State of Molecular
Agitation
UMertz is in a state of extreme mental
decay
shifting his axis of control after years
of agitation
of antisocial insecurity life litters
his suitcase
a frozen heart a subway pill boxes
prescriptions
tickets mail art faded polaroids par
avion
worn out postcards letters from the
front line
under degradation of riot control/sex is
trapped in a word/
Nothing left now but recordings run on
logging speed/
The noise of sexual parasite echo of
cerebral parasite
Drawn out soft and lyrical industry
ceased to exist/
Grinding magnetic tape sucks up metal
postal dementia/
Ambiguity/there is no equation that can
compensate
for the lost object provoked to arrive
by nightfall
Are you with me?/We turn over what we do
not know
Smell of young grils of late morning the
breath is flawed/
And doubt evaporates depths of the self
even at a distance
does not allow for identification of the
point of the intrusion/
Diminished by sadness at the prospect
that the mission/
might be terminated due to lack of
temptation and danger
and too much naked flesh burnt out the
cathode ray tube
within which stretched to the mercury
stained glass/
A savage edge of emptiness the problem
of evil dictates/
A soldiers reaction to the expectations
of duty and loyalty/
A situation of heavy flight under the
polar ice caps/
Where the expression forever is a state
that has
passed away into the future leaving the
scrawl of N/S/K/z
Interference in the sounds emergence of
a solution
to the intensive self-reflection of the
eye to eye confrontation with
the faculty called paranoia is it you is
it really Japanese sandman
your strange you look different than
yesterday/
I recognised you as soon as you walked
across the road
no need for introductions at this
junction of the night
I wouldn’t be here unless you invited me
to read
the notes from yr psychiatric report as
follows/
A plan of costumes scarves and feathers a disguise of sorts
drawn to the adulation of contempt crashed to silence/
Rising sun illuminates the desert dunes moving West
where flesh loves its melancholy/Trading old dreams for new/
She died without knowing if there was anything left to say
or anyone to listen?/Invisible sonorities turnstile of flesh
The accent of numbers neon lights in her eyes/
The voice of her time in history an excessive death/
A woman abused by the vengeance of man and beast
collapsing into the future of sublimation/
Resolve the situation do not accuse fate or destiny
the word made flesh made word/big word payoff/
Merely chance ecology of the electronic image track
the dominant paradigm being artificial intelligence/
The Machine an
impossible image/incarnation of our Age/
In praise of
silence not indifference or abandonment
but a taut and
menacing spring as a tool of revolution/
And reprieve the danger
of becoming a style
the instant of
going/
Conjuring the void
of boredom with repetition/
Dreadful negations
of death emerge dig a pit to bury you in
from barbed darkness
its all there/roll a stone to crush you with/
UMertz think of death
as an absolute impartial remorse
which prevents it
from being increased by his sense
of panic and
finitudes disaster/Motive defies description/
This sleeping death
frequents artificial paradise of
constellations/ Sedimented
in the flux of time/
Hell/the rings of
Saturn twist and radiate
a trail of metal
dust the illogic of the positive negative
and calcified bones
of /An impasse a dark lauff/
A state of the
absurd silence disappearance and absence
except for age she
think/he plot/counts the years/ she imagine
left perhaps who
knows who will confess to such
an obsessive activity
in Public/It could be tonight you see/
UMertz think silence
the most extreme form of revolt
Were the limits of
possibility extended to the surreal/
But only the few
have the skills and the contempt the
subversive fervor
to cheat despair the false paroxysm of life/
UMertz think the
symbol of a distressful revelation/
Is that/along with
desire and transgression/all you have to offer?/
The sophistry in
which she wilfully shuts herself annoys/
She becomes what
she dreams abandon canons of taste/
There is something foreboding
in their lethargy/
She think of
radiating toxicity flood and torment bloodshot eyes/
The image of a
dream the machine and chance the error/
The icons of our
Century replaced divinity at a distance/
And the dream image
the brides veil virginity lost
caught in the gears
the rotating balls of the Machinic Phallic XX/
I think the
eroticism of the proletariat/there is no oedipal
repression because
there is no oedipal state it’s a fraud
outside of the
imagination mania and a frenzy of words/
The mind prepares
itself there is a state of fugue/
An inability to focus
on breathing the rush of wings/
The head is heavy
with the fake drama of last thoughts/
There is the
walking stick the piles of dirty dishes/
The last meal and
end of libido a lost erection/
Go silently and
alone the empty wallet the alarm clock
vanishes the sound
of sea waves crash on slippery rocks/
Such a state of
exhaustion lies alongside enforced celibacy/
No dark and unusual
passions can be aroused/
Hindered by odd
subtraction and equal plus/
The fan blades slow
to a stop/Desolate movie factory
She appears anyway
in the mirror smeared mascara
there is no water
flowing from the shower rose/
Simply drips out of
time with the alarm clock/
The solitary woman
is always accompanied/
She was the best at
chance which has replaced
divinity the
automatic and the artificial
patient and quiet
accidental or non-repetition/
The universe be
smashed by a thousand nuclear bombs/
What a relief to
stop thinking about this individual death/
Life is in the
hands of technology/Hook me up
before I fall
asleep again and again/
--
Still life with
self Portrait
The dream with its
character of too authentic reality
The never ending events
of catastrophe/
Disaster as words break
free into delirium of imagination
become eroded
skeletons agents of indifference/
Dust and sand are
weapons of mass destruction eventually/
Off the organic
chromatics and the blank neon
spaces empty of
content/Words conspire to mystify/
The deadweight of ragged
light drags its feet along the horizon
the metallic tinge
of ultraviolet the creative exhibitionist beaten
into ionized slants/Big
shunt of illumination
that reflects tenebrous
light itself on those who stare/
Whose motive
escapes recognition/
Secret images
divided by steel and noise/
Insomniac lunatic
in his mind cannot sleep/
Fill the mouth with
the work of words/
Leaving the mind
empty with an attitude of pessimism/
Error rules the
answers and androgynous
questions of life
and non-life residence/
We become inanimate
the secret that the body abandons/
The error is well
hidden intimidating/
I think the rats
that flow from the eyes and mouth
to get there
requires a violation of the self-few can tolerate/
Greater wisdom and
the silence drenched in thoughts
the silence of
error unable to detach gaze
which has its own
radar tracking across
the cluster of
satellite dishes/What are they listening to?/
Who are they
talking to out there?/
The first words of
the post digital will not be human words
Extreme horizon
swollen long rolling storm clouds
Invisible shadows
darken the ragged dawn
She is hung over
with a blistering migraine/
The liver is
swollen suffering from opiate constipation/
Invisible Page use
fences to pull herself the 5 kms
to the communal
house/Pathetic creature
Cubic by cubic
metre of concrete glass and silicon
a radical
divergence slides from abrasive carbon
No longer the
eternal life the psychic farce and I think/
I think about this
regressive erotic content/What a waste/
In a later episode
a vampire appears more disturbing
than the silence of
disbelief this neglected lesson of history/
Effluvia is in deep
mourning her depth of solitude/
The world is so
pathologically depraved/
Regions not ruled
by time or space refuse annexation/
How to get out
without leaving a mysterious arcana?/
World is weeping
and warring into eternity
Irrational
ingredients of scientific precision cut thru/
Blank faces stare from
aptitude for the habits
distorting
malfunction of evacuations/
And to descend
beyond the function
of surfaces into
the slime and shit of the
of repressed fear
bought out in the compulsion
with artificial
shock./Not possible balance between
the interior and
the exterior refuse any object
Which intends to
castrate the drive or the lidido
The Post Human is
on the horizon extinction/
the elocutionary
ape in abeyance the evidence
can no longer be
denied that objects seduce
prey to its own
fearful device/
I think of the
sadistic self-mutilating intention/
But what is the use
if the body doesnt exist
I think windows are
barred urban streets
robbed of their
romance and innocence/
They are killing
the street grils the sex workers
doors reinforced
fire alarms blink on the ceiling
deluxe editions of
vehicle sparkle in the moon light
sucking vapours of
petrochemical disease
and emitted
pathological fumes/To deny me as a male
I shuddered was
ashamed of my exhibitionism
Black tents of
Nomads embargo the deserts heart
with rocket
launchers manifest the collective unconscious
the house
reverberates the windows shatter blood is ruptured
with their
catastrophic intentions to terrorize/.
Always on the brink
of hostilities
the microphone
abounds with spit and slang
in prophets and
poets and manufactured pop tunes
an experiment in
delirium albeit from masturbation
for the moronic
child phase of titillation of leathered queens/
Fade out double
shot start the incision/
Oh make me cry and
make me laugh
She think nothing
works for her
nothing works inside
her/
And produce drama
and panic/Aggressive oral contact/
The sun is rent
cracked with fissures sending out flares
Thousands of miles
long of scar tissue/
A paradox without
dilemma of double infidelities/
How the universe
refuse to listen to her pain/
Prefers to be
unheard interrogation of the object/
I write undistorted
by admission/
Interplanetary
gravity forces an ejaculation
that coats the
Cactus tree indifferent and mute
with sparkling
lubricants /The strictly digital sphere
within which desire
struggled to become free and erect/
With sperm thick
and prismic and in this manner/
And a few drops of
eggs from the woman/
Odors or music or
tactile sensations/
The earth
reproduces itself with the orthodoxy
of the avant garde/The
didacticism of avant garde/
Texts and
manifestos should be pared down
to their total
disappearance in a type of writing
that recognizes
nothing but its own codes/
Behind the smile of
Jean Pierre Brisset a mystery/
The nude has a
movement too in those red ballet shoes
--
To break up words
to decompose them
It rides the
shoulders claws dug into anorexic
emaciated upper
torso sucking out the marrow/
Do you feel the
slight visionary jetlift as you leave/
Inseminator of
future androids/
Ash bone grey tiles a few millimeters
all it takes to
reflect the furnace of re entry/
Just a few words
and a tune of aces
hung so tired of
the Avant Garde/
then plummet back
to earth with
a soft thud no pain
links the Machinic to fear
there in the dogma
of clouds no warning of
the violent and
repressive birth
that the strange
distractor has come to resurrect
not to disconnect
the jackplugs/
No thick animalized
skin to protect your
promulgating
tissues the vanishing point/
They want the dark
spade the sublimity
of the trashslut
princess less refutable theory/
The studs /nails/piercings
subverting
the scarifications
the self-mutilation/
The smiley burn
from overheated lighters
pressed into the
forearm/
Pain begets being
and being begets the style
and subculture of the
need to be damaged/
But it must be
attached to something
or someone to
believe in its symbolic value/
This is the
confection of the self you seek
to be alive is to
be in pain to be
completely alive is
unbearable/
The Ironic
automaton can be no accident
now under the
arrest of the slash/
Quant est moi? I
dream of the Other
or another to theorize
and recover
the fainting
glamour of age left here to dry
on the stones deaf
and dumb/
A frenzied skitzoid
appellation/
Arrggghhh you have
been named
on the list prey to
constant revision
by the intelligent
concerted
ill will of good
will/There you hang blind
to your rubbings
and chalkdust/
Covered in that
awful pallor of social stricture/
Fascist fuker audible
technophile
the accumulated
wealth weight shoulder ache
that keeps the
commodity fetish/
Grinding suppurating
rope burns around
yr throatal grunt
bifurcate yrself/
Reduced to a squeal
as hands tears
the covers from yr
night piss in yr bed/
Sag kapok mattress
big tree shadows on the wall
black and white how
lonely old women in empty blouses
to feel in a full
house of women gone frigid
from sleep
deprivation the last image begins to fade/?
to cynical too respond
to ironical too bear old ugly love/
Is yr night of the
kind to collect memories?/
Disintegrated to well-read
the middle of life
is a precise moment
slumped deterioration/
To umbilical to
alien to inhuman to stand this/
Grating
genealogical slur slow past leaves fall
I am not in you or
of you or about you
so slough of yr
false perception
an inquiry into
dangerous thoughts replete with guilt
an illusion all
approximation attempt exactitudes/
Discrepancies
overlooked living men fear the dead/
This is not my
planet?/Clouds move in time passes/
Define the word qualitative
without an opinion?/
I am annealed inorganic
in dreams of a knock at the door/
I collude with the
confusions the phone is ringing/
Of pomp and
circumstance torch light parade
down midnight
Swanston Street/
Dreaded in shiny
black the smell of squeaking
leather the thud of
boots/
I have reached the
Age of Unreliable Menace/
The predicament of
finality I am buried here
And sit on my grave
beneath a row of cypress trees
In the end I am an
arse fuker a butt licker
not worth the kiss
of death eternity of remorse/
Trembling in my
destruction I watch
As it goes its own
way leaving darkness behind it/
Foot and wing an
instant in the universe/
