Vlastné mená,
vlastné slová,
vlastné noty
Vlastne všetko, čo som kedy spísal
som zopakoval nahlas
tebe do ucha
Telo ležiac pri tele
Stroj operovaný dňom i nocou
niečím za oponou
možno
mnou možno tebou
z času na čas
hýbe slnko
Spisy
zaradené v nesprávnych radoch
v archívoch záhybov mozgu
Naučiť sa uchovávať knihy na policiach,
najmä však nočnom stolíku
Nech pamätám si po nociach,
čo ráno musím udržať v hrudi
Vydýchnuť bez ťažkosti
Objímať bez úzkosti
Ako sa do nového dňa budí
bez jedu, ktorý žilami prúdi
ako rieka
pod mostom ?
Som
buzerant z Efezu
Ruka cez rebrá siaha až do stredu
zeme, ktorá zaváňa dažďom
Minulý moment trvá dlhšie v prítomnosti
a ja ho konečne držím pevnejšie v rukách
Schránka okolo srdca ticho puká
V rozsiahlom priestore
dotýkam sa nedotknuteľného
Prečo ešte stále
odmietam bytie citu radosti ?
V mojej neustálej bledosti
tváre
narážam na prekážky
Zdržiavam sa slov, keď mám v hrudi krik
Neprestajný rachot v hlave
Pýtam sa: Čo to znamená?
V kostiach cítim túžbu blízkosti
Vydýchnem a dotknem sa plameňa
Ak jestvujeme my sami
a v celistvosti
existuje aj štipka milosti
Môžem iba vstúpiť do rieky
Viem, že sme aj nie sme
v jednej a tej istej
Tak ako sa tknú naše drieky,
tak verím, že vo vode živej,
budú navždy zapísané naše hriechy
Keď Bohu robíme naprieky
Tancujú mi v hlave myšlienky
Paragrafy na prázdnej pláni
Moje ruky v známej dlani
Na moste pri lese
Rieka tečie bez slov
Potichu
tkanivo trie sa o tkanivo
zapadajú slnká na oboch stranách
maľujú oblohu
the vulgar and the absurd
knit their hands together perfectly
the apparitions of these moments
these faces in the crowd
this bundle of sticks
reduced to a simple rhyme scheme
I wish I could hold these present circumstances
in my two palms
bare hands bear burdens and joys
joyously clasping your face
your knee pressing against mine
while our legs jitter
these postmodernist concepts
knock on the inside of your head
begging to be let out
one two three
knocks
I say and I knock a fourth time
this rhythm
makes me dance
unbound to categories
bark your heart out when it's summer
and the sun pours from the floor
up it goes
up and up
no gods reside on the mountain you see ahead of you
when the lights are off
but you could be
ears perked up my way
my tail is restless
as I greet you on the highest peak
počujem rytmus tvojho srdca
tlkot, ktorý neprestáva
v mojich ušiach
ani keď sa mlčiac vznášam
na vzdialených miestach
hovoríš o sklenených stenách
a ja prikyvujem
v pravidelných ozvenách
počujem tvoj hlas
zo stien,
kde sa skrývaš
za záclonou je búrka
a svet, ktorý konečne
raz môže byť nádherný
a ja za ne hľadím s tebou
ruka v ruke
v neznámom svetle
v tom istom, čo raz
možno javil sa namáhavý
záťaž na pleciach
pred ktorou musím skryť
schránku mojej hrude
a teraz otvorený
ruku v ruke
stláčam celý vesmír
v tvojej a tvojej dlani
a v dlani dlaň
I am bringing something to the table
timeless in appearance
and surgically removed components
of my body
promise of something different
and the same
being held by the air
upside down
my whole life
you create separate bones
in your one mind
now listen closely
you will hear the flesh whispering
the roots of everything
intertwined with history
making up what exists
to discard it
no spirals left in your mind
they lay before the imaginary audience
the men dressed in white
and they don’t laugh nor sneer
but you know what they are thinking
chairs in the middle of the rooms
pathologies is all you ever knew
intoxicated with what I pull out of my body
with bloody fingernails suffocating lungs
ancient mysteries forgotten over and over again
mediators in my mind
vomiting bygone truths into my ears
my head spinning as I experience
happenings of the no-less-real
becoming obsolete with introspection
the ramblings real as the air I breathe in
in shallow breaths
bojíš sa vo svete ľudských prehovorov
nakoľko
naoko strácaš slová v útrobách zákopov
významov
keďže v hlave plávajú abstrakcie
je
ťažké rozbiť syntax, nech už
viac
nevstane z popola instancie
ako
mesiáš pre ľudí liacich tuš
slov
na čierny papier
nikdy
nemôžeš čakať vykúpenie ak
nepovieš
čo chceš, fonému po fonéme
viac
vecí sa javí presne tak
ako
ich opak, synonymum je nemé
práve
teraz
keď čítaš medzi riadkami
kreativita odkvitá
keď naháňaš riadky
čo znamenajú výpadky pamäte
záväte pozostatkov z prešlých časov
zapĺňaš prázdne miesta
alebo spomínaš?
pokryky neznámych
tváre ľudí zo snov
lucídne žiješ cez
sen z ktorého sa neprebudíš
prostredník sprostredkovateľ mediátor
prišívaš si jeho slová niťou
cez šedú kôru
poslušne zamlčíš jeho prehovory
sediac v rohu
miestnosti plnej postáv
ten bez tieňa prehovára
v nepravidelných intervaloch
rozpaky na bledom pozadí
udus staré mátohy
v akomsi neznámom pocite
položený na posteli
nervová sústava kolíše
pochyby zhoreli
do tla
na zväzku palíc
spomienky z lavíc
zanietené popolom
čerstvé zvesti natiekli
otvorom cez
chrbtovú kosť
(7 krčných
12 hrudníkových
5 driekových
5 krížových
4 stavce
zrastené do kostrče)
priestormi medzi rebrami
do astenického hrudníka
raz dva trikrát prejdeš dverami
zakričíš do publika
z plných pľúc
všetky sny aj proroctvá
zabudnite na obrady,
šaty, mená, potomstvá
Amanda Feilding, beyond the dura mater
Conjure something beyond words,
then write it down.
Talk like you are speaking the unspeakable.
Communicate by homespun surgery,
a hole in your brain.
Let the film roll, let the crowds boo
but do not fear!
“Against instinct” they say.
And against instinct you go
the only way upwards
through your skull.
Possibilities of the theatre of cruelty,
assaulting your audience to bring them prophecies,
making them believe what your body echoed
since the first day you remember,
since the first drop of blood revealed
the brilliant radiance of freedom.
Since you opened your mouth
for the very first time
to scream and beg
and beseech them.
Do not let the cranial bones close!
Do not let me be caged!
Let me go, let me be free
to eternally circulate.
Their minds rejected you,
their ears closed up to your pleas.
Now came your chance
to take revenge.
Feel the heartbeat contained in your brain.
Reveal yourself, welcome the spring
of your becoming.
Let the art critics dub your existence avant-garde,
let them distance themselves from the truth.
Let the surreal swim up to the surface where everyone can see
the blood-covered white gown upon your head.
Let the whole world forget chorales,
let them sing the heavenly song to the honor of
the eternal glory of the Divine.
The mystical power
of the ineffable transcendence
of self-trepanation.
machinic brains in machinic bodies
vomit out blood, shoot it up my veins
piss in my mouth and split my brains
in half
pass me a spoon, will you?
I can still see you with
my eyes gouged out,
reflection realized
love is a hammer in your hand
smashing my skull in
making the one that shivers in fear
bask in sunlight
love is a hammer in my hand,
smile on your face
and brains meticulously
spread out
walking paths that swirl up
like intestines inside your shell
love is a hammer in one’s hand
breaking a mirror to reveal
another one
on language
trying to get out constantly only permeates the borders,
start by tearing it from the inside
come closer,
open up
dependent arising from the ashes
crosses on the walls
staining the phoenix with lies
until everything surrounding you crashes
ends up in a pile of bodies
or stashed up in dust-ridden files
revival betrayed
in the wake of the multiple
the dragon begging to be slayed
burying everything but
a trance of acceptance
of death
speaking in riddles to silently describe
the difference between “I” and “mine”
so what? they suffered and grasped
in the dawn made so greatly vast
for us to destroy the presumption
of no traces of light
they only thought they got it right
with their undying consumption
of the myth of purity
the messiah spits in your face, fucks in dirty bathrooms,
is a theory-practice of multiplicity
that blooms from obscurity
carcasses decompose decomposed decomposition of old feces thrown at our faces
putting us underground to later refer to the cases
as misadventures or other such measly terms
and anything we did affirmed
their right to touch and leave traces
now the time has come for a different burial, so stuff your mouth with worms
that ate away on your days
making you stay inside four walls, no apparent end to the swarms
the swarms the swarms the swarms of faces
these apparitions in the crowds
these syntactical hauntings staining the places
of comfort and warmth with a pit full of shit
allow yourself to award them no graces
for you see to which they are blind to, right under their noses
the damage has been done by their made-up poses
for the pictures no-one wants to take, so the camera smashes
to the ground with a thud! and streets now full of blood splashes
make way for resurrection
no longer under the public hypnosis
the crowds emerge radiant
through the lustrous light of metempsychosis
the old men with words on their tongues
dripping wet
spit on the concrete
the prophets of the time long gone
typing away
with geriatric hands
let us raise the wine glass
to their lips
with poisonous twist
what’s all this talk about rampage,
the rage?
what are all these idioms good for
other than
this single page?
let us not ever be born
what have they ever woven
into us
that did not bring death?
yet here we are standing
quite tall
quandary turned into
a break from all this mess
that spiraled towards
enduring regeneration
never-ending alleviation
of suffering
time spins and twirls
to rising
your hair covered in curls
once again
a plot twist unlike any other
we have broken the circle
the hero’s journey shattered
and then
reformed
i must have known
one thing or the other
about how the fall ends
when i crawled out of my skin
to afford a minute of peace
to my muscles stretched out
on the school desk
examination without an end in sight
a figure in white administers a
a careful incision
between the flesh and what
with seraphic decision
presides on the exterior
precision is key
when breaking the barrier
putting together pieces
of your remains
while blood pressure increases
what remains then
is not the self comprehended
reprimanded by false means
with good intentions
tensions of the body relieved
“ah yes, come on right in.
I will be with you in a second.”
the endurance of the ceaseless one
reckons
a failure on the part of the shell
shattered
how come glass breaks into pieces?
its abiding existence
reduced to dust
creases in my feeble cognition
shaking up the bliss
of recognition
and rust upon rust
on what we have built
speak to me now
drowning out actuality
to allow myself
to hear the beckoning
from the firmament structure,
unbeknownst brutality
they will not listen
when I say you
never wanted to bring me reckoning
only the tranquility
that does not cease to glisten
call upon the faithful,
the sunday mass shall begin!
oh yes,
now see
be more than grateful, since
the ichor, on this very day!
flows like the rivers, you might say
even when the very essence shivers
and out come the sounds
of cold doses of prescriptions via diction
you survive the description provided to you on a piece of paper
the later the better
so you have a lot to say
do not dare to pray for me!
I may just let the crossings reign
falling on you like burning rain
thousands upon thousands of insects pouring down
oh yes,
they are falling from the sky beautiful like red roses
blood upon the hands of Moses
acquisition! not from heaven
this time
angel of the
Oh Lord! forgive me for I have sinned a million sins and I am not keeping these
behind closed doors,
of course
I make you watch me get ravaged,
legs spread out in your house of prayer
encouraged by the crowds
with vigor
let me sing my own praises high up to the clouds
turning grayer, ready to pour
do not avert your gazes or try to tether me to the cross
it will only get me closer
bolster my lust for the almighty God
the time has come for my enlightenment,
I am not sorry for your loss
there must have been a reckoning
to pay for your entitlement
the constant threatening
stares,
where is your power now?
I ask you again,
does this look like I am experiencing hardship?
it is so that worship is my daily bread
I scream devotions in pleasure,
embracing all the dead
saints
my rightful place always on my bruised knees
now
please
fill me up oh holy spirit, oh!
holy is my infertility
in the eyes of the beholder lies the possibility
of pure conception
of my realization of self
staining the walls,
poetry killed the prosaic
prophet, oh holy death in all your might!
the Bible ends with white
dripping from a pristine mosaic
she doesn’t understand the rage others impose on being
she learns quickly that the unfamiliar faces are disturbed
when their features shrivel into horrendous shapes
she comprehends the contours of how things should be
or at least how they say they should be
still everything that is the other seems to her an empty shell
emptiness seems to flow through the social strata like a river
there are patterns of it everywhere in her surroundings,
their blood, their intestines
it seems like a farce
she plays her role in the theater of cruelty until it fills her core
hollow, hollow, hollow
she howls into the void
a grotesque play upon a white sheet,
blood sprayed within,
yet unstained from the outside
they may have expelled you for your faggotry,
you, the bearded lunatic of Majáles,
you immoral menace
still howls are continued to be heard, Allen
(the poet, not the pederast)
the void does not have eyes,
contrary to popular opinion.
he does.
he glimpses for the first time a familiar countenance
breathes, and stops the fall of occurrences
breaths, previously manual
now come easily
in and out!
a great discovery!
operating lungs!
the flesh assembled from empty shells
alive at last!
our century of postmodern brilliance
cyber-faggots of the future
shit on your congregations of discrepancies
between your idiotic so-called soul
with what you project onto us
and the heavy loads of the universe
stanzas of gibberish dominate your lofty incantations
(We finally know what sphinx of cement and aluminum bashed open your skulls and ate up your brains and imagination.
It is no longer a question,
an answer is a working defense.
You should be afraid.
Keep your hands clasped together while we finish the job.)
to hell with the “best minds of our generation” (destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked, or whatever Ginsberg howled)
beyond repair
he decides then, in white rooms, behind blue curtains
watching the long hallways stretch out
he will sing those obscene odes
from the top of his living lungs
till the days the decay takes him
dig up his body, say what you will
the bones will not care
the flesh, now melted
still howls at the moon
when the night falls with a loud thud
on the ceiling above
with you on all fours
the beautiful dove of constant
loud and intense love
fills my heart with longing
bonding our sweat-ridden bodies fast
to each others' beating hearts
when the bright day illuminates
the marks on your back
my brain cracked out of my skull
ruminates the terminate ailment
we so proudly wear on our pate
if we are to be sentenced to death
if burning or crucifixion shines
at the far end
let us rejoice in the shrines
we have been dealt
for since the beginning of times
my heart's fate has been to melt
alongside yours
listen now, your head besides mine
how loudly the rain pours outside
and the flames keep on burning
in the crevices of our sinful bodies
side by side
Hear now
Here
Now
The lost melody
Of forgotten days
Mellow with daze
Remember while
Sweet honey-glazed
Almost unfazed
You slip into him
Sunny hills in winter
Illuminate
They hinder
Make my eyes water like glue
I pull sentences out
Of that old well
Down the road
They always tell me what's true
Rushing feet in the hall
A sudden turn on the street
People screaming in the streets
Bloodbath rushing down the halls
New inventions of freedom
Gushing from contaminated walls
I drink the wisdom of long days
Cleanse the daze from my eyes
Say goodbye to strays that stay
Make them free to run wild
buzz of the television screen
galvanic ideals
scattered on the floors of my brain
I am free to fall apart
make my body known to the world in pieces
I am free to write these words
make my head spin like razors drawing blood
from the morning cutting of grass
i run and hide
afraid of the world and the sounds it makes
i run to you
animal digging a hole in a quiet place
the drops set in like fire in the field
or in-between the trees
sweat trickles down your back
then up and down where your ribs lie
marrow like snow in the heat wave
blood like boiling pits of heaven
breathing smoke up in the tower
on the playground, swinging our legs
taking power fallen from grace
my heart stops for just the right amount
of time
for you to speak
and then we repeat
silently untying the noose
beautiful face illuminated by the night light
outside
the cream white houses stretching far back
up and behind
on the beautiful hills just behind the town
where we used to skip through the water to get to the other side
i found three sheep laying on the ground
(just behind the fence)
and i told you your scars look kinda like mine
as the first rain began to drop
the skies opened up to scattered brains
of people we used to answer doors to every day
do you think we will be alright?
when the doubt starts creeping in i leap inside myself to scream
i run into the water
the spot you showed me then reminded me of home
not the one back there, with shut-in curtains in summer
not even the one in the soothing cold wood
the place is more like a memory or a dream
that keeps repeating over and over again
i get what you mean
then i heard the same words
raining down from a human mouth
that was new, entirely new
and i found myself leaping through the gap again
by the creek next to the house with rabbits
that died soon after
i always knew the slaughter would be carried out by my own hand
and once i had spoken it out loud the water came gushing in
the reward from jumping through the swarm so high
so high up in the mountains
i never breathed so deeply before
and now i get what you mean and i get that it is meant
to be meant and meant to have meaning
what a wonderful idea
to live on the vibrant side of the stream forevermore
here, where the water runs deep and cold
in refreshing summer showers
i find the place i was shown back in the hills
when my back ached and i stayed only for a while
the inklings stopped
the vagueness of every single day
the muggy fog suffocating inside my skull
finally cleared
a mellow water
green pastures with bodies piled up
in heaps in ecstasy
now all i can do is settle for the better
waiting to be discovered,
this land is the land we always dwelled in
in our souls, heads
or whatever keeps us looking
on the beautiful hills raising up and up
where we reside
Biological birth is a definitive act
whereby the infant organism is precipitated into the world.
The individual in the ordinary circumstances of living
may feel more unreal than real
more dead than alive; precariously differentiated
from the rest of the world.
The individual feels that, like
the vacuum, he is empty. But this emptiness is him.
a particular form of terror,
Random religious awakening?
I draw sigils on my face
I truly believe I am an angel
I like to drop in wishes for my suffering or struggles to disappear.
lanzapine, risperidone, haloperidol and thiothixene
Remember that the doctor has judged that the benefit to you is greater
than the risk of side effects.
The ‘magical’ act whereby one may attempt to turn someone
else into stone, by ‘petrifying’ him;
fluoxetine, pergolide, dithydrexidine
abnormalities in the brain's memory storage, déjà vu
I like to drop in wishes for my suffering or struggles to disappear.
and, by extension, the act
whereby one negates the other person’s autonomy,
ignores
his feelings,
The magic is gone and everything feels flat.
regards him
as a thing,
Glaring lights at night trigger a similar sort of feeling in me.
kills
the life in him.
Sense of strangeness and nonbeing; overtly drab,
sluggish, inexpressive; internally bland,
barren, indifferent, and insensitive;
obscured, vague, and tangential
self as partially divorced from his body.
“ontologically insecure”
The possibility of turning,
or being turned, from a live person into
a dead thing, into a stone, into a robot,
an automaton
i'm tired of breathing,
but not as a connotation for suicide,
Feeling like the world is becoming less real by the day.
Ever since I was small
I would sometimes stare into
my own eyes in mirrors.
He may lack the experience of his own temporal continuity.
He may not possess an over-riding sense of personal consistency or cohesiveness.
He may feel more insubstantial than substantial,
and unable to assume that the stuff he is made of is
genuine, good, valuable.
And he may feel his self as partially divorced from his body.
does anyone else feel fake?
sometimes i feel like i didn’t live through any of my memories before a year ago.
as if i was just placed on this planet, in this location, with this family, and with these friends.
This, and also the sudden awareness that I'm experiencing sentience.
Yesterday I just stood there
staring
Reality feels too thin
Now I’m afraid to sleep.
I like to drop in wishes for my suffering or struggles to disappear.
dividing lines
paper white
eyes
grasping straws
gasping for breath
i take two pills
in the morning
and the occasional
casual suicide
i breathe in
a terrible cacophony
made up of grinding teeth
clenching jaws
are the same
across stretching timelines
of public execution
traditions
and i am too
made up of non-existing laws
Cast aside the thorny heads, twin and dire.
Three-headed beast, mighty in moon's glow.
Soul consumer, cloaked in the night,
Beneath, the dragon-shadow sprawling city-wide.
Elegant terror, wings in tumult,
Devouring pride, not of its own.
Teeth, a sharp multitude, piercing deep,
Ripping through the city's calm.
In the still of the evening, tapestries of stars.
Fire and blood intertwine, a fierce display.
Unstained sheets now stained in dark array,
Marking the untamed play of night.
A whisper to the beast:
Seek solace in night's arms,
Rest your weary form,
Your fire-heavy scales.
Underneath the facade, a quiver unseen.
Against instinct, illuminate,
Wings parting to reveal the veiled mirage.
In the fire's heart, words disintegrate,
Silently scattering a torn image,
lost amidst the vast sprawling skies.