A Variation of Her Selves Is a Weaponized Collision / Part I

by Justin Lee Brown on Thursday, October 7, 2010 at 1:08am ·

The first strike is painless
An aberration
At best a subterfuge masking a genuine expression of malevolence
Her sixchambered dominance veiled in the mist of darkness takes perfect aim
A percussion of intent which traps and lures in order to get close enough to move in for the kill
Her transcendent deceitfulness becomes both my undoing and my proving ground

She tastes unseen
A deeper crimson
A melodious eloquence rising
Her feral nature brimming with tempest and charismatic madness
Her savage secrets of slayers and costs to the soul pulse hidden from its victims beneath the refrain of her instincts
She breaks off words from her frozen lips as if to explain their battle cry
But the only sound that escapes her is shadow

The addiction to self destruction always begins with a kiss
The long division of an idiosyncratic emotional style lives to express its masochism
Your kiss
A sub molecular rancor which spreads its malignancy beyond the reach of compassion is a hideous poison
Your sincerity an astringency which burns humility and mutilates trust far beyond any hope of recognition
Searing a labyrinthine vexation into the tenderness of the soul

You're a riverboat of affliction
A cargo of rankle and filth
The assault of your judgment impairs my vision
Speaks to my emptiness
The zero rises again against the disfigured whole and cuts through the layers of betrayal beyond a cavalier infinity
Desperate acts of self burn in the heat of retribution spilling infection
A silent suppuration oozing from the abscess of your woundedness gives rise to the stench in my consciousness
Your admiration is a wretched corpse mutilated into human form
So easy to miss at first blush
Just until the repulsiveness sets in

Exhausted from contention
She falls again from her lacerated sky Hand over hand she passes into herself
Into the void of narcissistic cruelty
She splits her archetypal presence into halves
Then quarters
Then smaller and less than
Until she renders herself a scattered particulate
In due time
Her hate reassembles into its new grandiose form of benevolence and friendship.

Justin Lee Brown /aka Desiderata/ Copyright © 2010

- Version française - French version -

Of Dreams and Madness

byJustin Lee Brown on Friday, October 1, 2010 at 10:43pm ·

I am one stutter-step away from the rails, too late for a Hail Mary pass. I've become an intentionless phen-omega-non, tearing it up in a senseless dynamic, tearing it down in the mine fields of mutilated flesh where the bloody stumps of a futile resistance twitch out before the final paralysis. Flex paradoxical, just for the thrill of it. Pussy, pussy, run. Don't you see? In life birds fly where cats can't follow, towards a seemingly unfathomable destiny; climb towards ferocious heights where tender hope and unmolested sky momentarily erupt into the plausible. But not for me, the untouchable one.


In these final days of absurdity I AM the gravitational pull. I am the freedom that must extend, spiraling downward towards the rhizome, the mechanism of molecular, towards the intention itself in spite of all its pointlessness. I seek out the lowest level of libidinal energy rendered down to its quintessence, deconstructed and abstracted to the point of consummate alienation just to see it rise above terrestrial. I am the only conviction of my own contradictions, in the end the solitary breath that I draw from the collective will be drawn in the isolation of a solipsist consciousness. The journey of ages begins and ends with a solitary gasp.


It took me decades to find my voice, recognize it, flesh out my screams against impartial instruments and enigmatic signifiers, my ferocious investment only partially returned before I flipped the switch of void. Still alive and swollen with the genealogy of rage, I come to merge the violence of the self with the rogue cells of sadistic attraction. I AM blood. The native ancestry of a florid massacre. Against whom do we release our suicide? Whose skulls do we crush with rubric truncheons of dereliction? Step to the center and slide right. Five squares and three circles intersect at madness. The schism of imaginary presence augments a glistening archetypal voidness where the clatter of runes speak but leave no trace. I dissolve into this lush unified field of consciousness, an incandescent surreality of disaster, then cathexis, until I am a ruin of my own imagination. The aesthetic revenge of a simple madness comforts me as I descend.


Bathed in quiet rings of lantern light, the figurative darkness of cognition divides me until I am scattered, only loneliness remains intact. Pushed along by cool atomic winds while pursued by consumptive assassins with cold enamel eyes, I sing ludicrous ballads while choking on shards of ivory bone. Three obsidian figures from childhood aberrations appear beyond the rumor of distant cries. Their starling smiles encode death and empty me of fractal infinites. Have you come here to dream code with me? How long will you stay before the Machinic explodes? Suddenly I am elsewhere in this discursive amalgam, sequencing dread through involuted time. Its symbolic order expressed through ripples of multilevel perception searing its way through waxy axon terminals, mind flesh, and the endless paroxysmal twitching of my eyeballs. I begin at last to see.


I AM become the manipulations of the paranoiac as I plunge through strata of cosmic drift. I float naked in its ether above Byzantine gardens, through a sudden burst of metallic rose petals quivering like dragonfly wings, float further down across pools of cobalt blue tipped with jade quantum foam. An ensemble of grey stone herrings suddenly take flight, flood my synapse with a cultivated integration of pain. The sound of wing beats rushing around me, a soft static noise of cruel.


Voltaic penetration as an act of malice invades my dreaming with disquieting dialog of subatomic consciousness trapping me between layers of earth and stratosphere. The smell of seared flesh wraps around me to the point of suffocation. I struggle through emptiness, cryogenic tears pound like hail against my skull. Illumination and exposure bind me. Am I still dreaming? Who has come to judge my emptiness? I say, bring me the sweet enigmatic growl that I can adhere to. I much prefer the sun when obscured by cloud and your mouth when sewn tightly shut.


Justin Lee Brown /aka Desiderata/ Copyright © 2010 


Collision Armée / Première Partie

Le premier coup est indolore

Une aberration

Au mieux un subterfuge masquant une authentique expression de malveillance

Sa domination à six chambres voilée dans la brume de l'obscurité vise avec une parfaite exactitude

Une percussion d'intention qui piège et qui trompe, afin de s'approcher assez près pour s'avancer et tuer

Sa fausseté transcendante devient à la fois mon malheur et mon terrain d'épreuve

Elle goûte invisible

Un cramoisi plus profond

Une éloquence mélodieuse qui se lève

Sa nature sauvage débordant de tempête et de folie charismatique

Ses secrets sauvages de tueurs et de dommages infligés à l'âme battent cachés à ses victimes sous la la répression de ses instincts

Elle rompt des mots, de ses lèvres glacées, comme pour expliquer leur cri de guerre

Mais le seul son qui lui échappe est ombre

La dépendance à l'auto-destruction commence toujours par un baiser

La longue division d'un style émotionnel idiosyncrasique vit pour exprimer son masochisme

Ton baiser

Une rancoeur sous moléculaire qui propage sa malignité hors d'atteinte de la compassion et qui est un poison hideux

Ta sincérité une astringence qui brûle l'humilité et mutile la confiance bien au-delà de tout espoir de reconnaissance

Flétrissant d'une vexation labyrinthique la tendresse de l'âme

Tu es un bateau-mouche d'affliction

Un cargo de rancoeur et d'ordure

L'assaut de ton jugement porte atteinte à ma vision

Parle à mon vide

Le zéro se lève à nouveau contre le tout défiguré et coupe à travers les couches

de la trahison par-delà une arrogante infinité

Actes désespérés où l'on se consume soi-même dans la chaleur du châtiment déversant l'infection

Une suppuration silencieuse qui suinte de l'abcès de ta blessure soulèvent la puanteur dans ma conscience

Ton admiration est un misérable cadavre mutilé à forme humaine

Si facile à manquer, à première vue

Juste jusqu'à ce que la répulsion s'installe

Épuisée de discorde

Elle tombe à nouveau de son ciel lacéré

De la main à la main, elle passe en elle-même

Dans le vide de la cruauté narcissique

Elle fend sa présence archétypale en moitiés

Puis en quarts

Puis plus petit et encore plus petit

Jusqu'à se transformer en une dispersion de particules

En temps voulu

Sa haine se ré-assemble en une nouvelle forme grandiose de bienveillance et d'amitié.