5.2.12

am limit

dear diary, the city will swallow you. 00:00 am
i am stood here, waiting, the cold wet snow melting dripping by the first hit of skin cold and wet wet and cold, the company of heroin bruised heroines brawling, crawling ripped off beads and derranged deeds under the husky streetlights.
i am stood here, waiting, from inside the club and bursting out of the doors she comes twirling here comes the wind the wind here she comes now the breezing wind with eyes like ping pong balls, with eyes her eyes bouncing off the walls her eyes like plates her eyes like planets her eyes that have always seen too much or never quite enough never enough never enough her voice the one of a crow a mirror cracking from side to side and her eyes darting straight through me to the heroines back and forth through me and the heroines and her pupils the size of the moon and inside this tiny tormented body an entire solar system, all the world's madness enclosed, the madness the madness the madness, through every cell through blood through pores purified spiked up madness madness madness her voice the one of a crow a mirror cracking
from side to side this is nothing like heroin my pupils the size of ping pong balls its brushes of madness the cold wet snow through cloth and bone, the whirlwind my whirlwind with eyes dashing through inner spaces otherworldy places like satellites tiny satelliets the comforts of madness her comforting madness her madness her madness her majesty's raving madness and i am just stood here, forever waiting, amongst
the drugs and the thugs rocking to the beat of the cold wet pavement.

11.1.12

une fleur du mal

dear diary,
bleak blue silence crystals love without a beginning, without an end.


1. our days remain the same, identical sets of limbs, regardless of
how we twist or twirl them.
2. time is a ship and a fixed destination, you and i are nothing but pleasant interruptions,
psychic drivers on the open freeway, we are cheap tricks, we are popcorn and a drive in movie,
we are tiny specks of light on the giant silver screen.
3. and then there is the ether,
distilled beauty, pure white noise.


he wore taped up glued together black leather boots, hair in long greasy tassels
he put a spike in his vein, pumped himself full with heroin, rationalised any
irrational action by saying; the drugs cannot take a hold of me,
i have got nothing left to lose, what you see is not a fear of flight but flying itself
i am a painter of modern life, through daze, through storm, through thunder, lightning,
shooting past furiously charged clouds, riding my horse of liquid density
the ether: distilled beauty, white noise,
embracing the duality of human nature.


what gives a crystal its weight is its lead base, a frozen core of poison.
concrete floors, paper walls, hooker heals as the beat of a drum machine
the sound of someone practising the piano, children screaming
even in a place where no one is seen but heard,
we will find the ether.
definition, madame de l'amour:
existence is a explosion of colours oceans springing to bloom change is only a constant
all dreams are lucid every twitch caught on film a flick of an eyelid a nail scraping skin
trash devouring couture a snapshot of our matron wheeling about france in a solemn overture
wrapped in chanel and tin foil a peacock painted in shades of spite senseless in her innocence.

8.1.12

euphoria

dear diary,
my tiny tempest.

ever increasing circles
we went too far this time, did we not
we went too far this time, did we not
we went too far this time, did we not
we went too far, baby,
we went too far.

if i were to describe her like a spectrum of colours
for her ignorance – ochra, late autumn, sweet honey wine
for her inevitable demise – something primary,
pommes d’amour, saturated scarlet
for her melodious voice, words sung in harmonies – such a luminous occurrence,
lucid hazy yellow milky azure cloudy diamond sapphire sea
and for her stoic face when loading a gun – tyrian violet, deep brushed velvet
a thin purple hue in between the lands of violence and indifference.

and it’s crystal dancing with skeletal boys, crystal dancing to infinity.
euphoria.

2.1.12

candy darling – the definition of wings, flying, weightlessness
chandelier - the sound of tall spires splitting against
badly worn limestone floors
impossibility - the purity of nothing, a void, delirium
mortality - the weight of the world resting on crooked marble shoulders
phosphoresce - not letting anything bother or interrupt, fireflies,
illuminating the dark, darkening the moonlight
road trip - a medieval game of endurance, master to marionette,
marionette to master
sirens - police cars, passion, silk stockings, icebergs,
the possibility of miniature flames escaping from a shotgun
tar - a most difficult type of stain, the clingy love of an infant,
unrequited, eternal, easily broken, easily destroyed.

28.12.11

luminance

dear diary,
in bleak blue silence crystals love without a beginning, without an end.

definition:
burning wax, candles - i am a skeletal figurine moulded by unsteady hands or
i am a shapeless mass in an empty room, the lack of shape gripping every atom, relentless anonymity or
the saintly purity of true lack of form, my nothing skin creating the nothing landscape of a monumental void,
fixed nonexistence expanding in every direction, fixed nonexistence taking control, the great emptiness fulfilling unspoken
prophecies, fulfilling itself and in that fulfilling absolutely nothing or
space absorbing itself for the final judgement: absolute zero like a strand of grass
an unimaginable inverted fire.

i never loved him.

6.12.11

the colour of love and prostitutes

dear diary,
these are the neglected days
my dreams after the second death - more vivid than ever before, ruthless in their colouring:
1. solid sculptural pieces carved out of thin air, bejeweled installations in a concert hall
2. the solemn orchestra playing a slow paced hymn and a projection of a well equipped man
walking backwards, repeating to himself; there is no need to hurry, dandy boy, everything is being recorded, there is no need to hurry now.
3. come again, where am i, new york? the sensation of brittle bones breaking,
hushed exchanges in hidden rooms, i have lost my voice, i cannot speak,
with kaleidoscope eyes we bathe in moonlight.


the theatre stands alone, the treasury stands alone,
my name scribbled in bright capitals over its concrete walls along with some vague instructions
i am to witness the extinction of an entire race,
i am to witness the play unfold
i am to witness the death of a nebula,
i am to stay under observation,
i am to improvise, i am justice, i am doomed.


what does crime smell like, crystal
the beautiful boy, what did you do to him,
the sleeping beauty, crystal
where is he now


hospital beds, i fled.
what does crime smell like, crystal
what is it that you have done, stop wringing your hands crystal
nothing will pour out of your fingertips, what did his skin taste like
crystal you cannot poison us all


hospital wings, plastic linen, being dragged across linoleum floors.
the beautiful boy, what is it that you have done
the beautiful boy, is he dead, crystal


crystal what does death smell like
crystal are you listening to me
crystal the beautiful dancer, what did you do to him crystal


hospital wings, plastic linen, manifestation through
electrocution, these are the neglected days,
my dreams more vivid than ever before, body like a hologram.

3.12.11

definition:
destiny - the one that will not return without going
the wired light that will never cease to shine, to be crystallised.

1.12.11

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.

23.11.11

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.