poetry reports no.3 – you never just are

You never just are
vicarious dishevelled hyphenated articulated artifice
You could go on
spewing meaning as though meaning meant something
pretending the moon doesn’t spin
wearing pretensions
a different dress for every mirror
pose for your life
flesh mess undress
rhyme is vulgar, calculated
love got tortured in the playground
sex was too, too something
the you inside me got lost somewhere between
nouns and superegos
plastic holes in poly-metaphors
spoors and bits of fungus on the edge of soul
and money keeps us trying
shenanigans of the acceptable
paragons of perception
notify intention to the servitude of verbs
wrapped in serotonin-flavoured verse
chocolate malady, collocation with parody
but I never just am
to be there’s always…and
like you and like them
wear a different dress
wear a different life
you could go on
pretending the moon doesn’t turn
spewing up meaning as though meaning means something
until it does and it doesn’t but something half way behind in-between.

– bianca laleh


news reports from the CNNWTZ safehouse : photographic evidence of video production

…a flickering white noise creeping across the screen… whirring and clicking of the film projectors… digital transmission breaks up over a satellite link… reports coming in of video production activities in PLGWTZ in the last days…

…codename ‘description of a struggle’, coordinated by the almighty Arvid Wünsch and facilitated by the legendary Eaia, bankrolled by the magnificent Anette Records… moving-frame-evidence coming this spring…


trump after inauguration no.4

sweden! …a thousand white piece-of-shit beer guts in baseball caps grunt and cheer… a duped mark is wheeled up onstage, all out of breath and out of time, freshly printed propaganda shirt… make amurikkka the ultimate police state again… a fallen star is born, mayhem and gang-rape in the aisles… 2% beer, corn dogs and foot long sandwiches of raw human waste…

this administration is running like a smoothly-operated death machine… IBM computers calculating KZ throughput as guards draped in finest hugo boss sip from their fanta bottles, reading fuchs news telling of great progress on the mighty wall… a hundred thousand mexicans flogged half to death and then brutally drowned in holy waters of the rio grande… boots in backs, tears in eyes…

watch him grab her aggressively by the pussy and leer close into her face… tangerine grimace, oily saliva, licking his lips, breathing through his nose… tiny shrivelled white piece-of-shit cock in his satin draws… aching cocaine uselessness and empty, soul-less sorrow… protracted octopus handshakes ensnaring their disgusted prey… being pulled into the vile slab of amber flesh and idiot stupidity… bleached grin of the bloated ignorance demon…

the world is a mess… the world is an angry place… mothers and children trapped in poverty in our inner cities… rusted-out factories scattered like tombstones across the landscape… the world is as angry as it gets… and from this day forward it is going to be amurikka first… we must protect our borders from the ravages of other countries… and we will be protected by god… a hundred thousand severed hands and feet form of mountain of flesh, soon to rot under a chemical sun…