asteriskos

monolith

The wonderful nostril fulfilling scent of rain on summer concrete / fat drops / spurting gracefully from the neck / it’s delightful / delicious / undeterred wanking into a bandage / a Caligula disaster film / Norman Wisdom pratfall relief / unreefered gazes / mirrors / trenchfoot / the kissing of puss / a mission for vodka / I know what happens tomorrow / it is already annihilated / sunk into bed sheets and regret / I stick my fingers / stiffen / break across dreamt persons / little wars / I want to survive / revive and susceptive / the sweat shops of India / children prick their fingers and suck out the blood from expensive garments / his beer teats reside in this unwashed shirt / her paranoid thighs suck at the tightness of these jeans / the spittle / the vague nubile mouth / the ration of rice / joy / entrepreneurial guilt spills silently across fake denim names / mollycoddling the consumertariat / better buying / fat free kisses / sugar free junk / don’t want the bruises / the purple belief / It struggles / amongst vast excrements / lobbies / the purposeful / the wide luxurious mouth of Nada Concupiscence / release / burdened freedom and the / what ever generic abuse / strips of blood / polite english jackboots / the opaque democrat murders for my vote…

bonjour

"Iron Man, Iron Maiden"

wheel in the sky · a mild wind
bridge just wide · enough for the car
bonny cas · deaccession tarn
hey marmalade · 'bove the heads
of the town · Edsel for Frances
quoth: "You still alive?"

37.5

Berated new wave / slim / fit / and following grocery trolley / hidden / Phnom Penh babies grope inside / sweating beneath the vinyl tartan / the sun is hot after all / boredom bottles dispensed with / in search of more / temporal fix / flick through some hyperporn / some glances / an untimely tumescence / concentrate on the place in hand / some kind of place of purchase / populated by consumertariat / of which I one / in search / making bee lines / procuration of liquid lovers / price versus percentage / success / I lactate my weakness… collecting my bike I notice a folded body / passenger seated / prone / buried under tinted glass like salacious eyes of a stern teacher / forget his name / can’t reach the porn / a cascade of seagull shit hits no one / a lack of conspiracy / newly wet splatters… I think I’m lucky…

Your

Your tarnished
Soul
Could use
A good
Buffing.

Attentiveness Dashed

The trail of dead skin cells was not obvious,
but each time I waved to a stranger, I fell to the ground.
The flesh was determined to shed like a snake.
It was only a custom to hide in the grass.
I likened the layer to a mask I had no fright of,
a temperament that made me feel like I was invisible.


Attentiveness dashed the good Samaritan against a rock.
Just the large ones, the large rocks.
They are helpless masses that have no use otherwise.
Nobody was able to use them to stone an adulterer.
Or crush a fiend that took no time to see things straight.
he was a twisted man with a desire for no set appliance or tact.
The phantom was lost in the debris of an endless land slide.
The call to be attentive n
ever had so much as a chance,
once the killers set table for afternoon tea.
Would you like a few dead skin cells with your hot beverage.
the steam makes your hair curl and all the world is lost for words.



You see all their attentiveness is dashed again.
The lonely have no choice but to be thankful for the effor to thers give.
We have no recourse than to feel more alone than before.
And before you feel lonely, remember.
Some gifts touch the spirit so tenderly,
they reverberate like waves of water pounding the shore.
There is tide of good will there for me I see that.
I am open like a bloom that needs help to bear fruit.
Thanks for the attentiveness.
Even if it appeared to be dashed on the rocks,
be sure to believe I was their to appreciate the deeds of a good friend.

Park

Park far, Triphibian,
with you twinkie sushi
brackish spraint can
zinc and white phosphorus
it is Durkin's Attack
and the Paris
of farflung furlongs
as
light seeps away
from the face of the new pyramids

blast

Rimes’ Curial

‘Much as I might I can’t throw it off’ said she the harridan she. Her rucksack cut into the poles of her shoulders, an apothecary’s tin of Rimes’ Curial tic-tucked into the lefthandside pouch. Her mamma warned her a gun such things, tolling her that throw-off’s were gad’s curse on near-pretty girls and nobodies. ‘…that’d be the way’ her mamma said sternly, her lip curling up into the colt of hair mouth. ‘…no not near as fun E’ as a near-one or a farther-one’. That was the extent of her mamma’s quibbles, she had near nothing left to say, if nothing atoll. ‘…and should you have any idea of ever coming backhoe, you best scram it from your thoughts!’ Peabody cornbaskets weaved from woven calve, softer than lipids and agar. She ran so fast her hat blew off her head, a ribbon of locks flitting and jobbing every which every way. ‘I’ll see you in my dreams’ said the harridan running, ‘…I’ve got near nothing left to say…’. That night, deep in the back-quarter of the woods, the harridan pushed a tooth through a split in lip, thinking as she did, ‘…mamma’s quibbles are the anchor that moors me to Job, Killingbock said one thing or the other, silly fisheyed simmer’. Her mamma left a light on, on the near portside, just in case her da tour came rune looking for a square-quarter.

This gloating, baby’s bunting, who where is why. I can’t rebus when things felt more addled, mindful of y’oar manners young man, clods speed you sot cad. The harridan’s pismire yonder squats, whore skirts kipped up round the bellows of her neck, such a prong de mal, and the stench, enough to send a first-mate underboard. I wouldn’t nay mind if she kept the leeside bluff, kips the squat from fishing, and that, pray toll, is mustier than yesteryon’s curd. Mindless of y’oar punters, a stern rebuff is on the whereupon, I assure you. The alms man panhandled for catfish, his alms cap making a roil of things. He whaled-on, touting the halyard taunt, fishmonger’s palsy, causes a bullocks to form on the heel-end of the hand, shipyard whore, three pennies to the suck. How many times must I say this be whore the time runs out? Too many too few to much, then a wee cutter moor, just for safekeeping sake.

Skids and Blurps

I cannot really think clearly due to being surrounded by gamers making bleeps and skids and blurps and chatting about their image maps, viruses, about re-installing, installing; “Where is the Fog?” “Who downloaded the Fog?”, all around me the skid of pixellated cars. The ones that screech around the corners ride on meticulously constructed roads and when they pass a certain point in the landscape a simple tune screeches quietly from the speakers with the signal “SCORE TWO POINTS” centrally aligned on the two inch screen.

We are to be infantilised. We are hoarded into these rooms that even though air conditioned have the feeling of a prison about them. We are not given anything to do. Unfortunately for the supervisors there is the internet so most of we so called “clients” spend time playing virtual snooker, Umming and arring, grinning into the screen and acting as if looking at a successful incentive award scheme. Admin staff clomp to and fro, trying to avert their attention, appearing like rabbits from holes, flitting from secluded office to office, chatting, mixing, mingling, in an effort to normalise the experience, concentrating on the abstractions of filing and shuffling, hiding inside of paperwork systems, shielding themselves with the aid of the open lid of a photocopier, glancing occasionally at the clock, trying to kill time.

For the project Y_FLUXUS by Bruno Chiarlone