Now available: 'abattoir whispers' (2024)/ Incunabula Media

 

Untitled #2

…I want to possess breath opulent enough to mutilate the skyline, observe avaricious children stripping the skins from the dead, the spent teeth of anguish, kicked clean from the mouths of the silent, rotting earth, drowning upon rotting earth the reek of shit in the dreamscapes of desire, colours decaying: spitting my life split-sheared as death, drunk upon the gallows of endless night, where now my love, scattered fragments of bloody ice, in the dregs, intoxicated beyond all longing, fleshed as a still-born, still-born into these catacombs of finality, bathing, fucking, knowing no resonance of disease, the laughter echoing through the streets I equate with the insane, the beautifully insane, locked unto death, born into death, living through this dying, spilling sperm into bloody orifices, light bulbs shattering, what from this end unto speech, listless to the winds, dreaming of nightmares yet reaching for consolations, the drag, dragging corpses through the depths of shadows, maligned exhalations of heavenly smoke, the opiates of semblance, something dying spitting blood in the amber light, spiders crawling across the wasted cadavers of night, of my futile madness, the blade glistening: all the while the blade at the throat it will evolve us, a slaughterhouse sting, a pit of after-birthed tears, breaking upon the rocks of all aspiration, cutting our teeth upon bleak mortality, if ever there was, something less than this, other than this, the clouds spill rusty nails upon empty prayers, praying for an easy death, I pray for ferocity, the absolution of nothing, to recede, never to concede, in the guts of naked flesh, an erect cock a splayed cunt a gashed wound an arsehole, indelible teeth-marks and the slide of cold steel, I shiver, I gorge, I vomit, I continue, we spit dreams like sparks that fade into emptiness, and ever the return, ever the return to this perpetuating emptiness, I remember, I remember fading away, such was my nocturne, as if being sucked down into an all consuming void, somewhere or nowhere to be, the rain pissed down and I awakened covered in vomit, vacant, as if the candle had been slashed out I sat there in the darkness, love died that day, it has rarely returned, ashen fingertips, a scream cutting out the sunlight, death mutilated flesh my skin and bones birthed unto waste and in eyes of the dead I am lost  -so let me be lost!, I shed no tears, something, not nothingness will claim me, as I exhale the banquet of my beauty unto this, the veins scorched, contracted, my fingers search through self-inflicted wounds, my fingers search, I fade out…

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Untitled #8-

 

…A bouquet of severed fingers, offering a final caress in the night, emasculating joy torn from the book melds with the smell of fresh blood, I feel nothing in my flesh, the shutter snapped down in dislocation, then rage spits leaden bullets at the obscenity of the sky in the deliria of my deathliness, bones kiss bone, fragile foetal flowers bleed in the denuded moonlight, something sickly crawls up the spine like vines of teeth, my touch, my beloved my astral scars, the blood comes to my mouth and spills forth into the parched soil, the desolate earth, yet I am concrete cold, the vomit-drenched city streets of early morning isolation, there is nothing left, I whisper unto myself, I curl up into a ball in corners and I wait, I am waiting for something I know not what I am waiting for, the surface of the walls peel away to reveal the searing meat, I am kaleidoscope, I am the absence of reason, my shiv glints in the night’s gilded charms, there is nothing to be found and all questions have erased themselves, tunnel of endless dark, the candle slashed out in my blood and in my sight the teaming shoals of foreign traces of memory, I am dead, I am alive, from one minute to the one preceding, from where was my laughter still-born, unto what chamber does my silence dissipate, I have not spoken a word in days, I have nothing left to say, the cavern of the mouth spills leeches of impotence, my scars are timeless, my flesh is nothing but shit to become, I looked at you and found the same question, as if it could matter what else in that could be in how and ever now, I breathe, you are the laughter give me back my rage from out of this spent night in which the severed light cuts sharp shadows like daggers into the flesh, with a razor’s clinical smile, I elect, I concede in virulent absence, I observe myself seeping into never having been, where once was this, you are the dead sun, the fragrant laughter, fuck it I cut myself I bleed my teeth chatter I remain silently the sharp sting in the cleft fist a broken stamen, your lips part and yet still I am dead, the words they mock us, a smile can obliterate, a silence… kill…I devour my shadow as it speaks, as it lends a severed ear to the cleft winds, I will live alone, my limbs severed, crawling about on amputated dreams -our stitches define us, the sky will not cease to be, yet I will be gone, having felt for nothing, and having dreamt of less…

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Untitled #10-

 

…At what point in the striking of lightning, does the flesh awaken, once death has awakened in the eyes the clamour of the silence, having no recourse beyond the filth of decay, the brutalizing winds, birthed, into endless nothingness, as if a dream could suffice?…

…(I laugh yet I am ice, I see nothing else, penetrative scars, the implements of foreign dreams, and the skill by which such dreams are dissolved, in the cancer of final night, in the shifting parameters of madness, cutting the teeth upon the rocks of bleak mortality, as if to speak were enough, as if to convey were enough, as if this were enough, unto that final line, dressed up for the kill, my head in a vice, skull-dust, heavenly teeth)…

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Untitled #20-

 

…Meat petals and the slash of eye, a clock face smeared with absent blood, the shadow of a death knell, ice in the veins of the death of air, mocked by the crumbling walls of dissolution, a trinket, a casket full of rotting teeth, the death of air is a flock of diseased birds sprayed across the ashen sky, the waste and the frugality of tears, nothing changes, no, not ever more, I am a dream, a figment in all of this, the shadow pierces like none other, echoing, drunk upon the intoxication of blank stone walls, at which were stared in starvation, hallucinogenic, some kind of dreaming, yes…I can taste the sun, yet it is of no use, still I dream of the dark that will wrench me asunder greater than what came before, -hence I laugh, knowing, bathing in the rotting teeth of that casket, in the silence of the infinite, parched, bleached white as boiled bones, I am skull and nothing more than his hunger, this absence, this dreaming undreamt of, never having been, a gaping veranda, a dying dirt death scream from a mouth full of dying dirt dreaming screaming a dying dirt dream, how now my absence, still-born as this, letting the blood flow softly from the slashed eye, I know, I forget, for the dead are not born, something in the opiate, in the velvet salve of heavenly smoke, the silence was the lie, an opened wound spilled flies into the reeking air of this abattoir’s lies, from the gallery’s tongue the violence of the immediacy of stripped meat, reflecting the sick light of the sun I taste, a nub, the flow and the ebb the ebb and the flow, my screeching teeth, I burn black, someone has wept, in my dreaming I am forever alone, wandering through the absent light of death, as if this exile were for the living, in these catacombs, something is eating away at my reflection, it is the unknown…sing tra-la-la…

 

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Untitled  #21-

(…I was dreaming that I was lost at the edges of the sky, where death and breath intermingled, silent as the nothingness breaking throughout the night…)    

…The welts are like the kisses of the tomb, silently the dead flesh laughs its silent victory, as the bandaged eyes know that they will never heal, as blood drips from a mouth stapled stretched wide, the teeth are a frenzy of fission and reflected light, only the orifice of night acknowledges the silence, dreaming, the darkness reflected in dead eyes is the love unknown the love unspoken, reaching through the scars of dead implements, surgical implements made of flesh and bone, this all appears in the limitless sky, in the limited sky, the blood rocks to sleep in a silent lullaby, opiate smoke inhaled erases everything but the depth of breath exhaled, inhaled, walls and windows dying out in the sudden irremovable, I awakened to cigarette burns in my fingers, a dead cock, I died in mimicry of death so much the never having lost my face in the dirt, speech lay conjuring in the throat of my death, I could have torn out my livid veins, played the musicality of my absurdity, I arose and walked 4a.m streets without any real direction, I was nothing, I was dead, shut down more dead than the gathered ice within me, something will come and put out this frenzy in me, I lie to myself…something…a hammer obliterates a human face, shatters the mirrors that line the hallway, tears echo, a blind cane, how beautifully they tap blindly through the ravenous dark, unknowing the presence of intent, my hands grip your hair as we fuck and I expend myself in you, yet something is dead, is it you or I, your face seeps away into another dreamscape in which I fold, naked, draped, abandoned to the stench sheets of desire and death…As if it could be, the socket like some receptacle, my seared tongue severed by impotency, you are dead and I am laughing the laughter of the hyenas, craven, beautiful, to keep the wolves at bay, I am desert now, no-one else has spoken of it, through the very teeth of my depths, through my obsidian teeth, I am, this nothing more…laughter like a dead stone church, my death, in my dreaming all the while, the reek of stale piss in the confes-sional boxes, a trail of bloody footprints and screaming, a child spits out the severed cock of a clergyman, death was in the aisles, waiting, and in that waiting either way knowing that the sunlight blessed and beckoned through the stained glass windows, the child smiled, the child was elated by death, from then on he knew…the shit smeared sky, somewhere else, it was clear blue, the fields were green, I remember, I remember nothing, the shores were rocks broke by the seas, and so it went on, time spilling its intestines upon the sands, withdrawing them, the water was never warm enough, the misery never left me, then out of the depths came the great charge, a cacophonous sounding of blades lacerating as they arose and I was thrown from one room to another, there almost to end in my septic, the flowers had long died then, barely alive, the sky rained blood, the sky rained blood and everything was night…

Abattoir Whispers, written 2010 & originally published in 2014 by Oneiros Books, is now available to purchase here