outpost dissonance feedback no.3

1940s-scr-270

go live… welcome to the currency of harrowed dissonance… out into the cut-throat bishops’ cattle-grid castration fields… remote outpost quonsets in flames… hog-tied, horizontal, burning; spitting fire… open-twin welding-pit futility… dirty fingernail scrape, flint-lock; navy colt, mason jar…

…worlds of desolation… petal-stained sodden counterfeit notes float out into the blood-soaked delta… onyx leeches farm rocket shells as black molluscs crawl across a faded atlas… priest fingers choking slender milky throats… mutant-progeny of the viral insect-congregation… narco-gang death-penalty…

two-day cloud of fire into the troposphere… kerosene specials, IED’s and the screams at the border control… throat-clutch of the warden… bandana city, vivisection of the insect; the cold slab wins… ‘fuck those pig-bitches raw’ …ideological race to the bottom…

6|6|7

 

by the bitter lake we sat down and wept… no.1

Airfields_CA_SanRafael_htm_360894af

another suicide in the financial district… grim politician masks stare lifeless from the podium… roaring drone of helicopter gunships resonate through the catacombs of the mausoleum… child soldiers bleed to death in field hospitals as the markets expand… wallowing in the economic filth and writhing in the blood and fuel… detestable actions of the few…

a series of blurry images from the field… snapshots within the turmoil of the western lands… meaningless days and nights filled with harrowing images coming in from the still… spectral torment tumbles and sets in a series of numbing waves… artillery and rocket fire. shells pounding the old town as drones glide in insect tones high above the demilitarised zone…

concrete tower blocks cast long shadows over empty lots as flames dance and rise from burning cars amidst the chaotic swarm of rioting… extending patterns of grim intent drawing themselves out into a vast mosaic of guilt and surveillance, distrust, abuse and callous calculation… scratching ‘six six seven’ into grey slates waist deep in the dead river…

poisoned well-water, blighted crops failing in the dead ground… the river winding on through the war-torn lands as bodies litter the ruined villages since abandoned… board members picking at the rotting hollows of broken lands and distant lives… we ride the train-lines and bathe in the radiance… filtering the signals down to nothing, worshipping our ornaments of servitude…

futile lives lived out within a nightmare world of worthless action… bleating in the pit… narrowing our worldview… stripping language of its meaning… seeking calm and escape in mindless soma abandon… falling over ourselves to be free… weeping into the reflecting pool and trying to describe how it feels to a fading reflection staring back from a mirror left undusted…

6|6|7

outpost dissonance feedback no.1

cutler-naa-qst-1

…outpost dissonance feedback… quonset in flames… horizontal coleman’s burning, spitting fire… open-twin throne burner, desert futility… do the dirty fingernail scrape, do the flint-lock; the harrowed reprise… hack a two-foot incision into the guts of the giant centipede and crawl inside…

…fields of desolation… cockroaches march down crenshaw… witness sublimation at the foot of the obsidian monolith… priest fingers choking the congregation… santa muerte ghost-riding the whip… maximum death-penalty… bible-belt-fed-armour-piercing rounds…

…go live… two-room column of fire into the heavens… gas station specials, AR-15’s and the scream of the bleeding valves… ‘art don’t give you what you thought it was gonna give you’ …throat-clutch of the warden… bandana city; the jailhouse wins…

6|6|7