023


NOW AVAILABLE via Incunabula Media
'...images of absence, eroded texts, the memory of desire,
no longer even the reproduction of our alienation, but the reproduction of a reproduction,
phantoms plucked from the dreaming pool of a machine,
words left behind by the receding tide of collapsed culture...'

Now available: 'swarm black lights', Oneiros Books, 2023


'SWARM BLACK LIGHTS' my collection of gnomic, experimental prose poetics & abstract paintings:
'...swarm stasis eclipse terse knock(ed) from shadow-limb coil of wrung blood black secretion tension wild eye shatter of glasswork(s) closest of extension nothing bearing less than down what of till silence traces obsidian liquid night long edge of fathom closure voiceless…
…tied tongue wrestling shade upon echo film surface coat black blood & shining certain as if once emblem cold colours distance lock night(less breath)e) taken from extension riddled to fit from fitful cast from flesh char edge nothing as before all called once more exposure swarm black light(s)…
…echo-black once swallowed as if to collect the curse drain light butchers syllabic with gilt of trace of hand restoration ever-claim secretion emblems aftermath sudden less than cold distance ever-once coil of curled tongue a drapery of light to flow in silenced rooms surface tension(s)…
…flay slash what mark what watermark of closed abandon effortlessly benign cut to the marrow’s eye till breadth of wing sing sung bitten broke stone meat wrench of nothing ever closed/ syllabic as once was in echo lapse intone spit black rejectile detrimentarium exhale reclaim ever clearer…'
Available via here: Oneiros Books

Monday 5 December 2022

from 'paralysis gestures'/ Oneiros Books 2022


"Michael Mc Aloran's words are a miserable requiescats of the flesh, creating a gravitational laceration in the dark. The betrayed open system of flesh ridicules the erosion of the soul and just keeps cursing the twist of gravity."

Kenji Siratori

...scarred without longing/ there’ll be the stasis of it the hearse of the ever-laughter spun lest from out of darkened/ choke/ dead space and an empty pageant’s shadow…


…sick try for the waken. call cards no flowering sight. stay ashore. breathe pageant mock sun light froze closure eye. all still what lessen echo. sky-fold origami azure. (repeat)...


...rock back forth neither gesture silent hands all foreign. abort free lock hold bespeech climb no vertebrae silence will what no do. penchant forget. ask it pane it. no sound just as be should. belive. believe. cannot recollect of how or what for either matters/ no...


...till live take up thy bones & rot as circus growth indigenous colours bland faith accord. nothing of the matter of asphyxiate cold shoulder treble tremor sky alone blessed what till mark take up thy live thy ocular concede...


...turning towards where the fragrance lies there is no torrent of applause in the intrinsic silence burn desire of (-ing-) burn of in all sanguine repertoire irrepair collective fine line given drunk close door forget foreshadow longing laughter. ever-breakage...

= too soon the door ajar & the jaded shadow shed left behind as if to breathe of it were to of in an elixir of vanquished the night no further step once two/ step not once...


Now available from ONEIROS BOOKS

Tuesday 8 November 2022

Excerpt from 'longshadowfall', Editions Du Cygne 2017

…in a collapse of prism purpose prism failure some blood to taste a withered lightless/ intent driven from the beyond nor which artery climate/ sudden to exhale silver smoke a trace of desire/ nothing to see or other to move along unto lacks distance ever-way trace of malign feature blind eyes burning out of their socket graves where charred teeth chatter/ solace what sun a diseased railing against some other than/ an unknown pageantry of sense disintegration/ sudden to recollect exhalation of razor entity deals in death-cards/ empty traces/ nothing more than spelling it out words unraveling/ it/ what equates with soundless sound tearing some trace from vibration nights till dredged becoming else collision collide/ falter/ ex nihilo collide from out of none a face obliterated skyline chalice of bone warped lights lapse stillness pared amber colourless appeal/ outstretched arms that limply fall to some circus paradigm obsolete devoured sands in throat/ colossus shadowing of breath spoken dead once all bled some solace never unto ever what struck from opus lock an unturned key/ design desire breath spat out forage glimmer appeal till obsolete shudder taste climbs through cannot no way unto having other than of foreign silence beckoning/ till clear cut what cut clear glass spattered with lice bloody child exclamation mark stench reek piss faculty breathe some slaughterhouse irredempt/ falters none in none no nothing of till tilt tint of shadowing no longer dry clear in asking of forgotten/ knocking for some final some what or if given unto dreaming forgotten/ else collision rotting nothing/ exile of bleed/ a foreign disclosure discharge fallen wrenched from sacrosanct not a breath till worship driven from out of breath/ sunk eye in dog shit ever on display/ what lung eye given a trace of dead airs a fading musicality a dreaming next to follow further onward into nothing/ tapered goes some light’s lapse all blood marrow taste collision nothing further to gain/ so says what/ once passed upon/ a silhouette a foreign banquet at which to dine alone for all time set in human meat/ bones of long speech desire lapses in and out of speech cannot through death’s relapse an orchard of none/ spoke eye all dredged regardless vomitous unspoken words respoken not a trace gathering by winds origin of not a trace designed by edge to overcome collapse unto/ eye dredged lapse and then apart lung laughter on/ (to where)/ not on no ever-on into none no none is/ obliterate/ not a trace nor sound no nothing gouged out in instanced breath/ at vacuum’s edge where speech treads gracefully upon terror’s absolution/ obliterated by none corpus strikes out into nothing ever cold chase of echo-echo bleeds taste of discharge unlike blood opiate of desire/ a rip of cold flesh bone rupture hollow ashes scattered upon limbs that beg unto where nothing ever cold chase of echo-echo blood unlike/ scarred unto breathing stun dead flux abortive recollect shale struck bone flex flesh of disregard heavenly to touch winds gilded none lesser for what stone wind’s design opening out unto/ reflex of else that will not/ no/ not a suffuse throughout what dead pulse rocking back and forth in darkness exhalations of final speech ever recoiling/ blending with collective traces no nothing non-voice a blend of tears and/ (regards with  skinned eye)/ in frozen heart from out of damage dense accord a flagellate fingers gnarled cannot close over the warmth of limb upon limb gifted spasm held to burn what of it/ speech devoured lest sense be other than eradicated by purity/ in a suicide of bitter teeth ablaze denounced cold earth tears dead do not ponder/ neither in or of obliterate concealed beneath each footprint in frozen surface/ cylindrical abase murmurs beneath breath trace of broke stone bodies clinging together as of shit to bootheel/ nothing there/ not a trace of redempt/ view is of outstretched vulture wings and the bleed of foreign silences for all time spent eradicated what songs from cancerous flesh to absorb no further than a lie from outset’s chalice/ what sung we lung it is said/ premise no/ collapse into thy dread in a make of mockery cold shoulder of abort stricken skies streaked across in bloody streams a hallucinogenic upheaval throughout better repose of ice-dark-weight/ absence of all/ all shadowing/ all knowing yet not/ scar tissue of some unseen/ a/ not of not a/ snap bone itch however done collision echo-echo traceless what edge from which to strike into an irredeemable solace absence/ bitten bone eye light outstretched catascope where edge is vital sudden in outcry cries density a turning of soil over and over devouring nothing new that ever was nor will ever be/ so go words/ silence dreamt of/ never ceasing in conflict there its sense devoured by/ arbitrary lights break surface of skull’s interior illuminating nothing more than ever was nor seen/ not a trace/ voice in response collides with nothing echoing out in dry screams/ foreign whispers fallen at once to be eradicated/ nullified/ tastes whip as it expires/ back then till unto/ gathered in fleshed bones of ill-purpose opiate eyes close over nowhere left to see yet some/ still yet/ scar tissue yes peeled away revealing exposed eyes of lack and absence/ stone winds wilting blood flows from callused fingers unto vacuum’s edge collecting bone whispers/ (seeded by)/ tumbleweed across desert sands of unseen mind’s reflect/ in desolation’s itch stitch of absence of redeem fleshed bones of within of illumined skull bleed of foreign silences/ nowhere left from out of shadowing alack/ static/ black light/ severed fingers scattered across empty sands/ silent murmurs/ traces of memory fathomless an itch of redeem a vacant lot a vacant lot of blind bones bound in a pissoir’s grace some piss-reek of/ blind shit devoured from whittled hands smeared across gait in mirror’s reflect cracked eye-limb/ what circus dreaming cancerous obviation/ nocturnes of once having been dredged from weightless barren ovulate a recourse to blind sorrows sweet caress of deathly tears/ it or other than what given next to nothing turning in lapse collision fallen skies never truly fallen eyes devoured in oceanic apathy trace barren in skulk of fissure dread collapse unto thy dread one final breath to champion (the) infinite… 

The book itself is available here

Thursday 27 October 2022

From 'blood rhetoric', Oneiros Books 2022



disfigur(ed) limbs of sun & the fall(en) ashen. try trace what held begun asked of density what children aspen coil(ed) till frozen bloody/ oceanic


mirror lapse that ocular distinguish. colours no. long hour rot. to the fore & nothing cadaver more. eye feels the blood of which composed in depth of acrid laughter/ outpour


last hour of no measurement call of the without scattered breath oblivion caress of none what will till breathe expels colour the lapse lack scald of once forage till drown no sediment no ghost rhythm escapade


seizure solace seizure absence one wilt to bear of the stitch close of wound belonging birth it-reach of none what lock a cold eye dusted realm of speech reclamation spill of all sun light unto where from desire of

one formless than another reach of what wilt till spill teeth jagged wishbone exigent despise the cold floor the majesty it triv/ ial caress of bone weight nothing rhetoric collapse density of foreign adjustment


scarred without a pilgrimage a shadow's tooth & nail of breathless desire cold meat a nocturne a birthing weight of reclamation sudden to disavow claim lapse a bitten butchery of light


razor blossom shoot along veined edge of papyrus extol blood absenteeism given to colourless pupil expose trace acrid shadowy expose where teeth lock shale of white till sparkle diamond crimson drench in meat curtains as if to call final lock of night where silence bind if


empties no not of out of collapse coil closure stitch bled ashen promise of what speak we it till foreign desire of echo breakage stillness null of trace strip of skin cadaver mist of colourless ocular bruised meat flung unto hyenic jaw echoes from out of which what night


 zero pelt design of through fragrant excise all froze what hollow dense shit in vein's collapse as ochre trace across where ancient landscape rest no worth collage of flesh till burn what haven trace of tongue across barbed wire caress(ed) bone obsolete kiss of trace/ given


'blood rhetoric' is available from ONEIROS BOOKS

Tuesday 18 October 2022

A selection from 'of dead silences', reissued 2022 by Oneiros Books


Of The-

Head of death
The seasons dissipate as if they
Had never collected tears
A dissolving sky
Soil sieved through fingers
The silent laughter of the blood

 Nothing More-

Ruins of the foreign sky
From which point all are dead
Smears of dying animals upon clear glass
The flies will gather, nothing more


A blindfold of congealed earth
The dead drown of inverted tears
Lacking the light
By which the night ignites the living


Brute flesh shocks the nothing back
Into resolve
And is then pissed upon


Heart of desolate
In a vice of flesh
Nowhere else/ nowhere/ nothing less
The winds erased having tasted ashes
Echoes of non-being
Inexplicable silences


Dark hollow
The sky unearthed

One final breath to champion the infinite


Haven to begin from
Scarlet striking out striking the dirt
With liquid hands
As if it could have ever begun otherwise



Echo within echo within shadow of…
Absence/ walls/ flames/ still breath alone
Pantheon of carousel/ of vertigo/ of absences
Night’s undoing was never night
Hence the laughter forever ceases to be

Danse of polka winds…night undone/
Night flourishing…
Silent retrace of bone/ vapours/ memories
Immense sky of non-death/ nothing lessened
Razor absences/ peeling away the bloodlessness

Hollowed tongue…winds dealt/ silenced
Dread lest the fingers break/ (only the elapsed)
Sing elixir of non-speech/ mouth full of dry sands
Leaving behind the drapery of skinned tide

Adrift…a visage of mists…(dead unto breath)/ arbitrary
Vault of wasps/ colours/ discoloured skin/ emptily
Night of vague breathing/ unheard voices/ voices heard
Stillness of forgotten sky/ there or here again/ cast aside
Buried sun/ sky/ sun of ashen waste/ teeth of nothingness

Waste ground/ flies of haste/ silver voices/ decay
Black tongue of…wasted wounds of…soundless again
Arise dead/ so much the/ dread/ silenced/ birthed
Evaporating tongue of/ erased/ better never/ never to have been


The book itself is available via Incunabula Media

'[unspoken]', (Incunabula Media 2024), reviewed by JG

  ‘[unspoken]’ drags the reader–wary or not, no difference–through pathless scapes of abandoned rooms and ruptured anatomies, through dead l...