Verbalizer Apocalooptikon

The Mermaids Have Come to the Desert

The mermaids have come to the desert
They are setting up a budoir next to the camel
who lies at their feet of roses

A wall of alabaster is drawn over their heads
by four rainbow men
whose naked figures give off a light
that slowly wriggles upon the sands

I am touched by the marvelous
as the mermaids’ nimble fingers go through my hair
that has come down forever from my head
to cover my body:
a savage fruit of lunacy

Behold, the budoir is flying away
and I am holding onto the leg of the lovely one
called beneath the sea
BIANCA
She is turning
with the charm of a bird
into two giant lips
as I drink from the goblet of suicide

She is the angelic doll turned black
She is the child of broken elevators
She is the curtain of holes you never want to throw away
She is the first woman and the first man
and I am lost to have her

I am looking for the region
where the smoke of your hair is thick
where you are again climbing over the white wall
where your eardums play music
to the cat that crawls in my eyes
I am recalling memories of you BIANCA

I am looking beyond the hour and the day
to find you BIANCA

reading this I see the pictures made by the guy who illustrated Pratchett’s discworld books. here and there, vivid words, the chill.

I have learned about Christiania yeraz ago, at Polish university, when a guy of social politix played us propaganda videotape. I mean, twas right propaganda, tape was produced by and for Christiania collective. so I had the backround-)

the first night I came here I went to Christiania to buy some shit. marvellous herb I bought, by the name of ‘bubblegum’. and the next day (yesterday) I went to Christiania again. I walked Kobnhavn with Tony Rotten on my earphonez singing ’system is a vampire’ and sipping the
beer I came to neighbourhood of C. where undercover cops took me to seach my backpack und papers.

when they did let me go, I saw mild pacification od Pusher Street (the “main” street of Christiania where it is allowed to sell pot and hash. there is said to be no hard drugs in c. and the community takes care of the people who might be trying to sell hard stuff there). so I saw cops in heavy urban armours, with guns and all this shit, agents methodically devastating the stands with the grass and chocolade, confiscating goods and it was sad as fuck.

and there maybe was a spark of small riot, but it did not fire.

and among the audience behind police lines there was redhead talkative englishman on tha bike, very politically conscious, I got immediately sick of him and his slogans about legalization, about the state and police… fuck. the difference between us is: I come from the cuntry where police would beat the living shit out of anybody being present near during such an action. and here, I believe, nobody got hurt, few big bags of skunk were confiscated, policemenwomen were drinking water from plastic bottles in the front of curious crowd consisting mainly of disappointed tourists. “no pot?” not today honey. come back tommorrow.

what am I bitching about?
systemisavampire.
so what? shut the fuck up and get over it!
this is the title of my new book and my new therapy. inspired by dr dennis leary.
“shut the fuck up and get over it” by dr mkkele

peace\Love aus Kopenhagen

Great strength. Power. Health. Recovery from sickness.

Tremendous and steady force that cannot beshaken. Herculean strngth, yet sometimes scientifically applied. Great success, but with strife and energy. Victory preceeded by apprehension and fear. Health good, and recovery, yet doubt. Generous, questioning and curious, fond of external appearance, intractable, obstinate.

Loss of friendship.

An acute problem.

Love overcomes difficulties.

Admission of faults resolves problems.

Worries can be rationalized and hence dissolved.

the older I am the less I believe in people. today I finish the 32nd yera of my life. for yeras it seems to me that it is not possible to believe even less, but I always swallow this old trick: illusion of friendship plus sympathy equals endorfine rush; the time passeth, as the matters are gaining momentum, begin to expose their hidden order and KABOOM!: it is possible to believe / to care even less.

we differ from each other by the way and level of our awareness’ concentration on ourselves. sometimes our attention gets bogged down inside of us, making us introvertix longingly staring at the people, whose attention slips outside of them. those people, often devoid of the opportunity of autoinsight, they respond to our absent glance. the trees and the bracket fungis are flying through cosmic space. they collide with dry snap! and cling to each other for le olam amen. this is not the love this is not friensdhip, this is only the pattern in accordance to which the things follow the other things, occurrences occur simultaeously , after or before the other occurences.

all is ok as long as I remember about that. horryfying it is when the awatar turns out to be fucked up human being.
horryfying - when I begin to like awatars.
horryfying - when awatar begins to like me.

what is the wonder of ‘co-operation’ / love / friendship? this is the union, connection. for it to happen the necessary ingredient is BELIEF that we know that other person. only then we may estimate the potential / toxicity of a given relationship comparing our belief to universal measure: the foundation of every experience - honest and good mood. is it bad or would it help?

how can I be convinced of anybody when never will I know who’s the other human being? I see awatars.

“R34L1+Y 5uX pR0+3(+ yR d43MON, mang!”
this is the way I have been finishing my letters to one man, and after the years he hanged himself and died.

other man after the years of frienship fucked me out. the other one felt offended to death, while the other one swore I ruined his life and he’ll kill me.

posthuman larvas and human larvas. let there never be the peace.

for the most beautiful!