[DEATH TO THE CLASSICS:] [PART 2:]
May 09, 2005, 02:22

{dawn}
we turned the linear time off
and it’s the death to the classics in every laugh
I asked the violent four how to get this blood from my hands
It’s in a circle and it’s closing in
The circle is closing in.

We set the dials on
To the Love is Dead on the Xanalogue 
In the bowels of digitalis, horoscopes do weigh us down
The dust it wafts the center stage and porcelaina, she skins the ocean seas 
You’re in love is dead again and it’s In E. Leopold Trouvelot We Trust
The red monthly seers like a casino kneecap as we’ve been eating like gypsy moths.

A guilded tongue is a novelty in these chloroform days
Silken shivers in the olive sunlit, 
and we’re all cashing cows since sleep is a sickness.
With a face like cuneiform, I wore my death rays true to form 
And the ringworm’s crawling in the cactus bloom.

My lacquered bay was shattered, my starry eyes gone pantomine 
I’d call her Pandora swinging from the gasoline lights all night
It’s just rattlesnakes and calico in the back of the lower case
We’ve got this legend to live, until it’s lights out for brown balloters
The cremaster fiasco and the vice grip
The pavonine sheens are so ghostly and selfish
The blue notes playing on the Victorla 
There’s no victory in the Love is Dead, 
only acclaim and infame for bottom feeders in the falling city backwaters
The fevers been playing forever, but you always looked well in that color
It’s a shame that the clovers are enough to tame the last of my friends.

Eyelids to hide the skin worn tarantella touch
I drank her acetone with the crime lights on
They lift the veil in the procession
so bang the filthy gong again.
and slap the Lisa near the deep end oils,
this time it’s the coral moon that beaches our whales,
the girl with the inverted burgundy eyes
her lucky penny’s still at the station and her pollen in the trees
Oh blacklist miss, write all of your faithful subscribers and youthful squires
And tell them that the circle is closing in:
[VIENNA-TELETEXT FROM THE STATE READS:]
“Widowmaker please decode the lies
Wrap the Gypsy silk over my eyes.
Doppelganger with the Velvet Touch
And all the debutantes are crying out for love…”


{midday}
I ain’t a follower, I ain’t a leader
And If I step on a crack, I’ve got the barium fever
It’s like an everyday’s an anyways 
And the shackles cackling to the czech republic swing
This is Danger from Salvation, and he accepts the invitation
If this is now or this is never
We’ll call the sirens out forever
So if we do or if we don’t
We’ve set the fire without the smoke.
The shills looked to the charlatans
They flocked like moths without the flame
The flambe batch sprawled on the sidewalk
Pre-fab in 15 filthy ways.

[TELETEXT:]
“Carry on, my children, humanity, kind bourgeois and journalist virgins . . . 
against systems/ principle to have none. 
complete oneself/ to perfect oneself
fight for and against thought
.... Every product of disgust capable of becoming a negation of the family is Dada; 
a protest with the fists of its whole being engaged in destructivc action: 
*Dada; knowledge of all the means rejected up until now by the shamefaced sex of comfortable compromise and good manners: Dada; abolition of logic, which is the dance of those impotent to create: Dada; of every social hierarchy and equation set up for the sake of values by our valets: 
Dada; every object, all objects, sentiments, obscurities, apparitions and the precise clash of parallel lines are weapons for the fight: Dada; abolition of memory: Dada; abolition of archaeology: Dada; abolition of prophets: Dada; abolition of the future: Dada; absolute and unquestionable faith in every god that is the immediate product of spontaneity:* Dada; elegant and unprejudiced leap from a harmony to the other sphere; trajectory of a word tossed like a screeching phonograph record; to respect all individuals in their folly of the moment: whether it be serious, fearful, timid, ardent, vigorous, determined, enthusiastic; to divest one's church of every useless cumbersome accessory; to spit out disagreeable or amorous ideas like a luminous waterfall, or coddle them -with the extreme satisfaction that it doesn't matter in the least-with the same intensity in the thicket of one's soul-pure of insects for blood well-born, and gilded with bodies of archangels. Freedom: Dada Dada Dada, a roaring of tense colors, and interlacing of opposites and of all contradictions, grotesques, inconsistencies: LIFE”

Crowds erupting at the seams-
Unsure whether brilliant/unnecessary-
The siren’s blare like a discordant orchestra in heat-
We pulled their fingers down on that boiling blacktop
Their re-enforcement flew in over us
The milk splashing against the pavement, spelling our battle cry
The toaster kissed the water and cued the chickens to disperse;
Like Siamese twins conjoined by the bloodthirsty rants of you and yours.
The Resident, discreet, crawled out of the trapdoor Czech Trojan
We, the tragic heroes of the case, got the final curtain
The yolk smashing amongst the crowd and socialites 
Tearing out their hair and lashing their applause like switchblades,
50 dollars in Vienna currency were dispersed and disguised as vigilante sperm.
Immediately thereafter, Danger engaged in fragrant fisticuffs with the head Czech Republic Dominatrix, Salacious Sue. 
Widespread Panic ensues! The crowds become riotous and demand to see the dead body of their patron saint, E. Leopold Trouvelot. 
The Czech Republic sniper, Piscina, aims for the heart of Vienna:
She misses and hits the surrounding autonomic tissue causing instant paralysis 
Of emotional/illogistic functions. 
The applause sprays from the incoming firetrucks and the campus fills with true believers and the attack dogs at their heels squealing: “Everything will be alright”

I’ll ask Gideon to book me 
Because E. Trouvelot knows I’m guilty
Give dillinger my deathbed, all I need is a bodybag to sleep in
I’ve been digging this, a grave sight; shallow, dirty, unsuspenseful
I was born invisible ink, to line their gown of broken pencils.

Ozug cracks his knuckles in his olive garnished tomb
He tells how he’s smelled gasoline, 
and nervous sweats at the clap of thunder.
He’s got chastity belts from here to the painted desert
Our hour glass was half mast in the camp of concentration
And the tired tongues of the lesson
Said it was time to move on…

{sundown}
betrayal by the ballot
death by diamondette
I’m going to die in Memphis
sleep is a sickness
I was born a Capricorn 
and it’s In E. Leopold Trouvelot we trust

ego is your only true love

{dusk}
well the white banks off the deep end
and the nights spat soft and brittle
half daft and monumental, it’s all heels around the weasels
I’ve been betting on derailment but I’m the Lincoln on these tracks
Seems it’s two gentles to mademoiselles, but belfry’s back on the greedy cat 
Spires in the fire and bite the cuticles to kill the timing
In the backseat was the sweetest in the skin of a calico
Cheshire grinning in suspense and the full moon is taking tabs
It’s like the only thing worth repeating is getting caught red handed,
I’d ask the great depression, but it’s all words are poison nowadays.

A gush of musk makes haste for a taste of a lush
Remember when, vicious friends/invisible fiends?
Make for the vendetta sidebar where their taffies have all gone tiger tamer
Spite is the only lonely token by the ocean
Enveloped in the fever forever 
Until forever is a placid sunset scrawled on the wall 
I’ve foreseen the downfall in the white banks
It skipped a faulty silhouette along a scar garden tide
No thank you for always, I’d lose the taste of pheramone after my pride.
Ripe was the danger for the three widowmakers
Soft was the priestess for the sleep is a sickness
American Peach asked for a promise
When I gave her silence in motion. 

{twilight}
it’s always hotter in hell
And doll faced down by the latchkey
And when the charlatans weren’t two-stepping they went sipping soda water 
And the black lights and their lice were the toast of the town
And his eyes went all Poseidon, pseudonyms and backwards hymns
And slumped in the corner were the doppelgangers in green
And the naked rugs in the pickpocket pool
And the greedy cat was licking off their carbon copied haircuts
Because the scene of this crime is a mating call on ice
and it’s always hotter in hell

And blue jeans are steak fried
And the idiot walk is the roman stool
And the rattlesnakes and peacocks are just a lovely swig away
And the slobs are stitching names to their lips for a tease
And the fire alarms look so tasty 
And the red is patent leather
But the blood is on the dance floor, and the love is dead is the next track
And what a dizzy salvation city steam
And now the androgyny is at the knife fight 
And the night life is a porcelain death 
because it’s always hotter in hell
And I know somewhere there’s an envy out there for me….

[END VIENNAGRAM:]