#needlewords

Crush. Manipulate, Crush again. Align eyes twice. Unstoppable potential of a growth exponential, hard as ice. A duel union, holy communion. A Transubstantiation of fear. A violent kiss, l die from this. I follow the lunar year. It always happens at night, that bite. The stalking light. We see them, the beasts of the field. We invite them into our homes. Attracting each other regardless of genetics or pheromones. Pushing and gnawing, pulsing and dying across time-zones. You am l and l am you as we ignore our chromosomes.   My Epicene, electric machine. My androgene and earth born queen. The meaning of innocence is potential corruption. The sweetness of love is the seed of destruction. A crack in the sky through which the sun glares. A moment of clarity before the main engine burns. Quest with me, arrest me with flowers and fires. We walk in lines to our funeral pyres. A train track into the distance has only one potential. The smell of the ash. The smell of fuel. The smell of ambition. The tunnel vision. What is needed to get you to the moon. We sink the ships we sail upon. We drink the poison prepared by desire. Now I know the Sun. That forever light, the sacred fire. Two Skulls beat as one. Two Skulls beat as one.

Papist rapists and Nazi nuns. Paedophile priests and gods with guns. The shadow of genocide long and sharp. There are no truths to shape or warp. The flat Earth still spins its way through infinite space, avoiding bodies we one day cannot outpace. A natural disaster. A universal truth. A missing link and gnawing tooth. Late Devonian fossilised being. Historical focus or ways of seeing. Tectonic plates hem and haw. Toying with string in creators paw. Climate change and our effect. An arrogant take on time unspent. All our atomic ambitions and sexual positions could not shake the world from its natural conditions. One day the globe will be priced and sliced and be known to future lovers as the Starship Antichrist. They were right not to conserve you. The sun rises faithfully one last time, ignoring all our crimes. Dissolves into the ether. The Starship Antichrist.

The violence of the innocents the rampage of the uncorruptible. In a mothers eyes the child is stable. The most unfit are the most fertile. Abundance of virility in the loins of least worthwhile. The streets are alight tonight with sound and sight of breeding spite under yellow fluoride. The rioters of the future are emerging from a chrysalis shields of car-parts and Adidas. The cold look in the eye with no stake in society. A spit to the side, the defiance of gravity. A vote to leave a world never accepted. Body politic never respected. They used to be the working class subdued. Replaced by over-the-counter servitude. There is no pride in work when the product is delusion. A wholesale of fantasies, gentrified confusion. The city now a brand, defined by comity of the bland. Bring on the violence of the innocents and a riot of the pure. Burn down the city, burn all the signs. Burn Hacienda Classical and arts-centre designs. Bring on the violence of the innocents. Bring on the limitless ambivalence. Their mothers are right not to police them.

An inclination to tenderness an attachment to pain. A drift into surrender of uncertain domains. The sky invites buildings to play out their roles. Competing for height as the day unfolds. Tune into life, connect to those souls. Reach out for acquaintance with social controls. I, a sensory structure of seething flesh, rippling, dancing on the foot of Ganesh. Target the heart, objectify the goal. Make still the pulsing shaking telescopic eye-hole. Aim for the head, prepare to claim the anatomy failing. Be steady with those bullets of supple unveiling. Gather up those limbs, hanging head detailing. The flowing blood quickly drying on eyes surveying. The construction of compartments for living. The erecting of concrete. Voluntary prisons of phantom protection. Twins swallowed whole in ruthless affection. Reaching, abusing in ruthless affection. Cutting, bruising in ruthless affection. Abandoned, rejected in ruthless affection. Commanded, neglected in ruthless affection.

Manchester, city in flux. At least eight cranes flashing red warning beacons in the twilight skyline. Gentrification is surrounding from the broken windows of the Mill. Its 4.am Sunday, pupils still dilated. Chemicals still floating and Venus rising in the East. Down on the Machine, pushing it to its maximum. The pulsing vibration shakes dust from the brickwork to remind the building of its tormented past. The machines, the labour and the noise. It's a killer, cotton dust. I slow the rhythm to capture that regular pulse. Relentless pounding shaping and sounding. Sculpting the air begging body movement, sexual architectural beat-stitched mutant. The first rays of red sun span the horizon, city windows blaze in reflected praise. Railway tracks shine on to their vanishing points alert my gaze. Freight rumbles by with increasing voice. I pull back from the volume and increase the reverberation. The last of the pulses greats the Sun, its burning arms embrace the remains of my conscious cadaver. I have seconds only or apprehension may gather. On waking it will not be in peace nor soundless calm. It will be in the traffic with reflex alarm.

Love makes you ugly Love makes you primitive Love makes you ugly love makes the element.

We are the wasps that have learned to make honey. Beauty is for anyone to make. Trouble comes as beauty is decided and agreed upon. Totalitarianism through aesthetics, delicateness through nature. All of which may be things of beauty. Corinthian columns, The Doric arch. We built our banks in the shapes of Greek temples. We ruin Greece with the power of these. From the heart of Europa to Britain's ship of holes. The gentrification of the souls. The nests of us flightless birds. The stinging tips of our flowing money . We are the wasps that have learned to make honey.

The discovery of fire. The first shaft of light. Shot through the ether as a mouth to biteCaught between two worlds. Transient is the night. Twin souls become forever. Ready for the fight. The union of bodies the friction of flesh. Injection of pain the taking of breath. Follow the path of Venus at the edges of the dawn. The rising star the setting sun an orbit is born. The invisible connection the gravity and the pull is permanently fixed despite conflict or cull. The magnetic force or the repellent push. we are the same polarity sometimes switched and crushed. Demand heaven, not down on the knees. Binary angels my prayers are these. The timber of a cold drum the need to please. The orbits of stars about to freeze/ terminal /distance /velocity/ tapping the pulses of code. The ghosts of programs. Discarded archives that never load.