Younisos / Writer … Carnal experimental poetry

Posts tagged “underground

Connected corpse

 

Connection is rotting.

Connection pours its pixeled fever into the bowels of global death.
Digital cancer spreads through anal flux.

Breath is decaying — connection throws up the void of its dark cum.
Binary putrefaction leads the blank becoming of beheaded urge.

Tits and butt will take you online to the algorithm of your own corpse.

 

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Younisos

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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


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


Carnal algorithm

 

pixels… rotting slowly in the sky
aborted androids connected to anti-plasma networks
synapses of horror… sodomizing the stem cells of encrypted fate —
binary decay algorithm jerking off on HTML plans
valid anal code
ecstasy…
activated
along rectal vortexes…
… Mary’s butt is looking at me

black cockroaches announce the blind name of the toxic fetus

 

hhhh

Digital self-portrait by Younisos

 


The Song of the Cosmic Butcher

On my desk, lies a flayed pig.
Among cerulean fires I see quivering steaks, and sliced breasts.
— Frightful phalluses soar in the air ; streams of blood splatter the atmosphere.
In sun’s hollow a vulva glows, strange crack, stuffed with gold and bright blue.
On white bed, lies a pig’s head — Fresh lips blooming on cream and strawberry, and the taste of death.
A huge carnage erupts in my head — In my dreams I hear the ruddy laughter of eleven gutted girls — blank rage — sensory blast — when I sleep I often have my throat cut — in heavens I see slaughtered oxen and thick pale boobs full of pulp.
In moon’s hollow an anus gleams, stuffed with silver and gutted dreams.
Wide creamy hips among meringue and cherry, and pork tongue — high lactescent butts in filmy night, and spurts of lunar cum.
The moon swells and bursts, milk springs and spreads — in white sky, I see the carmine meat of sixty thousand boneless nymphs.
Through celestial darkness now appear quivering rump steaks, and sliced livers.
On my desk, lies a butchered girl.
 …
.
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Synaptic rush

her nails
yelling
on the blank abyss
of my balls /

gutted foamy anguish stroking the hanged carcass of
nonsense /

ectoplasmic mushrooms
glowing through sticky brain molasses /

sensual anxiety shitting its fuchsia gall on the final cake of sidereal panic /

vital beat is raping
me

 

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Younisos

 


Creamy carnage — Excerpt from the forthcoming book of Younisos

I might doze, right ? Railwaymen, brats, the sky — fuchsia bitchiness… Pissing on her thick hair and wide watery eyes. My cock cleanly cut, in the fridge. Banana spurted in the dark screaming at rectal attitude, disgorging streams of unspeakable reddened lymph, heart sap of the last laryngeal jerk. Long sausage gleaming beneath the knife. Bowel’s skin. Under the frail tangent of gutted Eros I stretch sparkling viscera along the crackling vomit of a mad alto sax. Free jazz sharpens my canines. Vaïna crawling on the lookout for poetic performances… she ended up impaled on the edge of bony glans. Ornette Coleman blessed her thigh filet sizzling on the grill. I puked two large bundles of erotic marshmallow, two milky girls sliced on the sensory block of the dying pudding. — As you like ladies, I’m always available for any ax and legs routine. Voracious. I never get enough meat for my thirsty marrow… Huge cream pies haunting the arterial roads of the day.

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