The dying sight

5

Did you feel the thunder

Inside a man?

Did you touch the wave

Inside a woman?

Did you ask the non-b

How is it to not

Crave around the two

But mould and growl

On other clays?

The year is dying again

The cry is fading again

So much flesh, blood and skin

So much ocean under the sun

Afloat is the uncanny

The Threshold...
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Again I look, Again I tremble

3

Again I look, Again I tremble

shining boudoir of

mystic ensemble:

the gloomy witch

the feroucious mistress

and the rusty pimp

all blended

in sadian justness.

Again I struck, Again I grumble

soggy orgy of moaning distance

whatever occur

occured for the Mistress

While me, the slave, the actor,

the barbarian kermesse

in a salty flesh of bustle

I'll be your divertissment

in your castle...
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Exstasy: becoming-machine (III)

3

The Whirring body
Of clutching chunks
Of metal
Where I unload
And feed
The other part of
My body
Is calling you:
Crevices of rampant desire
Are made out of rectangular
Bosoms of light:
The blue landscape,
The pink shire
The pharma-porno regime
A security device
Where all my every-day
Calmly stream
Every interaction are
A little slip
A little traction toward
Another good
(Memory...
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INner MATter

3

If outside

In the mirror

There's no blank canvas

But inside

In the fleshness

There's no rock semblance,

May I inhabit

A network of

Differentiating

Organs out of bodies

Or bodies without organs

that

Multiply and resist

Along lines of intense

Informations;

Non-linear communal

Biological existences

Uproaring and blurring

The material conditions.

Mind melt in brain

And pain sulk and lie

The exposure exposure exposure...
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Exstasy: galloping sorrow (II)

5
I can take all your sorrow
Through my exposure
And stuck it all in a word
That could
Glow
In the black of my throat
And then blame
All the morrow
Darkening
In the light of your words
But finally
You have to remember
That I'll be the wound, the spell
And the sound
And in a turf, a field
A lullabyng abyss
Of rusty...
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silky:
<3 beautiful words. love it

The Antechamber of Pegging

4

No nuclear regime

On your violet-thighs

Could bring my butt

In the Trembling light

As the black poppy

Hyper-clito

Of sinking dreams

That linger weirdly

Swindling

All my guts

To the point of no return

No norm, no hygienic fear

Nor slur or blurb

Can set me back

To my hetero-stack

Only performances

And bio-queens

And drag-pimps

Of blurring femmes

And lustful glitches

Can restore...
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Critique of the Modern Subject (I)

3

"As Nietzsche tells the stort, the modern subject finds its genealogical origins in the values born of the ressentiment of the weak who are unable to discharge their will. The slaves' values are essentially reactive; that is "slave morality from the outset says No to what is 'outside,' what is 'different' what is 'not itself', and this No is its creative deed". Christianity then alters...
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VIEW 3 of 3 COMMENTS
ulianov:
My only answer to this @swoon4heart is just to read more (because this excerpt is full of technical references that have little to do with your understanding) and to do a journey: The Camino to Santiago is the best example, but if it's too far away from your economic possibilities, find other places. Most of the world is made of inhumane things that we don't understand. Naked body, tattoed or not, are just part of this whole smoldering world as xilophagous and anti-matter, and all sorts of very peculiar animals that manage to live in Antarctica. Here we can deconstruct the male-gaze, the standards of beauty, the power relations, the gender norms and so on and so on, there we can dissect the adapting of life, the complex network of organisms in action. The thing that links all this is that there is no link, there is only at the end of all of it, Death. And the abyss between this world-in-itself that we will never know and the world-for-us that we will ever build is the world-without-us: a world of speculation, of inquiry, of obsessed endeavour where car-accident can mix with eroticism and postmodern accelerationism, a world where we can actually touch, or try to touch, the inhuman as an hidden world, not behind or elsewhere, but here, displayed in front of us, perfectly visible and perfectly ungraspable.
swoon4heart:
If I was in shape, I would love to be on the show “naked and afraid” ...also I don’t really worry about things that are inhaman. I think vegans should start farms and provide us with meat. Until they do I am not going to be upset over slaughter houses... 💦🐒😇

Exstasy: becoming-Butler (I)

5

Truly is the womb a Killing Lackness?

Surely is the cock a Ruthless Sameness?
Over and over
Moaning in Freud's ass
And Lacan's eyes
In Irigaray's hands
And Bataille's lies
All the sweating bodies
Are staring those guys?
All the decaying kids
And the screaming nannies
Are moving
With the dance
Of the Phalluses?
Upside down the flesh
Is talking
No truth can be produced...
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helenawinn:
keep going
ulianov:
@helena_winnowill thanks

Of Hospitality and it's inner reality (I)

5

To explore the nocturnal side of the speech- of the human discourse - you can go beyond the obsession for silence or the gutting of the day, the visible and the memory. To explore the nocturnal side of the speech can mean to reach the plains of the other without shipping through the axis of science or the mountains of philosophy but only to drink...
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One out of milions

5

And then you die. Afterward you wake up in an empty city, an empty planet, full of cities, roads, bacteria and the usual human's horrors plaguing the landscape. But you are completely alone, facing the Unknown as if it is a discharghed battery machine. A world that keep going in its direction, a post-human world without any apocalypse that just lives under our skin, under...
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