Final Fence


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A Conjugate Divine


May peace, love and happiness reign in your soul.

Watch “Interstellar – M83 – Outro” on YouTube

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We’re all just ghosts. Ghosts of what we never were and what we should have been.

* * *

When I died in the embrace you denied me, the stars looked beautiful, yet somehow inverted.

* * *

There is some kind of music, unknowable and agonisingly beautiful, emanating from outside of this dimension. I only hear it in those dreams where I back in the time before I understood destiny.

* * *

Reality mixes with the drug sweetly, just like the blood flowing back up the syringe. Mournful pastiches soon blow up to extremes of phantasmagorical giddiness as molecules denude my brain’s natural cynicism…and all hell descends in glorious technicolor.

* * *

We fall out of love with all the weightless acceleration of avenged angels, our collision-spattered denouements, like the poetry of great war machines.

Posted in bereavement, Cosmogony, desire, destiny, dreams, existence, fate, grief, happiness, history, hope, joy, language, Literature, longing, loss, love, metaphysics, music, nature, painting, philosophy, piano, poetry, redemption, religion, romantic poetry, sin, sorrow, soul, souls, words | Tagged , , , , | 4 Comments

Abandonment Math


You morph me deftly into mere myth,
Whilst for me, you’re purest history.
We loved and breathed on the same distant planet,
Then cataclysm rained its fiery mystery,
Setting you straight, it seems, on God’s starry path,
With no compunction for what he started,
Dejected jagged angles of abandonment math,
Acute, obtuse, right-angled rejection
Now my incisively fruitful muse and lover…

Posted in agony, bereavement, Cosmogony, desire, destiny, dreams, existence, fate, God, grief, happiness, hope, joy, longing, loss, love, philosophy, poetry, religion, romantic poetry, sorrow, soul, spirituality, truth | Tagged , , , , , , | 6 Comments

Out from Woods, Monsters Do Move


Out from woods, clearly, monsters do surreptitiously move,
From misty clearings, with lugubrious  terrors to prove,
To the nervy world of secret sinners averting their eyes,
Cavorting through gritted grins of falsehood and lies,
Exhorting the ghouls to keep their mouths closed,
For fear of private pleasures, misdemeanors exposed,
By these dark forests creatures of devilish beast,
Ruining souls, reputation, sumptuous hedonist libertine feast.
Run, run fast, for the shadows are mounting like storm,
And they’re coming for you, for your soul, in hideous shapeless form.


Posted in dreams, existence, Good, poetry, redemption, sin, soul, souls, truth | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 13 Comments

Her Quivering Verses


Perfect poesy would unzip a queen,
Tongued so lavishly, diction pristine.
So mouth me the secret of cunnilingus, 
Its labial rhyme, probing distinguished.
Eat me her squirm of worded buckling,
Lapped, lorded, molluscular suckling,
Sweetened, salted, as her knuckles are whitened,
Her quivering verses, honeyed and heightened.

Posted in desire, joy, love, sex, sin | Tagged , , , , , , | 4 Comments

A Simple Question of Orientation


Resplendent punctuation litters the post-operative extraction of you from my soul;

I think the procedure went well. A leaking comma, some swollen grammar, but you will be righter than proverbial rain in no time;

The surgery leaves phosphorescent clauses and incandescent syntax-tissue scarring in the host, but they say so long as I don’t delve around in my pockets too much, I should be okay;

So that’s that then. Done. What all the fuss was about, I just…? I don’t feel any less dead without you, and certainly no more alive, so I think the vital signs give a clear prognosis;

There’s no need for everyone to gather and listen to the machine beep all night. I’m rallying quietly underneath the wires and masks. I’m just having a little difficulty being understood. The nurses are acting as if I’m dead, which is most amusing, although I’m starting to need a piss, which lost its funny side several days ago. I think they must have cauterized it, when I actually meant catheterize.  Fuck;

Anyway, when I’m awake in my next dream, I’ll have a good look at it from underneath all the bandages;

There are too many clocks in this intensive-care room, by the way. The multiple ticking is a rhythm I can’t tap along to in this state of paralysis. Or is it just insomniac amnesiac aphrodisia I’m suffering from? I can’t tell which of the little ants is the doctor, so I don’t know who to ask. They used to wear white coats, but I suspect the mandibles are hard to tailor for, especially these days;

Anyway, all is well. I’m just going to lie here quickly for a long while until the music stops, and by then I’ll probably remember where the piano is. That way, I’ll be able to ask Satie where the exit is. I know he knows, because the 4th Gnossienne speaks of it quite clearly, in little unworldly limericks. Like I say, all is well. It’s just a simple question of orientation.


Posted in affairs, agony, art, atheism, attraction, beauty, bereavement, Caravaggio, Christ, cinema, classical music, Cosmogony, Cosmology, crucifiction, desire, destiny, Diego Velazquez, dreams, Erik Satie, existence, fate, Fernando Pessoa, God, Good, grief, happiness, history, hope, Imagination, Jesus, joy, language, Literature, longing, loss, love, Lubomyr Melnyk, Marcel Proust, metaphysics, Monet, music, nature, Nietszche, Nils Frahm, painting, philosophy, piano, poetry, redemption, religion, romantic poetry, sacrifice, Samuel Beckett, Santiago Rusiñol, sex, sin, sorrow, soul, souls, spirituality, Stanley Kubrick, Stephane Mallarme, Toltec, truth, Walt Whitman, words | Tagged , , , , , , | 3 Comments