A ghost not content on inhabiting a body. A ghost wanting to be free, to lurk in space not occupied by shapes and flesh, bone and blood. To be the mist on a brackish lake, a dark cloud consuming the sky, a hint of wind in an autumns dusk, as the bloodlust man searches for wondering sex. Tie up the animal, hunt the witches, live off the rape of the world tonight.
Vedersexen animal love, cynclistic and the flies above, decaying masses of tattered flesh, weaved together a veil of mesh. Sinister Sinister bondage chains, drug induced hemroidal rage. Has the ghost not escaped this poor murdered being?
Skin spots, colored dots, Los Hooligans ride at dawn.
Like some two-bit, shady meat trader from the metropolis' city docks, she wields and hacks bits of sushi from her festering cunt. With lumps of infected oracles they are off to sea. In the land of unwanted sexual organs, lumpy cocks move in the wind like trees, pubic hair sprouts like grass between the infertile fields of vagina; orifices and anal cavities, defecate and orgasm and water the fields and feed the cock trees.
They called my name.
In my hour of slumber I awoke, looked through a vortex, looked through a tunnel and saw sixty hundred and sixty six heads floating in the air. This December air frigid. There’s a blanket of snow on the ground stained with urine and semen, the delicate cocktail of the dying man. Inside my mouth the icy love. I am intoxicated and ill and hungry for the hunt to continue. Engaged in battle with history’s hero’s and villains; settle the score by torching them all to ash on this frozen ground. Another mound to urinate and ejaculate on and send into the air and ground as pieces of future disappear. I want to hear the soundtrack to the snow, a melody for the dark dark winter. And the blood flows, like rivers through the streets.
In this dusk as the sun turns black, flesh from the mud, carnivorous camp.
A ghost not content on inhabiting air. All mortal souls collapse in freezing squalls and ocean fronts.
We will have nothing left when death takes us Leave behind a mark of time a mark of lies goodbye
I will confirm the stitches that hold together the mangled flesh from around your third nipple syntax waves ignite brain spasms that exhale onto the pale faced angelic touch of her dying mortal soul, entrails line the floor and you follow it like a path until you find the room of your lustful thoughts. Mingle with the fuck creatures of your mummified desires and die like the ghost with no body and no content.