sour liquid candy cane

black cat blues - the panther epilogues, a recollection of the second sleep or
convallaria majalis, puppet to master, master to marionette:


- intoxicate me.
- you know d-d-dolly, there are no obstacles for mindless runaways like me and you
we own nothing but the slight tremor in a worn out chest, a small collection of
unpolished thoughts, we owe to no one but the night
- the burden that is my calling, the indolence aligned with my sin.
- at any given moment we can simply pick up our trash, heave ourselves up by the roots and walk out of the
royal gardens, my puppet my gypsy queen, unhinged from our strings we are barely more than the
simplest compound, any turbid fluid.
- you are a clown, master, a jagged fool.
- dolly my dolly, do not ever let those
filthy hands come near you, do not let them caress you with such vial untruths
- at the final hour, my ridiculous master, when everything is everlastingly lost, for the price of freedom
any limb can be sold, yours and mine and your next door neighbours’,
nothing can live unless something dies, sorrows to be shredded.
- the frozen ponds, dive my dolly dive.
- oceans burning, ripping hunger, to stay, to stand, to linger
- hide my dolly hide, the times are changing and you mustn’t lose track,
the highway hunters - unruly, untied, do not ever let them a glimpse of your innocence.
- paranoia like radioactive decay. in the cheapest hotels under stolen names,
the brick wall sleep induced by barbiturates
- run my dolly run, think of me and think of smoke screens,
confusion by constant movement
slow dance tender hands, anything to allure them.
- my people is getting impatient, master, they have heard of your plans:
rented rooms, sensuous melodies leaking out of poisonous pipes, seductive voices dripping
from the ceiling, softness soaking into any soulless object, into me, they are everywhere, master,
your queen has been abducted.


fragments of faceless lives hung like nonsensical ornaments above the chapel doors
drunken mornings, dim glacial light making every word translucent.
i shall find you, my r, through dawn and dusk we shall remain.

equilibrium, illumination

dear diary,
my sweetest r.


the pillars of our stories:


1. the pearly gates, inventory:
ivory altar, wooden crucifix, lead cup silver shining, silk linen, sudden bloodshed
the smell of: bleach wings burning oceans methane iron and peroxide
2. relaxation by emitting light, a photograph like memories retracted from a raging inferno.
3. morning sorrow: fold your wings around anything anyone,
freeze in mid air, never take flight again.
4. with the face of an iceberg: to hover over marble floors, the great auditorium soaked in petrol
countdown - minutes before a devastating strike of insanity, a match lit in a gas tank
5. body found in bathtub: smooth, statuesque, the piercing silence guarding hollow cries
your breath dripping with venom (nothing can cure you now).
6. in blind flight, the ugly woman’s long longing hands, like a tornado around her, a
metallic dress drenched in sweat, her scenes played out in between your tender thighs, mademoiselle serendipity,
a throbbing tumour, embarrassing in her extravagance.
7. refraction: the theory of the bending of light rays, the harsh illumination of your polished skin,
golden spheres and silver scales, a black cat’s pilgrimage over the siberian tundra
8. nightfall: deep emerald skies, shaded windshields, clouds slowly sweeping from one hidden haven to another.


this is a fortress built on not trust but hypnosis

i am your loaded gun,

i am your crystal.

the needle, fille en aiguilles, the damage done

dear diary, i am living my life in a fish tank,

drowning in the smell of opium and mouldering rosebuds, just like any other human i am childishly in love with the idea of conquering death, acquiring eternal youth and endless glory and perhaps it is naïve of me to think that it is because of this love, this ridiculous infatuation, these beautifully decaying creatures and i, la petite chanteuse have something in common, that we, in some sordid way, share a similar story, eagerly pushing to evoke and mouth that final wish, like reaching for the shore when drifting against the current, too far gone and heavily sedated old (simultaneously) cracking records: how did we end up losing ourselves in a maze of dreams, how did we disappear into a world of sleep how did we end up losing track of everything we ever fought for.

- you write bad poetry, talk about my art, her art, any art, convince me that my actions are made for galleries and galleries alone, strung out performances incomprehensible to anyone but you - by the end of the day the shallow say: work was tiresome, it almost killed me, you light a cigarette and talk about science - a battleground of apathy. - you play the saddest notes while howling that happiness makes you cry. and every night i twirl into bed screeching like a banshee: how i resent loathe detest you, how i long how i dread how i pray for my hate to finally win. - and as i see life running up towards me armed with nothing but a whip and a bright pink strap on, life as the transparent queen of pornography penetrating time and space, life as a blow up dominatrix making the floor quiver and the walls cave in, as i see life running by you simply caress the keys of the piano, gently whispering - and war is that leather whip cracking.

we built a madhouse and ripped it to pieces: it’s all pills, pins and needles, you have to dare, dive deep into the void and step onto the arena of shadow play. watch the star struck audience jumping out of their seats like pop out windows: WATCH CHICKS WITH DICKS. WATCH DICKS IN CHICKS, WATCH THE SORDID INSIDES OF YOUR MOTHER. and that is my line and there i go, charging through the scenery like a cossack legs going barapapapapapapapapabam arms propelling barapapapapapapapapabam helicopter voice bouncing off the walls on off on off on off an angelic voice singing from above, some forgotten lore about blackbirds. for we are dr jekyll and mr hyde, the masters of oblivion.

1. the difference between being soundless, motionless, quiet, still. spoken word like a shield spoken word as a feral child spoken word as a newborn freak of nature 2. and when the sun goes down the poltergeist comes out to play. carrying the legacy of greta garbo in his right pocket, this ghastly spirit was designed to enter the stage (at a precise moment, the cue of any outsider, definitely not the director) merely to pronounce yes, it is true, my name is greta garbo and i just want to be let alone. (smoke ashes a sudden disappearance as he was never really there) 3. and it is true, everything is needles, everything is thin purple arms pinned together by nothing but circumstances, instincts, lingering in the primitive odour of mutual desire

as that time when we were caught in a storm, suddenly facing the unavoidable explosion of a supernova, rainbow galaxies stretching like acidic limbs on a litmus carpet across the moonlit sky and i was dressed in a suit made from neatly carved out pieces of your pale oily skin slippery and feverish, sliding down the hill in the greasy liquids pouring out of your gaping pores eyes bouncing from the wet grounds straight through the clouds, us hanging in shreds from the ceiling and just as always we know as we are desperately dancing like fallen leaves that everything we are and everything we ever were will once again be reduced to a single lie, a single platitude scribbled on any faded notepad: we are out of strawberry jam i never loved you we are out of strawberry jam and breakfast tea and just as always the sight of yet another lost two trying to escape, crawl through any crack in fate's stone cold surface.

dear diary,
here i stand with my hand in your dirt
just do what you can to erase me.
the frozen hours jumping through days, weeks, months with no end, no beginning
and one day or another, you and i will arrive in
euro trash pastiche candy land and your bags will get stuck in
customs and we will wait five years before i come to collect them with no trace of you but
that cigarette burn on my arm, the one thing you left me before
diving into the ocean with those weights attachted to your naked feet

the only thing you ever let go.

(ten months since they found you, ten months without an end, without a beginning)
jellyfish jellylegs jellybrain (i tape my ears now)
and the most horrible of voices wavering with (cover them)

ecstasy. can you hear me

from the moment it started:

flowers of every kind, your funeral face drowning in petals.

orchids jades hyacinths long stemmed roses, stiff and cold

you could never stop running, tidal waves breaking in the sullen corners of your mouth

and the tiny house on top of the hill still standing

empty. tell me, would you have
looked after my garden,
would you have cared for
my peonies, would you have
taken this magic
outside of me.
(in the hotel lobby, the ancient porter like a clock tower.)

a silent movie neverending

dear diary,

i said hi to forever and something inside of me changed.

life number three, kittycat, i built a gallery in the hollow space where
my brain used to be.

mary ann cotton's arsenic hands

dear diary, let me tell you about the time when i wrote him a bedtime story about the boy who thought he was a reincarnation of marie antoinette and his unloving wife, the girl who dreamt of becoming a serial killer during dusty evenings long as winter breaking faithfully facing the milky way. the pair could be heard chanting like eternal flames "these fantasies chant be carrying us much longer our crispy cupcakes molded into silky pastel sheets softly boiled tenderloins in the furious blood of a unborn baby unicorn."

about the boy who thought he was a reincarnation of marie antoinette: his face dripping with thick black oil, coming of like whiskers in heat a five year old ninja protected by armed forces and crinolines. adjoined by their destiny, a fluorescent explosion in the black-eyed sky, a venetian mask floating in the greatest of empty places its enormous beak making life in the bell jar intolerable, distanced from its very own vacuum from outside chemistry, from nothingness itself. he saw versailles as his perfectly pearly bridge of teeth, forever sparkling, forever yours.

and the girl who dreamt of becoming a serial killer said: i don’t know who you are but i want to walk beside you and when my sightings are blocked by the foggy ocean breeze we will set the harlots free and the cardinals will want to know what gives them that special satisfaction and we will whisper mouth to mouth: funerals and death, the dead bodies of fellow wildflowers wildflowers wildflowers, watching stemmy legs getting mangled by honeydew forests, the road as endless helix, a new world in every corner, and the boys the boys the boys the boys the boys are all dressed for mourning are walking down the street and the boys the boys the boys the boys the boys are willows here to kill you.

she listened to the spoken word of future gods through the maddening morning mist a daybreak like every other, jesus relishing his afternoon tea in her living room, where the boy who thought he was a reincarnation of marie antoinette had chosen to spend the night perched on the couch like a misinformed mantle piece and as he switched off his senses the girl who dreamt of becoming a serial killer simply turned into yet another louis in the wall and jesus melted like butter over the marble proclaiming these stains will never go away and through the shallow darkness of night her thin soprano could be caught seen running up and down the scales to any broken symphony, quietly roaring "is this song ever to be recorded lucid lucide lucinda my love" her feverish body leaking with lifeless despair, shielded by shadows, an index of sun.

pale blue eyes, cry baby diamonds

dear diary, let me present you with the short version of recent happenings, once upon a dream: welcome to the honeydew, madame dragonfly, the holy sacrifice of your royal highness come here my unborn child, swallow my hips and follow my decrepit soul into the darker waters of reptile nature. lingering in limbo, the shallow, vulgar and indulgent. a thousand worlds built on the sleepwalking shoulders of my shotgun lovers, malevolent creatures with chests like diamonds, petals in the rain, fair with hazy memories, mountain within mountain.

#1: she is dancing in the middle of an empty classroom, sweeping over demolished parchment with hands like forests, fawning chalk kissing starving fingertips. the chamber maid with eyes like a serpent pale wrists orbiting her deceitful head, gloomy hair lightly caressed by the breeze of solitude, turning to me with sudden fire, exposing fangs dripping with venom, solemnly bidding her hand wispily whispering sway

#2 preludum ante massam and hannibal ante portas: everything i have ever loved was lost and found in abandoned places cracks in the plastering, strikes of light through concrete walls fundamental truths hidden in forgotten folklore, haunting dreams of ferocious valkyries JUST KEEP CALM, MY STICKY SWEET, JUST STAY FLOATING.

#3 i am death, the river styx, the answer to every riddle: "known by both masculine and feminine names, and burns up without rain; originates from a man and goes into a man, no one has been able to catch it." neurotoxin flowing over across the page of our past, seeping through thick slices of dust he’s been half blind since the day it all began, the persistent sun scratching his retina like a broken record, quivering under the faded persian rug covering the roof of his statue of a mother. skin like a feather, heart like a rock.

#4 curvaceous lips, the undistinguishable shade of your iris, my shadow carried in a diamond locket in the abyssal nape of your neck. “i bought you these colourless roses you know how seeing past things can sometimes make you feel important i just want you to feel important" you didn’t let yourself take time, you expanded in the sky until every limb transformed into haphazard clusters of materia entire galaxies supernovas, since the day you left i’ve been searching the stars for your voice, gazing through the strongest of telescopes.

our cries mute and cold, the morning came crashing down upon us like

flying daggers, an electrocution.

speed of light in a vacuum, in any given medium

dear diary, outside my sphere of obsidian tears pitch black thunder, a pack of werewolves wailing to the drum of the glimmering downpour binocular vision through damp leaves, her majesty of trees: you. mathew, theo, isabel, the seductive breath of opium. - but he was never inside of you? - he has always been inside of me. for you are the children of lingering nightmares latent desires and hummingbirds, missiles of destruction in a crystalline vase.

you, through endless simplification: a monsoon without mercy, the plunging waterfall of yesterday hippie crystals, achromatic prisms, diamonds like eyes, eyes like fire vive la décadence. yours truly, candy darling, creamy summer bloom a bending reflection, translucent, yet again.

how can you cure yourself when every part is infected name the thing able to heal the hole torn by a loved one lost he left her hanging by the snowflakes or standing among in a flock of sleeping flamingos, a myriad of indistinguishable faces. when i tell you - my love equals beaks times the thought of freedom squared you vapourise, turn into the ocean floor, the shattered walls of my castle in the sky your sharpened hands charging through secrets like lightning.

rainbow raven, rainbow river

dear diary, i apologise. i haven’t been able to write for a while, i got desperate lost control tried to cut myself open with a kitchen knife just to get an idea of what is moving around inside and i set my intestines on fire for the ultimate sacrifice. isn't it striking, how every action is ultimately completely symmetrical.

nightfall leaves me craving the most unfathomable things, pouring rose water over pagan faces simply to keep them in place, crawling around in my own dirt, creeping at the feet of a sullen master. i’ve told you once before, your highness, my princess prostitute mankind upsets me more than anything. so bow, children of the rainbow the judge is ready for our crucifixion

psychotic schoolgirls licking on fentanyl plasters dried up lollipops pornographic novels standing in line like kinky toy soldiers

by the windowsill, loudly claiming an entire planet, a realm of their own

the ringleader: oh boy, it's just another one of them stagefrights glaciated in time right neon lights a momentum made in taiwan beautiful rows of riches, don't you see there is no war no box, a universe ever changing i throw myself up. crashing down

repeat.

i am the rain an exploding ejaculation crimson skies internal bleeding heart burn stomach ache a disease that will never go away. longing for a dismal future any future painting him dancing in the foreground i would do anything for the saddest mind alive, our shaved heads like lifeboats white frocks sterile scalpels minimalistic clean cut veins bursting open like bedroom doors, LE GRAND FINALE, inject his poison, forever yours.

and i want to download every single picture of you, dress up like a commander in chief captain of the sea a furious shadow play waggling tail and bunny ears, i want to cover my body in the blurry edges of your ghost, paint the walls of the parliament in colour no #1 the slight tint of your neck someone once told me

you always speak in riddles you are fading away i could never begin to understand like a frozen fire a room covered in broken mirrors a black hole wishing well put your ear to my chest listen to a thousand songs the restless chorous

i am not the one wrap your troubles in dreams

take a walk down the baseline

his brittle echo drenched in acid.