Wednesday, December 23, 2009

015: Sinews

Scarab cult.
Verbs veer out of reach.
Translation loss, transient.
This is forever
and forever is a sound no one can hear.
Unsight to see, electric
words to smash elemental bricks
(current divine).
It never leaves us.
Sublime subliminal stream.
Universal archive coded
in characters and stages,
in love frames and liquid purges.
Wood and iron, astral signs.
Corpsing templates
found in flamboyant carrion.
Pinhole trepanation,
viole(n)t physician recipe.
Horseback ride bell ring.
Are we avid readers of cookbooks,
do we know why our feet keep kissing the soil,
can we see the ant farmer?
Only when I'll slip in sleep
will the light take shape.

014: Tide

I cherish the thaw as an exercise in reconciliation,
as a melody of familiar footsteps from beyond the veil of Maya,
pillars of possibilities cemented against program pliers.
Bouts of crystal apocalypse conjoined quietly
with sips of shadow dissent.

The milk android lives in my marrow mansion,
shielding me in her cinnamon sarcophagus
and crooning fragrance of diving star electricity.
The seconds before dawn mire the rotation,
inverted telescoping decree, conquering Fergana.

Teeth sink into seabeds of secrecy where the line fades
out of sight, solids dissolve, hot conduits from ground zero.
Butcher's block corrosion swirling into cables of the supraterranean
can never withstand the scissors of angelic Orcus,
for I claim this day as my own.

Sunday, December 13, 2009

013: Strangers make the best confessors

Pack warm clothes, for cold winds blow outside.
Whence does this burning lash come,
this canyon eroded in eons of overcast days?
The beast whips remorselessly with utmost love,
chaotic crimson latticework drawn in moist teguments
forms patterns of collapse dragging lead appendages;
truth floats on alcohol, just as ghostships master the Sargasso Sea,
northwards, westwards, mere futile occasions to raise frail bars,
to restrain an angelic weather wake
and erect cornerless cubes of conceptual composite
from the crystallized discharge of primeval volcanoes.
Stone upon stone, arranged in obsessive perfection,
resins of damnation to topple ingrown ziggurats
of millenarian guilt, the care of wolfen mothers displayed,
a riddle of roads that lead from the absolution peak.
The outback forgot long ago the warmer neighbors of null,
a lonely light flashing from the lime hut
of a propaganda poster painter.

Monday, December 7, 2009

012: Schiele's phalanges

Gazing at the back my hand I noticed
callus ergs and martian riverbeds,
a record of elusive fixtures
and driftwood surfing accidents,
from underneath, ink-dipped dendrites report
shards of reversed prescience.

I feel the hiding bones;
tension reflects, tactile errand redirects.
I forget my words yet asterisks still stick,
cenotaph signs pointing to cavern footnotes.
Between resilent brackets,
the surface still cloakes an imperfect geoid,
eggshells still remain statutory husks.

Erase the blackboard with the rusted nails
of your left hand;
rewind the hours, but the pendulum swings ever lower,
under the weight of perched night flyers.
Finger zigzags across the sternum,
scratching pits of battery acid drops,
where anticlimactic trilithons and silent towers
lead the way to the fountain.

Thursday, December 3, 2009

011: Midas and Mausolos

Spiral towards crush depth
from the heavenly cage of no convection,
lulled by rusted cogs' soundtrack.
The echoes of stones I threw into the eyewalls
strayed on drumhead fossils,
deaf end streetlights spoke through blister apertures
and a glint waltzed in infrared,
tracing a gradient ascent on freezer rainslopes
from the caverns of tungsten stars.
Photosynthetic folk, I'd clear your molds with blades of shade
to reveal the shining amber beneath fallen leaves,
hidden in the asphalt of roads that lead below.
Monstrous reflection ingrained I wish to excise,
so grant me a beacon scalpel to collapse the wall
between foundations and utopian recipes of the dividing word.
I appropriate the inverted sea to sail upon
to timeless finisterres of combustion momentum
and heartblood blossoms no thieving hand can reach.
Beyond mountain shields and screaming air, one day
gravity will be but a memory.

Monday, November 16, 2009

010: Perfect day

Sunshine and sand and the waves' murmur,
the warm light spelled the doom of all winters.
Liquid gold, reclining in the breeze
defined swaying contours in my eyes.

Lying still,
we were treading in the footsteps of angels
and you whispered the rhyme of a secret stairway,
but I could not decypher the words.
Weightless colossi above bore witness to the moth,
dancing on a silent tune.

On that day, the sapling could hold root no more,
but time washed and withered the consequences
'til there was just sunshine and sand and the waves' murmur.

[written sometime around January '09]

009: Sound the trumpets, now and forever

Prodromal cloud crash annunciation of immaterial dead weight plunge
is the name of the game the last two deathmatch hunters play at dawn,
while the pink arc-light rainbow seeps in, unnoticed until it's too late.
I wonder, do you think of me when I'm transfixed in the dark,
dissociated in motionless levitation, dreaming of personal teleportation devices?
I assigned letter sequences deceptively void to haunting cyclone eyes;
haste the polaroids, before the armies of gray march in.
Caress these reflected features with your butterfly wings,
render the rest useless, as obvious to all but the wandering mind.
Whose house harbors some pirate's map to utopia,
whose compass points to the photonic womb?
They stretch for miles indeed, a survey of these silent battlefields reveals.
But your lips are petals of the universe, folds of time nailed still,
our silvery delirium mist bell will shatter the concrete walls of Jericho.

Tuesday, October 27, 2009

008: Soft tones / Fall

She's as beautiful as the world within me,
paralyzed I watched, overruling the disturbance of breathing.
Such pores echo the dunes of dried seas,
bleeding gold, speared through fumy clouds,
resound from granite spires to the gravity spine;
disconnecting, diving in acrylic caves,
twin lakes of ice would swallow me, a perfect end,
sublime stabbing joy in kingship of the blind.
It's where tongues are still - for names defile
and fragments of silence from the first dawn
shimmer among dewdrops, as comets trace auburn trails
tense tectonic fingers witness.
She's an icon of insomnia in a cathedral of sleep,
worshipped in masses of weary hours,
image engraved in timeless spheres of void,
wordless rapture in the garden of wrought iron roses,
in conduits of scarlet flow, a life alive,
the ever burning fire.

Wednesday, October 14, 2009

007: All is as it should be

Devil's name cast in the beams and girders
of opaque exoskeletons,
gaps walled up by eclipse bricks
to dent the edges of the cube,
to dim granite sentiment
born of friction floods
and asymptotes of pining.
These windshields hide seed banks of doubt,
glacial deserts where nuclear steeds roam,
the light from a frail singularity,
encased in soot, fragrant of earth,
crossed in flesh, a theater of war
where erratic contractions count
to the tribulation of starbirth.

Tuesday, July 14, 2009

006: Solar maximum

Only two digits in the number of the beast,
the former, wrought in mental frameworks
since the litter broke,
the latter, opaque and all-containing.
Two digits in geological sequence
compress hearts to metronomes,
as Munck foretold, trains derail
like dominoes, the silence of creation.
These sins are futile,
milk spills forth to quell the storm.
Heartwood yearns for blood and iron,
to redeem in sole reflection.
Burn, burn, before it's too late.

[last line taken from the lyrics to Anorexia Nervosa's "Drudenhaus Anthem" by RMS Hreidmarr]

005: They never forget to knock

Rewrite history, tear down the pages,
erase the blood with spit,
order matchsticks in a cell block box unwittingly,
for grandfather clocks ask no questions.
How many grins do you spot in the mirror,
when your lysergide's bled dry?
Order another drink,
assert you'd make a better god.
Immaculate, a human game on rice paper,
still high on habitual flogging of the hound,
tar of love bubbling below.
Never a shovel around when holes spring like mushrooms;
you'd waste the kiss of life on soundless medicine.
See, the dawn creeps in, go fetch a lighter.

Wednesday, May 13, 2009

004: Ode to error

October shower in May,
a quaint natural echo
to the gravitational pull
of a brewing comedown,
for the historic quandary discards
the scribblings of fools,
leaving a palimpsest of lesions
on ragged shoulders
locked in restless vigil.
I seek a virtual North
following a delusive compass
that only shows the Nadir,
storming inner reaches for an obole
to bribe the drunken helmsman.
The words I loathe to say,
pounding their syllables on my door,
no golden thread available
to sew their lips silent,
a mobster's offer, this bitter cup.

Friday, May 8, 2009

003: Girl with a sprained knee

Be hazard or astral moment,
this bright spark on the radar.
Pin in the pattern tracing graceful lines,
dismal attention span subdued;
jet black irides trapping portals
to potential paradigm shifts.

A gentle move strips the brick mask
to reveal a vibrant canvas
of protruding light in brownian motion,
the basalt backdrop eclipsed by frail marble
bred on cherry blossoms and solar flares.
Advance inexorably to subsequent meek cathexis.

Wednesday, May 6, 2009

002: Untitled

Moss corona nailed to the victor's shield
carried by children of the wind;
he rests on their shoulders as assumed king, crowned to Hades,
writing erotic literature with stilettos,
the cracked canvas held atop the Everest of his word
for all and none to see.

001: Motel

Come in, sternly wearing consequence,
to white noise and the smell of rain,
cowards and braves waltzing together
to the gift of sleep we all share.

Yet a mosquito looms in baby's room
and God's eyelids keep resting low;
carry on trying to strike a match,
tucked from the trickling monsoon.

Before wings are granted, one last thing to do.

Friday, January 23, 2009


A useless, silly but fun game of inserting the word 'blog' into various album titles. This is what slacking does to people (and the slight hangover is the icing on the cake, he he). So, here we go:

Reign in Blog
Like an Ever Flowing Blog
In Darkness There Is No Blog
The Left Hand Blog
The Inalienable Blogless
The Shape of Blog to Come
Around the Blog
Blog Downfall
The Blog Album
Butchered at Blog
A Blog in the Northern Sky
De Mysteriis Blog. Sathanas
New Obscurantis Blogger
We Are Blog Fukk You
Anticapital / Blogspot
There Was Blog Everywhere
Failures for Blogs
Given to the Blogging
The Number of the Blog
Blog Recollections
Morbid Blogs / The Blogger's Return
Never Mind the Blogs...

In other news, there will be some serious posts coming soon.

Monday, January 5, 2009

...and credits

Credit is due to the Large Pictures site for the header image which I cropped from one of their gorgeous cloud pictures. For the original and more check out

First words

Inaugural post. Nothing of much substance to say/type yet, just cutting the ribbon and smashing the champagne bottle.

To whomever stumbles upon this blog, welcome. This is an outlet for personal miscellanea in an attempt to quell the tempest raging inside my skull, so I don't expect it to last very long or be of interest to many people, it's something I'm doing this mostly for myself. Content will (hopefully) be added shortly, though I don't have a very clear idea what exactly it's gonna be; initially I was planning on posting some poems (I'm probably flattering myself by using such a term, I know) both in English and Romanian (my native language), there might be drawings, photos, we'll see. I'll try to make it as aesthetically pleasing as possible.

Anyways, since it's a fresh year, best wishes for 2009. Now go listen to some grindcore.