Legionnaires
Modern Meadow a spearflower
the algorethics of a hole in the heart
becomes the world of bits
breathed through silver sick city syndrome
liberty is still possible if we could just
rid ourselves of the shadow fragrant shade
animosities whose depths
structures the contrarian truth
Rap star ∩ hackers ∩ sharks disappear into
believing microstates platforms
in international waters
or that every square inch
of the planet’s surface is formally owned
by some sovcorp
you cry again sacrificially to concede
a right to explain, what you apparently lost
prosperity hubs adult al fresco hideaway
Liquid Vegas, Royal Star,
Liberty II, Liberty I, Royal Empress,
Punta Pedrera then freedom pushes
out all our senses i
listen to negative heuristics
drink a cup of mercury
all the time avoid clear-cut
zones/territories together
at the table of brotherhood values
avoid repetition, avoid straight lines,
avoid right angles, avoid corners, …,
most importantly:
do not add or subtract
not by head but by percentage
of profit received
forever into the western Pacific Rim
a kiss from a rose & not a pill
in the Belvedere Museum
the past is not dead, it isn’t even past
seasteading the circular factory
use splines, nurbs
generative components,
script rather than model,
touch them
the gloomy on the grey
navigation void talk about versioning
with the key slogan being prepared
as a cumulative build
on the skin or
banners of scarlet, laughter
8 cabanas and the ideology
of the inevitability
of the death of every individual
Cure Death (draft)
The trouble with the biodiesel solution is that no one
would want to live in a city whose public transportation was fueled,
even just partly, by the distilled remains of its late underclass.
Yarvin
Katechon rosecolored military keys,
a life of trig point etheric skin
outside the neostate
nootropic fated ip & dawn in silver arms
shuddered dinner remarks
its inner most light
& sweetest song
other corpsicles are borne out
inside freedoms Patchwork & Exit
choir of blood boys
cobalts your heart
in the air deck the black waters blackest
face down senescence
poetry doublewalled in twilights
laminal flow & spiraling eddies
take the escalator
to the Q&A portion of the evening
Human-Growth-Hormone Pill
silently gathers a moonlike coolness
next to Radiance Feeling Terrene,
Enter The Pool as dead clients fall out
enjoy what's left
02.13.26
The wicked people have annexed
The verses on the good;
A roaring drunkard sports the text
Teetotal Tommy should!
Thomas Hardy, The levelled Churchyard
Here is my hatred of appearances
aloe vera’d hands open to burning
in the mill of city point lights
the sacred Elysium
there are two paths before us
an anarchist elegy mirror stage
or to spiraling music Krishnacore
you decide to count
take promises out of them
w/ Djibouti sovereign wealth fund
turning aside thoughts
formerly localised around
heart to bilking thin
against the light of others
nobody wants to feel hated
in the fear centre nerve caissoned
bright low drone translucent people
sober with badges
The order of Forgiveness Mimesis
Rivalry Sacrifice LTD
in a stackrung ascended
good as fatal stanchions
hardlined in the hollow room
probes your speech the lift of skin
you move through in the external world
order stands now it means
you have left the total of forgotten blame
to not speaking hands trough motions
the delicate reconciliations
of your own life & of the cancelled
welts are still people, nothing is forever
angelica root people
drift away from people
the shore people
the anomalous pain
at the end of people
04.10.26
First image
invulnerable building
continuous interior
like open office
environment effect associated
with traditional livestock practices
no axis to follow
no more boundaries to cross
just pale gazes
over golden shadow
protected from deterioration
Soft Water (i)
Wally close red stone
tarriers in brinewet floodplain
as if the floor was gulched by Orangeism
thin little nags & wretched pallet crafts
Lodge Laws collarettes curled circles
old shoogly harebells
& the twelfth Haberdasheries
felled to a black flame
the peace barrier curbside I sit
highscoring micro lots
but barely living
the cold fingered clyde
chins a song for rent
dreich, I can’t stand my own
mind parading, fraternal drunkenness
or cream yellow exiles
cold storage cutcross ripples
or worm eaten low-capabilities
people ruin of air sprangled dogrose
hippidom mizzled the remaining
comfort space towpaths
oracling childstock
least you're clear of chrome ballast
in the eternal allotments rising
the future different shades
of tayberries & patty pans
all else burning rings
of idioglossia on embroidered towels
For Mark Scott
Put out the light
of the last crimson star
special prayers hollowed
death is death salutogenesis
good health on the Red Road
its premature mortuary scenery
in the centre The Wealth Games
with a common signet mouth of cortisol
here is the tree that never grew
here is the bird that never flew
here is the bell that never rang
in region of hapless skin
burning some envoi to working patterns
inner Maslowian pyramids
vertical lists of failed kingships
black boxed militant death-drive
02.09.25
Tell me your relation to pain, and I will tell you who you are!
Ernst Jünger, “On Pain”
Sounds like post-work
wind-down nightlife fall out
across emptied servant towers
the silver eclipsed floor systems
the ceilings voided stark ghosts
acoustic cancelled out sleeps is it possible
bent breathing between dried up
ground below open the bowl organ
in the archigram Falseself
a hymn that went the way of negation
but nothing can be eaten forever
selforganizing place-shaping
the macro-systems continuum
charity CEOs, civil servants
& masterplanners what is left of music
went into the Diaphragm Wall
stranded call the language
of that death acoustic as class vengeance
antidotes midnights Liftblrs
until you can’t wreck out your
ferrules in the anti-citylife
developments sunrise
in your eyes punctum
dichroic film scratched inside
the wet paper brain postdrome
Werkstatt ideas engine devolve
from Stanhope PLC a field of glass,
windswept Thomas Heatherwick's
your mother’s bead expertise, regurgitate
seeing futuristic housing prototypes
& what has been forgotten
solid, bright concealed take my eyes out
at the Construction Expo
Five Angel Heads Comprise the biosphere
& how to die in it? command center
sitting on the laver eclipsed arches
all human malevolence is planned
orange light porphyry stone
it’s meaningless orange light
loggia curls quiet out
composite social bowels
typology bonded
in the shadow of the new Cathedral
the paying metronauts swim
in the highest pool in Europe
& you eat them in the Giant Needery
the midnight tabulation the drills,
the controlled explosions,
the corporation in the Sanatorium
little britain haemophilia
& shallow end of Bullism
I have no people
& makes no noise
30.08.25
Kayfabe through a ream of sunlight
the spathe of my heart Mustaqbal
deglomeration don’t say that word to me
syringed out PV-Wind-DG-Battery
image classification
literature waste collection in that order
but leave me my love
adapted into a technical principle
& held in the advancement of
on the Gulf of Aqaba alive in your mouth
under dusking trees
flood the zone with shit cinema museum roof
official nitrate air
of fate contaminants machine translations
infernal strategies dark pathologies
the beautiful vistas worldsick trypophobias
swim in the ether of its linear composition
zenithal flight of birds
crystalline soothed
a giant artificial moon
zero streets now paradised black minutes
31.08.25
In the Vanta black nights
domestication of ice & cold
to be desired an ice palace
all the rules of most modern architecture
glycine mir hyperstition
desiccated black snow
nobody exists you have no choice
the choice comes after
Executive Order 13771
who was able to measure
& tame frost lives forever
Vormärz Grodek Autumn Forest
drone full of stars noon-marked
cathedrals FTC & NIST
dancing on glass again
vertical community
forged cold metals
frozen water sub-divided
to the point it becomes
perfectly liquid again
Giddy Carousel
Airbrushed minarets sacred lands
comment is free at the
White Nationalist Grievance Party
to stick a knife in you
the circumference of me,
or hilt point cursing the Cenotaph
dragged under martenside
in Oakham rain shining purple acetate
for that which blows up your wife & kids
gets buried in flowers
I call it Floodgate,
marches to be kindred
this islands country of
biscuit tins Cherry-Gardens
enmities against well-placed bombs
evil tears in Angstzonen Lionhearts
& their lone halos
the parvenus nouveau black shirts
past to future militias
decayed Britannia Unchained
& the ridges near Albion Gates
O pickering to see Gadarene
or Pegida drinking tea;
God saves its Overton window
poor soldier prostrates
anti-Blimps closing ranks
off this mortised rim
for you & me, Royal British Legion
Poppy Cross Wreath Type D
& the final fatal tree
Fusilier confit counter nisus
death passes inviolate
& estuary plant life yobends
buried cubic grey for the protest movement
to see again & love again
& dinghies poached & what Yaxley broke
under its silhouette British speck
indelicate & your Habeas Corpus
staked fireproof letterboxes
‘justice’ warped softly dead
called out sacrifice & care
a scrying buzzword tear
from its arms Identity originated here
a council estate that God saves
Lebensborn e.V. the sun rises straight
to its own breathing payments
Seppuku myself on Armistice Day
put it to music &
the language of groupthink, put it to music
culled from the Third Way handbook
put it to music
are you proud & not dead?
see the Migs in name but
instead Yaxleys silhouettes
here stands the noblest,
commando in the airfield
soliloquies red pillar nativists pull
a jingle of spurs & the crashing of boots at the curb
how much is enough?
How much is nothing scrubbed ?
stiffer than parade-ground disciplines
which gave life, warmth & action,
a drooping mob’s rosette #WeWillNotBeReplaced ,
& horsehair wig blotched heroics
under stars draught
gerrymandered white ash now
around the husk perimeter,
Blood & Honour groupuscules
a banner drop of burning poppies
its swooning pile on my breastbone own's
quite dwelling the world continues
daydreaming over the standing-reserve
& what falls out? w
omen in veils, gathered near a well
in a small village a thousand children
where whiteness is spectral sings out
mullah British mullah
& O my heated toes,
low near merry Englands woes
go & cheer once more at my feet
For Ray Hill
I love unbroken people
the kind who have no problems
the kind who are self-contained
Table Talks the air gets rarified again
authoritarian personalities,,
The Island State of Mind
palingenetically you hear yourself
negatively decline in the
Expansion of the Visitor Economy,
hearts that died for
for what we said;
a Flag in the sand?
quad rolling in corners ; no
& there will be no Paradise,
no 72 virgins
& you cannot burn
Men-in Gear
to rename everything again
Diseased Community Centres
Councillors in a swell of trails leaking
what remains a beating heart
a single name
a transient song,,
to sing on some blighted crop
pale white crosses lay in my hand
for children for the rest of you,
which leaks & your buttocks quivering,
the most beautiful sound
is Cliff Richard correcting speech
enter the pantheon of folk music
enter at the end of sleep.
I do not apologise for having a problem with an alien ideology,
an alien way of living and thinking that is being given a free reign
to infect the country of mine and my children’s.
Hows that? British standards.
their so-called rights above
those of young men who
risked & sacrificed so kill your own,
in your walls are names
who recorded the sentence of death
this is my flood of choices
this is enhanced serenity of a drone pilot
forced to wiping off
at the diadems floodlights
like criminals of everyday life,
screaming but it drops off
the front page to watch at home
sans reveries & stars are imminent
& dream covered nothing
the marching procession
of all clusters gleaming impunity
splits into reappearances
as this circulation repatriates
in two immaculate halves;
& place, a free man
hanging from a namestand
a doxed crusade light under millennial woes
pictures of little children soldiers
for you to lay under
“Christian Patrols” Miss Britannia,
Indigenous People’s Day
a banner drop on the A49
a storm cloud above
the vastness of this night
where nothing can hurt
digilantism Wolfpack Hunters
& The Guardians of the North ,
local residents safe & sound,
in the Sanctuary by the wellhead
the ewe does not bite it buries
& my companion
holds the ladder to lump hammer
the lintel & PROPAGANDA
salvaged by Spidermans
purpled flour bombs in the sky
for BBC PAEDOS
I watch on BigChut & Gab
Braveheart Fight Club
don’t belong to the realm of fantasy
time to go
FLA in the morning under clamps of heat
its common boiling virid pilule dream seedbed
coming over the hills,,
fence collapsing soldiers blond soldiers,
coming over the hills,,
foreheads glowering 4k Epic Reds
coming over the hills,,
& I was wearing a CP Company coat
which was hooded with goggles—
I looked like a frog.
And I was saying ‘ribbit, ribbit ribbit, ribbit ribbit,
ribbit ribbit, ribbit ribbit, ribbit ribbit, ribbit’...
A load of beer & a shit joke.
