traveller

have you been there?
if you have
you will know what i mean

if you have been there
you'll still be there
no-one ever really comes back

the game from then on
is just keeping up appearances

in my pocket
i still have the ticket
that was torn
at the door to this theatre

don't forget
we all have a train to catch
at the end of the night

past present presumings loaming

not-i
 |
across a snowy plain a pony |
post chase fish waste caste | annoyance dance
haste washed face | incense | fish paste

bang! diner -
open a can of spic and span
presume you are annoyed at me
i wish all the people in the world would like me

but not even all the people in the world like chocolate
so what hope have i got

we leave a swish of scum washed up
pasted on the tidal flat beside embryos
eggs weeds, sea life, false promises

i would like your mouth
's insides, salty and samey, the fish
saying hello

o

swoosh open like a rockpool scourged of foam
teeth knocking about, little shells and fish
ointments of the ocean, Neptune's necklace

after the nuclear embargo, we claw back into
erotic environments, cooling pools, flames
blue incisions in the sky - face baked rockets

this is the end of 'i'

x

past pirates
make out
in the desert

forkword floats
on an ocean
of bile

placed carefully
an iota
toybota

please fish out
the wet ones

we are all the same

we are all inane
& insane

Nichols Gorge Wetwang

what is a number?

just a little indivisible piece of nothing wrapped around on itself

the number plane
like a cave sodden field
a worn face
of dolines cut with
 spilled acid

only a sort of inertia
prevails against these accidents

stretch marks in my text
record connecting white neurons
like drops advancing down a pane
the opium flower in my mind meadow

I smell a gag being removed -
take a quick breath between suffocating words -

a whiff of geist

2028 eclipse happens to open a wormhole to
our antient selves, looking back beyond apophic destruction
(self inflicted or otherwise) to taste
the day again, when the sun was fresh
and time was spinning before us carelessly

we cast our eye upon the sentient world
still crawling, fidgeting, like ants across a pancake
and hold our gaze there - burning into the earth
pounding down upon the blundering beasts
with fury and precision and dreadful cause

a father's hand on his child's peaceful flesh
understands vengeance is a curse bestowed genetically
strengthening the bonds that condition us to survive
our beautiful society - verb words loosen truth
happiness dilutes bliss, knowing undoes pure childish wisdom

if we forget our ancestry, these events can seem meaningless
like a random casting of the dice, cutting off heads
splintering glass buildings, plundering floods and lahars
but this is just the rocking of the cradle that bore us here
the angry voice of the father against the railing child -

the father that we are destined to become

necronomica (extract from a dream)

today, i had a strange illusion, in my dream, a swan came to me and spoke with a bound leather tongue-

lembit aszkrith fugard imkimaka/ whelred infant degarmind rtak /
dank water parted / india seas squirted beyond paramour /
faith healed wigwam / /then opened the book of demonicness
paper seulled with blood /fastigata plantain swithnign

<>

the war is thus:

either the (necronomicon)-(i.e. infinity) exists or it doesn't exist

{n.b. a moment's contemplation of infinity is insanity}

there is an eternal(? some say finite) battle between the forces of finity

and those of the in-finity. finity denies that in-finity exists.

infinity doesn't have to deny anything, for _if_ it (kthulu) exists,

then the finite exists only within it, is part of it.

it does not matter, it is irrelevant even to ask _where_ infinity exists

it can be inside a crack, inside the smallest atom, or at the furthest distance

from here in space and time.  wherever it be, it be all-consuming

it is entirely made of mouths

it is entirely made of anything-you-posit

and also entirely-not-made of anything-you-posit

and anything-that-is-never-posited, which can never be posited

it is made entirely of that - [c.f. amor fati]

2

finity is by necessity a frame (the covers of a book)

in-finity lurks everywhere but is nowhere _within_ the frame

its bulk cannot be accommodated there

it is simply "the most burdensome idea" it is of course the most

horrendous thing, whilst being simply a concept

in that concept is the seed to destroy the universe (has already

thus destroyed it countless times, is destroying it now, is

tearing you apart _now_ as you read this word)

the frame is our cot, our armour, our net keeping us safe inside

but the _knowing_ can reveal that we are never safe

all that keeps us sane is that we (_forget_) again and again over and over

this is the true frame, the bookend, our own birth and death

beyond which is the blackness of our forgetting.

<>

these are normal words from a normal person/i hope you like/suchwith the end of days/we will all be medieval (leather) again/nay, grubs in swamps/swans/aye heavenly beings/are even now--this, is the normal grounded state