Pleasures Of The Damned.

Nov 24

If you have TWO- part

When I
Can. Sort of settle down.
When I grow up I want to be a heretic
Stolen lines and dirty sacks of air that I carry around and I am
Staring. The floor. Thankyou. Check mate. The pawn takes the king. Ignore the tinnitus in your ear.

The post drunk anxiety hits and it is 04:45, not sarah Kane. Psychosis

In the bed again, the bed meant for 6 or 10. It’s for one. Again.
There must be a selling point to this, but it isn’t real. DNA. Dysfunctional or dystopian Narcissistic Anarchism or Anarchy. Je suis desole
No Area 51
No conspiracy theories
No blade cool runnings
Just done. The end. The end that goes on and on and on and on
Until
It’s over
2099. We didn’t even make the obituary section in the local paper. Let the swan drown!
Partner.

We realised that the SNACK isn’t saucy spicy or tasty, but instead that we yearned for each other’s bodily fluids. We must stop. We realised that incarceration is not just being held captive by the red cape. The red coat of arms, le cotes du Rhône, the marquis de SADe…
You’re the best I could can and will do. Hold no expectations and you shall never be let down, failed, miserable, sullen. Appreciate the mattress in all of her damp discoloured miserable glory, the sad frumpy one at the party who hated that song, and hated her dress.
Stream of consciousness they say. Who is they? I suppose he or she is now they and we get confused with the empty confessions over empty cups and cans and cigarettes burnt to their ends.
The floorboard creaks like a board from the house of usher, are they home? Is it your parental figure? Is it your auntie? Is it tina from next door? That’s what you called her right? You shut me up with a cider dry kiss and tell me everything will be alright

If you have PART one

Analysis part 62.1
X put blankets on me. Y woke me up. Z talked to me. 0 asked how you were. 1 cooked for me. 2 was even going to look for you the other night.

3 brought some green. CRASS!

The frequency of the name brought up. And the suggestion of spending weekends at “home”, or should I say squat with barely any light. Just suggests a break up and a clean ending to all of this. Knife 2 cake:

You want to forget it’s over.
I’m just
They’re just
We’re just
JeLous. COz Yung N iN Luv
Coz u wann 4get it’s over
Your stomach is filled up… raised?
Yet you’re starved for conversation
You’re spending all your nights
Growing old in THAT bed
We can’t stay 18.20.30.28 forever
We could live like
THIS IS FOREVER!
Ha. Well never miss a party
Coz we?
Keep THEM goin KONSTANTLY///KONSTANTINE
walking down the stairs
Oh that skirt
Stop
She’s not yours!
Kids?
No MARRIED TO THE SOF-
Softly spoken sofa
Primary school teachers level of
ENGLISH DIE HARD OR DIE AT SEA!
White oleander. Kill or be killed
Sleep on the floor
Let me show you
Teach you
How to love. Bloom
In bloom. Nirvana. Did you reach it yet?
No. Faux pas. Black in the chapel. Did Elvis sing? How much did K:
Weigh down your dress along with your sorrows
That you casually drown at the bar where you borrow
Words from girls who have fucked their
Way
Up to the
Carpark. They smoke they are cleaning
They feed they make you drip
With seething rage so much so that they -
Have me.
By the throat
The noose isn’t slack..
Kick the bucket and let them dress sexy at my funeral
The National?
Anthem. ROUNDABOUT POLITIKS
she gone
She’s gone.
03:46. Make a wish.

FOUNDATION. Don’t wake the kids
They’re alright
Shh.
Come
On now.
Did you? Or is that? Je ne sais pas.
JE SAIS PAS. You came and fell to the floor. You have the same fence as the last. Built like a poorly constructed existential crisis. Nobody will run or draw that bath for you. Roll a cigarette (again) and burn with the stars. They’re already dead. Draw on the cinder and vote for leftist politics and pretend you understand why you’re here.
Christmas Hanukkah EVE. Amstel and white lines and white paper and white cups and white skin and white tshirts and white music and white liquid and white powder and white powder and white crumbs and white pain and white stains on black underwear and white smears on the mirror at 5am or something like that there is no punctuation don’t bother trying to unveil or take apart this because I don’t like coriander but I do like salt and what insight will this give you into the erratic mind of c.

Can.
Cam.
Cammy.
Cunt.
Dick. Dead. Fuck. Slag. B
Nothing more to say
Stare at the window and hate the reflection but Pause FOR a BREATH.
…………………
Xxxxxxxxxxx
What to the dots mean?
The ellipsis!? The x’s they kisses tho?
no.
Nothing
Just a n
Un kissed neck
Do you feel lonely yet?
The owl hoots. Oh’ isn’t it cute
Before it swoops down at the speed of a drunk in a Ford Fiesta listening to nothing but their own
PANIC! at the disco?
Wake up you’re going to die!
The owl hoots the others perched on the branch soon to be rotten deadwood on the forest floor
Science fiction. This is fake. All a cauchemar!
I woke up this morning and I had a dream I was at a sort of convention or something
Psy cho therapy
I’ll be relieved when it’s over

Nov 9

remorse/x

Try not to cum
Stop focusing on your arm
The banging on the wall
Confess your sins
Surrender

Control a different body
Projections of subjections
Shoot down anyone you love

If you could do anything
Focus on the
Screw Fuck Deep Hard
Give me the world
Vibrating
Phone vibrating stop vibrating phone vibrating phone vibrating phone rush
Wait. Wait. Why can’t you wait
Overspill Overheated this sinking feeling
I can’t shake it won’t what now?
A wet towel thrown on the bed
Turn off the light
I don’t know who I was 5 minutes ago I don’t know where I was 5 minutes ago was it 5 minutes?

This sinking feeling of existence
I breathe. My heart
Beats with regularity. again
My feet are cold but the cotton is wet

Can’t sleep. Cold again. Skin feels soft eyes are drooping. Lonely repetition
The dimmed light from the computer screen gives a sickening feeling that squelches
Right
Down
To
My

02:12am stories about nymphomania
Black eyes and advertisements the date is November 7th. My cotton is still wet

………..//222/22…………………STOP.

The date is November 8th the time is 00:40. Hours. Spent.
Dwelling. Stewing. Your moans are heard through the
Walls paper thin, like the toilet tissue you use to
Dry yourself. Wipe yourself
Clean your act up stop listening focus
On. Turned around rough
Like it. Like you liked it
It being between your inside your paradigm shift the universe breaks your collar bone
Shines with the wet against the moonlight seeping in through the window pane.
The sheets stick to your back your feet you crave touch you need to feel you inhale and exhale with the grace of a bulldozer deconstructing the architects wet dream the dream she you him her all had. In unison unusually the thoughts destroying your depraved guilt ridden mind for
wanting more.
You stop.
In. Out. Hale. Ex
You no longer speak to but you think about every time that song comes on the radio but you can’t stop them dripping into your lucid dreams every
night because it is wrong
It’s over before it began and you feel defeated yet complacent because nobody can see you alone in the dark of your unwashed bed linen and the curtains stained with second hand smoke
you steal the moments the return them with remorse.

lucid dreams

(via hatin)

Oct 22

Narcisse

How delightful are the pleasures of the imagination! In those delectable moments, the whole world is ours; not a single creature resists us, we devastate the world, we repopulate it with new objects which, in turn, we immolate. The means to every crime is ours, and we employ them all, we multiply the horror a hundredfold.

Oct 17

WEN I GROW UP I WANNA B A HERETIC

Hangover Hobby Kit

Fuck. My eyes burn from the slither of sunshine shooting through the curtains.
I reach for my cigarettes,
I feel warm skin and a bunch of hair.
Don’t leave. I don’t know your name.
Don’t leave. Don’t bother.
I light a cigarette and she musters up a faux cough.
An old pint pot with stagnant water catches my eye,
I gulp it and wretch at the same time.
The elephant in the room is growing by the second,
Was is sex? Was it drugs? Vomit or a monologue about some long lost love?
I don’t know.
Let’s talk about our future, and stare at the ceiling.
I grab some tissue to wipe my almost destroyed nose.
I feel jealous when she mentions brunch with friends.
My tongue projects every millilitre of acid towards her face. I flip within a split second.
How the other half live.
Brunch with smashed avocado, poached eggs and sesame seeds.
Bottomless prosecco and bloody Mary’s.
I spot a crushed can of Stella Artois on the sideboard and a glass worth of cotes do Rhone on the floor.
I no longer crave her skin, or what in my mind was more than a night of true physical intimacy.
As dirty and sordid as it was,
She’s still left on my sheets.
I grab the Stella and light another cig.
I’ll search for the Xanax after a piece of toast,
I’ll no doubt burn,
Burn, burn, burn
Like my passion for everything.
Only this time it’s slowed down.

We don’t drink until the devil has turned to dust, my friend.

Always too soon to lose to the moon
Eyes lit
Mouth numb
Time makes no sense
Body’s rubbing against sweat drenched skin.
Pull out a knife and cut me open
Watch me bleed
My eyes look up and fade to black
We’re like birds
We’re free
Watch the blood and sweat decorate your heels
Let’s dance with the devil
Dance with death
Jump into the canal
Attempt to drown
Like Woolf,
Only the stones fall from our pockets
We wake up.
Stale smoke
Blood and the stench of whiskey—

Aug 21

NEVRMIND.

I appreciate, Brand New.

I am unsure what to do from moment to moment. My thoughts are scattered, always. When I see or hear recordings of myself being excited, I am embaraseed, and find myself false and unlikeable. I have realized over time that people close to me identify me as unreliable, and absent, and it is because in times when I am faced with a decision or responsibility that I am unable to shoulder, I isolate myself and ignore attempts at communication from others, instead of explaining my difficulties or asking for help. I am scared of implementing my ideas out of fear that in actuality they will not be perfect, and that they, and I, will subsequently receive harsh judgement. I have outbursts of rage and despair when I am alone. I am attepting to uncreate this reality. I am finding peace in commitment to others, and in hard work, and in the forgiveness that other people show me when they are faced with my faults. Where and when will I die? And then, what will I become? What are the strings that tie me to you, across unknown planes, made of? Or are there even strings? Or am I you? Are you, me?
e4 e5 - Nf3 Nc6 - Bb5 a6 - Ba4 Nf6 - Qe2 b5 - Bb3 Be7 - c3 0-0 - 0-0 d5 -exd5 Nxd5 -Nxe5 Nf4 Qe4 Nxe5 - Qxa8 Qd3 - Bd1 Bh3 14:
Anyways, queen takes pawn… okay?
Bishop takes knight’s pawn.
Huh, lovely move. Um… Rook to king one.
I’m sorry, Frank, I think you missed it. Queen to bishop 3, bishop takes queen, knight takes bishop. Mate.
Huh. Yeah, looks like you’re right. I resign.
Thank you for a very enjoyable game.
Yeah, thank you.
We love you again.

Aug 3

Anti Social Socialist

So many feelings, emotions? Electrical body shocks? Physical kicks? I don’t know how to describe what I’m feeling using something so restrictive such as a “word”, the notion of putting a feeling into a box and sticking a label on it “WORD” it doesn’t help.
I’m so anxious and dead at the same time.
I stare into the abyss and right now I don’t know what’s real and what’s not. Pop cultural references, my open window, chain smoking, immersing myself into bullshit series online to distract myself from the painful reality that nothing is real.
I feel nothing. I feel too much.
I have such lust for life. I want to die.
I want to sleep forever. I am so awake.
I am starving. I am so full I could explode.
I am so blasé. I am too passionate.
I don’t care. I do fucking care.
Catch 22. Who can play devils advocate with me when all I am is a walking contradiction, and hypocrite of my own creation.
I deny, yet I admit.
I submit. Yet I crave desire for control and dominance.
What am I. Who am I.
I am completely lost, I am waiting for the notion of god that will never arrive.
I am god.
I am the devil.
I don’t have a happy medium, no middle ground. My body is a vessel sailing towards my grave.