Getting familiar with my own thin corpse… cadaverous flux beating along the writing process… kissing the goddess Rottenness in the mouth.
Anguish blooms on the dew of breath, when afternoon is nothing : sensory fullness… diaphanous blades stroking void… and my damn real guts shredded by nothing… atrocious plenitude of flowing nothingness. Cold tits on the horizon.
— When horror is off, you still swallow the horror of breathing.
These whining cats under my window in the warm night… like some doomed babies in a bad zombie movie…
I brought my rotten big toe to the doctor. He said : « They say you’re a cut-up writer…isn’t it ? … so… go on… cut off your damn toe !… antibiotics don’t work on writer’s flesh… your damn dismembered mind is infecting the air… go screw yourself with your meaty writing… cut off your fucking toe and put it down in your poetic carnage… »
Flux oozing its flat warm scum through doomed big toe while I embrace the cadaverous edges of my bones, savouring the ongoing plasmatic decay.
My body is getting bony, so bony… Few flesh left…
My writing comes up from the bone marrow, bled… dried up soon… That would be the price to pay for being a carnal poet… skeletal ?…
— My throat is weak, I said. My esophagus pissing blood on the blank page, ignoble online cake puking digital rosaries … um … the universe is a big obscene pie —
brainless blast squeezing sharp bones crushing glowing livers / logical red foam / I doze / split azure / singing on black mire / oblong eager pig
my ode to phallic bleeding joy
as big Bone pops in heavens
raping cosmogonist tits disconnecting your narcissistic circuits / rotting ego in juicy butt radiating steel dripping creamy dreams of infinitesimal anus cleaving golden skulls tearing my brain through fresh casts upon killing sweetness / drawing carmine jets / large schizoid knives
bits of howling viscera on blue skinned horizon / earwigs puking silver cockroaches / crippled throat
mind has to be shred / bursting the helpless eyes of the empirical world surging lightning curves to slash chronic nonsense and other rancid hopes cranking strings of guts over scarlet rivers
quartered satin thighs / wild pubic dreams kill stripping moon and make it spit its stillborn milk / legs slipping / fresh cracked ass
unbridled fury of … large eggs / winged sap blank slots and plump cherries while foul cerulean sky pours its atrocious light on hungry oranges
fluffy rectums purring at the bottom of other creamy roundness and
heady saliva of
schizo ginger girl
My contribution, Self Cut-Up in Tangier, is a bloody cut-up on my own texts.