communiqué disfigured #1


Make atonements for tonal losses, incipient desire met with blunted orchestra who muffled their way through history. I keep a town house in the country and an epileptic seizure in my back pocket; all the best hand grenades display their pins like peacocks with a promise. What else did dis-combination bring us? A celibate dichotomous oaf unloading his sperms into the rifles. These armouries are filled with empty spleens and watered down gastric juices, as if tornadoes were the wellspring of a thunderous futility. I watched out the window for the passing of the day and missed it. Milkmen hanging themselves at noon, casting such long shadows the sun itself was shaken. This vantage is toxic, the planet exhausted.

She came through the wires with news. It isn’t so much the tale as it is the subsisting. We cancel ourselves mutedly but without dignity and provoke powerful fits of retribution. Hypocrisy is a trench warfare, the soldiers write their letters home and fire them at the enemy; revolutionaries kill with love? Someone is  gramophone in a digitised age and he condemns the artifice whilst stage managing entire plays, which spiral outward toward the stars but find themselves ricocheted. I keep looking from the window, observant of the night. So which is it to be? An inner world or a unity? Crossing borders makes criminals of us all, and the pace makes me want to vomit.  Less of this by the bucket.


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