Prostitution and Ham Burgers
‘Call me’ eyes and bloodied knives
Nipple tassels and raped swine
Gandhi mortems and hellion cries
Mayonnaise on French fries
And rotten cribs and gods in disguise
Liposuction and gunshot wound smiles
For the cameras and limousine misanthropes
And confessional coprophiles
And they get in line and play dead
And drink agnostic blood and transgender Nazis
And Josef Fritzl and the daily dosage
Of Schrodinger’s cat and missing persons
And star crossed lovers and satanic sermons
And the rage…
The rage is what’s intrinsically true.
The pigs are slaughtered for your arousal.
Penetration is prohibited unless
It is to draw blood.
It feeds the machine a whole lot better that way.
We’re succumbed to satisfaction via lunacy.
Masturbatory heresy worshipped
In ink and television whilst
Unaware of the suffocating fear.
The pupils dilate at knifepoint.
A nude with death,
If one accepts the ecstasy of nothing.
The Third Reich sex, introvert complex, death of eyes
And crapulous civil ideas restrict the true freedom
Of the peoples, beguiled by the plasticising nature
Of suburbia, the banal is preferred, the comfortable orgasm
In carnal shadows of laughter; guts spill onto lawn, criminal externalism
Embraced, exonerated! Rational thought decomposes, morality severs into the ether, law decays as it never was, a fractured spine desecrated by the foul
Truth of man that is nothing but an attractive beast.
The body is a tool of pleasure, a vehicle of cruelty and
The soul, the force, the ecstasy, the orgy, the consumer
Of all things soiled and blasphemous but what is of virtue?
An ideal infused by the insidious mob of rule, the creator of gods
And values, it smells of flies’ hunger for cadavers yet, the hands
That are against such imbecilic reigns salutes the vice, the
Renegade f spirit,
The fucker of death!
Criminality is wise but to obey is to be objectified; personification
Of a catharsis, an aborted frontal lobe, a psychosis, prognosis of,
Charlatan abnormalities, chrysalis weeps before it opens to life, void of norms and regulations, conscience derivative of social construct, growth within, like cancer, guilt is words from a book of prayer and a television.
Such madness is subjugation, especially that of a prison
One cannot even see!
We are meat that hangs without a balance in the laws of nature:
The antithesis to oxygen,
A primal urge of killing
Governed by plastic desires
That lead to nowhere but
The carnage of the one true self.
…We unto the carnivorous voids of videotapes that exhibit
molestation…rapacious felons of debauchery designed this Dis
to corporate sexual organs into working order; forces of fear,
rage and vast despondency…consuming naked women in the
high streets, jugulars full of fresh blood, this mass séance of vampires interceding, interloping and meshing into one grand ball of
a distorted apparatus, faces, bones, skulls, breasts, penises, nipples,
pubic hair, anuses, vaginal glands pervade the malls all as one organism, like a virus, like a cell disturbed amidst a river of nothing, this mutation is the redeemer of the capitalist, the executioner of this empire…
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