Floaters

Dance with bitter jaws until the out of sight spot drifts away.

Taste with growing humps until tongues retire.

Knaw at the mouth grizzle

Beads crack on wood and roll

Uncoil the lips and spit venom into the chasm

Collecting in darkness it floats astray.

Between everything and a blackhole it waits.

Loitering in your lense.

Waiting for you to look.

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Farm

Steven would you ever clamber up and go to bed you have a big day ahead of you tomorrow. Running  errands all day, in fact had made me tired. Sliding between that lady with that fluorescent radioactive vat. Slide your nails in here. Such words compassionately find themselves free running around the room in tune with her perfectly formed manner, in the company of the people funding her next cigarette. The people who pay for her to live, here is your cup of tea. All over the chimney and part of the roof I spew my kind affection towards her. Another job done that’s one less for the day.  Notes found my headless chicken body tossing back and forth through shops in convulsions of post decapitated fury. By the time I found my head I was being questioned over being too chicken to involve myself in the bowels of ‘mans’ work. Barrel after barrel I emptied the pleasure mix all over the dog pen. They barked viciously, obviously appreciating my hard work. In amongst the shit stained mulch I soon found myself eyeing up the man next door. The chicken hut king looked down at me in disgust. My spit is not even worthy of your face he clucks in a groomed busEnglish  tone.  My thoughts place conclusions that he is no chicken hut king. He is a bored and lonely individual who divides his much earned retired life to partaking in practical projects, that seem to bellow to him social integration, class and style. These things you can not buy or build, it also doesn’t help when the large portion of your goat children are snorting your money in through the little hole in their nose in a bid to obtain that much desired feeling that they were secluded from when they were little. Daddy I did really well in school today“. “That’s brilliant son for that you remain in boarding school whilst I go abroad to expand my ego and my wallet. Big hugs and kisses. A recipe for your children to become goat bastards and that’s what they are. The day I opted for a zoo I knew that the goat bastards had to come and join amongst others, some willing, some required a stiff penis to be lodged forcefully in the anal, all in all they did come. After the goat bastards they all started to flock in. Their sanctuary was with me, they needed a man to feed them correct ideals and mutate their ideas surrounding normality.

Chronic masturbate F stood in one day his hair sprouting lovely fresh strawberries, his pores producing enough milk to feed an entire family of wolverines. After chronically masturbating for a week he had to leave the farm from that point on his cubicle was quarantined off as the Cman zone. After his seclusion everything began to work in unison, the wooden men where more than willing to donate their bodies to the cause and f’s left over cman was used in partial as an intense glue. Labour found the farm evolving into something more. It was slowly becoming a home. Which was needed for the tough times ahead. As the settlement flourished, more and more unordinary people started appearing out of the scared and silent shadows.

A man appeared out of the forest one day with at least sixty children swinging out of his rope like nipple hair. His abundance of children was soon understood when his penis tongue came whipping into view as he introduced himself to me. I am Richard Penistongue he said with erect confidence. I was wondering could My family and I have the pleasure of squatting in your exquisite farm. His accent chiselled a yes out of me and before the night was over  I found myself dreaming of vagina tongued women but alas to no avail. Richard explained it was a once of genetic disorder that he obtained by his hick father beating him in the room with iron bars for the external and clothes hangers for the internal, the type that used to hold suits that kept the blood circulating to his brain. Now in vintage wife beater clothing his motto was if it moves beat it to a pulp and if it doesn’t move fast enough begin working your way through the garden shed, tool after tool.

The day we knew the farm was being transformed into a camp was the day Mendele arrived. His face was scared from his attempts at fishing information out of his flaming Auschwitz archives. His imposing height was generated by the reanimated Jew’s neck on which he casually sat.  He held a whip with foetal bones tied tightly around it. He got off on the pleasure  of killing men with unformed babies. Mendeles magic work was swiftly put to an end after he decided to enter the cman zone. His return never came as another mans cum counteracted it. Although he was gone I still opted for camp. As in childhood Jesus first unveiled himself amongst my friends flapping bat bodies.

Before I knew it van after van where driving towards the core of the glen in a bid to begin our communal camp. Which would be interesting to see how they blended the finances and the food because I always did wonder what that would taste like.

Name_ A boy_ who introduced himself early on to me in the camp was an interesting young man. Visible on his face was a clear catheter that trailed all the way into his bony nose. Following the tubing down his body I soon  discovered a device attached firmly to the right side of his pants. It was an unusual looking device and before I even opened my mouth to him he began explaining its functions. When I choose to eat or drink I must switch the device onto the open mouth setting. He points to a picture that looks quite like pac-man on the go. If I am to lie down I must also adjust the settings on the device. He explained to me that a broken heart led to a massive malfunction of all of his bodily functions. Much like a machine I am bound to this device. Your sanctuary beckoned me like fresh breast milk to a new born. I decided not to pry on his broken heart because if he was to open himself anymore, irreplaceable pieces would begin to spill out in a chaotic mess. I beckoned him on to join the others in the communal tent. There we tasted the salty over cooked fat of the land.

The night of the planting began as any other. He sat in his office staring intently as always through a microscope. The dancing and rippling movement of their structure always made him content. As he started to drift, the two pink pieces began to shake and quiver under his acutely wrinkled eye. His mind pushed the image into existence. They now took the form of his wife and a young athletic looking man. His mind was still caught under the influence of his pre-work viewing. A sweet return home for a gentle kiss found him viewing a sculpture of muscle towering over his heart and as he tried to focus on the blur that was their bodies in motion his heart began to pump as fast and as hard, as the gentleman in front of him appeared to be, in the general direction between his wife’s legs. For a sort period work cradled him gently. His work consumed his thoughts. The evening was a blur of repetition and concentration. By 7:15 he heard the sound of compression as someone made his way towards his room. A middle aged man entered. His appearance reminded me of my friends father, who in our minds was a man who only feared his own appearance. His hair was frizzy and cry. His glasses marked out the ridges and crevaces on his long and winding nose. His voice was as if his nose was caught between his lip and his tongue. It was.

Maladica Man

http://vimeo.com/13529353

Maladica man,

What spore birthed you

Legs so wide – screaming passage

Walls run red as gravity takes hold of his head

Spiraling out of control

His sharp spine bursts its way out through the skin

The emotional cord is cut

He is no longer in.

Maladica man,

What took you so long

You could have ran straight out

Bald, you must have shaved

That would explain the razor sliced skin

Such a grand man,

I watch you extract yourself

Your tears touch and hold mine,

As you pull out lifeless you and I

The joy cut me clean,

as I placed the unborn in the machine

Twitching

Twitching

Twitching

The electricity pulses through his body

His spasms make him dance

I take my Maladica’s hand and we waltz into the night

Written: [16/12/2008 02:10]

Words: [owlwink]

Artwork: [nathancentury]