it must always be the living that die that
burn. that dutton rat that rat singing to rats
singeing cats. two dud buttons for eyes let
me count the ways that i would –
you know a politician cannot burn
they’re sprayed together from asbestos, old ash &
footrot. only the dis-possessed can sustain flames.
each layer of them removed – old stories. morrison
looks out his open top buttonhole like a schoolboy
mischievously cutting the genitals off the other children,
trading them for extra snacks in the lunch break.
i will decide on the razors to store on my body i will
hold my breath to hug you, those ghouls in the back room
joking another one bites the dust knowing they are the dust,
sticking splinters in your eyes, yeses echoing onwards
hold the rats in your mouth hold your nose they scurdle down.
we’ll keep saying the word dutton until it wears you down &
there’s nothing left, the name naming only a name, no
abject behind it, petrified gaze becoming dust you were and
dust you shall become, coughing in the face of the parliament
the like cures the like, the death cures the dead.



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Trying to say the th thing i can’T say can’t think
The c(h)at // The video
not available in my country in your country
You’re not my country this is not my tongue in my mouth
You’re not my friend, you can’t help me. I’m trying to  th ink
The secret, fuck off! Can’t you let me have my hole? Can’t.
You left in the system not a single hole out of which tot hink
In the system which is only holes, punched, th ebad way,
my eye gets bigger and my sight is getting smaller
oblong though, as in a kidney, anadrenal gland, or hair.
Looking at the inner side of my thigh as your thigh we
Decide to chew the violence. If I can’t bear to apply
the sufficient force will you do it for or to me? It will be my
Mercy, my bland heart.
I’m looking a the lake
I’m looking unde r the lake a t t he floor, at the how
The floor remains unclean de spit e the water and i rub
Mself on the waterd, on ist interface it shies away if i
Lok over the wat4r though, over the hill which leads the water
And conviinces it of s destiny, says here you are : you are here
Lovecates the water sees it ingo ist hole draws tis circle of tres
Around it on etwo three and so on untilthis is a rhythjm that
We cd dance tob t how can the sun be i dancing off the waters
Bruised face and also directl to me in my eyes with no medium
No difference betw inside and out, oft he thisd thigh,the
He says parataxis can’T do it and it si right he we ned the touching
Need to touch the face oft h efuture feel its hair, its ash. Slag,
synthetic dust, glimmering ember even lighting into the rainwork,
the roof of  t he building growing in wakefulness, everybodz trying
to remove themselves frm the situation, rooming w friends, where
ist he thought i wante to thing its hung there it is paring. You have to knife
it out of your thigh it is in the glands and can be discharged into the surroundings
th eshrubs and their shrews yes fucking sick them eat their flesh and make
them sick with your illness you made us all krank and we will turn your
cells the
joy of painting we’Re carrying your code now, it’S make up, made up,
we are your little rats you shouldn haf made the sewers wer un through
the servants we hast o eat them you left us nothing else we
had nothing tot hink with, limping thought, toward death, though i do lie,
my body does
welt in the suntime, eclipsed by a mirror, making up fr lost time and going
bakc to find it. Picking p th elost objwcts, what is in their spaces you sed
they are all thirsting spaces i poured water in to yr heart to give it but to drink
but if it could not but accept my gift. They put the property section right up the top
it was the only thing you could read, the clearance rates, zero vacancy,
they sold next to it, like it slipped from ist spott on the
monkey bar s the // article bout the family in gaza living with a bomb in their roof
for seven months, we must live with the bomb. They say. But you can’t look under the water
it burns your eyes
There’s a darker sun moving in front of the burning sun but all you see lol
Is ist thog
Ught, ugh
Look on lookin lookon

With honour, troll habrour and port of safety. Knock knochen, ist the po lice,
they’Re in your hair you cant get them out. Only with the help of a special
conscience, attention to  t he surface, in your body, repeating the movements,
a job looks like something you can ear but it makes your eats hurt,electricpain in the wrist, wearable , youre not ready, you can’t take tot he skies
their pathetic logic, i wanted a langueg in which the image would focus
make langue as a lens, le  tip of the needle passes along a shelf of vertebral bone,
piercing the vein, haemolising the sample, the red cells have ruptured, imparting
a pink colour to the blood plasma. Sample corrupt, the colours fail to fit
your expectations, they bend. Side-on, failing to find the entry poiit, boil
the water, watch the tea crud, curdle, rebellion.



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a drone is fun because we take the death out and put the fun in
grr grr grr grr, jump in the water to save the object that you are,
you love sour, you love your motherobject. wer früher stirbt ist
länger tot. in the lager. the name is the magic thing that when you
use it twice it breaks its chains. the chains are the magic things
that when you break them twice they form their name. around your
neck. can you say it twice? can you say to let you breath? can you
speak the language of release? it’s a tongue that curls its cues and
fucks its news. why the big mouth? you say you love freedom but
you have no teeth. is your face long because we drew it. sad clown
dies on the ground the leader the leader the leader the leader the leader
of the fret whorl has no strength. i remember when it was a great event
because i possess the gift of memoire involunitaire i eat the cheeks of
little schoolgirls and it all floods back, the ones from the good families
the floods from the early days, how did they get all those animals on the boat
and how did they get all the visas processed on-time. you wonder how, when
you’re cramping, so much the other can have the ball, and the bait can have
the fish. i poked your eye until it bled and the blood caused a rash. chill out
in your sores. lay a gurken over the socket. if i say i am then i am. solid. if
you say you are then we’ll check it in the files. the courageous run from the buildings
the courageous lead the march. the courageous shoot from the hip. the courageous
melt from the heart. don’t drink it don’t drink it don’t drink it it puts extra on your hip.
at the checkpoint they ask your name but you know it’s a joke, they have no flash boxes
picture or it didn’t happen picture or it didn’t happen picture or it didn’t happen
but when you smell it starts from the nose, or the intestine, you have bacteria
in you of a special kind that traces your herkunft, but i can see the figures on
the horizon, no yet integrated into the land, but they will be, the skin at the lower
corner of the stomach will start to blister, you know it’s happening, you can smell
the orifice, it belongs to us. we started it, we started it, we started it. and we’ll finish it.

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propaganda of the dead, their rigorous tongues stressing fitfully, they shy their languid eyes from us, us being held as a lien. we cannot eat in their presence, we still believe in respect, sometimes we think we are alone until we lift our gaze, and their vacuumed lids fall onto us. we cannot find the message amongst the medium. the white lace and the promises. placing our ears on their sunken chests, drawing fluid from their lungs to make the tea, the liquid must undergo multiple transfers to take on value and flavour. all talk of the future is criminal, a cyst on the side of the eye. we are walking already. we have only just begun. we refuse to speak to the dead, they know what happened to them, they know what happens to us. the knowing draws them out, colours their edges. there is no transgression of their lines. we have learnt the rhythms of those who oppress us. they were able to suspend their heritage, and we have taken it on. they placed their pulse in our palms. their husked breath edges. we have become embolised. we are discussing what to do and it bruises us. we listen to the rasping, the work of literature. they have finely shaped heads and masses of black curly hair, their lips disclose collections of perfectly formed teeth, they are our gravestones. this is the time of the tooth, how it breaks.

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los filósofos comen las cabezas de los jóvenes. pero por

aquél entonces, no había fechas ni horas, así que la gente

tenían pocos hijos y morían lentamente. y si

tuvieron uno o una, pues es poco, es chico o chica. solo

hay que darle un poco de comer cada día, pero

los días se van pareciendose el uno al otro, es que no hay

fechas, sabes, sin relojes por completo. y te

va a parecer paradoja, si sabes lo que significa eso, pero

el Viejo que trabajaba en el portal, todavía trabajaba

y ya había trabajado. cristo no había nacido, así que

todavía no había fechas, sabes, no hay fechas, no hay

por qué apurarse, si no hay fechas, y los bebés vienen

como miel, aullando dulcemente, es que ya había y

todavía estaba. no hay por qué morir en una situacíon

semejante, no hay pa tanto, es así, así es, o era, o será.

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ich habe nie geld gekostet
da, ganz hinten im hals, ist es
gut, locker, es kann dort mit dem
sauerstoff einmischen, am besten.
O, O, ja das geht
ab. hab n haufen münzen
auf deine augenlider gelegt, wie sie
singen. ein käse aus fünfer auf die brüste.
es schmeckt dir es schmeckt dir es schmeckt
mir es schmeckt ihr sie schmeckt ihm er
schmeckt ihn ab ab ab ab ab ab.
du fragst was mein métier sei, sei sie
so gut, seien sie so nett, junger mann,
da oben gibts einen jungen mann, denken sie,
sie sind die selben? bzw. dasselbe, bzw.
es gibt keine beziehung mehr, es ist vorbei. breakup breakdown.
ich fragte den jungen tag, der kam gelaufen,
angesiedelt. wie kann er so spät sein und trotzdem
doch so jung! und dann noch so schön. die feinen
züge der Trümmern. wir entschieden dann mehrwert
zu werden und blieben dabei. sie meint wir
seien bloße figuren worauf sie spießige
representationsmuster malen dürfe. wir
verweigern die verewigten formen. das hier
ist ein eingeschriebener brief ich kann es beweisen
es ist ein gleichnis.

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I think
cigarettes burn faster
in the winter night air
where there is winter
and where there is night.
only in the singular
are objects distinguished
from humans. rumpled.
they give off their vapour
give up. they fall in. it
falls in. it occurs. an idea
matters. that’s what history is.
only having to teach something
you read it. what would be a more
proper word for a vacuum cleaner?
a dust sucker. but then you’re back
in the past. a loss, again.
pushing cooking salt into the veins.

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zur anwendung in der mundhöhle

me being with people
people seeming the rock.

just because your dad notes
deference doesn’t mean the rock
will rescind. absconding the tennis
court, swearing, you look to the future and
see the extension of the suffragette, bis hin zu
subjection. to DISMEMBER the violence
of a state as a blackhead, a head which
someone else has to wear… we thought the
only sensate left was the message shortening,
systematic victims, sacrificial lamb kebab, avec sharp sauce,
in your eye, burning all the way through to the sun.
you ask the god what’s left of the marinade. immagine
povero, podemos hacerlo. nos preguntamos si la
magia enferma, la enfermera nos atendará, en los
escombros, la playa rastreada, pequeños cuerpos, de niñeza,
escuadrónes de ladrillos, todo
perdido, los pedazos de pan, también robados. congenial to the
bourgeoisie I made myself, bien fabriqué, applied the vile
chose freedom, froze the cheese.
you take refuge in the cavity of the mouth. this
is the end of the world if you put it in latin. that’s
how you make the people disappear, their dangled or
cloistered appendages, upending the thrust of democracy.
Lack of lustre before the authorities, you strip
at the kitchen table, turn all of your flesh inside out and
we get the point.

Truth is telling the object
it does look good in this. The Hausarzt identifies another
symptom of realism: it doesn’t look good, sagt er. «Putain!»
you think. This thing has no observable gender, so, a good positivist,
you rubs it on your skin to see if it takes a sheen.
You smells it, you drinks it down and throws it up and the little bits rise in the cup,
they catalyse.
Saturnine vision, flaccid melancholia narrowing
the bronchial passages. You sold your labour and now you want it back
(typical rule of faust). But it belongs to all of us now, has become our web.
Your lover discovers, all this time you’ve been
working for the state, smuggling in aircraft parts to give them aerial supremacy,
giving up the names of your colleagues. They trusted you and for that they
lost your respect // Sex could be like that too, but it would be rough – Like,
how do you take a snapshot of a contradiction? How do you catch a lad
and tie it down? How do you solve a problem like Sharia? Hating
them intro hatred. IF somebody doubts your loyalty, kill someone else,
someone lower, and then kiss them. Kiss them listfully. Suffer the passion.
But, you’re still an exile even after they invite you back.
The exes catch in the skin.
Things remain in the gate.
Everyone turns up late, expecting everyone else to
turn up late.
Homeopathic //
wardroning //
Dumblife //
Leaking through the seams
and eating into the dermis. Caterpillars on stilts; all of them, sulking. Motzing us on,
mobbing us with their ‘love’.
Speaking with my lilted tongue, at the stroke of ten, looking for the remote control for
breakups, trading in dead batteries to join the team.
outside, the country you were born in is eating its pauvres,
which you assume is a kind of peach. deglacé,
es kann noch schief gehen. c’est toujours possible.

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holding the weapon asking you to step down
holding the fish the fashion the club the bushknife
someone has fallen there are spun sheets spunned
the bodies giving slightly in the dark the polis hold
ing the arm the lower leg cutting our teeth rubbing
a face against the mesh we saw it come down from
on high and it was rectitude, it was the right, it was
right there, we couldn’t recognise it for the wounds
the path had smudged over. the angels leave no
footprint backing off from the catastrophe, asking
the assailant to put down the arms. the forms are
looser than before, they have no history. the violence
is a myth it is mythic. the mirth is violent, is violet, is
mauve, lilac, wisteria, bluerain, jacaranda, heliotrope.
swirling and mottling on the flesh, more blood spills
from the neck, transferring to the soil, mulberry,
blackberry, jamming the sign, tasting the paste, and
discerning a direction. passioning, the Byzantium,
bleating before the announcements, there is no
comment to make, just cement on the sand on the livers.

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doff one’s chapeaux to the gesturalists. peau à peau.
no scandal left on the cheek, flushing out the trad

itionalists. a table of elements, trying to explain a
practice with a cotton real, a wool principle. never

a false thread. stepping around the failure of narr
ative, a scar, but no erotics, saving every cent on

the neck of the mountain. converting a nose into
a haptic organ. hap, hap, happened. already rec

ognising the prior occupation. it is felt in the death
drive. along the coast, from siegeville to slaughter

town. funny stuff. platypus has only one foyer
and no concierge to manning. giving a quarter of

a bagel, only the centre, the monotreme nuzzling thru.
in the dream explaining sex to you you walking off.

kitchen memory, needing dough and a visa, a wedding.
the future of lyrics. if you look at the image, it event

ually takes its parts apart and you become a part of
that. segue warfare. attach a new subject-maker to an

old dirt-stick. watch the bodies hit the ground, but
provide a cushion, always provide a cushion, always pro


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