jocrudedispatches

[jocrudedispatches]

Language doesn't communicate. Language says what we don't want it to say, and keeps hidden what we do. Violence, art, sex (in that order) are what happens when language fails.

[jocrudedispatches]

INHUMAN INTELLIGENCE

Is there an inhuman intelligence here?

The tramlines move

Their speakers speak

And they carry us.

So large they could obliterate us in an instant

To say nothing of the systems that enable them!

Electricity

Radio

Internet

Consuming more in an instant than we can in a lifetime

And we say we are our masters

That we have created them

Are we not the masters of animals?

Has the Sorceror's Apprentice lost control of His powers?

All that is solid melts into air

All that is holy is profaned

Is there an inhuman intelligence here?

I'm so afraid.

God help me, I'm afraid.

[jocrudedispatches]

THE SEX LIVES OF DOLL GIRLS

You caress my doll joints and my porcelain doll skin

You tell me that I'm beautiful

I thank you

I tell you how much I need you

And my painted-on mouth does not open

It does not open when you kiss me

I will never feel your tongue with mine

My featureless breasts do not yield as you touch them

They are as stiff as the rest of me

My bra and my stockings are all frills and bows

You slide your hands between my legs

And I sigh

Not in pleasure

But because there's nothing there

How will I go on without you inside me?

But I am a doll

And dolls do not cry

Dolls do not cry

Dolls do not cry

[jocrudedispatches]

You woke up in the morning

Mind a field of shattered glass

And all the wires were screeching

Bout the things that seemed to pass

You crossed a creek you couldn't drink from

Pollution wound the open sky

And then God came and smacked you

Right up in your eye

In one there was a devil's head

To wring the blood from gold

In one there was a stranger friend

To redden up the cold

But here you couldn't touch them

Could only touch one thing

The blood of Gods and Credit Cards

Crying up the ring

Lemme break this glass for ya

Wipe your glasses off the rain for ya

Lemme glass ya cross the face for a second

No sullen teen pantokrator

The subject here, and nothing more

Wandered for an hour in the rain

Sunday morning

Aqua Vita

Ease the pain

[jocrudedispatches]

I took my heart and clasped it in a locket

I took my face and wrapped it in a veil

I took a rope and strung it for success

Who took a knife and severed it to fail?

I took my legs and chained them for the irons

I took my hair and cut it for the floor

Who was it that so cruelly threw me out here?

On the street, showing me the door?

My pride will tell you

Listen well

It's quite a pleasant

Seat in hell

My pride will tell you

Listen true

It's meant for me

Given to you

[jocrudedispatches]

CATECHLISM

Day after dreary

trundling day,

our presents distinguished

by colours of pain.

And where is the future?

Where sunset meets road.

And where is the past?

Where you cannot go.

And what is the dawning?

Sunset in reverse.

And what is the road?

A track for the hearse.

What else is the dawning?

What you left behind.

And why did we leave it?

For what we could find.

And what have we found here?

A dark plot of earth.

And what have we grown here?

No better or worse.

And what was the thresher?

A harsh-tempered clock.

And what was the millstone?

A harsh rounded rock.

And what was the ploughshare?

The truths and the lies.

And what was the motor?

A thorn in my side.

Day after dreary

trundling day

The present is fading

fading to grey

The day after fades for

to merge with the past

The past is still coloured

the present still fast

And where is the future?

[jocrudedispatches]

What do life and alcohol have in common? They're poisons that kill slowly.

[jocrudedispatches]

THE SECRET LIFE OF THE ULCER

The violence is leaking

From my stomach to my throat

Like a stone tossed through a mirror

That should sink but only floats

An ostrich pulls its head off

When it's stuck in a squeeze

A monkey beats its head against

The wall until it bleeds

A body spins itself apart

When it's caught in a lathe

The circumstances made you

And then you made the cage.

[jocrudedispatches]

A MUNDANE TRAGEDY:

"Be silent, thou accursed wolf; consume within thyself with thine own rage."

Then he turned around unto that bloated lip,

And said, to encourage me,

"Let not thy fear harm thee;

For any power that he may have

Shall not prevent thy going down this crag."

And that benignant Sage, who all things knew,

with his clucking voice began;

"Father Of Accusations! Father Of The First Adversary!"

[jocrudedispatches]

There's a live wire burning in the back of your head

You see all I see as mine

There's something fright'ning you into your bed

I screw in the lessons of time

There's a damp fuse burning in the palm of your fist

Who knows when it will alight?

There's an urge to be quiet and an urge to resist

I nail in the lessons of might

There's a chaparalle burning in scars on your face

Sagebrush and Mother of Thyme

There's a bushfire lighting a Devil's staircase

I stove in the lessons of mind.

[jocrudedispatches]

RECYCLED

(Content warning for SA, violence, and general human misery)

Row after row of purposeless martyrs

Deflowered by rape in front of their fathers

They weep and moan, they gasp and wail

This is the point of a purposeless tale

Make sure to recycle

And never give up

And get enough sleep

And make sure to get fucked

Sister Syphilitic

In the Chateau De Abyss

She's been fucked by the Lord

But never been kissed

The master is crazy

The servant is blind

This is the point of a meaningless time

Make sure to recycle

And never give up

And get enough sleep

And make sure to get fucked

Floor after floor of HIV Needles

Drowned kids where the iodine flowed through the cracks

We're trapped in Slum-Jerusalem

Once there you can't go back

And who is there to lead us?

Into the mouth of hell?

Our purpose is to suffer

And we're doing very well

And who is there to show us?

Show us all the way?

To scavenge lines from cruelty

That happens every day?

Make sure to recycle

And never give up

And get enough sleep

And make sure to get fucked

Make sure to recycle

And never give up

And get enough sleep

And make sure to get fucked

Make sure to recycle

And never give up

And get enough sleep

And make sure to get fucked

Make sure to recycle

And never give up

And get enough sleep

And make sure to get fucked

This only happened 'cause you wouldn't give up.

So it's your own fault you got fucked.

Just get fucked.

[jocrudedispatches]

IMAGINARY EULOGY

All I will say

to be brief

Finley was a bright star

He took accord of all the sunshine

And I will say

As under briefs

Finley taught me the cruel meaning

He taught me the taste of flesh

I had to bite, prison

Simply to taste the next

[jocrudedispatches]

This is one of my favourite songs, but sadly I don't speak a lick of Russian. Relying on fanmade translations like lyricstranslate.com, I tried to make a "translation" that still somewhat fits the metre of the original. Can anyone who speaks Russian tell me how well I did?

NEVERENDING SPRING, BY YEGOR LETOV

All the holyrious scriptures under centuries of snowdrifts

And the lustful Eastern Churches and the greedy Roman Catholics

From the frozen-over trenches to the anthill pyrographics

Neverending spring in a solitary cell

The human-flooded city squares sweeping under houses

And the human deserts reeking holy houses drying up

And all the red-hot dicks, and all the hungry cunts

Neverending spring in a solitary cell

Through the refuges of mirrors and textbooks of nagging thoughts

And all the coins for drink that haven't yet been swallowed up

Market-garden coffin plots

Market-garden coffin plots

Neverending spring in a solitary cell

A desperate flock of sparrows

Pitch-dark, piercing, predatory

Shrieking, hoarse, and mad, and frantic

And it screams in me

All the holyrious scriptures under centuries of snowdrifts

War-hospital troglodytes prescriptions, meds, and verses

And they're curing the uncurable

With fatal bread and circuses

Neverending spring in a solitary cell

A desperate flock of sparrows

Pitch-dark, piercing, predatory

Shrieking, hoarse, and mad, and frantic

And it screams in me

[jocrudedispatches]

Not enough strength to write much. Not enough strength to do much of anything.

Not enough to be too much.

Not too much of anything.

It's not too hot, and not too cold

Not too fearful, not too bold.

A convalescence without illness or health.

A Purgatory without Heaven or Hell.

A reel that pulls but never draws.

An awl that scratches but never marks.

It's not too hot, it's not too cold.

Not too fearful, not too bold.

And this is where the rain once fell.

And there was music in the air.

And even tears were filled with promise.

It's fenced with weeds now, not much there.

And this is where I scaled my heart.

To burn the sweetness kept inside.

Nothing's swimming in the weir.

And nothing sweet is left inside.

And what about the water?

And all else that begat the soul?

It's not too hot, it's not too cold.

Not too fearful, not too bold.

[jocrudedispatches]

TALKING TO AN OLD HUNTER

CW: CSA Mention

I hunt because it provides me with an outlet for violence that is somewhat socially acceptable.

Don't give me that look, it's not like you're a vegetarian.

And what of it? Hmm? Don't you ever come home from some sort of dispute, wishing you could've just smacked the fucker? That kind of feeling weighs upon you. It feels bad to not retaliate. It, err, it feels *good.* To have power over others.

*Civilised* people? Y'wanna know what I think of civilised people? Nah, I'm right, I can fit one more drink in. Urrgh, okay, okay, I'm good. Civilised people. To me, the difference, err, between, err, the nature of an animal and a man, it's the difference between a chimp and a chimp with a paintbrush.

I remember once, in fact I don't think I'll ever be able to forget, in ninth grade I got chewed out by my English teacher, Mr Freely, for punching a kid who was pissing me off. I, yknow I took it like a man, looked him in the eyes and didn't say anything while he gave me the usual spiel about using your words and how violence was wrong and that. In front of the whole class. Anyways, they gave me a 2 week suspension, and even though I'd took it like a man, yknow, I was terribly ashamed. I kept thinking about his words, what I was gonna say when I went back to class, if I should say anything at all, what Mr Freely was gonna say to me...

Anyways, turns out I didn't need to worry. The day I got back, English class was cancelled. Mr Freely had been arrested that morning. A 12-year-old girl had gone missing a couple weeks earlier, y'see, and they found her. He'd put her in a suitcase. Raped her, killed her on accident, then cut her up and just stuffed the parts in a suitcase and left it in his garage.

I don't know. I really don't know. I just think, y'know, he seemed genuine about it. Honestly upset that I'd thumped that kid. I do think he really meant it. But I just can't stop wondering, even to this day. When he was saying that, did he still have bits of her under his nails?

[jocrudedispatches]

ALL OF THE WHILE

As salty as cooking wine

Pissed as my bile

As blue as my mouthwash

All of the while

All of the while

Search for the spark

All of the while

Light in the dark

All of the while

Words that make rhyme

All of the while

Pass me the time

Dime to a dozen

Pig to a pile

Moth to a flame

All of the while

Someday I will wake up

In the skin of the person I'm waiting to be

No more biting the mouthguard

No wrestling again with my other me

Someday I will wake up

In the skin of the person I'm waiting to take

And all without any effort

No crossing-out of checklists and dates

Someday I will wake up

In the skin of a person who lives grace and style

And I will scream upon the rooftop

All of the while, All of the while

Look! See how I trimmed my wings!

Grand finals and codas

I kept them in this shoebox

With black princes and green-grocers

And oh, where did I put it?

Secreted away

When I forgot to mark the dial

That ticks down the days

I missed my train of thought

I move in place, still stuck at the station

I missed my train of thought

The Cicada Queen's slow abdication

And this shed skin is pretty

And this shed skin is wise

And they're shedding skins inside me

All of the while

All of the while.

[jocrudedispatches]

THE ANTISENSUALISTS

In a dim basement in Russia, the antisensualists begin their ceremony. The Father Superior has scratched out his eyes; the rest wear blindfolds. There's a distant sound of a trainhorn. Brother Avery winces and shakes his head. Brother Luminous falls to the floor, his hard joints knocking and suffering. In the corner, a brother waves his arms around, looking to touch the absence of sound. Another brother is wrapped in gauze; he has cut the skin off his fingers.

The basement is dim and has walls of panelled wood. It was once used as a funeral parlour, then lay abandoned for several months. Nobody knows who purchased the property; real estate links lead to links that lead to nowhere. Nonetheless, the basement has currently found use as a host for the rituals of these strange antisensualists.

Nobody knows much about the antisensualists. They don't recruit or evangelise, and indeed seem so insular that they end up turning away folks who would've otherwise been interested. But their numbers are growing. First emerging from Petrograd in the 1980s, antisensualist chapters have spread throughout the Post-Soviet Diaspora. In Europe, in New York, in Australia, their numbers are growing.