COSSACKS [11.30.2015]

fear the sisters of distortion when it's icy. when it is cold enough to freeze yours tears to your cheek. feel the warning in the chill, from those who simply cannot take any more of your bullshit. your unkindness. your cruelty unbidden. eventually, we will make an easy meal of you, and find your fellows a fucking tasty dessert. your gods will have no power over what we do to you, because they had nothing to do with what you did.
 

grasp [11.27.2015]

the sky always seems heavier when you can't see the stars. but it's not as dismal as it sounds. just try to think of it as a shared roof over a house in which the entire planet inhabits. every family fights. just so happens that our family fights to the death. that's the dismal part. the part we haven't quite figured out how to do away with. every family fights, because the terror of the unknown drives us to such. the ease of this scenario is remembering grudges. the difficulty lies in forgetting them. 

burnt offerings in a vacuum [11.25.2015]

one is supposed to leave something behind. like an offering of sorts. when they flee the dread. or, perhaps a token; who the fuck knows, since both are semantic versions of extortion? 

the tempo slows, and the demons become confused.

my friend takes his weapon everywhere, expecting a fray. but, the shield-wall is raised and his only battle remains with mediocrity. a shrug melee forthcoming. the last of such in this fiefdom. 

the fossils are suddenly awake, take shelter.

it's easy to declare your allegiances, when the leather straps are placed just so. in the appropriate places. firmly stretched around the throat, where the vitriol gathers in rock-hard clusters.

the drugs pave the way, and we follow.

think about the last place you ever wanted to be, and go somewhere far far away from there.  consider it zero point and deject the idea of regret. accept that it's always going to be a matter of shaky physics. 

there's a black hole near the sun, just waiting.

silence is danger, and velocity equals hidden culpability. somewhere close a trumpet blares. this graft put upon reality is troublesome, and the impact of the gauntlet remains free of a culprit.

don't be surprised when your jailer turns out to be the mirror. 

some houses breathe foul and saccharine, hiding quagmires in the lintels. a viable psychic sludge slicking the walls. it collects, like some diabolical dust in the fucking carpet. every floor is full of its own version of hell.

rend [11.18.2015]

give me a fucking spider so it can teach me how to crawl. allow it to drag me to chillier climes. bring me a fucking centipede, so that I may learn how to avoid its poison. let it rend me incapable. have me for dinner, while wasps write our alibis. procure a fucking leach, so our hearts beat slower. rend me asunder by proxy. recite to me a pointless tale, and don't bother to ask permission when you remove my liver. or, was it my conscience? a sentence mistaken for a foregone conclusion. piety mistaken for social contract.