Writer / Carnal experimental poetry

Carnal Flux

Younisos / Writer / Carnal experimental poetry

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Meat, void, and carnage

 

horror — is nothing — my bowels per se — had razors at lunch — horror — nothing — blank sun — iced virtual fuck — my liver — frozen — snatched breath — squeezed red cells — blowing off the dark sap of my plasmatic silence

 

 

 

 

 

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Self-portrait by Younisos

 

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Sensorial horror

 

The obvious is atrocious.

Horror is life itself
flowing,
daylight, breath,
warm knives in the sluggish night.

… … …

Gutted
gutted silence.

 

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Drawing by Younisos

The tongue of death

disemboweled bodies are dripping
dripping
through mutant interfaces of purplish syntactic vomit —

blown viscera grumbling the bright song of beheaded breath — sliced carotids puking red asemic phonemes — lonely corpse rotting in a quiet forgotten flat — sparkling liver hanged among cerulean orgies
and naked obscene blades and hysterical bloody cats shredding the sky and wide fresh tongues licking the punctuation of the flux

I can die alone in silence
it’s free

 

Carnage sensitif juin 2011

Younisos

Bowels

Bowels stretched on the verb — bowels cut up for the sake of the blank enlightened cadaver of wailing prose — my sweet liver, raped in the hardened crypts of deep east…

Bowels, torn, sheared in blind deaf images… only viscera could flow in scarlet silence — breath perpetuates the agony that pierces the pancreas of the flux — cancer and lust are sodomizing each other deep in dawn around the Wi-Fi substratum of death.

 

 

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Younisos

Horror

We cling to writing… trying not to end up in such naked misery… but misery catches up with you, and horror too.
Suddenly, poetry is over. It goes away to squirt elsewhere. The day is naked. Raw anxiety. Horror flows free, straight. Daylight splatters my face and I die by breathing.
For horror is life itself, flowing…
Warm blade in the throat of the night.

 

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Younisos
photographed by Romain Carreau

Digital putrefaction

Images are dripping…
Cancer is coming, soon…
Cyber-mushrooms puke their mad fuchsia sap in the ears of crippled desire.
— Sophisticated civilization disgorges the most rotten meats.
I have no smartphone. Death is coming, baby…
Digital infection invades the flux, huge abomination… putrescent, crawling larvae, chips and microchips swarming in pus.
Where is my cock ?
Solar vertical forces are swallowed by slugs, worms and virtual octopuses.
Why don’t you slay me, baby ?

 

 

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Self-portrait by Younisos

Digital panic

Harnessed with a steel dildo, Danaé bangs the throat of her tremulous pig who is fucking a noisy android doll with encrypted tits.

Sensual anxiety is growing around the blind digital nakedness of connected gazes.

Mutant livers invade the elevators in business towers where they arouse the anus of the future, while billions of cocks and vulvas disgorge their filthy waves of pixels, recycled into sluggish virtual coins.

Google is now sneaking into the warmness of the shit inside your guts.

It’s done.

 

trash blood