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Listening to "
Zap Your Mind
" makes one think of burning noise, exploding against flames, that somehow exist as a ball floating in space... I'm then inhaled back into my skin, to realise that i have yet another sound vibe to experience. And what an experience!
I arrive here today to find that i'm still having difficulty in comprehending "zero". I'll just bug out to this tune, call this my escape, say that i'm drifting, imagine that i'm dreaming, write a few words and hopefully, it means something. Write some new words and feed hypostasis. Erase an undue word, and form!
A tooth doesn't usually have feelings, only when it experiences trouble does feeling commence. The pain of such an experience is usually enough for the tooth to seek assistance. The priest like figure of the "Buzz Man" is enough to send a jolt down any spine. And when the cavity is sealed, one can find comfort in the
, a mechanism learnt that helps us deal with our pain. The ache is always there, only at times, we are not perceptive. When we possess we are cloudead by a smile and when we deaden we have forgotten how to smile.
Zeds interpretation of the letter "Z" is that it's like two parallel lines of time, with the future part of one, meeting with the past of the other. He felt that, it being the last letter of the alphabet, it was therefore symbolic for him and him alone. His slowness was beginning to catch up with his quickness and he could now almost see the image of himself in the mirror. He would practice speaking backwards and would dream while awake. Zeds predicament continued a life time and when he reflected for the first time, it was also the last.
So, i'm the Moon and you're the Sun. I said that i'm not at fault, you say that i am. You say that the whole world can't be wrong. But i say that it can be wrong! You look me in the eyes and kiss me in a dream. I wake up, when i realise the time, forty years have lapsed. I think to myself, could this be possible? You're still by my side, only now you've put a noose 'round my neck. I'm turning blue. I look at you again and i'm certain that we have the same parents.
Woke up this morning with a flaming erection. The size of the first twin tower. I looked to the left of it and saw a crescent moon, i looked to the right of it and saw a cross. Meanwhile the tip of it was spitting out missiles, exploding against the FOTO of the HOPE hanging on the wall. A shape was morphing, revealing two horn like figures. And then a handshake seemed to vibrate the room. A six pointed star smiled and said "there will be no conception today". A blue man stood proud and tall, laughing at the Rubicon.
Numbed by the after effects of a pleasant dream, I encountered a girl I had gone to school with; she was in someone else's arms, I longed to have her wrapped in mine. To smother her with my desire and to see if she would still be the same. I kept pretending not to notice her. I wonder if she woke up this morning - (same dream perhaps?). Tomorrow will be another vagary, another world and another flame. Tomorrow will seem like eternity. I'll reach the next stage and find a place to hide, curl up into a ball and sleep.
Project a part of me into a segment of another moment. See if it lasts? Call the blue sky to deliver the visionary experience. And taste the flight of the butterfly, flapping it's wings as though the music has stopped. Look around at the honey oozing into brains, causing dreams to kiss at night. The lights flash! For a split second I am able to observe your smile. For a revealing instant the veil had been removed. I was changing skin again. Born with a beard, my eyes burn brightly. Oh how i long to cut you with my tongue!
Fuck your academics! Your intellect! And your low-life analysis, your fucking idealistic ways and your beautiful screen driven campaign. Your lies loosen my teeth for the gold. Read what EDMOND PARIS had written about the "satellite state" from 1941-1945. Why harp on the past? Don't be so fanatical, so fundamental...like I said FUCK YOU! Why am I so full of hatred and frustration? I guess It's because I didn't get to smell your tight CUNT for breakfast. Fabricate and manufacture consent, while I swim in the Danube's '45 aftermath, ethylene dichloride, and drink uranium from my tap. And you ask why?
I will surprise you some time, I'll come around!
Don't you love it when you see yourself staring back, through a friends eyes, screaming out "How is it when the table's turned?"
Well at times I do get a glimpse of myself and it can seem dark. The shadow is always lurking about, as though it's trying to be part of something it has no right to be a part of. The shadow that likes when clouds pass over, blocking the light. For thats when it isn't visible and at times gets carried away, hiding behind smiles.
Now I'm beginning to struggle, I've hit the tenth day and I have no idea what to write, actually I should be honest, from day one I've had no idea what I should be writing. The words just came out. How? Why? Who the fuck wrote these words? Did I think those things? Could I have possibly been responsible for such thoughts? I guess I am. For I am Zerpau right? Wrong! Well I am, but it isn't my real name. Well, it is the form that I exist as in this virtual world. Exist? How can (It) fucking exist?
The darkness of "A Bloody Fairytale" is that the souls of innocent children have been denied their life. All because of a dirty battle in the adult world, a meticulous and planned act of evil! A pay back!
The last defiant words of those brave souls: We are Serbian children! shoot!
How does such an occurrence ever take place? What measures of defense are instilled to ensure such a wickedness never occurs again?
Set forth that unstoppable motion of distant pain and memory, carrying you and me into that numbed world of flowing blood sleep.
How does it shape collectively?
A bright ray of streaming information, colliding in the path of a resisisting few, finding hope in a place where hope has been totally disintergrated.
The Black Eyes!
An empire that looms over your soul, one that chases you out of the truth, for if you choose to fight you will be the only remaining one, everyone else will run and you will be the last one standing, carrying the burning lies into another future and another time.
The world now is becoming "globalization" with one common enemy. Continue watching the screen, see if the dog will wag it's tail?
I wish to say to you, the reader of these words, that you are now experiencing something that started somewhere in space, entered my head and has flown out of my fingers onto this white screen before me. It's now being beamed into your head and will turn like clothing in a public dryer on some dingy street corner with a sign on the front saying "Public Dry Cleaning", being large white machines buzzing in an aqua blue painted room, with trucks zooming past and a pizza shop two doors up that has slowed down in the last few years.
think tank straight like a foetal thingy and a wave of floating something in a sponge to be consumed by another hungry parasite ready to cling to the host to attack like a worthy marksman a fallen sky somewhere in the desert and to be found by a speaking tree to feel the heat in a pocket of dreams and to be cautioned by a thousand screaming souls darkness and night and reflection of time to be whistled back in again with the thought of everything that has ever happened once again turning round in your brain in your brain
A simple wait and a simple breath can at times seem ever so complex; a thousand flashing moments zoom into the couch as if relaxation never existed. So tense and so zoned out like trying to own the occurrence, and after a slight interval where time to ponder what is going on is granted, bitterness becomes sweet and seems to send the whole scene into some weird reversal, where you all of a sudden become me and I become you. In no way could such a thing be consciously driven, I swear that this moment exits out of all involved...so?
The absurd concept of being inside an experiment, where you are the chisel and I am the block, collectively we make some other, and something else, and then beyond that I'm certain that there is more... You keep relying on the numbers, I frown at the thought, you need to have proof, I say that if you were to walk into an inverted day I'm sure you wouldn't be asking for proof, so why proof? I say the little mouse that has just urinated on your hand will one day prove to you that you are also on a hand.
swearing to the flag like stereo wind up the everyman lexicon ecology of soft pink truth floating away like spider on the tinted window that reflects nothing and again a subtle hint in the whirlpool of time that we seem to forget shakes the shackles for all and we're free for one more time letting the tame and civilized approach find the shadow that seems to choke the blue screen allowing all to see a splendid moment one for the family don't be shy when that gun points your way don't fear the moment when your eyes turn into thought
A piece of flesh for you little twinkle and a piece of fruit for your after meal pleasure. Let it wash down well and let it settle with calm before that sly snarl reveals itself hovering above the saliva dripping off your chin. Your crooked teeth battle with words about to form, ready to be speared into an auditory system designed to determine whether it's a plus or a minus. Searching the up and searching the down the waves wash through a cloud of judgment, slowly being filtered, deciphered and revealed once again as though nothing had ever taken place.
shift ESC tab back space ZERO five enter print space delete END home scroll pause page down up num lock sleep wake up power seven @ caps ctrl lock alt ( ) three four nine zed minus percent dash squeeze you like a buzz from your dream and the saliva that drips out of the cracks in the walls and smell your teeth in the almost nose bleed of a decaying ray of light that will last for GOD knows how long and then one day be beamed out of a t.v box or maybe some flashing virtual paper computer screen
Seems like the boy that has grown up, no longer wishes to grow up, he's decided to stay an adult for as long as he remains alive in this world of spinning things, chasing invisible dreams that change at the flicker of an eyelid and cause a great big hole to open, collecting memories and feelings that dismantle a heart or perhaps a thousand hearts. A flowing river of blood sleeping in a far away thought that doesn't rest until it has grabbed the desire penetrating the soul like two horns inside a mans head chasing right and wrong.
So they have to do as you say, you spectre of freedom and lice infestation of the alluvium soul, carrier of the virus supreme and fighting anything.
Let it come out then revise once over,correct, let the fucked up we be a way of elite and pretty death in a haze of ugliness, lust and preamble shy of the dark night timbre.
The plate is full of odour and ones who have to go with out, it's not our fault eh! Spit your words into the pavement, let all the clouds form and let this entire colour begin sequence.
Listening to a group called "Interpol", lent to me by a friend. Whenenver I open it I would be reminded of Belgrade. For a while I couldn't understand why. I then smelt the cover and it seemed to have a distinct smoky scent. I think that this is the reason that I'm reminded of something that seems so unrelated. I must say that I enjoy being reminded of the "White City". How Interpol's cover can be capable of such an image, I really do not know. I sometimes wonder about our friendship, for we come from a divided line.
The process of writing words that have wings and bare the sign of a virus that will attack you like a black cloud of white killer bees, resting their last moment on your flesh, so soft and tender, inflamed with every vexation, opening and closing like the last breath before you slip into the unknown. Your turn to chase and to leave a mark with a bite like a final and sacrificial message, to be hung up, to be observed by all and wished upon like no other. Finding solutions to the crossword is how I stitch the bleeding heart.
I read a review today on Henry Grimes, The Wire issue 227. What a blast! No one knew if this guy was still alive. For more than thirty years the whereabouts of Albert Ayler's former bassist was unknown, people thought he had hit the dust haze. I mean! this cat played with the likes of Ayler and Murray amongst other jazz greats. The interview seemed to capture such humility and sincerity. Here is this living legend who had given up music completely, struggling with homelessness at one point and battling depression, not even aware that Ayler had died in 1970.
Automatic scribble, stream of consciousness and shapes in the night, click the button and screech little wistfull dove, full of the worlds peace and good wishes from above.
No blood to be found in here sold beast, so please take your words, bullets and guns, deliver them to the stars and remember to feel the wind before you unload and lay the target to rest while a complete circle is spun.
Sing as new found freedom envelopes and dance as though music could be seen, speak an invisible tongue and allow for the birds to translate into the sun.
i killed a bee tonight; it was buzzing around in my room and then all of a sudden landed right next to me on the table, almost as though it had been struck out of the air by some other bee carrying more sophisticated weaponry. i knew that this was not the case, for i could not see or hear any other bee, and if it had weapons of mass destruction, surely i would know about it. i watched the bees' last movement, minutes later i felt sad for committing such an act. i then hesitantly placed the bee outside.
dwellers on the threshold floating about in my room at the moment, minimal sounds that make me feel at ease, that make me want to take this cows head into the bathroom and place it in the washer, for it needs to be cleaned of all the thick red blood covering its calm and peaceful smile, its tongue revealing metal flakes with letters outlining the future of existence. these special letters were supplied by some corporate figure that expresses himself with such eloquence yet seems to reveal a pig like interior, filthy swine! he has no blood left in him.
he opened his hands in a comforting way, that revealed two eyes resembling wounds, he then walked to the alter and raised his hands to the sky, at the moment his hands reached the zenith he disappeared leaving the crowd wondering if what had taken place could ever take place again and if this wounded man would ever remember the hurt of these people left watching. the crowd dispersed and went back to their ordinary way of life and death. they dreamt of the story they had been told by the man with eyes in his hands, then vanished.
these words that grace the white are beginning to annoy, i'm so caught up in this exclusion biz that the annoyance is turning to anger and that if this continues i will become a pointy eared beast like figure that will be tempted to pierce with its tongue. when i reach the level of being able to strike a man down with one whip of my word provider, i will execute with caution, i will trace the axis of evil to a house so white and let the shades of black reign through out the night, choking all the light.
Genocidal propaganda and excess force were employed to obtain religious conversions. The heads of dead peasants were impaled on stakes and left out in the forests and fields to battle out the remaining moment with acceptance, denial and chasing serpents. The bodies of those farmers were subject to immense pain, and when they had no more use for happiness they were hung up to dry like pigs. They felt that truth would prevail but as they kept on suffering they realised that there was no such thing as truth, only tyranny and the way that tyranny chose to express it.
slowly this will all fade into something new, its just that i'm a little concerned about what the "new" will be, somehow i feel that it's going to be chaos, disorder and a frenzied attempt to suck in every last breath. the imagery being displayed at the moment is of a concerning nature. apparantly there is a war being thought somewhere, who knows where or why? "they" like to give it a name, a label, makes it easier for you and i to judge. we can then pick a side and fight our own little word battle. WAR ON DEMONCRACY!
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