Monday, 18 March 2019

The Introduction By Aad de Gids to "Till Claimed", Veer Books 2019

There is a kind of meticulous nihilism going around and we're born with it, it is spooned in. This, then, 'organogramme', supersphere, hypersphere, antiesthetics, punksensibilities, are made possible by the continuous onslaught on our retinas of nothing but a turn for the worse the world had taken say, since the 60s. From out of this there came a reaction then of postmodernism, let us call it that. After 11 sep 2001 postirony and hypercomplexisation, psychotic societal derangement and dissociationism became consolidated. The art acting and mirroring against this were born. Mc Aloran's writings were never in another tradition. Positivity doesn't seem an exhaustive clarification method anymore. Elucidation is gone, the need for it gone, everyone walks with their smartphone to the street nowhere expecting amelioration. Just raw existence, survival as in a chimpanzee war. “I take from the dogs what will/ what will//feeding/[//]feeding//fucking the life//from the idle light’s//indifference”. To just call this as etherial as crass poetry 'nihilism' would be a reductive approach to it. It seems more an affirmation of 'what is', 'what it is'. And it is all not so nice. “I lack//I lack the colourings//I spit the dew//from an un-harvested mouth//scattered //ablaze with nothing” Here we see where our interventionism is, if still possible, allotted to. Secundarity and contingency. Here we have poetry as sublime as it is irreversibly constative. The nights are 'read' as 'nights on earth'. We're hostages of what we're surrounded by. Here we see what is left for us, as non-space, spaces as non-descript as indecisive, starkly associating with bleakness and stupor nevertheless. All 'actions' are redundant and the world is chaotic, cosmic, chemified and fraxated to mere pumice, even our deaths are buried (not: 'our deads') within unceremony and masscalculatoric machinations. At the same time Mc Aloran describes the groundscape, psychoscape of the diagrammatic contours of the space we die in, live in, not so much difference anymore. Actually, it seems in the reading of TILL CLAIMED I seem to now have stumbled upon a central axiom of this collection of concisely and superpreciously worded poems that, to live almost means to be dead nowadays. There is no difference anymore. But as Mc Aloran indirectly yet with exactitude presses a knifing diagnosis upon it it appears that, all 'communication' now is directed toward oneself; here a systemic unglossiness incorporated with the eyes of the dead, still longing to fulfill an organic deep seated functionality, yet there was not much to see or rather: there was so much to see it swamped the whole vista, perspectivist glaciality unto chill. “fluidity of death/[//]nocturne//I-skinned of breath/ aligned//& the knock turns//to the close of//the fist unsung where teeth obscene//glint in the absence//none less to follow on from//split///surface//unbridled nothing//ripping the cull from the bones of I/eye//where the winds//scattering//breath of the solace of/[//]no solace/[//]merely the silence of/…” Again, a central as acentral passus with heady content. Solace = silence. A microscript of a decomposition. Viscerality as metaphor for death = life. This point-for-point description of a decomposition at once comprises the diagnostics of our psychotic sociuses. While Mc Aloran's poetics has a rather becoming elegance this particular form of poetry runs the risk of being deemed 'hermetic'. As does my personal style of poetry so different from Mc Aloran's yet weighed with the same infusion of punk-esthetics. And where this also could suggest explosiveness and blunt aplomb it is rather contextual and semantical that we have not so much chosen, but were chosen by the language steered from trauma and posttrauma, worldparticipation and being witnesses of threatening and bleak times, that suffuses our writing skills with radical choices. In Mc Aloran's poetry there is certainly a leaning towards death but as we've seen, this at once also means an inclination towards life. Adorno in citing another: “life doesn't live”. Perhaps with new generational shifts upcoming will there be another literature possible although it is hard to see how this shall crystallize. “vague the silence//(collapsed/[//]nothing…)//vertigo breath//& the//jarring breath(en)//dead stone//vacuous I die/ I//laughterling caress//sweet night of bloody earth/ waste//& the drip-feed sun//& the night//balancing on a//crescendo//of subtle apocalyptic”. The red wavely line beneath the word “laughterling” already says it all. We have to invent new words to stay accurately skintight to the surfaces of the world. The surfaces of the words and of language are on the move. Not alone seismic shift they but glacial and uncomfortable polar...

--Aad de Gids, 16/ 09/ 2018

Saturday, 23 February 2019

A review by Aad de Gids of "Cold Zero Reflect", VoidFront Press 2019

 (while the content of Michael's 'new' book 'coldzeroreflect' isn't for the weak of mind nor for rigid formalists, its introductory phrase reveals musicality and an opening to 'sensibility', 'sensitivity', the realm of the senses as what could be heard and smelled alike.) "traceless.../vapour tones...". (the auditive entry goes on) "//all spoken for/asked of/reduced to stammering in neon exigent...". (this lemmatum [as the article in an encyclopedia] ends with) "utterance/utterance of...". (here we see that what has started with a kind of invitation to the senses and proceeds herein, an auditivity, ends with an indeterminacy, worse, an indifference, which nevertheless shall appear to be one of the accuratest mirrorings I have ever encountered in poetry, of 'what it is', this world now, this fucking world now, what the hell that is.)
(on page 8 we see the interesting suffix "(etc.)" out of which a terrific, terrifying, frightening and laughable worldvision speaks, not laughable in the sense of ridiculous but bc of its sheer radicality. to kind of reinforce that still it also speaks of an "absenteeism" and this is the delectable as horrid outlook we simply have if we look in clarity around us.) (Michael doesn't shy away to show the stuttering, stumbling, rambling of the language itself:) "an abort of....// shadow of...meat trinkets of....". (here we see the ample indifference of [he invites us to chose for ourselves] any word to describe any situation almost in inarbitrary manner, random manner. because it doesn't matter anymore. postMao Deng Xiaou Ping said: "it doesn't matter if you're bitten by the dog or the cat". and now we have TrumpPutin. in a sense Michael words the status even after this.)
"(the) skeletal peak a solace of unknown orchids...// denuded silence...". (a landpsychoscape of vegetality is sketched here where the vegetality isn't something inferior to the antropocene yet we bend, we better lay low now, in a denuded silence.)
(where we find ourselves in is in morguelike, streetity athmosphere like, environments, and the litterary voyage is an exact mappology of these catacombes, crypts, but not as how we imagined these to be. no it is what now is around us.) "echo-chamber of...
(as if to say…)".
(here an indeterminacy, an uneagerness is described. of course this is anathema to regular 'poetry'. but the gatekeepers of that poetry do not matter. here we have the
ravenous new descriptive style of Michael, for him also in a more 'aerial style', which in the mean time doesn't falter for an icy exactitude, a matter-of-factly inconclusiveness left open as the wound of the world.) "oxidate shadowings given to astringent...// cold shale of the...// bodily the body degorged of sound...". (this 'matter-of-world', a materiality, is also caught in the saturative titers of "oxygenation". the very matter is astringent. Michael discovers the sheer chemification again, even inmidst human enterprise.) "oxygenate(d)... // (“no, not of...”) // blind light of (the) electro-surreal kissing the tungsten teeth of blindness..." (we're in the mines. we're in the trenches, we were never out of them. chemification and metallurgy of the human endeavour. in the sense that we do not so much shape the world [even if we do with the climate], the world regains its place and rechemifies what already chemical was only executes a drastic redistribution. hardcore metallic ores come to the fore. [Tungsten, or wolfram, is a chemical element with symbol W and atomic number 74. The name tungsten comes from the former Swedish name for the tungstate mineral scheelite, tung sten or "heavy stone".] as hardness is chosen for metaphor, there is somewhere a softer side. here the poetry of Michael circumvents around.)
"terse light/sheared speech/colloreality unsung devouring...// spun (as if to) lies bloodily abandoned...".
(to reconstruct what with incisive poetry can be pinpointed silent witnesses can fulfill 'the descriptive landscape'. the poetic description loses itself willfully in what circumstantially is presented. then Michaels poetry helps to reveal almost as in 'écriture automatique' what is hidden in plain sight. here we have a kind of forensic research of a place delict: the world with which we grew up. a 'collaterality' is the almost accidental coincidence of different 'events', and all the other old-fashioned regulatives have become preposterous and obsolete: causality, development unto a better goal, an ethical imperative. Michael shows that these aren't still yet absolved, not met, not reached. there comes no replacement, just this accurate descriptive power to fragmentatively and in an esthetic theatrality denoted tanatoscape of "world", much more modern than what was and is offered in marketing strategem presented 'litterature'.)
"with from out of which...// silentee(ism)...// struck marrow what edge of it as given to follow naught...// traceless senseless recollect...// bind (the) wound (the) broken body vocal...// trace left neither right neither right nor left...";
(here the almost threatening [within a litteral text notwithstanding] of 'stopping the words' and the flirtation, threatening, with precisely the continuation of the words makes Michaels poetry inclusivistic and visionary, cut to the schizoid domain of our sociuses now.) "trace left neither right neither right nor left..." . (this fragment contains a hilariousness and if this is clearly visible then also a postnihilist absence of even this notion [nihilism] . it remains a philosophical question if we have builded ourselves an ontology, latticework of existence, at all.)
"trace left neither right neither right nor left...". (if there is satiricism in here, than it is also postsatiricism, postironicism. why? with satire we still try to restore something, enriched as it is now with its vulnerability shown embodied, incorporated. yet here we see the accurate desription of a socius, societal complex, hyperurbanity hystery, as it is. 'what it is'. 'what there is'. "the 'there is' is being recovered' (Deleuze-Guattari). after the causality [which still implies improvement], after irony [off off broadway has been gentrified, disneyfied]. it is postmodernism and then still also after that.)
"(the) eye’s deceive it spoken a closed fist of // empty promise...".
(there is an acribic hermetism in this formula [as with Adornos writing] but then also an irreversible cadencing, repetitionism, as in poetry. a paradoxical 'closed fist of empty promise'.)
(furtheron we have some ideomatic lemmata symptomatic and facilitative towards Michaels irreplaceable style:)
"echo-echo chamber of drought wherein (the) closure of what bitten// ever of/ bound as if unto what edge of clime irrespective...";
"(start-stop then...)...// the bitten fingernails of drawers unopened in // rooms of acrid// final waste....".
(here we find a certain stasis described ['echo-echo chamber of drought', words as 'closure', 'bound', 'drawers unopened', 'start-stop then...', etc.] which covet to encompass a kind of Endjazz. we think of Walter Benjamins "Dialektik im Stillstand" and Beuys's "Und jetzt brechen wir den Scheiße ab" in his artwork 'Grond' [ironically the Dutch word for the German 'Grund' and English 'Ground']. in neowording Michael seems to treat language as subject to vortices: "shadowling".)
"circumference of flame from which to inhale...// all sense devoured...// glisten of flesh...
// of meat cast to (the) hyenic...".
"close (the) final door to be done...// in anaemic shadow of...// silenced from (the) once to (the) hereafter-long...// cold currents of stripped flesh ever...".
(as well a dynamism as a finalism is documented here. it is the finalism of decay which isn't linear, which is quite dynamic and forensic. in this sense Michaels poetry is an entomology of the future and a futuroscope of now. "the histories of now" [Michel Foucault].)
(IF, we thought the poetry of Michael McAloran already is a dense [while the above section is written in more aerial style, both qua syntax as per semantics, as I allowed it to appear in my review in denser form] we shall be utterly surprised by what follows. WE, US, I have read Gertrude Steins 'The Making of Americans', James Joyce's 'Ulysses' [unfinished], far more challengeing several 'nouveau roman' romans: Alain Robbe-Grillets 'Le Voyeur' [with in it, the 30 pages long description of how a seagull sat on a pole in a harbour] , Marguerite Duras's books [with in it, copious descriptions in annoying yet when acclimatised, narcotic descriptions of a life in the Mekong Delta, of a loveaffair, etc., her 'Hiroshima mon Amour' [as well as the almost unbearable film made of it], her filmed book [by Alain Resnais] 'les Années dernières à Marienbad' plus Géorges Pérec's 'la Disparition' wherein he describes an entirely intelligible book WITHOUT THE LETTER 'E'. Robert Musil's thousands of pages of 'Der Mann ohne Eigenschaften' [man without features] [unfinished] and Célines, Célans, Ciorans resp. vindictive journey to the end of the night; hermetic poetic figments; quadrupulted nihilistic aphorisms ['de l'Inconvénience d'être Née' -- of the inconvenience to be born],
Kapielski's 'Mathematisierung des Todes' an almost brutalist, dadaist, nearly webby incomprehensable tractate of death, foreseen in formulas. so I have read some of the most austere, weird, estrangening, outerworldly texts but nothing, NOTHING, could have prepaired me for the immensely textual onslaught which awaited me simply by turning a page. and ploughing through this text of Michael I got accustomed to the sheer linguisticity of the language. a BALLISTIC influx of seismic trembling avalanches of language nowhere and seemingly never to be stopped anymore. and alone already in this, we find this genial, supermirroring, [Hubble] telescoping, Zeisz's microscoping image of 'what the hell is going on', and even a supplementary dimension outside of this emblematum, this enduring flood of words so intricately as also indifferently mimicking [fill in any word] the disappointment, approval, reinforcement, fracking, undermining of all the developments which make our geodesic, geopopulistic, geopolitical barrenscape visible in this extraordinarily FORM.)
"…asks of…ever of the bind-breathe…fallen unto measure of…spat out the wings of long forgotten else…night for blood & a…cold depth of denuded all stepped alone…breakage nullity of herein where not of a in or of nor nothing be…strip solace…broken bones scattered across rotting floorboards…dense will end rising up to splendour eye’s disregard…a sentence a frenzy of…turns into cannot other than where to have neither of the held close the door…bathes in the eclipse of meat…hyenic/ the blood to flow…effortlessly consumed …where traceless of what in of/of the desire for the garotte…spoken of through silence break/ shrift…the shattered teeth of exodus & the laughter of echoing in the core of breath…reflexive…taint without longing breakage colours of all spoken for…silence as if there were any other than where to sever/no/a ghost-limb fallen silt…passes through one surface unto another…till trace forgotten never of the spe/cial bound by walls constructed of…glass works & the snare of teeth breakage valve of purposeless driven by the desire to final…laconic…no nothing of that yet of the disappearance of yes what matter as if to choke unspoken…dead as…rip of flesh in an outcry of blood & meat…the vocal of it sounds out from out of severance…nothing of the matter a taste of for it forgotten erasure pageant depth kisses of the forgotten…the null light permeate…there go the fingers useless implements…flung to the dogs of…as all that be was never once…neither from the outset nor the outset other than…plumes of…reflections of…nothing…of…".
"…of meat sink further unto…to the…gathered up in tune in turn of bereft exigent…breakage languish as the phlegm fills up the lung of pulse…strips away the skin of it the eyes ablaze some circus dreaming…shard upon shard swallowed down to birth the echo of redundant soundings…all blackened of where nothing…sacred teeth & the skin tacked to the fence-posts of some sudden desire…as close all tongue in dense apparition of expel…through which…from out of…dead-end traces & of/a to be gone…all is of one unsaid as an echo breaches…extracted fingers beseech upon one knee in the dark as the screw bites into membrane’s children… cannot…nothing ever…there nothing there in a stance light end of broken fallen sickness to caress as of the flesh that carries it as an unwanted foetus…it eye lapse…here the eye this is not the overture merely the…casts out yet no answer…none shall…frozen limbs caress the endless night…till sickened of & unto the flight of oblivion where to have is to bruised fruit meats the colours of which…cast out yet no other of…as broken the body vocal is the shit-stained garments of speech unclaimed…as if to…not a…of…it closure speech lost to the non-being in a head of dense sand it dwelleth…shiv tight blend of razor syllabus unclaimed…till broke frozen…pissing as if to say it upon the papyrus claims of sheets crumpled like broken swans…till further nowhere…endless nowhere…zero as the reflect in the… exhalations of cigarette smoke…nothing onwardly exhalations into a transparent room of spoke unspoken…
…cold reflect of blood shed where to…genuflect of some final reaching for…slap to the face begins again…having forgotten cannot…it-surface of blind light reflect of null that cannot…broken glass rupture through which it can or only through the eyes of the silence broken only by…torn to shreds in bask of territory…spitting out the shit force-fed it can only…never yet as…tension light arrested flesh the body broken entity of nothing ever in where trace of languish collapses into foreign…taste waste attrition…bone dice a winter pageant…the roots reach for the nothingness as if else were to be of any…spit tongue lapse…dense accord…there is laughter yet no more…begins again false promise remembers…rat reflect…rat from out of which…keener the eye of some ballast a frozen fragment …dense what will in salve no nothing of the blood…froze light breathe…black casket room of nowhere out as if there ever could have been…spills of entrails from eviscerate a soundless speech neither the speechless nor the following after…hyenic the blood continue to flow until…bled out…nothing of it black polka soundless penetration vibrate of…sees eye see…not a…nothing for this… nothing of that or…ever of the taste of shit in the mouth in the reek of fumes arising from the virgin sands freshly placed before in any given hourglass…as kicked from once of one throughout kicked from one until what of in ever till…as the bleed of which is ever the closure wound non-viable…all as sung through a talus closure of the bloom of razor discharge cascade of breathless speech of the words that never could… ".
(in my, so generously by Michael to me presented book, this absolutely breathless as asphyxiating, overpowering as intravenous, mining operation project desire rapids narrows, textual detextualising attaque of any unprepaired 'reading', goes on page 20-47, instilling in the mean time an attunement as in listening to unforgiven music, free jazz, Yoko Ono, Plasmatics, John Cage études australes', all, aleatoric music with clangs dissonantly following upon other dissonant clangs, etc. that music and this text accomplish a kind of druginduced haze, narcotic high, Dublin (Lyon, Phoenix, Bangkok) bad drugs mosaical night, postmedicated stupor, torpor, rigor, crypsis, stasis, chorea, pogo, epileptoid episodic ellipsophobic Endreading.)
(followed by a tome of again aeronautic, LSD-cosmonautic, chaoscomatose aperçus to the equally stupefying stratagems of neoCapitalist, neopostTrotzkist, neopostMaoist, designs of DubaiBeverlyHills societies with their SaoPaulo, Rio, Manaus, Medellin, Caracas, Djakartalike favelas, barrios, slums. so if there is any violence in the text so much the better. its relevance as poetry is measured after this: a supermirroring of the
hypercomplexisized weave of our leaden, thungsten, besnowed societies, the valutas covered in the finest nanodustings.)
(we have taken any encyclopedic or narrativistic or metatheoretic lettrist work and shaken that up so its words came tumbling down into a big pewter vessel,then took the words randomly in Adolph Wöllfli-style as disregulative dense (nevertheless) figurative lemmatum [think the articles of an encyclopedia], then, this, was and is a new (satiric dynamic) lemmatum, tome, of the world, now, 'worldling'.)
"...cold chase of breakage what of till dense ocular closure tomb dissolve listless design of what which seethe in black light whereof of broken collapse into dread what matter vacant to pose upon in shattered mirror of recollect a dry season of a teeth of sky where once closure discharge effortlessly outspoken a deft eye claim of which desirous embalm what as if to echo-none cold chalice of forgotten bled as it must whereof some talus lightless stricken of what speech reclamation from dregs what sudden nothing of to gain all spun alack ever of if to ever-fragment steel closure effortless design not a trace of lung extinguished in rot of rat where being rot cold zero reflect stillness unto breach birth nothing collect spun lest of will it all whittle it all down to a point of light displaced seemingly to adjust a shudder a mockery laughter of upon where none only surface tension of some abort closure discharge eats where in nothing in or ever much cold spasm disregard it none stammers upon whereof in eye of spectre disregard it once more a recollect a breakage of light ever to return to swim in nothing ever of beyond surface tension that cannot be altered other than through breakage point cold syllabus a nothing more once more as once in dread what speaketh to get it over with till once more in hyenic a body a pulse a strip of null redeem in surrogate waste in absurd closure of unsaid ever of reflect a temperate bloodless field of a scattering of murder of outstretched wings black as was or once whereby till fragment shatter of bones to silenced never a sound of in purity of expectancy expel where drift of is intent given through desire it-lock nothing drift of eye what wither of cold once more cold temperate it shines in broken nocturnes null to flow throughout in vibrate of steel shimmer breakage nothing repeats itself cold once more steel once more an it sarcophagus & lock turned bustle of here & now erase all reduced to whisper tangents null & of till turn beyond into none a closed reap of winds cascade of where scrags of meat devour themselves subtle temperate not a trace of less than was before eye dies it what forgotten bitter pips of forgotten resurgence sickness to breathe beyond nothing of in vocal that compels desirous after-math closed wound in excreta bleed a rim a shattered sun a leakage of transparent blood impenetrable ice inserted into where fresh wound & drift of null echoing out forgotten spasm dead end a pit a nothing ever of ventured lack no nothing ever of it…".
(iconisation of classic use of prose into the haphazardly placed words [here and there and then more here than there] as daring new esthetic plazas, nevertheless demanding space as newer punkfunkier niche of s(t)ayingpower. we can take any slice, choose random beginning and accidental end and illustrate herewith the urgency of both prose, poetry, world and art and the reversal and negation of it.)
(after this as terrifying as releaving BLOCK in the third part of aperçus we find a now almost enbalming formula wherein the language immanently [imminently] destructs itself in usage:)
"the scattered teeth of syllabus arch devouring its own purpose".
{I can now safely conclude my review of Michael McAlorans 'coldzeroreflect' with some zealous words about how the threatening of the teeth of the night embody a sure affirmation of any evenementiality. the brutalist suddenness of certain catacombic surfacialities form the microaccurate as well as visionary universe indigoscoping of what happened before and has never left.)
"…in a strip of skin neither pressure nor dissolve/ as final out of in echo-echo neither the valve the circus pageant/ a dressage of tears flung to the dawn light echo in of which/ flung to the dogs the hyenic the amber naught cold chase some never of laughter all long/ a bitten cleft into where to into/ feeds upon/ struck out…".
"…astringent teeth of a bled carcass of kaleidoscopic waste/ given to where nothing of a whisper a breathless desire for the one thing adamant/ a steel of clipped wings ablaze as catascope revisited births a nullity of breathless landscapes & corridors meshed as one till closure of final door/ as form stare cold white flash of…".

"Cold Zero Reflect" is available to purchase via the link here 

Friday, 22 February 2019

In Damage Seasons, published 2013 by Oneiros Books.

"In Damage Seasons", published 2013 by Oneiros Books, (new cover art), & available here

"Prose poetry more anti-matter than literature, shards of glacial beauty, words bleached of context and affect decaying in space." 

Thursday, 21 February 2019

Some sketches from "Retrocede (Dead Tones)", forthcoming...

(…a final scene of breakage harvest of the shrapnel tears the barbed wire tumbleweed that caresses the blood-specked sands/ jackal gathering shimmering in the dry heat/ plume of smoke arises lacking any origin/ there is nothing of this…)

…shall eye says it again as if to having of it once was where to absolve is to titanium streaks across a slashed canvas of intent…from the whittled bones to wash away the drought …it wishes for no longer…smears the gait of it with shit…

…in damage seasons taken through the void’s reduct where to blossom is to fallen haven of till slaughter of the night gouges out the be-ing of where to none transfixed through the socket’s vacancy…

…as if to say if ever what were boring holes in the soil of amber sentient nothing of the matter null…time passes it is said…the tension between one singular act & another is the desire for ever other than as the body burns blackened light…

…dead tones mark the escape of breathe unto where to film of ice coat the broken body vocalized…not a chance …colours expire…light dies down…ever if as of what cannot be if merely to collect the scrags of foreign…

…indifference beneath the sun of it collapsed into thine vapour trails whereof unto…exigency of the expelled purpose…ever the naught taken from what distance spilling forth as division trace…

…cylindrical as if to view the silent earth its gilded colours long forgotten…not a trace of…tearing screams from absenteeism to collect…a wishbone trilogy of nothing ever…lest it be in the knowledge of having never…

…striate of intent where to calling one ashore the candied corpses of the lapse a nocturne’s emptily unspoken tines eradicated as to lack is the unto ever until no more…the hands fall to the sides as…

…till trace redempt some animal frenzy kicking the shit veritable the teeth caved in existence in a vice of cold colours…seeking to burn of it…nothing of…through the talus lights a shiv glints/ vibrates…

…the vocal point has abandoned the meat of all soundings to collide in a vertigo of tears of blood as in the ever of what stun till disrecollect through what once stricken from the book of it what once…

…to desist…to turn aside from…to scatter the ocular cataracts to the dogs of speech fed to the marrow by it through the lock-jaw haven without end the strip & bleed of it given to expire where on is no nothing no not ever of…

(…distance to trace from the eye’s focal point of un-speak as the length of it is to be discarded winds that grip the shards to draw blood…glass shatters a sneer in the half-light a search-light the blood smeared upon the walls in a vacant room far from the living far from the dead…all once was…& the turning of the screw in the skull’s pageant…nothing of the ever of it as nothing of of the to & fro…awakens covered in bile of the pill sick alcoholic ideation clemency…all charred & still yet ablaze… nowhereon…nowhere ever…extraction taken from the silencing of it…entity of sickly light burning of the… nothing to having taken from where to have known is only where nothing of the utterance spreading its wings ablaze in the night allwhile burning to be gone…knuckles cracked…the silence will ever know & yet will show no cards…an inhalation of razor blades where to night is to drenched in amber sweat having of the rejected solace final as)

Sunday, 10 February 2019

Some sketches - 08/02/2019

…from the onslaught/ breathe of the raw teeth of nothingness the spent laughter of foreign of some death-like pulse given to unshadow as was till never of throughout as if to utter in the collapse of skeletal lights where to having birthed once shattered glass of some ferocity skinning the night to the veins all naught as if to ever echoing throughout a vibrate of exigency shudder blind weight a sudden as if to mimicry to cut to reclaim the maggot tones of what spoken haven to scatter the pelts of long forgotten in the cancerous air as was once so shall it be till rapture ever of closed fist a-bleed sickness to dredge as was once tidal to give sudden reclaim as if to having nothing of the eye’s removal a breakage point a tide of never having before witnessed merely by the reflect of the skyline’s premise as was dragged in the kick & scream of bitter silences where to option is to burn to char a sudden word a semblance etched across the vellum emptily all sung from naught broke shale through the fingers to fall upon where other than no landscape worthy of the winds to clear away the meat of emaciated loveless breaking from fever pitch in sickness & in deathly-like as onward into having no course for the oppress the process lacking in progress cut stone an illuminary absence in the absentee skull as if to say as was in the beginning it has come to end to furrow to nothing more where the silence cannot breath-like in the dead tense the breakage of flesh vibrating in clear dark space it has walked through passageways and sought the exit-tidal pathway dreamt of where a recourse to having nethertheless back steps a motion of this or that having of the forgotten nothing more to bare/ as if to collide in the weight of it the shadows vane the absolute in terse dislocation of dispel as to be in a rat’s trace a solace emptily as scar upon scar nothing of the having ever been otherwise no vault of which to drag from in the hung light quartered then vast as speaketh from no distance from in elixir of burning as if to longing to begone as if to end were to/ all vast yet no distance to taste/ nothing other than to be nothing of nor to see through cataract skin of the cataract view of dishevelled meat burning throughout as cold spasm taketh from the outstretched skyline in a catascope of wet blood nocturne reek of spent lights of the dim forgotten as circus goes the razor roundelay the bones shattered till obsolete claim upon nothing ever of as was as if to nectar of silenced overtures of the mebrane’s kiss upon stone nothingness bludgeoning the gait the shadow formed & frozen upon the wall as in the mirror gazes inwardly into where to final is to lack all manner of which obscure as if to to echo drift what dim in viscid irredeem weightless travail in specious ever as before as dead alone for all time a tidal wasteage of ever of till scarred without longing skinned of ever after all turning from the electrical cable frenzy of scattered orchids where to be is to being of the rat’s pulse the teeth smeared frozen in an outwailing scream of discharge broken to become other than in a sarcophagus of night endless where to touch is to dissipate merely of the skin in-dream of the lightless space where ever-as divides all sung from vast astringent where to absence scattered the dead pelts long forgotten into a pit of assassin lapse of final absolute ever of until where froze wind knock upon as burn of into of the burning to be gone throughout all dense what will till trace redempt upon one knee genuflect before the absence of in retrocede concession no in the sickness of the bile rising to the throat of it blood spatter upon a blank wall nothing of the seen nothing of the weight nothing of the following after nothing of the hour that pierces/ cannot/ as to rolling around in shattered glass the emaciation of rat in the buried bones of membrane where to exit signs of unspoken weight as if to shadowing collectively the crush of spit polish nullity a matter of fact trace through the skin’s cataract where to break unto in the absence feel of given lest it biteth amber nocturnes of frozen grey mists in the nauseate of silence never to expel through the static hours of skin stretched upon as of throughout biting down upon to sever where to mockery is the hyenic laughter of the death-bearing tidal as as if to into from what will in which none of graceless to unto nothing of as the candied corpses mount in the cupped hands of the dawn as nothing to feel with nothing to breathe through never of the beseeched from carved into the flesh into the meat into the bones revealed where sudden as if to fall is tread without motion static as the blind lapse the utter dark the reclaim dead tones of some silver intermezzo collision pulse seeking of the out of reach till spent force no nothing of the afterward where to breakage of the shit-smeared glass of it the eyes that cannot quantify bound limbs scattered in a winter orchard of denuded exigency it is of the sung/ stun/ dim the light that continues through the forgotten salient the grin of it invisible nothing as before to echo of nor of to speech reclamation shat purpose & a frozen view where the dawn has frozen in the paralysis of it night cancelling all as from a view of which it is null/ silent abort…

(…ideation skinning the blackened meat from liquid bones to touch where to shadowing is the nullity of the light that pierces scald of the abortive a shit-streaked sky of vacuum breathless closure of fist unravelling to reveal the dismembered hand of a child where to utter merely of the dead till breathe of confetti drag hilt what sheen sickness in the lapse of grip of the sweat of the brow nothing of to claim in the reek night absence of the forgotten eye alone of wishbone trilogy as nectar to fall from the cruciform trees breakage nothingness scattering its seeds to the dead airs of memory dissolved in future tense of cold weight absolve till amber closure fucking dragging out the tines from the skin of absenteeism nothing of the scald the dissolve of silent…)

(…of the vocal echoing out where deathed tomorrows colourless & abounding throughout where the close of wound is the stench of shit detritus waste collision nocturne given to breakage a glint in vicious air as adrift in a vertigo of blindness echoing veranda of silenced of the become nothing of the will to follow onwardly where to stasis is to parallax ice in the veins of nectar lights that seek to penetrate till savour wind a landscape a nothing a breath it cannot whereof as if to say that echo-echo blind is to turn the other cheek a slap to the face a nullity of excursion severance to taste in some psychosial depth of trace what of till embers to surmount beneath the sky’s chambers as shudder of throughout skinned lest of longing harvest of no end where to what sung a razor entity a silhouette upon the horizon as bloodily the partaken of the silence of breakage of skeletal dense hollow close till non-reflect in the it what seen as drag of carcass tears split the skin the absent traipse through nothing ever in a sick sunk spun as if to…)   


…in silence of/ shadow bound by the never having been other than the slash-mark intent of never having been or otherwise/ tidal as blood stone cold as the reflect of rat as the pupils glaze over given to stitch the skin of it where in darkness the malign is a clarity of null a speech driven from out of step once thrice having taken/ colours to collide in the stricken wasteage of bones of flesh of meat & the reek of the ever never having as skinned till purpose shredded by sudden as if to shrift in the poverty of else where to blind-sighted is to have ever uttered/ point upon point the tidal of which cancelled out where the wound closeth & the walls melt away in the intoxication of nights long held to eclipse/ as acidic to gathered the obsidian petals of the redeem to scatter unto where bloodless the oceanic is the depth of haste of silhouettes of sharded lights/ in mimicry of the damned it stretches out as of limbs to be pierced by to be foreign as to be frozen blank waste of the occluded semblance of manifest/ shudder cold snap an echo of it in retrocene nothing of in the tension between one singular death & then another as taken from from the commence scuttle of blind of the eye’s mercury cataract viewed from a distance where the mimicry expands to a singular point on a horizon of rot & nothing more/ as if it/ till warped wind in a catacomb of nocturne breath as of in blackened throughout as if to reclaim it never once a cast shadow a silent tongue torn out/ till dream once more of the cancerous the meat’s abattoir opulence where to be is to have erased till drag it cannot be erased the rat of feel where sickness of is all/ of the coffin heart spat out into a clear cold distance perhaps shit spat at the sky of depth non-ask questioning naught of it what spell of collideoscope a bitter rapturite where to dim what once forgotten as specious to depth throughout in the absence of climate bitten down upon a scream erased in mid-flight yet terse yet still to spiral echoing out from breakage point of nothing ever/ all dead it murmurs beneath the cloaked breath the ruptured silence in a nothing of what weight till cracked shell abandoned leakage of silver smoke a severed tongue a knowing of no boundary other than/ till of in the which none of in other what of expel a trace till occluded sickness to dredge in a lobotomy of silken rust the implements of speech cast off no words for the morrow the marrow nausea of tilt throughout in a given trace spoken as was before ever of the negate the dissent of breakage rupture nothing of as was spoken of/ where to be is to disembowel the pale light of harnessed to the onslaught of expel a/ absent of till trace occluded semblance of winds to speak of what dense/ it no worship/ the eyes smeared across an endless jarring wailing in the dark a shit-stained mattress a scattering of broken glass to taste winds perhaps the blood of it the essence of that screaming as of nullity cold beseech upon one knee in a genuflect a skinned blind weight  nothing of the lungs that burn no shadow of a warp of the blood taken from what speech eradicted all dreged what furnace/ no/ way/ out/ as through the fleshed once carousel of ever after in the irredeem of open sores in a pit of graven entrenched in a gallows’ shadowing across every sunlit of the forgotten what flesh to absolve of it/ till vomiting scars of the depth of tread what will to obscure it fucking the cunt of benevolence having forgotten the outset of the endless night where to flesh is to haven what spill of fuck a-dream throughout the meat of traceless abandon lights/ as sun knows no worship a slash mark of striate where bitten the bones slide from out of view as flesh surmounts in echo-chamber desire/ in tint of all of the undone what shadows to recollect as a shimmering of cloud all stricken from the book to distaste a forgotten retrospect endlessly devoured silken the cut of the blood to the membrane to the silence reclaimed what once as was as was spoken of given to the reclamation else of it in a back-step into where roomscape dissolves & absent light devours in cold weight/ shadowy nocturne/ frozen blue mists across an evening’s hallucination/ breakage to touch/ what bones to wrench from the fleshed abandon of having no other recourse than to sleep the hours of permeate nothing of the before there nor of what matter of it the/ until/ until as what was in the beginning/ stripped until nor of the spoken for silenced of the devour till speechless where to be is of the naught the erased features of it/ the eye peeled away to reveal no surface given to dispel as through what of it in the breakage of absences cast across the scene what scene of the where to be is cum upon the heavenly gardenias of silent realms/ night is very…/ nothing of the outstretched skin through the coffin realm of rat eye will stretch the taut of blood throughout where sickness of to dredge/ laceration bedamned as paring away the smeared teeth of the sky is to be without origin merely only of/ as culled the animals called ashore unto/ in a wreckage of the outspoken silenced/ flesh upon flesh/ in the shit-reek of night endless butchered as of till of nothing ever of…

(…spillage of crimson light obsidian entity as closed what wound in the bereft of…closure tongue to trace of the expel nothing of till given/ what will what of cold dice cast in a winter alleyway far from the living far from the dead/ breakage of spent bones underfoot/ a grit of teeth of silenteeism/ it what once/ nothing of the matter it handmedownsolace breakage of devour it/ skinned of the once that was ruptured in a pit of bound bones of attrition anguish/ it all come down to end as was from the commence of never/ ashen promise/ nothing ever as before…)

The Introduction By Aad de Gids to "Till Claimed", Veer Books 2019

  There is a kind of meticulous nihilism going around and we're born with it, it is spooned in. This, then, 'organogramme'...