True Confessions of a Subliterate Dork

On the Aesthetics of Beauty and Hell


Achilles for the Capture

To capture language as travels through the depths of your skin to mine.

Shamelessly?? feeding off of it –

Learning about that for the very first time as it spread – thru to knuckles in all my joints, hands ears knees, the-love-triangle.

Occurred as a profoundly visionary disruption, and torment. And yet – it’d been there really, bastioned behind a wall of wonder & misfortune, percolating with resistance since, well – f$cking forever.

Suddenly emerging “from the ranks” – ruthless, Dracula like, only to seethe fumble and hunt – off the grand tumescences (hard-ons) of heavens rigors and rebuffs.

Its beauty brutal wondrous ruthless device-ive – spontaneously looking nakedly through the image – to meaning enchantment time. As old as the mythic itself – burning with love – outloud?? implacable & wild.

Engulfed indeed consumed by what have come to call Achilles Jar (nee Alladins Lamp). How language finds its hunger and adversary. Living off of other peoples beauty, fingers ears beautiful dicks – as poetic nocturne, spectre & pastiche.

The There & Not

There, just there – ambient & endogenous – as if touched by its beauty tragedy magic – cumulus & cunning, being and nothingness unconscionably intertwined, alchemies of love and death whistling through holes in the translucency of time –

Breaking out breaking out from behind the wonder wall, from deep asunder a forlorn ocean of terror beauty shame – above all else desire.

A madhouse of hypersexual meaning? enigmatic contradictory captivating demonic transcendent exhilarating disruptive traumatic riveting oppressive liberating forbidden bewildering hellish erratic very very disquieting – and furthermore: sublime.

Doubles & Reversals

To reverse a category into a liquid, as Jean Baudrillard might say, but then (as now) go further, and recapitulate, by way of boogers or poop –

A blizzard reversing the vulgar into play, like a four year old is apt to do, teasing language out of a love – a pure love – for transgression and dying from laughter.

The pure rush can still get perpetrating the language of love with nihilisms, whether it be just plain stinky or at the end of my rope, craven with horror –

Poe’s raven. Raptors purple black slick and feather, a rapturous diffusion of blood – my feeble unscrupulous double-timing blood –

Like being hit over the head by a hammer, by a trickster god – and having to fight off the stars, from that moment onward – its beauty rampant and yet devious –

Stump Dredger

A fool for reality??

To reach out from the raw caw-caw of struggle and loneliness for license beseeching with gestures as a way to reach for reality –

But then always plunging to my death, being mysteriously flooded over by your visionary prowess, unraveled by its seductions, in a revel of sanctimonious defiance that goes beyond beauty – to pain and death!

A vagary that is ravaging, untamable, mercilessly erotic, and rebuked by sorrows, deep as hell –

Sorrows inconsolable blood lovely – screaming up from the depths – how?! how criss cross these pirate planks of love?? without falling haven to a sanctuary of beautiful wildings – as they crash.

A pure dummy overrun by excitons raving to oblivion, pleading pleading “at risk of death!”

Pee Boy Magic

Pee Boy is a cartoon whose camouflage am flying under while admitting everything.

Satirical & penile, Pee Boy is a vehicle of ludicrous contempt.

And I can live with that for some reason – makes it easier on a wild rebellion of fears whose reckonings and beckonings are glorious aggressive rabid indefatigable.

Wild at Heart

Ludicrousness calms a wild heart. Contempt is genuine, a genuine response to lovely steamy temptation of lies, what philosophy calls with respect to media: the bubbles of doubles – a cry out of the darkness, that is true – with bittersweet gravity, at the merciless resilience & inextricability of life. 

Contempt couples with innocence as if to free fate – from the ambiguity of boredom.

Bogged down to a plasticity of boredom, boredom is a horror of emptiness and repetition whose heart is born & adorned in wilderness of desire, a theater of longing, innocence falls in love with the murderous qualities of contempt, seduced there by throngs – of rage, anger, self-hate.

Love – as a condition of contempt? crossroads of devotion, thundering blundering plundering along, mustered, galvanized by wispy blistering hidden howls of contempt – wild seditious sorrows bellyaching insubordination, whose prayers really do care, really do want to be saved saved saved from its lovely miserable corruption –

Beyond victimization, sanctimony or praise.

Thousand cuts

Fears that are wild & wretchedly possessed by love turn turn turn into a crushing destiny, the miracle of a thousand cuts.

Licking bottom, again and again, raises loss to the bittersweet ecstasy of heaven with sacrificial irrepressibility.

Trauma as epic, warrior, martyr, antihero – repetition as death, death as finality, finality as acceptance, acceptance as inescapable, inescapability of love, of death – as conquering worm, must repeat must repeat in order to learn –

Validity as of yet – bounded hounded by the whipping boy – existentialism skips to the loo, ranting, cloying! rubbing the lamp – how do you do.

Jesus on a stick

The Vanishing

Under the sea, mining stunning stabs of sorcerous intrigue. Jealousy for awareness, a hunger and sorrow exploding with thirst, clinging like madness –

And secretive – as a locket of hair imprisoned in the shape of a heart.

A bastard funk wild and grueling with riotous sweet contagions of ardor, sympathy, fascination with wile, arrogance, strength –


Abandon through? abandon through –

Came the cries of scurrilous ( pornographic ) angels in thrall to Atropos, lush stumbling throttles of death.

Dotting every bruise on a ripe perverse self-swallowing peach, as the divine map itself! with a little blood red flag for every wicked little death – where here belies destiny.

La Boue

A body that turns religiously to mud when breaking taboo. Could not, the body could not follow through! Frightened despicably by a monstrous invocation of greed and desire.

Clotted agog curiously insidiously to an incantation of need & submission. Blown over by blow after blow of siren & cruces –

Running off to where raged & peaked indecision of a scandalous rupture, of a sublime unnameable nothingness – again and again.

A strange unhinging frailty, eclipsing tatters of a heart most unduly, as circled an orrery of beauty and contempt.


Stuffed to the breaking point with wicked fiendish inbred loops of sorrow and havoc. Mysteriously wrapping itself up for good – up up up inside scared sacred wounds, of a lowly mummy, locked in a battle of inscrutable stealth.

And yet – no matter what! still clingy, still clinging to desperadoes and harbingers of dishallow love, the voyage of awareness & desire, cognition and sensitivity – as its only “true” faith.