He smashed
my ego-driven desires
in their tracks

because I asked for it.

He took apart disoriented,
frenzied magnets
and injected them
directly into my heart

because I asked for it.

He reminded me
that connection
is a now feeling
rather than a needing

while I Am just being

while the warm flesh
in my chest is steadily


And so it is.


The act of existence
is creation.
Prying closed eyes open
following a death-like slumber
pours colour and form
onto the canvas
of this dream.
Infusing electrical signals
from sweat-laden skin
into the atmosphere
that we insist we live in.
The act of existence
is creation.
Perceiving people
walking tall
walking low
when they aren’t even there
simply placed in my frame
by my consequential stare.
All this green
that swims in the wind
itching for nothing
since it knows
that it does not know
well it conspires against
the usual way of being
when the usual way of being
is to claim to know
The act of existence
is creation.
Convert my imaginary DNA
into something more expansive
than the space that it is said
to live in
while becoming alive
at the very same time
while all cells thrive
on the thoughts
that they inhabit
invading the privacy
of their own microscopic planets.
The act of existence
is creation.
So when we create
we are extending
our Selves
beyond the boundaries
that aren’t even there
our tendrils stretching out
with hearts and genitals
laid bare
Every act of creation
is the only reason we live.


keep an eye on this frenzy

keep the light on this crumbling

of the knees

while the sun lights up every synapse

and every spark in between


claw at me



complete the last steps

of the puzzle piece


repeat nothing

be everything


your value judgements

mean nothing to me

at least my immature, novice style

is mine


ejaculate in slow motion

so I can catch it in my view


no more coherent clues

it is all just a shambles

and a game

that I agreed to play


what the fuck do I need?

who the fuck do you think you are,

Mr Mirror of my dreams?


keep an eye on this frenzy

prompt me

or I have nothing

but I had nothing anyway

at the same time that I had everything


everything I try to hold

unfolds into oblivion

and then returns


stop eating my needs away,

dear ego


stop injecting infections

deep into my marrow

or don’t


vomit up the blood

and the cum

that you try to censor

but who are you trying to protect

when everything is just you projected?


keep an eye on this fucking frenzy

it might teach you something.







How does one express their

in the form of creations?

All humans have this
intrinsic need –

a desperate desire
to bleed
out what’s been bubbling

since birth.

It explodes out
of some

It erupts
in various ways:



the sacred art of living.

Strike my eyes
and let them speak
directly to my heart.

Assault my ears
and let them rattle
my spine.

My proprioception
is affected
by watching your limbs

Alter my perspective
for at least one second
and you have done
what you came here
to do.

You have given me what I need
and I,
my artist dear,
well I
am indebted
to you.


I don’t have to convince you of anything
You don’t have to believe a single word I say
There are infinite perspectives
I’m surprised anyone agrees on anything

You don’t have to convince me of anything
I don’t have to believe a single word you say
There are multitudes of viewpoints
I’m surprised anyone understands anyone

We don’t have the same biology
We differ in our psychology
We don’t share the exact same history
What are you telling me to believe?

Last night I travelled to a parallel universe
Don’t believe me?
Well, that’s irrelevant.

I believe that you believe in what you believe
What the fuck are facts anyway?

I can try to shift my mind into yours temporarily
To try to experience your subjectivity
(Subjectivity is all that exists actually)
Without needing to accept it as my own

I haven’t gone through what you have been through
I have not seen what you have seen
But none of this is relevant
We don’t need to agree for you to connect with me

If you don’t want to connect with me then don’t
If I don’t want to connect with you then I won’t
I believe that you believe in what you believe
And you don’t even have to believe me.


cracked, empty mounds
conceal your emerald truth
there’s a stirring underneath
what we call dirty

tangle me in you
strangle my perspective
until I become one
with your slowly growing

everywhere there is unseen movement

sometimes the imperceptible
is the most significant

it is the only reason you can be alive

without it you would die

I’ll lay a masterpiece upon your cells
unsure if you can hear it
but your bursting through the surface
assures me you can feel it

break through, my baby
break up and out
expose what has been simmering
all this time

gasp deep
and I will weep while I watch you
become who you were always meant to be.


slip into that white coat,
cover your gloveless hands,
protect your eyes from splashback

we are going for a ride

dig your curious fingers
deep inside

shift the folds
to one side

this sulci holds the key,
scrape out this ancient gunk

smear it on the sterile bench,
dissect its essential components

she was the one keeping it there
but not the one who injected it

not the one who let it get

but she was the one who was keeping it there

scrape out this ancient gunk

the microscope projects
dysfunctional images onto your retina

of screaming
of bleeding
of needing

don’t be alarmed,
this is all in the past

you are looking at the past

shifting back in time
to the only one
she recognised

she didn’t know she could remove it
she didn’t know she could prove her heart
to be correct

she believed too much in
the dead black seeping substance,
strengthening its bond

she didn’t know she could remove it

scrape out this ancient gunk.


Splash deep green tartan
on my shoulders
while I hunt
for my meaning.

I climb that
white metal tower
to find it.

I tattoo
“virtue mine honour”
five centimetres
below my navel
to wear it.

Surely the second
is the reason
I obsess

with death

and life.


Heel to toe
and toe to heel
where the feather-lined shore
meets the crystal ripples.

Saturated, sandy cuffs
of denim
seem like the most ridiculous
of concerns

when the rock face
is communicating with me.

When I,
a solitary animal,
combine my flesh
with the wind and
layers of the atmosphere.

Things that are usually wrong
become nothing
and things that are usually right
become irrelevant.

Words and perspectives
can’t catch onto me,
don’t latch onto my ribcage.

All of it free flows
through me

until boredom flings me
up and out
down and around.

I do bore easily

until the mould on the bricks
glow green
and the web stretching across
looks back at me.

I see the outlines of everything

and I know there is no such thing
as outside.

I infuse the best versions of everyone
to become the best version of me.

I own this entire place,
I put on a show for the celebration
as the headlights light my stage.

My inner children are held
for the frustrations they
drill into me

I scream them out of
the right corner of my mind
wrapped in the gentle blanket
of love and adoration.

Everything responds to me.

Everything is part of me.

I am free to be
any fucking thing
that I wish to be.

I orgasm the universe
through my nervous system
on my knees.

I lay my body down
among the trees
and cry at the sight
of the curvature
of the leaves.

They speak to me.

I try to conjure
the most perfect configuration
of molecules
that I have ever imagined

but I can only do it in my dreams

for now.

Maybe it’s closer
after the screams.

Maybe my heart burst
open when I realised
that I will now see

like this


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