no. 8 from 'Code #4 Texts' (Oneiros Books 2014)

 

8.…no blinded eye/ no set to follow on from motion unto waste here comes the blood rising in the throat/ speaking of foreign night and blank drip of the faucet/ in mesh of isolate here or there another’s bask/ till frenzy occult in shear of the benign what of yet till knocking as if it were possible/ throughout or of/ asking -no/ blinded then till gilt of skin removed guttering upon the ice of some given obsolete/ tomorrow’s hand the skinned purpose of it flung upon the table the blood-stained cards are none and void/ the bones dissolve in the vapours of/ rancour of/ reek stank of dead till once click/ horror of/ immense density of the bind/ the stitch to mark the wrist here or there another/ till fold of ash in given density/ there’ll yet be/ give or take a/ the brutality lies in the claim of blood the meat’s devour of shine/ bone/ none of the hereafter/ till sickness plundered for the weight of frenzy/ given till task given up as if to offer prayers/ three strikes then gone/ it recalls it does not recall/ the blind tint of the sagging air/ rich with the maggot asking of once or of the naught claiming the winds that drift in through a crack in the door/ the room is empty as death final/ a taste of mortuary upon the lips give or take a minute here or there of the light dense dense displaced/ as if it were said/ etched out in invisible traces/ the passage through which benign as skinned carcass/ traceless yes/ no blinded yet the eye of it/ there are sweets on offer/ cancerous the dark eats away the face the blood the bones until the edge of the night and forgotten yesterdays/ till fold of ash in given density/ what of the breathe then/ what of the beauty then/ an arced scar stitches up the fucked breath of severance tasted ever known/ as if to…sudden as if to…sudden as if to fade…sudden as if to fade from out of which/ given lest the…no nothing…rage or no/ unto the naught…

43 eneco 17102013 calibrationcode 122117400 gas 03682,643 m3 electricity 025384 kWh then

before the final recalibration,some last thoughts...."none of the hereafter/ till sickness plundered for the weight of frenzy" just this pointless spilling,seepage,leaking,chemical green riverial exhaust to measure perhaps for no dead politics urgent later these decaying records in desertificated neomono continent. average depth 2km/1.24 mile titres of irondioxide 0.7765 mmol/sq.mtr ironsulfide 4.72mmol/sq.mtr sulfuric acid 6.08 mmol/sq.mtr nowhere to go from nowhere to easily escape inner virioid plaque incidence accumulation tests biofluids viruses in the pneumomucus plateaus >100,22µ mmol/l.,toxoplasmosis incidence positive a life is lived wired within webbings of pathogens and scarcity,sparcity mental drought degenerative loss of braintissue due to toxogene environments in such sprawling evidence we see a paradigmatic shift from the antropocene to the toxicocene dipiperon bound to ritalin 77.60% high athmospheric particularized coincidence the old not forgotten dioxine some decline yet bc of its intransigentality and high toxicity it is a contingent plaque to stay found in the polar bears as well as in the hickory wood and the polish Białowieża Forest the humus accumulation of heavy metals fourhundred times as high as fourty years ago. 44,20 mg/sq.mtr while the,acetoneacrylatetitres heavily jumped to never before seen levels of 59,88 %/sq.mtr as with the toluenesulfuride the appr. density per mg. 60%,4100% higher than when first measured. "life does not live" cited adorno. we're dead and already know it or don't know it yet as how anti theatre would start a premisse without ever solving such dualities which are metastatic metamanifestations of a world,chemifying and azteced in that its heart seems ripped out left bleeding where tears lay in the past this is the new crying

michael mc aloran aad de gids

'Nothing Ever', reviewed by Zuzana Susu

 

MMA aad gid

revieweuse luxe panthère (also haute) on this unbelievable out of order new kind of book of MMA Michael McAloran.

is this a difficult book ? well hell yeah, but if we want to read it we will. it sets all kind of parameters on its head. if you sense you're taking part of a whole new thing qua litterature, it is just exhillirating. I have always searched for this 'antiArt' and always succeeded to find it. you have to be prepared to set aside all conventionalisms. and that I was, we were (with Bas), already in the 70s. we read the strangest books, saw the strangest [non]paintings, listened to unbearable antiMusic. we even participated in antiTheater. then yes you are quite prepared to take notice of Michaels newest book: 'Nothing Ever'.

kind of a sedate title. the book is a rupture with all that came before. he doesn't like to hear it but Michael is simply the best Irish poet. and Ireland of course already has such prevalent reputation. it is as with the perfume 'Red. Giorgio Beverly Hills'. 'Wearing Red, everything else pales'. having read 'nothing ever', there is a before and after. we agreed to work against the lesbotechno revieweuses barflies. torpedotitted, they think to rule the scene. but we give them no space, Michael not with his poetry, me not with my leopard shawled, rouge-noir lacquered acryl nails. fuck the litterary establishment. well ready with the intro, lets dynamite.

"a desire for final absence colourless skyline of all sense devour -- mockery tint of absolute to claim where division is but once as scald of flesh is to taste strip night collective repetition absence -- dense weight of nocturne-in in semblance reduct fathomless collage in a collapse of origin".

the fog of text from MMA (Michael McAloran). if meaning appears it is at the same time gnawed into fragmented proportions again with the plethora of the words that, fluidified, follow. if Michael chose Beckett to cite an adage from (with 'gnawing' in it) it is because we all need to do our patricide matricide. 'meaning' is 'sense' and we see what happens where representationism (what texts often achieve) absolve repetitive gestes. Michael finds energy in the unlikeliest of places. " aglow in dead matter to writhe within in colourless speech of static execution ". "it sings along beneath a-breathe of agues buried in a kiln of pulse bulb ideation ". here I go in a frenzy of associationisms. 'pulse bulb ideation', so there is here a dimension still of something 'positive' or rather 'affirmative'. then the word hidden inside: 'agues' = a shube of Malaria; we can also add 'ages', 'aches', not all so dissimular. the accent aigue, é. 'The acute accent marks the stressed vowel of a word in several languages.' swarm of stressors. this is also a kiln, a cauldron of heat, of energy. plus this is rather exactly described. "collision absence - it is neither sun nor some entity of bloodless fathom all lock & bathe white light neither dark merely static in all centre collect ". the aforementioned affirmation is nothing but a lightblip: "all what said ever of some barren trace pissing freely upon all that once ever was to seed in some banquet some solace in an amplificatory roar of virulent psychosis". in this text of Michael we find the bare hydraulics of 'process', 'machine', 'obsidian tidality' and hacked emotions. " hollow blood to erupt throughout -- spasm vicious slash across the gait of in-dreaming ever of wreckless compress of skeletal oxide ".

these texts may resist against reading. then it is rather an 'experiencing'. the book is sliced with intruigueing illustrations by David M. Mitchell, who is also instrumental in the publishmachine that facilitated this book: 'Oneiros Books' in collaboration with the 'Black Worm Media Kollektive'. his illustrations have a kind of resemblance with some of Bas's. maybe thats why I find them rather acute and outerdimensionally. then now comes the moment to cite extensively out of Michaels book, otherwise you'll never sense the change his book really incorporates. "broken it opulent / else as of which reclamation of unto in lack of distill rip to shreds to shadow lock of night irredempt colourless thankless space a blockade yet no nothing of that what as if to whisper traces no speech no all forgotten mimicry of some vague distillate no no longer wishes to a foreign absence of sound lack in all its cannot lapse light leapt closure no/ of wound bled out of tidal weight collapse deft breath devour no hope in hell grace as if to ever no nothing there a hand that clasps eternal as one is not second to go is first flog of some lack what over then of some accord all spoke once more there goes it tidal no yet given to speech reclaim in laughter of some hung light far afar that never of where once to be or other than as of have of it yet what yet of waste ground where now in closure of what given to beckon of as if to speak all days done for haven no what of till colourless maxity stray says no yet of what origin bulk of which weighted what of till tidal as forgotten nothing of see another there appear to be hours without wonder a drift of cloud across pupils long absent of skyline all what sung as if to know barrage of silence bone deep sever an absent frenzy of night & all that it obliterate ". this is language hunting itself. we can establish that it is nice to read the words as the words and throw all expectancies overboard. just also think of those last two years and what vomit and inpredictability, endless streaming of journalist chiffres and halfconclusive texts were spoken to us only: I wasn't listening. if there is similarity between those contoured morphologies there is, yet in Michaels case it is also critique and not only restrictively so. think of the laTrumpes' blahblah. than MMA's book is rather critique and has a metaposition, poetry, prose and philosophy and....DADA. here we also find the malcited Derrida, but then with his malcitation as true: "Critics of Derrida have been often accused of having mistranslated the phrase in French to suggest he had written "Il n'y a rien en dehors du texte" ("There is nothing outside the text") and of having widely disseminated this translation to make it appear that Derrida is suggesting that nothing exists but words. Derrida once explained that this assertion "which for some has become a sort of slogan, in general so badly understood, of deconstruction [...] means nothing else: there is nothing outside context. In this form, which says exactly the same thing, the formula would doubtless have been less shocking." ." I hold steadfast to the 'misinterpretation' because I feel that we: the 'post-post writers, the antiPoets, the EndtimeWriters, celebrate this Wortsalat. it is the same as with Beuys as he says: 'Jetzt brechen wir den Scheiße ab'. so we do not upheld anything. that there is the paradox of needing a book to express just that, that is something already Adorno and Horkheimer tackled in the Critical Theory. Index Falsii, the totality is wrong. 'the big works of art are waiting', after Auschwitz. so it is no surprise to find in Michaels book concepts of Place, Time, Space, Absence, Repetition, Sense, Tidality and with great majority these concepts are now GONE. "where to recoil breakage no what term of dislodge collapse shudder shatter wordless soundless broke never answer tidal atrophic lapse what long & all what sung from derelict absolve lack of intake desire for once that never other ever than obsolete devour colourless in laughter of which a collision bathe in black waters closed shores where flesh abides all fallen forage no all forage fallen nothing to remark upon lapse all to having in dread of hour upspoke forgotten of in of else some distance none no there what of once never as what yes or no cyclic as solace ever in what else of which given to recoil where once was haven of disclosure never of yet of where once all spoken no yet yes as bleed it all from severance severed to bone ". then detritus, debris, accretion of coral and marine nanoplastics, are more described than (not) nessecarily supportive of antroposcenic hyperurbanities. we can thus find 'unforgotten forgotten' right next to each other, as such excluding false positivisms. "tasteless as before expound of bleak white waters to caress where to unto unforgotten forgotten ever from emblems stretch of from beyond of where sudden to downpour once distance forage in an elect of skull sudden to avaricious nothing of which what matter as if to convey it where ever so spoken was of once as if to burn in black light worship of as if to travail see dim from which in ever less what as flux of breakage point skull shadow shale of lapse unto as if to graven nothing of until devour by". not in, not out, not alive, not dead, death unnamed but a wrap. then the syntax isn't also safe: "till obsolete haven of null void misspelled from outset lapse ". Michael also said that they left 'glued words' in. I love it all. here still a meta remark: "as all flesh subside a birth a step a vantage point ", this is kind of programmatic observation of putrefaction yet also a choreography of seriegraphic cartographies. fading as affirmation. we're now also not reading anymore, from Plaza to Plaza, the reader = the writer. we meet an exoticism as intimism: "…was the taxed parameter of skyline breath of once intake exhale in foreign drag of corpsal light through the vacancy of ever known forgotten in an instanced breath haven of what which spill of the drag what purpose final as composure stillness of eye & out of which what fallen shards of frozen meat in cavalcade redress wild edge of night to embrace as abattoir silences ". an energy as entropy. I see that I have to clip my haute review somewhat, otherwise we have another thick booque. essentialism as it now is circumvirates Michael thusly: "the else of essence spectral". as if aside Michael defines litterature, linguistics, language as mass. Michael writes in a pulsative, eruptive, an inintermittent stream of language unbewillst and poetically threatening to throw up meaning through holes in the textist waves. an endless open stream of words, here more adhering to eventual quasi-meaning while there a hauntingly icing against any pop-up boutique of meaning. (meaning was always overrated.) now we see in his language nanoparticles, molecularisation, multiplicities, dissipation of corpuscules. "silenced nocturnes of corpsal devour what edge from which to follow thankless chance : insectal crawl through fleshed night capacity : lack to : haven spell : danse of one thousand fragments unlimited expansion whereof in kaleidoscope is to shatter of in pupil gaze where sound dies down : fingers that reach for nothing of given to wilt to recoil to dissipate in bodily time : excess of bloom where to breathe of is the lightless passage through one sequence never of before ". here we have the veritable tanatography, teratomatosis. "this is nothing" Michael deadpans. "a useless whore of unspeak of soundless restless blind a dance of whispering winds caress the skyline’s promise no it remains unseen untenable ". 'whore' here not misogynistic, a torchname radiation, all the previous and thereafter; "of unspeak". it is precisely articulating her possibilty of many speeches, of speach and spurs. I will end my review (while there was a lot more in it,because I wanted to cite at least one page of Michaels staccato onslaught of language, words, lexicology, the instance of the reader, the attick corner of the writer). "elected to this a broke stone tragedy of cards cast no await of dawning into to become of some never having been or otherwise decide it otherwise decision nullfeeding frenzy of hyenic final laughter as if to mock what tread is of nor other claim or no what from/ why from distance no rooted to given to speech declaration a bloodless night collapsed into of which until tidal opulence of blood come to shores of till dread of which haven lack all shadowing devour colours of which of absence tidal oceanic spillage of breath where to embalm is to nothing ever waste wounds terse where to closure space lack of definition one singular edge to caress a razor silence all at once unsaid to drift whereby cold drift of broken amulets seeketh from as night impenetrable bite downcrest to fall upon where to shiv is to breathe spectral as given in shadow timescale of desert clime absent ofsky no linger taste of ashen promise where of in now of which flat-lined eyes that seek to utterance collect lime quarry of searing membrane a shattered glass pane of transparency inept as ever once of other than cold weight to lack other of through which dispel seeketh solace drought of echoings traces burnt to dust…as if to/ all but once never favour of adrift skull compress a sequence of riddled flesh meat to tear throughout…cauterize of once cannot neither of in final as seeks semblance to taste nothing of being-in emptily drag of pelt across absent landscape stone clad as burning of where flesh to be is sickness of where to nullity bankrupt veins a/ motion lack of absenteeism where to having birthed once in absentia in reek of blood’s tidecalls cards they are spent as rotting..."

54

"orchids adrift in some foreign breeze settling in distance obsolete breathed to un-sky trace of lock-a adrift speechless as of once ever of some shadowing collects in din refusal echo to trace reverberate of skyline sieved by fingers cold dust of voidal exigency of bereft light end till none lapse of throughout a shimmering of halo tread of limb warped colourings bite in darkness overture vault to breathe of effortless to crush in thin lights subtlety of blade to caress in fleshed abandon eye see eye sees once or other a scattering of embers in shit breathless of to burn of it a knock a silhouettesilence bleeding out where once was of sustained as of in which till of what of in or less than as nothing of obscure distance no longing for to burn as of blackened meat dissolve spasm tread throughout gild of absent razor slash eviscerate to the hilt of ash an evacuation of piss of shit-stained dusty sheets blood to lack as of some colourization as limbs once foraged die down in listless slaughter mock of stitch of some reclamation taste of desire in haven of where to flesh is to absolve is to breakage subtle cold light as if in which of uttered blank space a point of light to fade as a pupil’s invertinter-spasm of line drawn white chalk through spacial lack of definition a mercury of shimmer bleed dredge of in nor of a gouge of mouth stretched before unknown clad in pelt of nothing ever rind of breath scarred without longing for to settled within of spoken unto where none of being is of else in dreamt of spoken of what shiv to trace throughout where to of abode blackened sun light absence of sky corrected if yes or of breath shredded of purpose other than through"

55

I have remarked this before, but we're near Linneaus, the Linnean 'listing' of all plants. if often the connecting words are gone we get a new sensorial KGB CIA MOSSAD texting module. it is inescapable. if Michael summarizes: "extract broken terse obsolete words prayers ". theology without theology. I'll have to leave it at that, not because cursing is Verboten but I shall not leave before I have given this lemmatum of absolute admiration and the testimony of Michaels substantial geniality

'in dim forgotte(n)', (Infinity Land Press), reviewed by Aad de Gids

 

MICHAEL MCALORAN LATEST BOOK
(he would gladly say 'last') is quite the thing. reading Michael's texts requires the right mindset beforehand. not a (as a queer moronic Grande English Poet had concocted before one could even read his frêle poems) mandatory listing of 'thou shalt not' and 'thou shalteth' [a 'CAVEAT', I suddenly remember*], but rather is it better to be prepared for a dense poetic form and content A/FRIVOLOUS and particularly NON/HEIDI/ESQUE. content is specifically black, bleak, offered with sharp beaks of relevant than shocking and heinously beautifully worded content regarding the Endworld, escatologic nonplaces and dead worlds, teratologic graphic scenographies for 'everyone to read' eagerly !
[*a warning or proviso of specific stipulations, conditions, or limitations.
"there are a number of caveats which concern the validity of the assessment results"
in LAW: "a notice, especially in a probate, that certain actions may not be taken without informing the person who gave the notice."]
'in dim forgotte(n)', already with the title Michael leaps into a kind of artificial or, what mayeth I know, real Victoriana of lexicology, of malformations and dreamy reminiscences of the old English, Irish, language. (I am the Dutch European.) (I am VERY VERY tolerant.) within the book we find more words maltreated, modernised while antiquated, adding to the strange etherspheres and concrete inframural morgues that are described with as explicite as poetic descriptions. funerary 'cavates', excavations, but in the End-Now world. we're already living in a dead world. the manifestations amass but this is no sign of vivacity. (I am also a devolved complexisized nihilist.) Michael gives text to empty corridors, where you don't know if you're in- or out, up- or down, before- or after, above- or beneath. this affirmative displacement is this status (stasis) texted within thousand formulas.
"an eruption of lung in a roomscape devoid of presence but one...silence otherwise...". "a vague amass of soundless emptiness...". "where to elected to this there was no question put forth nor ever yet asked of...voidal as...struck out...". (19)*
[*within regular double quotationmarks I cite out of Michaels 'in dim forgotte(n)'. pagenumber added.]
the language used here gives reminiscence to Adorno's notorious 'acribia', a dense, tightly cryptic and or undecipherable codex of sentences, within which he spoke in a contradictory and with double negations complex affirmative content with ominous cling. Michael still goes further. where Adorno's last 2 books: Negative Dialektik and Ästhetische Theorie still hoped for new lines, after horrific times, Michael just gives a mimic of 'what there is', the artificial, hegemonial, monomaniacal, hysteric and corporate infantilistic jargons. with Adorno the contradictions gave off meaning of a 'World not living', it was fired by WWII and 'after Auschwitz'. we have experienced hyperevents even heinous after that Horror and thus the texts, in anywhichway Michaels text, give expression almost sideways, if he describes exactly what has happened, what will happen, and even the expectations to those vistas have become obsolete.
"...all manner of sounds to collect the unknown absence a-breathe burns of in sickly vibrant air...blackened the bones collect the rejection of time...ice as...the walls peel slowly revealing a vague texture of nothing...". "bled stone a collapse into what once never was...". (20) "breakage collision stealth of acute dissolve...". (21)
the text gets form after postmodernism. if we follow the sentences in conformatist, conservative, classic ways we stutter upon 'breakages', slits, discontinuities. the sentence, begun in conformative manner, suddenly seems more of an associationist manifesto slice. neologisms document the situation as it has evolved 'in situ'.
I have to reconsider my strategy to review Michaels book. if I continue with this format, it becomes a book about a book. I will find the contoured citations and my comments made then and there. the review will be finished today, to make Michael happy, no ? (a KarlLagerfeldism I picked up on.)
an arrival of Tomorrows targets more the senselessness of it than the 'modern' adage 'this Tomorrow is smoother than that one'. "moth wings aglow in cavity of gait sharp shut...".(22)
"...bled out where to final is to breath's lack of absolve...underwater skull of what once was...". (23) we certainly have here a diagnosis of our time. I have remarked this before but Michael reaches here a pure 'listing' of texted events where they lost almost an informative value but constituate more of a postmetaphysical status of stasis. then to list what there is to [sense] gives an accurate cinematic image of the abandoned, postTschernobyl-Fukushima plazas of irreversible damage. "...carrion equations of silt scuttling across light's streak of tidal unknown" "suffocation of lack...star shadowing...limbs burn in chemical absolve as the blood it courses...".(24) this all isn't journalistic report. doesn't add to the informational warfare. rather than decryptisation, decipherability and even intelligibility these texts are more instinctive, more connected with the senses. in long associationist hauls they leave an impressum on the earth and on the retina. "...semblance shadows cold electric lights that never cease...". "...child wanders the nightscapes of the forever lost...". "...Child forgets all it seethe...barred the windows of a lifeless room from which to view there never should have been...".(25)
'child forgets all it seethe' can be read as 'all it sees' as also 'all it seeths'. an indifference given in by the vulgar times we live in. in the interview preceding the text of the book 'in dim forgotte(n)' the interviewer mentions this child as a new 'character' in Michaels Œuvre, but as I noticed this child is a human remnant in the 'Postworld', sec. the book is edited in four parts with vivid graphic illustrations by artist Martin Bladh. a shorter Ouverture to get to the taste of it; a long, junglist and almost inimpenetrable (yet if there is want, there is result) incessant stream of wordweave and sinister as macabre mise-en-scenes, leaving one not so much tired but surprised by the catascopic catatonic catharsis all exflected in one Haul. UHaul. to finalise still the 'preface' '(i)', there is presented a forbodening eventplaza of becoming.
"...walls everywhere...cigarettes extinguished in the flesh of dawning...yet dawn is nothing ever ever...the screaming never ends....it rocks back & forth in sequence...distances from which unknown...where black is the colour & none is the number...trace of liquid burning..." (28).
(I)
is the thirty page outburst of textual furor, stupor, dolor, noir, torpor, the magmaic chiasms of inintermittent wordstreams and diagnosis infaustus. it never abandons its poetic roots: "..as if were fallen/a candelabra of crystal bone dice turn in grip of ashen sun light gripped by longing spat out upon what once was shadowing/". (33) the speak is of corridors, rooms suddenly awoken to, a scent trail, the Deleuze-Guattarian 'CorpsSansOrganes', a substrate. linguistics bump into it: "/as if to say that/", "till words cascade into void of vacant nullity/". (33) linguistics, either linguistics, lexicology, textLab is as ridicule as radical. we are in the realm of postText. in this stretch of text, in which I had the pleasure of tracking through in my les Tropéziennes purple mules, toenails lacquered in Sally Hansens, Hollywood, acrid acryl yellow, language is the material in exhaustive similarity with what is written, is viscosity, viscerality, visciousness, bijoux boutique visagiste expenditure.
a Postmortem forms an Incidency of what emerges. "/bites it once till regalia of castrated purpose/fingers of dead long rot of all that turned throughout a shadow a minced heart cleft by nullity/". "laughter yes but no/on but no/nothing of on into/static stasis/wrists to slash in psychosial flames/".(37) adverbs gained the power here. their fractuality pythons with what the hell is going on much more acute than the 'Grande Political Words'. language as Necropsy of ourbpostneo tribesociuses: "-speak spells it all out as if to wound stitch shut to burst revealing sinew/". (38) 'Dawn' subsided to a diMethylVinyloid Dawn: "/stone to taste as if to bled mock dawn what light colours of like of which were never claim hereafter solace of one dead tide what secrets to unravel in dim forgot solace nectar of blade bite skinned tide of mercury asphyxiation". (40) 'some sun' catapults us from geocentrism-->antropomorfism---> heliotropism---->alldirectional zonosporo trancedimensional lavaflight. "to eradicate all sound from which foetus echoing bled flays bankrupt necessary an open parameter in some sun". (40)
the Cogito of Michael has its place in a landscape Necroplaza. "into some landscape where to never have never knowing of never being". (41) [Cogito, ergo sum is a philosophical statement that was made in Latin by René Descartes, usually translated into English as "I think, therefore I am". ... The dictum is also sometimes referred to as the cogito.] I have to skip tranches of the text while I could with the same aim cite the whole thirty pages of this Monologue Expulseur. it is part Wordheap, in the most modern way: that it doesn't matter anymore what to say, yet notwithstandingly formulated in an exquise way. intent and content are obvious but possibly not to everybodies liking. it is to mine. that it doesn't anymore matter what to say, to the background of our era. to expulse this, therefor we need this textform. no other would suffice.
'light': "/blind by light's intone breakage film of reflect in mirror chase what of sickness of/" (43). where we can superimpose the text on profitist, sciencetheoretic rivalry: "mechanic broken of where to equate where numeral closure jack-knife upon some gilded crucifixion of malignant streak of blood upon/dead as dead sun dead/". (44) another Cogito summons "to be is reject following onwardly some silenced obsolete it skin of damned weight of pregnant pauses of razor psychosis spitting plumes of scalded flowers of lacerate of dead time of weight of lack/". (45) if there are grammatical, syncopal, omissions than we have to remind you that we bend the language as we like. now I have to edit/quasify, some more. "where to breathe is to vomit". (50) here is a good photography of what a Michaelean text comprises: "...waste attrition it all of less than ever breaks forth to collect of banquet skull teaming with nectar toothless toothed whore of broke jaw emptiness where spe/cial is to outstretch rhytm all sunk devour as of where belittle blood is out of focus nocturne of drought/". (52) 'heap of words', ingrammatical, spellingissues ['broken jaw'], vile content and postPolitic intent: for me this is the Post-Post text required to at least copy paste shards of a putrid social etnology. cataleptic extortionism [a physical condition characterized by a loss of sensation, muscular rigidity, flexity of posture, and often by a loss of contact with surroundings. Also catalepsis.]. "/ideation skins sky abandon of none bleak turning of throughout non-space as momentary corridors dissolve/text+2/not a/not of/nothing in this/fades laughter hilt expels dusts from gilded lung/sickness hunger avarice..." (56). this BLOCKTEXT mirrors Gertrude Steins The Making of Americans, Marguerite Duras l'Amant and Hiroshima mon Amour, Musils der Mann ohne Eigenschaften, Kapielskis Mathematisierung des Todes, Rimbaud, Celan, Celine, Cioran. the Nouveau Roman with Duras, Alain Robbe-Grillet with his 20 pages of description on how a seagull sat on a pole; Georges Pérec with his roman La Disparition, written entirely without the letter 'E'. the word in 'in dim forgotte(n)' (61) 'collideoscopic' we can compare with Guattari's 'chaosmose'. there are also glimpses of Dada and postNeoDada.
in (II) we find a 9 page tome of the same eruptive fumarole of untamed but micro edited texts. "...walls much the same are papers peeling are vellum traces an unintelligible child's drawings in heavy black crayon..." (67). "...eye speaks unknowing as what of till matter stripped of light calling forth where nectar of is the pissed upon from great heights as if there were ever any...meat to collapse into..." (68). the sentence has a knack. Deleuze wrote a book of the Crack-up. Deleuze-Guattari mentioned the geste: 'Connect-I-Cut'. so the sentence moves like a branch. journey = stasis. "...a long dead distance of through corridors of bleak surrender..." (71) which echoes Walter Benjamins Dialektik im Stillstand. a total expressionism, with streaks, smears and holes superimposed upon the text. "time burns deep through a colossus of endless night...cylindrical the breath is vacant...flesh to writhe to meat to bone to marrow turning in an absence of colour...static disclosure to when genuflect is the rot of being in as rat gathers...absentee pelts scattered across the floorboards stained with paint..." (75).if the text is stuttering it is the obstructive transitcongestion and the abstruse of tranceplaza flightlines plus no educational probabilities.
in (ii) the 'postscript', more aforistic than the previous texts, it becomes clear that, whichever definition is given to the text, it is uncalled for and noninstructive. there I found postreligiosity, insectoid prayers, affirmative areligiosity (Michael is born in Belfast), lemmata describing the void of whichever flights. "tendency to trace a given nocturne/absentia of/what once was never once/through the cracks in the sky come silhouettes of amber prayers returning to the host of it/insect sickness claims/" (87). moreover: absent postReligiosity, as religiosity has no weight, had no and will never have one. "...to erase of it/cold fragrance of artificial lights/burns of foreign sentience of/here the nothing there another of/bound bones in winter gutter/striation of what once was pulse/absent secrets of the/slashed out/all sung all to be sung for as if to gift the night its treasury/in the vicious air to taste of it/bleeding out the one once known...
I think this is another fantastic Irish poetic book by Michael Mc Aloran. he loathes such qualifications. let's say: I've read around his book philosophically, read his books and the ones with similarities. it is the genre that is my cup of tea... 

The book itself is available to purchase here

Available from Veer Books, 'Till Claimed', a poetry chapbook...

Now available from Veer Books (U.K), my poetry chapbook, "Till Claimed"). Samples from the book can be found here £6/ 50pp/ Matte Cover/ Artwork by me from 2003 oil on canvas/ Introduction by Aad de Gids...

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

The book itself is available here

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, and.....me. 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…".

Further pieces from 'Code #4 Texts' -- Aad de Gids & Michael Mc Aloran (2014)

17...recoil step trace/ trace non-step/ recount can one/ the eye‟s recount roving in the X. of/ meld till trace of what has yet/ before having come from none/ not knowing of the how many or/ taken yes no or of the/ claimed claim a desire for breath/ non-speech/ nothing left of what what matter/ yet still/ still the grind of lack/ exhale what for as if to/ or/ still no recoil no not a trace/ recount of X./ how many yet the steps unclaimed/ to claim no/ eye spies with the little left/ some substance or other/ knock knock there goes the light of the once hereafter/ lock trace/ recount/ nothing none of it/ no nothing more of it/ until again/ not having moved yet having/ all the while/ recount can one/ am or of the is or eye/ split/ spillage/ what laughter else of the hereafter/ having claimed/ no nothing/ X./ parameter/ a sky streaked with excrement/ doused the lack till fill/ recoil yes or none of the above what matter/ non-speech no never once more/ in-dreaming of the never uttered/ yet still the ever-final grind of emptily/ once more until lessened/ claimed not claimed as far as the eye can/ see-saw/ oceanic swell of tears having forgotten one‟s place/ as if to gift the nothing of/ recoil step trace/ not knowing of the how many left/ it matters not yes it matters like pissing on gardenias/ final clamour X./ night spillage/ day‟s light/ perhaps some other eradicate/ bone times none in the algebra of silences/ whispers of the trace/ not a stitch/ cease/ claimed claim a desire for breath/ in the absence of breathe/ defined by/ spoken of what whispers/ nothing anymore/ paring away yes one pares/ the eye‟s recoil is perhaps September it matters not a fuck/ X. or no/ a bound reach/ skin the/ an abound of reaching skin the cat out of the bag no not a trace/ knock knock there goes the light again what matter/ on and off/ a pulse almost/ no/ some substance or other here comes the blood rising in the parched throat/ some distance to trace/ as if to/ recoil step trace/ as if to say/ non-speech is best/ ever clear/ not having moved yet having/ inhale what for as if to/ claimed or unclaimed/ spattered/ some substance or other/ ten times none in the arithmetic of nothing/ in syllable of/ nocturne blind yet in what fashion/ bled dry as of departure yet nothing has/ this is the station of/ recoil of X./ it marks the spot/ ( a naked eye pares away the night‟s sky bind away of all significance or shadow/ gesture hurling out the blind light of the exhume till splice cut close the flesh‟s silently…)…[54] times [17] will be a nonsig-nificant determinant towards claustrologicism and phobic calculatorism where X stands for a vector within a nonroom of indeterminacy still. "a pulse almost/ no/ some substance or other here comes the blood rising in the parched throat/ some distance to trace/ as if to/ recoil step trace/ as if to say/ non-speech is best", X also a shifting feature each time an obtrusively illustration of possible blockage yet rather the sketchy microtraceology of a mosaicing tableau forever gliding absorbant matter of exorbitance signifying nothing. heed the world in its poker-chambers dig the earth until its granular soul unhidden lays bare an ore of aired ochre shubewise unearthed the granite holes fracked. here we're already vanished or,ore,here the reminesce of this mythic pancontinent monotectonic paragaea with the great dead center an endless desert the size of our big ocean the silence of what never heard was these nonantropocene stretches of uncoordinated magnetism and needless as evident disdirection. the X marker each time of arrival again of what then was unto these new massive geodesics chemified earth this short phase of putrid antropology disappeared already forgotten almost before it hadtet begun. the grace the contingently sprawled out patches of postvegetation as seen by the restanimals now clotted in arcane vacuoles in almost residual antitheatre moaning and migrating to newer grounds unseen and nonscientific strict for ages to come the meteorology and protopostpaleology like mists falling over neopresence and pasts postcataclysmic hyperevents unseen. the world a place of desolation destitution after the halfly halted unstoppable entropic spasms laying bare almost the magnetic grid and its irreciprocal deaf shiftings and disheveled patterns seemingly following more solar regimens than the inner fireiron amendments. we're long gone now having become one of the Xes a calibrative moment on the rim of the ruler of time hovering inbetween unseen stardust and what forgotten is. flagghelative flash within an unruly cosmic ocean not exclusively of hydrogendioxide and black seasnow in drafts of black treads endlessly sinking,that,as also less directive and imaginistic in unheimlichen voltage nettings webbing around hijacking a possible future bereft of all probabilistics just numbed out floating in insignificant etherspheres seeking nothing nevermore the vanishings.

18...“Abode where lost bodies roam each searching for its lost one…”

…string dangles as of gallows/ noose/ snap shot pull/ light absent/ exhume of dark/ non-flesh of gathered of/ (breathes)/ nothing but/ out reach of/ stench retch/ bile of some disclosed obstruct/ vomiting in dry silences/ snap shot pull/ having searched/ light again/ shear of carcass kisses to the eye socket/ bleeding of/ strangled air of closure headless as if to ask/ string dangles/ silence either way/ a dead scream of echoing teeth/ clear no/ snap shot pull/ exhume of dark/ pulse yes or no/ irreplaceable sickness/ blind as if to murmur through a brail of frenzy/ nothing but/ viewed by none/ removal as/ (exhales)/ a sneer cut from the cut of flesh/ raw meat flowerings/ string dangles in the dark/ perhaps the static/ hence/ showering abasement/ drift of lack/ snapshot clear/ ever-night/ balm of/ light what light a cadaver‟s silence in/ vibrating yet/ in horror of/ asks what none blind light of see/ pulsating all the while/ extravagant/ shadow yes or no as if to bind by the or of it/ (breathes)/ walls of shit/ blind cum/ blood/an asking of/ echoing piss of laughter/ give or take a spillage of/ syringe of night/ the razor clarity of mutilation/ string dangles as of noose/ (exhales)/ snapshot pull/ flash and then undone/ bowel collapse/ the pulse‟s momentary collapse/ lays down stands up again/ not a step/ bound by the snap of shot of light of/ until static again/ laughter again/ echoing out from out of/ utter dark all the same/ what trace to follow/ bitter snap dark of shot else/ marked by the/ opulent as death/ in utter dark of glimmer naught/ none of which till absence of/ silence erased in the chamber of eye's forgotten/ momentary/ a trace of carcass and the blind sight horror of/ embrace/ step forth no not steps to take/ paralysis all/ as of…/ snap shot pull once again/ once more of the blind circumference of/ steps forth in light of disregard/ impress of/ gauge/ nothing but yet stillness arc of the benign stepping forth in the/ (breathes)/ raw meat blossoming out of the cage of rib what of it/ no end in that or of/ distant lights/ pace pace no flowering head of/ till illuminatum of scream slashing out in to the light what light or of/ ever the distance/ sinew yes and the bone exposed/ the shadow of which having fallen finally/ snap shot pull/ utter dark…[49] where the relevance of bacon shall always be a disrespect for the own medium a punkesthetics really to,not revel in or in modii autosycophant swimming in endless cycles of selfpornography yet with either large knifings or red over black and black over red brushings redefine the endproduce timely,a painting,of what it is this neoplague of the twentyfirst and what it is a "denotation",a downward notation much like the solely transscriptions of medieval monks and the fixxed iconology of the hinduist pantheon or buddhist figures and taoist watercolours of cherryblossoms ad nauseam yet,a very defined and nowhere flattered image of "world" "world" "world". the daily dairy produce will however rather be that of "war" "war",the depiction, downward directed imag-ination of these "worlds in war",ever so charred so visceral graphic mauled dismembered where precisely the crassness of this beholds mirrorings of a turmoilworld,an endworld, world which even can loose itself in cinematic vaudeville of unforseen childrens' gamemovements of "triple jump" the world presenting itself in pornoramas of erratic advertisement terrorismsequencings and variative billboardover bearingcrypsis the world no place anymore as with the zoovegetative vanishings slowly and gradually, documented and quantified the antropocene will dwindle and disappear at last too. there is an automutulative trace of events ad hoc and serially informing the machinistics of these last sociuses under the guide of "improvement" and "progression" and "completion" working from the outside in and from within out,as robert kennedy wrote in "the enemy within",a kind of entropy mercurializing our selfbloating and selfaggrandizing environments made to measure of an all-encompassing fatal-futile,radical-ridicule,economist-ecologist,historic hysteric hyper-machine of antsociety on steroids not aimed for littler worth or honorary heritage just speeding ahead towards a hieronymus bosch filled world of dragons demons and draculas,with straight faced conservatists santorums and pinstriped suited upfucks with sleek merchandizing snaketalk,as brilliantly imagined in the paintings of both bosch and bacon and now we have now and their psychotic prophecies seemed to have gained a weighty evidentiality. 

20...

„I abandon myself to peace, to the point of annihilation…‟

--Georges Bataille

…exigency of/ as if to snuff the shadow‟s reclamation/ dense ruthless blinded to the point of tears/ a head cupped in skin-stripped fingertips/ blossoming from out of the blood what nocturne given less or less of it/ ashen as/ split the writs or of in reclamation/ the centre cannot hold/ (in-breathe of shadow‟s claim)/ the night‟s miscarried lung aches of the solvent disregard of the teeth/ as if to say of it what speech as if to say of it died down till reverberate of echo‟s retract of disappearance/ in collide it seeks the outwardly of some solace of/ closer to death yet further than/ like the locked spinal affluence of some stun approximation/ says no the text it does not matter/ it rests easily upon the sliced the eyeball sliced across indefatigable image/ a restless coil of disharmony/ where the word is jag/ -ged/ spit ragged/ shard of/ dense black of/ tatse-taste/ locked of what else to follow on from given no/ begin again/ given no/ as if to snuff the shadow‟s reclaim/ to the point of tears therein the echoes of what it may or may not be become/ dead waters/ emptied bottles strewn like bled lights across a dusty shelf/ or the discarded concentration of/ all melded together asking of the bridge that was never crossed and the love that was never lost of or or/ the centre has never held/ in or out of speech what a gift till claim/ something lessened as if to say/ to the point of annihilation wiping the bile and bloody vomit from the chest/ here one has passed/ idolatry/ snuff movie finger tips and the ice of some given bled or disregard as if it matters a fuck/ the cold sharp stamp of shadow biting into denuded flesh what matter/ it continues/ it is said/ it continues it is said/ having abandoned oneself to pieces/ to the point of utter inebriation/ regret locks the door and burns the waxen key/ what matter/ live or of the other and yet of what pace/ climbing/ as if the sky were attainable/ give or take a step or two/ this is a dead text it will not suffer itself it is riddled with the maggot of the pulse‟s aberrations/ it kicks up the bloody dusts up into its own face it kicks its own teeth in it does not matter to itself/ it is a barrage of none/ the easy jagged petals of what/ blinded of eye the eye sliced devoured this is no arithmetic/ or/ not a trace/ give or take a/ aching for the/ yes or no no call to choose/ to the point of peace/ to the point of annihilation/ devouring one‟s own fingers alone in the dark… [55] 'das Bedürfnis,zu den Gräbern zu laufen und auf den Gräbern zu frieren wie ein Hund. '--Thomas Bernhard "the center has never held" "this is a dead text it will not suffer itself it is riddled with [the pulse of the faggot's] aberrations" acenters of hollywoodian nightlife whirring moaning roaring more,like a sheffield pittsburgh factory,an ijmuiden lille factory of ironore distribution cinematically falsified unto filmsets ironsatiated wests and easts and their "once upon a time",souths and norths,an endless nightlife in deserted santa monica-and beverly blvds yet with the debris,the afterset,the late shift still scuffling on normandie ave whereever the bars are open 24/7 the sleeze crackling forth like som  landcatched amoeba an acenter of dissociated members producing nonsignificant yet loud noise and non-descript pissbehavior for starlettes and pimps, hustlers and divas. even the tarset on laBrea never held so much layers of memory and intrigue,seedy under-ground and inimpenetrable vacuoles of furlined vaults and dead chimps,walls of max factor's facial cake and jose ebers dead lacquered hairbombs. the cities of angels and new highrises,european cities of metal eyes and over layered biblicisms,nineteenth century iron-welts and bolts extending earth toward an ever-changing sky,the cities then of movies and butch-eries,gambling lore and purification and consumption of gin unto korsakovian limit/s/lessnesses,the acenters of the cities then all splayed out on everchanging maps with covariative geodesic urbanoradiary discoordinates give the surfacial zone of life or the layer of mould we form (horkheimer) temporary noneffable frozenness as techniqued in area 51 cryogenistic cryogenome labs of coma and stasis,crypsis and catatonia,the dynamic immobility (benjamins 'dialektik im stillstand') of which some asymptote representant of 'life doesn't live' (as cited by adorno) forms a forever incentive to keep searching for a neopostnihilisme éblouissante. max factor made up the waxen faces of hollywood the future executives masklike faces of modern time, nonstaring you in the eye bc "there is nobody there" and 'in his diaries Pinsent wrote about shopping for furniture with Wittgenstein in Cambridge when the latter was given rooms in Trinity; most of what they found in the stores was not minimalist enough for Wittgenstein's aesthetics: "I went and helped him interview a lot of furniture at various shops ... It was rather amusing: he is terribly fastidious and we led the shopman a frightful dance, Vittgenstein [sic] ejaculating "No—Beastly!" to 90 percent of what he shewed [archaic spelling] us!'. "Wovon man nicht sprechen kann, darüber muß man schweigen. What we cannot speak about we must pass over in silence." (W.)  

You can get "Code #4 Texts" from Oneiros Books

Samples from 'Code #4 Texts', by Aad de Gids & Michael Mc Aloran, (2014)

9...of the here or thereafter an excess of drought what spill the knotted tongue the closed fist raging till gut spill of shadowlike in blend of the redeem yes or no/ of the here or thereafter what spill the knotted teeth the split tongue ravage of desolate clear cut the night’s balm ochre drift apiece here or there hereafter yes or no/ yes or no these dead prisms of light’s accord as if to say it whisper or recede split the blood vessel no heart left no nothing but ashes here or there hereafter an excessive absence of all a closed wound an empty fuck/ yes or no what said till gift of exile so so far adrift in bask of till fashioned else the clamour of distill here now of the breathe-else the stain of dreams like cum upon a handkerchief given to offer up to the echoing drought yes or no the emptiness of some adroit silence/ silenced the word the voice given to burn in the aftermath of gutted fields says yes or no the drift what claim till shadow felt in dream of nectar ash and the eyes or no of the here there or hereafter distancia of foreign sands stretching out/ an outpost of bone winds ache of the pulsing cock till trace the cleft discharge of blood laced with semen and musk/ here there or fuck it it does not matter the crushed spasm the lightless flowering into savage the knotted drift adrift in the blood’s lack till claim redeem not a trace of the sun left in a clear skyline/ vacancy of/ in nocturne of species clipped the wailing does not fade yet is silent/ it reverberates throughout the flesh the eternal scream taken from belonging no this was never ours we were not wanted here we were wanted no/ say yes or no/ “did you give him the works?”/ “yes”/ “what did he say”/ “he said nothing” there was nothing else/ yet the breath lack won over the laced filigree of/ bask what till the here or there or of the hereafter/ etched across the skin the meat beneath of its own accord till taint of dreaming all forgiving rage in the impetus of given blossoming/ yes or no/ what then/ upon the precipice of blade not a stitch of it damaged in the recession till craft of blind a head of stone what scar till scarless scarred beyond this is the gift of final nothing to retrieve from out of this no not said it has never there will ever no not yet of the here there or of the hereafter till blind reckless of it it is set apart…[50] eh [49] eh [47] the "silenced the word the voice given to burn in the aftermath of gutted fields says yes or no the drift what claim till shadow felt in dream of nectar ash and the eyes or no of the here there or hereafter distancia of foreign sands stretching out" is the emblematic formula to these poems and at once the evidence of total indifference of where these poetic trax tracts tricks trucks will lead to such density more revelatory of the "becoming-world" than any fucking purism would ever be able to pertain,the above text a stupefying tantalizing psychotologic tome of the endworld in its translation 'traductore il ineffibile' as the unmen-tionable yet is dressed in sounds as in an effluvial stream of insemantics insyntaxis the postpostmodern postironic neopostsyntax of the incessant bombard-ments with gruelling news as also horrific history here we're in a stasis of no escape which in itself can be affirmed as the "auschwitz sociuses" cocooning around and vitroviroinvade from within the vile ineffort of subconscious hydrodynamic spill and ganges gavials and debris non stop 24/7 ghats-burnings of emaciated corpses surrounded by mourning family and morning people and pyroclastic ashen casts of untouchables,the dalit,plus then even worse,an echelon lower,the people who eat ashes and drink out of skulls yet nowhere any,any difference to our fucking western nazist campy societies proselytizing for its own deathfields of highways and low ways, outskirts and banlieus, milieus and deleuze,serial social buildingprojects to accredite and gettoize the chanceless contingencies of people without work to go hunting for heroin and alcohol, cocaine and xtc,amphetamines and bath salts/ bad salts,in russia the search for "krokodil",crocodile a drug so asphyxiatingly strangulous sexually addictive while your extremities rot away as in liberia the eternal referencelessness gained with the civilian wars which surmounted in disdirectional rebellion driven on "the communities in Liberia with the highest drug use as Congo Town, Chocolate City, New Kru Town, Clara Town, Duala, Red Light and West Point".

--

14...white snap of/ sheer edge white of snap of some given orchestrate of bone/ garret of/ a clear eye/ break of not till severance/ over again and yet over again once more/ till traceless headless mocked by the offal onset/ of the offal obscurity/ the teeth of it in a bind of electric colours/ no nothing more/ the piss of this or that no nothing else/ still yet the clamour of until undone/ paring aware the garrotte of tears as if to utter it says no nothing that’s the price of it/ settled then till breath of plumage/ (asks of the dead traces/ the blind light’s balm/ colour colours none/ absent of/ absence of the unseen laughter of the laughter’s echoing triad/ speech unspeech/ gathering the deft rat of pelt once more/ in the given welts of tongue given to impart welt)/ dry stone/ perhaps stone winds perhaps/ nothing no not ever/ not a chance/ never was/ no not from the outset/ the outstretched palm seeks to be filled with blood as the sky wrings tears from the…/ in garret of/ bones no not a chance/ shadowed by/ a cold cut a sneer/ as is said/ drained of yes/ drained of the no/ knowing of the nothing/ traces memories of breathe escaping one never recalls enough to etch them down in…/ no not a trace/ blind ash/ a sickness from which one can never/ a sleep from which there is little of/ clear eye or no so it is said/ the hands shake before the clasp-knife of desire before the clasp-knife of absence/ till tint of oceanic/ spun lack of the cracked jaw of feel/ yet not a trace of it/ given unto drunkeness and the absence of feel/ mocked by a silence that does not observe/ excessive/ yes/ damage yes/ the sounds rail up in defeat and the cold ash of absurdity scatters them to the fields where absent flowers grow/ blossoming from the cold ash of absurdity scatters them to the fields of scattered absent flesh/ yet sharp as a tack the breath inhaled lights the beyond of which/ given to spurious abound and the lack of which/ in the laughter lung of it/ a breathless deform/ absent lights of the atrophic/ a filigree trace of/ scattered the dead pelts long forgotten/ this is the death of speech/ so it says/ there is nothing left to gain from it/ perhaps a bite/ a break/ a whistle of some abject tune/ criss-crossed by purposeless/ X.d out/ give or take a void or two/ this is the atrophy of/ given unto the abound/ the hands drop to the sides/ the game is finished/ the game is over/ it is not complete…[52] hence the desire to catch in numbers and chiffres,in numbing and shipments,the "dead traces/ the blind light’s balm/ colour colours none/ absent of/ absence of the unseen laughter of the laughter’s echoing triad" the unspoken wish for the possibilty of cartography, as it is now the time,of the empty fields,the solipsism of desolate plants,a terrain abstained from,the mineridden killingfields of pol pot verdun movements in northern kongo,cartography of the open desolate musicsheets of yoko ono,playing an endmusic always,broken notes and tokens of "street", uncinematic graffiti- tokengalleries,with lost numbers, "hotel 14" a fuckhotel a brooklynite brown stoned building,"stoned" building the shootinggalleries budding and sprawling everywhere,the watering holes as visualized in T.A.D.s "stumbling man", http:// youtu.be/pAMXakcYVLU, actually the never mind a fuck anymore, ne'ever-mind-a-gogo.com chiffreless fields of unaccidentality, non identifiable, trackless endlessness, fields and rough patches, debris and derelict buildings, mappology of the endtimes, with new markers, fukushima, haiti, new new orleans,well tsjernobyl, ground zero however filled in with antimu-sulmania immobillière again in I-towers,101 TAIPEI, 2 international finance center, 7WTC,1WTC, these all vectors in an endworld,where we have to unite the crass diversification between the low and the high,lowlife and madison ave-élysée filth,over the tracks and far away and "from party to party" http://youtu.be/BBsq1tE--1Q which in itself is life as if in an inbetween-sphere, a nonplace, nonplaza, sens-ationalist the same as we would scale a home or officecubicle in one of those cadasterial vectors on the endmaps,"we're now nowhere",as the question "where are you",the penultimate question triggering the virosis of the touchphones,isn't any longer relevant as we're now as well at horizontal as vertical as also as nonexistent levels,(not) there anymore,we're already not there anymore,if we haven't left the building either in obscenely drunk or drugged out of your fried out brains or, hyperacutely crisp, calculatory urgent, insectoidely sterile presentist,we've in any case left our locale which wasn't a locale in the first place but forever in transitional state,"work in progress",as in the desolate field the solitary postneonuclear vegetative specimen we're kind of supposed to be not there,even in the ultrashiny mall the sensation of decrepit existence will not falter nor fail. 

CODE #4 TEXTS is available from Oneiros Books