The Art of Absolution

“…has all the horrors of a romance, the sexiness of a thriller, and the suspense of a broken clock”

[art-of-absolution]

GREATER

Even a child with a pocket full of chocolate stars can tell you – nothing is great if something is greater.

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[art-of-absolution]

STEERING

I release my grip from the steering wheel, just to release myself from the guilt of suicide

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[art-of-absolution]

DISTRACTION

“Where were you last night?” She stood there, scratching the side of her thumb, looking to her feet, staring at her shoe, willing one to untie for distraction.

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[art-of-absolution]

SEEN

You’ll learn one day, when the world ignores your efforts. The most valuable resource in this world is being seen.

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[art-of-absolution]

TOO MUCH

It’s all too much isn’t it? All that muchness, too much of it. Too much muchness. Don’t mind a bit of much, because I certainly wouldn’t want to have no much at all. But there is definitely too much muchness.

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[art-of-absolution]

PASSION

Do you know what passion is? It’s not some hippy love festival of flowers, dancing, making daisy chains and those cute little notes you leave around the house reminding your partner how romantic you can be. Passion is fire, it’s desperation; it’s a clawing in your throat right down to your heart, like a gritty belligerent need for life when you’re already alive! An imploding tapping, like a clock that’s rapping, in the hunger of a silent scream, scratching, clawing, massacring every now tainted enclosure.

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[art-of-absolution]

ANIMALISTIC

…a devilishly craving of ravenous need; a sordid thrust of lust, as rapist thoughts clawed her rationality leaving her nigh quivering and short of breath, as every dire pant became a traitorous teasing releasing steadily a flood flushing and crushing her down to a core of animalistic desire, want, and need, to rip, to claw, to take.

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[art-of-absolution]

DISFIGUREMENT

…trapped in limited shades of disfigurement, layered on layers of layers, spiralling through an existential daydream where neither I nor he nor they formed anything other than treason to reason

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[art-of-absolution]

IRRELEVANT

My name is irrelevant, it always has been, never noticed, never seen. Because I believed them, I believed them all. I built a dreamland; a haven. I built a wall. I developed a hunch because I looked to the floor – there lay all my hopes and dreams, there lay nothing more.

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[art-of-absolution]

FAMILY

All of space and time is balanced on a rhythm of lemons and lime, a puppet-master’s elusive rhyme, of a precarious design, now ponders from the bottle of cheap red wine.

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[art-of-absolution]

REQUIEM

Requiem furnished flood in blood – cometh, nothing, but singular thud

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[art-of-absolution]

PLAYGROUND

Bulbous mocking playground maggots now swim in the pus of the festered blisters they formed. The lugubrious cries of a falsely glorified foetus feed their curious fetish. My skin stretched, clawing away the smeared mucus to get a tear, “Hey! He’s retarded in there” – They Squirt, they phlegm, a gesturing secretion, for those that don’t compare – and the little fuckers are everywhere!

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[art-of-absolution]

DIE

…define winning before you throw the dice

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[art-of-absolution]

TIME

The lapse of the pulse remains irrepressible with blackness melded and shades inexpressible, the infinite infinite compressed into nought and measured by that of sight and thought. Hours, years, and centuries all rhyme – it’s the rhythm of life, the rhythm of time.

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[art-of-absolution]

RESIGNED

Against a backdrop of black where stars are splat, rivalled in beauty against a moon that’s fat, I wonder and drift in mind, as I dance in solitude, blissfully resigned, blissfully renewed. Do you notice the stars that litter above? – It’s like a wash of death that’s splattered with love.

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[art-of-absolution]

NOTEBOOK

Notebook, pages fall – burdening ink – pages drink – like of blood as fibres link – words over words over words they sink. Vandalising every charge of reason, in a game of logical treason, like just another, and another, and another curve round a curve of never-ending curves. Temporal contractions, time in fractions, layers of reactions, pluses and subtractions, a pulse of present, and past, and future. A theory of B theory of a wiggly stringy spiralling thingy that goes round and round and round in a straight line! Tick tock tick tock ticky tocky fucking swinging pendulum, death! Clock! An abundancy of inconsistencies, they mock, screaming for assimilation, answers, theories, a man of many men infesting the head. Sense they gnaw, more and more! To whom listen? To whom me?

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[art-of-absolution]

JUDGEMENT

Its the Torturing Reminiscence on a past of divorced reaction Awakens surging regret that beams Reflections in fraction No follow Fascist Religion and I’m anarchist to Government But the Cross that consorts fear casts a doubt on my judgement With believe hostility aside along with my loathing of mankind I am in-part apprehensive of What God’s jury will find?

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