By time
I was aware
the puke was everywhere spreading
like the universe
I could see traces
of yellow
and acid
pain spiraled in
this was suffering
but I
emptied
free of content
overtook space
as a substitute
to
existence.
Nihilistic Poetry Blog
because the wind grows my nails
I sit this evening
on the ledge of an ancient
mystery
the rain is the dream of the present
the noise of rock
of my bones –
penumbra is the rejoining of fragments
in this quiet atmosphere
speech is green grass returning
to the distant seed
because the wind has fed from
these thoughts of dimension
I am bottom
of the
pendulum life
Modern Poetry
I don’t talk much
what’s going to happen
probably doesn’t
that my silence
travels here
nowhere else
unshuffled words
my ideas circle
like moths
about a light
inconsequence
too bad
I aborted eternity
for
this spurious
paradox
of
life.
Nihilistic Poetry
the machines +
he echoes
and to live
dangerously
with this slow beard
amidst hallucinations of normality
the decadence of my
Nietzschean years
no role model:
Kurt is long gone
dead by angst
we still live on
the poet of opium
in a brothel
licking her sweetness
beauty the contradiction
of his verse
the poet needs his decadence
refutal of his commitment
the lie
the mistake
the disaster
mistrust of the divine
impotence of sublimity
my life is decay
in your hands.
Nihilistic Poetry
where’s the off switch
for all
endeavors
the icicle of reason
has melted
leaving a small puddle
of fictions
at my feet
and we will build
and build
assemble great systems
to the outer edge of the milky way
and back
the civilizations, the civilizations
with its civilians hooraying
their democracies pushing
the sciences inventing
the artworks embellishing
the museums and the highways accelerating
the capital erecting
the monuments
of the great laughter of achievement
while the black smoke of reality
swirls
into nothingness dreamt.
Nihilistic Poetry
oh in what manner
I touch
these playthings of the
soul
sculpting in torn blindness
the mode of the self
eliciting shapes
like a damp cloud
over the empire of uncertainty
am i this wisp
of creation
twisting and turning
emerging
painfully philosophically inadvertently
from the wreckage
of my
sadness?
I am an egoist
the tides of the galaxies
are for my amusement alone
the backdrop of the world
is the stage for the drama
of my sadness
I have eternity as my own
reality-show
the concatenation of events
stroll before me as a parade
offered to a king…
but as a king
I still yearn for more
I look for the edge of existence
looking, as it were,
for something else
something not yet invented
lurking behind the world of things,
perhaps a mist
belonging to another reality
untouched by this world;
a thin fog
I surmise,
of impossible bliss.
this pouring
the act of pouring
wine into this very glass
this very cheap box of white wine
sliding down the surface
of the translucent vessel
the vehicle of this
very moment
that
is the mind
of
god
in my delusion
this undying
night.
A standstill collapse
locked door
sneaking a peek
to glimpse the rotting fuel
tunneling down a pipe
these anchoritic pieces
of me
falling into the orgy
of
classless waste
— a humming noise
coming from the wall
and
the thought
that you’ll never leave
this toilet alive
why should i?
this could be my last
excretion
my masterpiece of unpremeditated
feces
the revelation of the kingdom
of heaven
precisely when my
fat butt cheeks
begin to contract
for the final
plunge
(into the consciousness
of process and
decay)
jesus lord the fetidness
now
the work of
cleaning the gorge
my hands
gosh my hands
have mastered the crevice
SPOTLESSSSSS!
i stand, faucet, dry
Unlock
the world
return to the busy society
as another impeccable
glamour divinity
of the
human
race.
No reality,
reality does not satisfy me
and it hasn’t tried hard enough
to sugar me up
I need alcohol
to soften the rough edges
of futility
I need chemicals
to inebriate the chemicals
of my brain
only then
reality
is reality
I can
surrender
to.
Beyond Language 
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