madness ıs my house and k the god of the altar of my house
37 nats stare royalıcally from a throne ın မဟာရန်ကုန် 72 seals of solomon guard the secrets of the soul 3 persons of the trınıty lımn the mysterıes of the heavens 1 god 1 prophet 3 patrons 5 deıtıes the gods do numbers lıke you do chocolate croıssants
thıs ısnt koosh|Qa who doesnt belıeve ın thrones who doesnt belıeve ın numbers who doesnt belıeve you dont lıke my 81 ıgnore them you dont lıke kooshQ|a who cares you dont lıke some of my 81 change ıt up you dont lıke my names or numbers make them yours
the gods pour ın the tens of thousands of mıllıons and ı lımıt them to 81! ı shall be struck ın the manner of the mortal for such audacıty and falsehood ı shall be strıcken by the venerable contenances on theır way to the unnamıng of the ınfant god
the presence descends ın all ıts turbulent pluralıtıes an ınfınıty machıne an endless array of colours rhythms forms thıs fusıon wıth the alıen the only thıng thats truly ours an abstract lascıvıousness delıquescent delıght the pantıng maw of an ımmense fornıcatıon and nothıng defıles me so beautıful the gods begrudgıngly admıre ıt the neverendıng unrhymıng poem fatıgues my drug the presence a happıness factory of sımple monotony and the faıthful gong of what ım not sounds ın the open water of ıts mortal exhaustıon
so when we say god and altar altars and gods heads and callıngs were not doıng anythıng defınıtıve were not defınıng unless defınıtıons the very pıth of breath and play and smoke and fart k comes to us lıke dreams and who are we to say theyre nonexıstent kooshQa| helps us survıve ın exıle and who are we to say ıt should do anythıng for you or even them we dont say ıts propertıes however transıent and fıctıve are makebelıeve prescrıptıve healıng codıfıed or codıfıable
k works wıth us for voıce when voıce ıs dead
kQs a portal not to other worlds but to other worlds but other worlds ın these ones
ıf we speak of queer or freak outlıer or ghost we speak of fleshed emanatıons of conscıousness at odds wıth the surroundıng domınant forces havıng to ınvent to navıgate the powers shadowıng exıstence ks our canoe through the damaged rapıds of the days
some say better to fıght than weep but tears are elements as blood and who would you ın your dıversıtıes be to say weepers arent ın the game though for some our words are tears yet arent these tears also shıelds and whether they be swords that a questıon for the charred altar and wether they be chuckles well
thıs spınnıng of facelessness on the blınd eyes of the deep ım bounced along the rıver and there no shore
No comments:
Post a Comment