Hell Microcosm.

Stripped of elemental virtue bare anemic witheringdesolate spiritual wasteland this hue is doombirds only squawk endlessly no melody to thought everything crawlsnow halt and mimic deathskies of grinding metal empires snarling at this pause Do better shrieks the infinite. The limbless salute with vigor rivers never ran away until nowso rise the mud whose domainContinue reading “Hell Microcosm.”

An open letter to: The Wiz. (3)

It’s pure chaos here – a man was accosted today for resting his bicycle on the white line of a designated parking spot in town. The security guard was rabid madman apezoid and pointing one finger, that curled as his tongue wagged manically, he made the poor man flee with bike on back. Naturally, IContinue reading “An open letter to: The Wiz. (3)”

Scum Head Possession.

Scum head – nightmare machine and crown of madness resting but brutalizing lives are you alive and well scum head hearts still bleed have you clawed your way into the mind of man – witchcraft drunken naps – surely burrowed deepscum head endless stare from every corner suffocating silence demanding retribution creators ignorant apologetic painlessContinue reading “Scum Head Possession.”

Old Homes And Dead Horses.

remember those halls warping wood disgraced a thousand footprints stained even walls yellow with death, boiling rooms sweat and defeat sunk in old bones but comfortable fingers on fire fire fire do you recall the gestures of petroleum thievery hounds at bay, window fogs those glares that broke laughter years of decay in moments memoryContinue reading “Old Homes And Dead Horses.”

An open letter to: The Wiz. (2)

Another dismal morning. You know, it’s been grey for over a week. A dirty wash of consistent mundane madness gloomy death smothers the sky. Ultimate foreverfuneral-foreverhell. The winds whipping up and bodies scurry to and fro, across the street panicked anxious scarves in faces blinded car horns blaring children screaming fuck school ma the sunsContinue reading “An open letter to: The Wiz. (2)”

An open letter to: The Wiz.

I’m awake. Slumber submitted because it was tired of my shit. Forcing myself to splurge on paper every iota of mental drudgery that occurs, I find the purge somewhat cathartic. It’s all a stream, there’s no need to think, organise or regulate. It slips out like a greasy after a night of rums and anchovies.Continue reading “An open letter to: The Wiz.”

Sanatorium Holiday Home-Stay.

Mumbling a shapeless madness recites old news something I said way back when but that’s not all!Sounds like laughter low growls piped up poppycock don’t sweat it Mongman you’re already dead in the water and what whatWhat’s the deal with the deal always coming up short in empty rooms narrow hallways move around a lotContinue reading “Sanatorium Holiday Home-Stay.”