Spacemeat. The light cone enfolds the individual effectually creating a ghost through geometric topology. The negative of the person, the "ghost" is a result of the lensing of the original person's light cone interacting with a tertiary lightcone that predicates it's future on the subsequent intermingling of the light cones. The result is essentially apodictic insofar as the consequential nature of the topological result is the determinant by which the conclusion from the incipient portion of the status aforementioned is solidified. Spacemeat.
Mutant metronome’s
stygian riddle
inscrutable fixation
spuming
clustered clairvoyance
honing snoopy
quest querulous
quicquidlibet
tamper connived
sinewy stratagem
plimsoll plot
“sneaker” of
wily webfooted
nefarious nudge
at
tenebrific toll
maple smoke
screen screed
clandestine
cobwebs cohere
mohair marinated
muddle
subdued thespian
herringbone hoodwink
skewed camouflage
perused pearl
inveigling
skulduggery rife
underscored cadence
persuasive
percussive rattle
ubiquitous underbelly
prop to
dodgy dialogue
muted ritardando
silhouette streak
dangling magnet
mired in
gauche guesswork
subterfuge sciophobia
inkpot
amorphous machination
fiction wizards
emblazon
indices incipient
embryo empiricism
mouldering
cabinet coterie
spookish svengali
minatorial
repercussions
incurvate
sniffer dog
detective
poirrot’s prognosis
clouseau contingency
that
rivetting mystery
ILLUSTRATED REALITY
prevailing
stylistics
beliefs
usher
afresh
meaningful
enhancements
in
consequential
&
exemplary
substratum
deriving
significant
genuine
re-orientation
evidenced
by
incipient
documented
but
contradictory
variety
The blank field is a whitewashed wall
between
eyes and incipient thought.
A neatly printed line
emerges out of nothing,
fingers sleep
as they plant words in inky rows.
Meaning searches for meaning,
each symbol is a cracked seed
shed from a blacked-out window -
brain particles blindly seeking.
There is meaning here,
but it is as yet formless,
what is seen is slough and spillage,
mind-molt
struggling into an appearance
of notion and idea.
Now the word is flesh, a glossolalia,
a mute speaking in tongues, yet
breathless of any spirit.
At once the painted parody of self
is free to wriggle forth,
to sew and bind together
discernable images,
it must surface above the silent page,
lift up the emblematic
as the hammer-arm
of the insubstantial, until deciphered
by other necromancers
who then speak
for the dead-voiced word.
This then is the tipping point:
the space between sight and seen,
a place to speak into existence
the once immaterial
or surrender all coherence
to the un-lettered reticence of God.
This one’s a castle; that’s a customs-house.
They’re stolid, listless, just a little dull.
The sky supports an arbitrary gull.
The languidness of Liszt, the style of Strauss
are wholly absent. Colours are metallic.
The eye sweeps over cornice, turret, steeple,
then it dawns on us – there are no people.
Clock towers, mountains, minarets, all phallic,
are void of human life. Stark, empty chairs
adorn each arid, motionless interior.
As we apprise, eyes sneeringly superior,
we note acerbically his love of stairs –
A Will to Power, ever pushing up.
One daub there is, however, gives us pause:
it dates long before Enabling Laws,
before he dreamed of Kesselring or Krupp:
a bridge that’s quite impossible to cross,
going nowhere, has never carried traffic.
With a boy sitting on it. Startling, graphic,
without a hint of Schadenfreude or Schloss.
Self-portrait, this? What features may we trace?
What’s here vouchsafed? Incipient racist brute?
Hardly. A disarmingly awful suit,
and most revealingly of all – he has no face.
The distant cold hum
of a refrigerated embryology.
Morning eggs arrayed
in their cartons,
domed power-plants
in laboratory-white.
I crack a shell open,
by cautious habit
check for any telltale spindrift of red,
a sign of incipient life
or the Sunnyside-up face of death.
Ecstatic eye of night
thoughts tangled tangent
tint of orange moon
slivers were just hazy
incipient learned launch
as the querulous quirk
indented ingress idly
still desperate to capture
though less likely
lavishness connoting mood
human forest focal point
I dream in dribbles soppy
though never flagged yet
as futile aspiration amid
hues strictly night bound
might benefit wistfully
when strident slumber
indigenous to townscape
has its muted rippled
riddle not tactfully
resolved due to blind
daylight tinctured template
aroused by the clangour
of mint medley lure of
Arcadia circus dangle
of inchoate promise known
as crystal carrot jewellery
box whose flecks fly a riot
before the milling cluster
who wantonly wonder
at collapsing fortress inside
whilst rugged resilience
that tower block of prime
revitalised endeavour bent
on a fantasy forage with
disposition a pointless block
though underbody wobbles
if left without the widest
custodial watch of the self
one might be elated finally
This Ravel Music
this ravel music
reminds me of old delicious nights
spent with dark- skinned linda
of canobie street
she was my night girl
my morning girl too
wearing lilac madness
a pursed smile shooting darts
projected by a fiery tongue
speaking words of onslaught and reprieve
of momentous embraces from behind
a bending dilapidated garage
she is digging deep
lassoing in
my incipient soul
masticating with a gooey tongue
this ravel music
reminds me of damp mornings
spent with dark-skinned linda
of canobie street
Grimoire enchantress beguiles vetala invictus, slicka min kisse, hehe just kidding, just a u’i lata spreading sugar, a sweet gift. A snarl like smile crosses my countenance as I manifest into a deity of quintessential grandiloquence on this edifice, casting thy maestra symphony to be or not to be liminal esoteric Mnemosyne velleity, but in fact a vatic edict on tantalizing your most intimate sultry.
Necromantic kissy kissy muah, to the necrobiotic, rictus lambent lament, melodious songbird choir of sempiternal complexity to make sanguinary fervid incipient lachrymose flooding the streets. Cross this lycanthropic malediction for I ventriolic assanina husks empyrean arcana dismal fates under thy hex with the depths psychopomp Yggdrasil.
Careful where you tread mortal, goddess of the nigh is here, witchess gazes through the fenestral, nocturne saucers glimmer as the siren lures you with serenades and her visage, just an itty bitty bite is how it starts, catch a sweet tooth and it will splay you apart. Velvets bear jagged fangs emptying your chest cavity of your heart, delicate if it’s eaten before it stops.
Written: September 30, 2023
____________________________________________________________
Incipient of dusk, with heavy eyes shutting.
My spirit dies with each day of leisurely cutting.
Folding oneself in a featly state of reminiscence.
I recall when love meant a loss of innocence.
In the depths of time, I recall a letter you wrote.
With words that touched my soul, every note
In ink stained with passion, emotions blaze.
A testament to passion in an ethereal maze
As the curtain opens today and casts
Sets blur in mists of fallen drops, amort contrast,
Vivid hues of happiness are now washed away.
Leaving only shadows of what used to sway.
The inability to forget your final farewell
My heart harbors words: Infinity to dwell.
We are made
to be free
Together
Who does not desire peace?
Who does not desire happiness?
Who does not desire life?
So obvious and yet so complicated
Love is ageless
It is always incipient
Who does not desire love?
Who does not desire warmth?
Who does not desire the desire for you?
So obvious and yet so complicated
We are made
to be afraid
Together
Who desires the forbidden?
Who desires pain?
Who desires survival?
So complicated and yet so easy
Translated with www.DeepL.com/Translator (free version)
Sirius sneers
& terrestrial fools
fiddle
hateful heat domes
crush & deflate
as the earth smolders
& the oceans sizzle
in the
season
of
hell
apocalyptic eruptions
decorate the dark
angry turbulent skies
unleashing
vertically cruel
scathing tsunamis
in chaotic yet
clockwork rituals
as our incipient
Anthropocene
commences
efficient
anti-terraforming
we enter
the gates of
hell & become
reptilian
under
the barking
Dog Star
At Life’s Early Phase,
Your feet on trembling base,
It is Evil that pays
And its music that plays …
At life’s Incipient Stage,
When one isn’t of Age,
Vice A Thousand Kilos weighs
Not what The Bishop says …
And at vice Youths intently gaze,
Not at Virtues’ Sublime Rays;
Wrongs rejecting with “Sickly Nays”;
Not much from Life-Changing Sundays!
The whole picture asserts ‘A Craze’,
In sincere circles denied a half praise …
It is in youths habitual
To be shakily spiritual.
coffee
I had two much coffee
This morning
Three cups
Pure coffee
Not the usual heavily loaded cup
Part decafe part herbal tea
Concoction with turmeric,
cinnamon and nutmeg
My usual go-to cup of divine bliss,
I feel the jitteriness
The talkativeness
The beginning perhaps
Of a migraine attack,
I keep telling myself
My limit is two cups
Half decafe, half coffee
Half herbal tea mix,
More than that
I go up the highway
To incipient madness
And nightmares.
To haunt my dreams,
In short
I had just too much
coffee
Veil of Fear
David J Walker
Sometimes the sound of
Foreign voices
Fall from another room
Call from the molten plume
Of obdurate choices
Carefully folded
in the tomb
Of the sacrificial lamb
Ask the enlightened
Who understand
Who can elucidate
The meaningless darkness
And expand upon a
Personal vision with
The starkness of
Incipient light
Latent derision
Intimate sight
Dissolving a veil of fear
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