Welcome To My 40 Chambers Of Madness
Now Presented Entirely In Fancyscope
Insanely Surreal Poetry
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the reason why
i
my idol
you
in all your likeness of
the goddess
here
originally was
transmitted from
the ordinary world
into this one
so full of miracles
has been the very moment
when
hummingbirds
did drink
your very tears
so gently
abandoning themselves
to vanishing echoes
of thoughts remote
replenishing
yourself
the empty void
you've been
the shallow pupa
and the gorgeous chrysalis
with some
inebriated meaning
in the remotest corner of a dream
where i am nourished
by a flood of light of bluish white
while chasing some
electrical gazelle
in their
adorable apparel
of fur in emerald bronze
i wail through vaults
of odd desires now almost extinct
and watch
as tendrillous snake-like glyphs
devour
what remains
of all the rare and precious ancient myths
so you want to follow?
you want to dive deep?
then do watch your steps
towards the threshold of sleep!
beyond the realms
of fear and of pain
many hesitant soul
has been raped, even slain
so do hold your breath
for a moment or two
when the cold wink of death
wafts after you
and just
like any other sign
this can be as bad
as it can be benign
it depends, you know?
first we enter the chambers
where beds turn to graves
no longer mere members
in the army of slaves
we walk through the rows
and are taken away
by the dreams of the sleepers
who've been led far astray
we pass endless tunnels
being torn to and fro
among other pilgrims
as we hover or go
you know what we're seeing
and so do i
having eyes to perceive
means we need no 'why'
what others don't grasp
is it gift, is it theft?
will we ever return
to the places we left?
who can put out the fire
of eternal desire?
never vanishes this taste
once tasted
the gates of dawn -
do they close when you yawn
or do they open up?
can you really control
their role
between lust and fright?
the way it seems
maybe my dreams
last longer than the night
[dedicated to my dear fellow artist hisham zrake]
dreams and nightmares
an apple falling
a spoonful of hope
a burning body
a pendent rope
under purple skies
a turning coin
and a bunch of lies
the urge to join
fiendish pagan rites
a neverending circle
of arabian nights
all of this
and much more
hot and breathless clinches
right here on the floor
a jug with lumpy gravy
a cup of bitter wine
a boyfriend in the navy
a bed of bad design
my flat is all rotten
every room just a mess
better days long forgotten
things to come i can't guess
a bassdrum belly
and a pair of old schoes
a spot of dried jelly
gonna gimme the blues
the fruit of my doom
is due in some weeks
please not in this room
where you caressed my cheeks
you promised to be back
but you lied to me
you just grabbed your seabag
and left your baby
my little antelope and sweet gazelle
watch
as from your gracile ankles
high
my eye too hastily swifts up
your magic thighs
rebounces back and forth
between your calves and knees
(would you care to open, please?)
the frilly curtains
of reality
part
to unveil
the eversomore obvious
even - and with emphasis -
when you'd rather look away
in search of the hitherto unfathomed -
those realms beyond
all golden sunrays and silvery moonshine,
farther than the stars
yet closer than your next breath
which thou shalt always
appreciate and enjoy,
for it could as well be
the last but one.
so don't hesitate
and tell me the name of the scent,
coming to announce
the celebration of the unspeakable
rituals
in utter blasphemy
of the laws
and all the bitterness
of income tax
and chronic obstipation.
he who farts well
cometh as the prince of relief
and be praised eversoforth
until he's fed up with your hymns
for good.
in the meantime
continue
to lackadaisically grind down
the hailstone,
proof and witness
that even the sky
needs a laxative every now and then
- but keep it well cooled
for it must not melt
in spite of your sloppiness!
feel the load!
dampen the rage
so
that
your penetrator can grow
in silence and moist darkness
until it's ready
for hard and sudden action
awaiting ever so sweet lullabies
echoing deep down the secret grotto.
never mind any obstacles!
in such a place
where gentle palms caress
and fingers open
wondrous calyces
wherein the warming rays of sunlight
are supposed to mix themselves
with sweet ambrosia
my muse
instead of inspirationally
kissing me
-as for a muse would seem appropriate-
merely hovered round my empty head
and
while orbiting so mockingly
she even blew a raspberry at me!
i like to visit realms
not quite disclosing to the public,
and meanwhile i feel more at home
in many a land remote
than in this cheap promotion show
ridiculously baptised 'social life'.
the worlds i do prefer to live in
cannot be counted;
no measurement or weight
delivers any insight of importance,
and the invaluable is the only model
apt to set the standards here.
say - what size may sadness have
if it lets tears roll down a cheek
one inch per second?
how many pounds you reckon for a broken heart?
at which price can you buy a truly happy moment?
how slowly must i act to break your world apart?
when speed is always at its outer limit,
and any place is passed before it's reached,
you'll not discover any real treasure
and not encounter any real life;
if money is the only god you worship
then all the other money hunters
will be your only lasting company.
in benevolent mood
when near a thousand thoughts
have been exchanged
and millions are still lurking
for their opportunity,
a sudden smell of purple residue
like whilom smilom hogwash
leads you far astray;
the counterpart, surprised,
reacts accordingly
- you really feel deranged!
although some wholesome houghmagandy
could heal the deal with some appeal,
another naughty notion
pulls the trigger
of even more absurdity
a second time:
in amphibious shapelessness,
monster amorphous crawls up your back,
entwines your spine up to the neck
and renders you all covered up
in bluish slime
- a six-eyed alien snail.
however hard you try -
you're shivering to no avail!
aweful as living in the 'burbs
is the embarrassment
of sweet forgetfulness
when you're about to win the night
and lose your word instead;
but what could ever be as bad
as the discovery
your lovely lass
turns out to be - a lad!?
[[
all you creeps suffering from the
'political correctness' syndrome:
i give a shit !
]]
down the stairway,
half submerged
in eerily beautiful wafts
of layered mist,
half covered
by licking puddles
of a volatile fluid,
spookily alive
and faintly glowing
in the dark,
although of indeterminable colours,
lyeth the pale corpse of youth,
rotting in the godforsaken
dungeons of no return,
ruthlessly deposed off
by some roaming vagrant
called age.
wake it up if you dare
and become yet another prey
of time,
chased and hunted forever,
which is quite a while,
but for sure not less than 17 days
and a happy couple of unmarried hours,
illegitimate children of chronos,
the wind, and many a lost notion
from centuries long departed.
take up thy xenoscope and walk
along the shores of the nutmeg river
and beware of sudden clouds
wherein a fiendish universe
of purple spores
tries to get a free ride in your lungs
and even checks them out
for permanent residence,
which might as well finish you -
so don't you breathe in!
the river leads into the dusty swamps
o'halloran once discovered
but didn't even survive
until teatime.
at least you can still meet him
leaning at elson's rock
if you make it all the way through.
but he's no more like he used to be,
anyway ...
dat rosa me l apibus
contemplating you find
the leafless branches
of destiny
provide no shelter
from the hovering flakes
of life
crystallized drops
go by
sweating out the guts
they took
while passing on
dangerous secrets
hitherto unspoken
they will keep them
hidden from former owners
liver extracts
are being condensed
and reinfiltrated thereafter
thus inflicting heavy dreams
of unfathomable origin
rays of reflected light
travelling the furthermost
of the spectral realms
hit the sun
right where it hurts most
and open up a gap
to let your curiosity in
and burn in atomic hell
in excess of 37 minutes
awesome experience!
unlike the cold fever
you got last friday
when you tried to lay lee
and found yourself
transmogrified instead
into a caribbean donkey
with grass ears
unleashed firestorms
gather in a teacup
kept there only
with greatest zeal
drink up
and you know
what laughing is all about
rumpus in the belly!
when you open your eyes
the office is quite the same
as usual
the tea quite as awful
and your screen -
what is this
devilish grin supposed to mean
anyway?
do application programs
dream of epileptic leaps
down the drivebays?
you've got
a blonde nose
and snub hair
underneath
this funny look
urging out
in wavefronts
isn't it
somehow
loopernatural?
you told me
about
glowing drops
of life
fragrant like aniseed
reclaimed out of
condensed patience -
non-perishable
forever
but i
kept doubting.
you talked to me
in words
v i b r a n t
of hidden power
oddly stringed
in shimmering lines
skillfully woven
into a net
of wandering knots
pearls
of restrained
gentle galena
unknown to me
and i saw
still unbelieving
all thirtyseven wonders
of the moment
dancing
just for me.
you have taken my hand
and
before i could notice
what happened
to me
you turned it out
like a glove
in a single movement
towards somewhere
making me feel
my innermost
and it was better
than estimated
but also
completely different.
you have touched my root
humid
moist
lifegiving
and i shot up
and branched
and almost bloomed
but a hairy fist
ripped me off
and away
from you
yelling
and threw
me
into this
dry
darkness
where i
wither
dreamlost
in memories
of
you
gone is the pain
off is the light
right now my brain
is full of night
as is the sky.
forgotten all work
now all that i owe
is to wonders that lurk
and deep secrets to know
just let me try.
the brew has been stirred
the pentacles drawn
my vision turns blurred
i'm feeling forelorn
while hours go by.
my veins all on fire
by nightmares in common
and dreams i aspire
with the forces i summon
not to rely.
a blue lightning strikes
out of thin air
it hits me like pikes
from a blazing somewhere
and off i fly ...
in greatest eximity
to the public
pregnant
by the sticky discharge
of a reasoning
five-way tubing
it took grace.
two ruby streams
of asian delight
syrup rivulets
riparian matters
of a purely
hypothetical soul
go down
delicious ankles.
don't you
rinse them off
too early!
slurp the truth
before the media
start to suck it
empty
and devoid
of the wondrous.
tears
are dried by water
fire
is choked by heat
thus
urging desires
are best cured
by spanish proverbs
spiced
with some obscenity
of
an innocent teenager's prayer
for defloration
or the delay thereof.
give the pigs
what they're greedy for
and you'll harvest
their compressed bullshit:
bullets
deliriously sodomizing
the victims of
mediocrity.
feed them to the critics
and the sour wine
of satisfaction
is going to etch
little holes
into your
(purely hypothetical)
soul.
i chase
dotted mushrooms
grazing in my
toxicographic meadows
emitting purple tears
of psychedelic doom
while ambling down
the gardener's catwalk
on a hazy friday's
afternoon.
i spot them
with my little eye
and force them
to give in.
there's rarely much resistance.
the drops go
in a tiny flask
where they sparkle
for introdusion.
the mushrooms then
are skinned
relentlessly -
their fleece provides
some vision beyond
when applied
properly
during crystal clear
friday nights.
usually
i eat the bodies myself
and without much ado
although
they don't taste too groovy
so
i occasionally let them dry
for phalloidal prosthetics.
the flask is for you.
use it well!
slumber
so vaguely encompassed
by twilight's plentiful deceits
and
st. elmo's cunning enticements -
don't
your nutrasweetened illusions
just intend to veil
that
every morning of time
glints without return?
beware!
when light and darkness
are betrothed
though never
married ever,
their child
this sullen
whiny
changeling of adultery
and sultry fantasies
fails never to seduce
by
fall's suspicious mind
just as it does
by
spring's gullible heart.
dig it?
a drop of morning dew
freshly distilled
into a buttercup
of illusions
a thoughtlet thread at first
a massive thought rope soon
secretly spun
down unfathomed depths
secluded from views
too cold
and demands
too impudent
the dullest glow
can enlighten the dark
as the tiniest rivulet
can fill the ocean
or: evaporating into crystal clear air
most probably
we've never met:
i am pure thinking
devoid of purpose
it be then
sheer lust
to caress truth
and - occasionally -
to pet the lie.
i am lolling
on my snugly bed
of moderate euphoria,
the fuel of travelling
through the realms beyond.
get lost in me,
moon,
dizzy of sunshine
when we embrace
what you left over
of time
and you
earth
of space.
chorus:
fulfilment is
accomplished in six stages
and the seventh lets us burn;
we free all thoughts
to leave their narrow cages
so that the rainbow's colours may return.
fruit flies like bananas
lies
and what lies
in the skies
and lurks
in the heavens
hath not
the photometric spirit
spoiled the supernova's dance
before it was finished?
don't lie
at the shy
sky !
+- chamber not yet flooded with metaphysical truth -+
+- chamber not yet flooded with metaphysical truth -+
+- chamber not yet flooded with metaphysical truth -+
+- chamber not yet flooded with metaphysical truth -+
+- chamber not yet flooded with metaphysical truth -+
+- chamber not yet flooded with metaphysical truth -+
+- chamber not yet flooded with metaphysical truth -+
even haptical
sensations
make up sum equations
hence i regret
whenever i let
you go without
touching my 'Haut'
in silent reply
however so shy
to my question that
remained unsaid.
... of a touch
is more than enough
however tough
+- chamber not yet flooded with metaphysical truth -+
forever alien
to this world
and lonesome strolling
through the night
i might
as well be
a count
with no pound
a god
in a pod
all too helpless
+- chamber not yet flooded with metaphysical truth -+
+- chamber not yet flooded with metaphysical truth -+
+- chamber not yet flooded with metaphysical truth -+
+- chamber not yet flooded with metaphysical truth -+
+- chamber not yet flooded with metaphysical truth -+
abstract body stoodies
are like
dressed-up noodies
a crystalline apple
a banana of glass
a green-golden mango
and yet - blood on the path
is not all text
merely a pitch-black brother of the thought
and excrementum crystallinum of idea ?
hath not the word
made topple thrones
and wiped out kingdoms
- like judea ?
hath through the quill
mind not its keenest instrument ?
is not my true name
'blasphemy' ?
have i
submitted not
the swaying fundament
of faith
a hundred times
and more
right to the perils of collapse -
armed only
with the blade of logic, razor-sharp ?
is not the faithfullest believer
in fact a true and faithful
'idiot' ?
hath ever anyone
observed these brethren
unified ?
nine hundred fifty seven iron horns
are blowing for fulfillment
and yet - they only get
an echo weak
of cacophonic competition
quite unlike
that laughter in the wind.
the woods so wild
around the hood
so mildly enclosing
a lovely face
in silent
embrace
of a charming smile.
trumpets and horns -
reverberating storms
claiming to wipe
the air,
beat the pipe
of despair.
in the lair
of the nineteen cooks
someone looks
rather startled.
it's the soup
of the group -
't takes him out
for a while
to the hooded smile
by the name of
'arbeliria'
the chambers are completely done with ...
comments please, via -e-mail-
.. to be continued ..
contact me, if you are planning on any commercial exploitation.
desparately seeking a patron!
