a body that wants to die experiences a dying world

in peru, one evening, during the deepest of darkest visions, i was laying in the medicinal state on a hot, hard, dirt floor, and was transported to an encompassing, empty white dome–the dome was brightly lit, like a film studio, and i was laying in the middle, a small, broken bird–my wings were attached to sensors, which were attached to wires, and the wires attached all the way upwards to the edges of the dome–as i breathed slowly and shallowly and, my hurt wings spread out, the lights of the dome would flicker with each breath, matching as i breathed in an out–i realized that my surroundings were literally connected to me, that perception was everything, that a body that wants to die experiences a dying world…

– rachel nagelberg

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hallucination dreams from the abandoned desert camp no.4

i am shot with wounds in the sky of blood, the eyes of my lesions see only sorrow… the verb to be: panoramic, unhealable, i am the ghost-sarcophagus: tomorrow… wide-eyed cannibal populace, eat themselves alive… only prairie dogs and centipedes have the stomach to survive…

waves of misery, misunderstanding, coat the border-valves of reason… blast-wall corridors show the fracture stains of hypocritical human treason… dead-end horror, stoke the flames; poison, preach, pervade… lick the screen, milk the machine, sub-consciousness invade…

lost ideals float atop dust rivers unspeakable… hallucination, pollination; open-mouths of frozen people….  i am shot with wounds now, beneath a chemical sky… the verb to be no longer free from the transitive verb: to die…

– bianca laleh

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distant images of a concourse going away no.2

‘let it not end this way’ …he whispered into the night… their dreams of the undoing… wrapped in funeral delight… the things we love are the things we lose… insidious are our dreams… the distant failures we flirt with inside the victories we choose…

in times of doubt seek the lightning storm… court the panic in the affray… permit yourself a ritual death… let the human go astray… the moment is but a grave where shadows of living stir…the things we love, the things we lose, all things start to blur…

turn off the buzzing, droning screens… switch off the salivating machines… succumb to new tectonic algorithms you only see in dreams… watch the snapshot glimpses of a burning dawn… reflections in the broken… chart the sorrow slowly coming in…

inside the codes that go unspoken… here begins, the long fall into the murky grey… and there she whispered: ‘my love, let it not end this way…’

– bianca laleh

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distant images of a concourse going away no.1

insidious dreams beneath, the whole world out of reach… distant images of a concourse going away… fingertips losing touch as the dust sweeps up the moment to be lost and forgotten; or held endlessly dear…

the insurmountable depths of an instant, when all is cast away, deep into long doubt and regret… all that is fleeting and precious, all that will be gone… dreams of the undoing coming on…

slow moaning drones, building their steady rising… all is hurled headlong into the storm, the turmoil, the affray; endless nights of disarray… harrowing knowing on the brink…

the heart pounding, roaring with the cruel agony of ‘alive’ …let the fear creep in, let the waves of anxious nervous energy cloud the rationale; staggering  backwards into the bear-trap…

the collapsing aperture going away. the solemn swansong a funereal drone sounding out long over a mist-shrouded frozen dream… lungs, heart, brain of the machine…

see the snapshot glimpses of a bitter dawn, reflections in the shimmering shards of the newly broken…  sorrow slowly coming on… the long trawl into a murky grey… ‘let it not end this way…’

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hallucination dreams from the abandoned desert camp no.3

dead end horror of the centipede gods, hallucination wrapped in ill reason… colombian necktie sky explorations, tasting the poison preachings of the hypocrite madmen; prarie dogs at the throats of the roaming lost and ashamed…

licking the screen, decimated… bleeding out across the valves… lost ideals float downstream on rivers of dusty pollution… there is a policeman inside the sky… an endless dead gaze fixed in satellite orbit…

inside the imperial sarcophagus, a low moaning through the fractured blast-walls… wide-eyed cannibal populace eating themselves alive… waves of misery, misunderstanding and desolation…

‘…i am shot with wounds which have eyes that see a world all sorrow, always to be, panoramic and unhealable, and mouths that hang unspeakable in the sky of blood…’

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base camp vantage point thought saturations no.2

morning prayer and holy water purification; futile ritual motions in the radioactive field…  frozen omens in an endless nuclear winter… dead eyes staring out into the steppe, fever dreams; flickering lights on the consoles long since fused and gone out… slow imbalances shroud conjurings in the long cold…

rogue drones whine hopelessly lost in the chemical heavens, casting blurry shadows over the myriad demolished cities of the western lands… recruitment posters hosed in bodily fluids, smartphones piled-up by the thousand; hammer-smashed… gold and nickel, magnesium and iron…

base camp vantage point thought saturation… ever-receding dissonant resonance signals going granular… dark portent, grim knowing… notebooks filled with slowly mutating equations… unworkable geometry of the brave new world… standardised procedures dead in disconnected head-sets…

a broken promise through a long stare in the half-light…depopulation, fire-bombing… citizens reduced to shadows down blast-wall corridors… empty beds, shattered windows, our breath in the air as we boil the remaining rations… board member mahogany tables in flames…

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base camp vantage point thought saturations no.1

slow imbalance shrouds conjuring frozen omens in a long cold… two room field hospital on the northern perimeter… drawn-out dissonant resonance, standardised procedures crackle in dying head-sets… a crippled sun bleeds poisoned yellow over dismal radioactive snowfields…  empty beds, shattered windows, our breath in the air as we boil the remaining rations…

morning prayer and water purification… magnesium and iron… rogue drones whine hopelessly lost in a chemical heavens… cold fronts blow in as war hymns flit and whirr from a portable turntable, car-battery operated, connected to a clock radio speaker… a hundred thousand miles of steppe, a broken promise in a long stare in the half-light…

depopulation, fire-bombing, base camp vantage point thought saturation… do that cold-hearted loss-of-innocence pose on the rifle-range, board member mahogany tables in flames…. oil-slaked body parts; war games… a protocol sheet nailed to the head of a dead child soldier… know still there is a dim flicker of salvation beyond these blackened inclines…

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one thousand grave candles lining the drained lake no.1

full blown grave decoration slave state, body farm dreams of the delta… magnanimous clown-face; doom shroud for the post apocalyptic spiritual… thousand yard stares into the radiation fields… homeless talk-show host abortions; blood parasites going viral…. transient moments doused in ‘go live’ humiliation… morbid tourist hostage crisis news-feed… codeine relapse; histrionic… saddle bags draped in kings solomon’s mines…

basic sunken tomb layout, two room, windowless coffin; eye into the world… hold tight, slit throat, convoys on fire… ride the snake. one thousand grave candles lining the drained lake… pump jacks wince in a psychedelic dawn… frozen go codes, dirt roads, black bison lashed to the back of a flat bed… petrochemical sheep-deep. shake those rusting chains…

momentary lapse of proportion; off topic… fourth quarter punt to armageddon,.. losing the voters to a bout of pandemic, genocidal fields… that’s that harrowing dissonance dream disturbance on on an upriver row-boat, floating out into  psychedelic eclipse…. where we riding to? …mercenary approach, lawn furniture fold outs on burial grounds…. cesspools in eden… gutting a two track to the sound of shell-fire on the west bank…

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song of the severed narwhal no.1

my eluding lungs, sunken lost, fill full of martyred sonnets, deep within the onyx abyss of forgotten waters, where i whisper songs from the haunted bowls of a world bound by darkness…

i am the narwhal headed awe of god is carnage. prowling, starving in onslaught from swamps to seas, deep seated in blood harvest…

beaching only to feed on the meanings cold carcass… clawing out its organs, to reach its beating heart flawless. because stomaching its power keeps me eating myself unconscious…

so nauseous at the touch. i lust over drums in solace. while forever clinging to my tongues unburied coffin…

– mildew

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fever dreams at the detection facility no.3

torrential chemical rain falling from a neon cloud-field sky… black lung howling through the valves… poisonous centipedes crawling across the consoles, writhing inside the switch-boards… fever dreams at the detection facility, cold sweats, malnutrition and radiation sickness…  absolute silence in the seconds before the blast-wave…

intermittent static, morse-tapping and cut-up voice-tracks coming over the field sets… batteries bleeding acid out over dusty concrete floors… oil pools under decommissioned patrol vehicles.,. hissing ghost voices in the wires talking of fallout sex agonies and nausea dreams within the fog of war turmoil… gas mask baptisms…

shivering limbs under the fluorescent lights, white-noise-side-chain dissonance in the headsets… cold stares into the field, faint shadows in the half-light; radioactive dust spiralling around the reinforced concrete bunker walls… walking out into the nothing-field, dead insect eyes reflecting the new desert sun, in the exact moment of the flash…

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