this is the anthem

this is the anthem

this is the anthem



what's the magic stone: the magic stone is what: what stone is magic? what's the magic word: what word is magic: the magic word is what?
A big block of stone was in front of her. She let her head be driven against the stone, a made a mass of fragments of it, and she was dead.
a heavy sleep of three days and three nights by the gravemound at Lerga - I am Lug --- your father from the Side.
The first war spasm - hideous and shapeless - unheard of - every knuckle and angle and organ shook like a tree in the flood his body made a furious twist - on his head his sinews stretched to the nape of his neck, each mighty, immense, measureless knob as big as the head of a month-old child. His face and features became a red bowl...his lower jaw struck the upper a lion-killing blow...Malignant mists and spurts of fire - the torches of the Badb - flickered red in the vaporous clouds that rose boiling above his head...the hero halo rose out of his brow – he who knows neither friend nor foe.


SPH: Move and ill slit your throat!
P: U got him?
SPH: I got him
B: (oh shit – r u from Midian?)
SPH: We should take him below Pelican
P: He's not Nightbreed he's natural
B: (no I’ve killed people – that’s why I’m here)
P: Shut the fuck up. You’re meat
SPH: If we eat him we’ll break the law!
B: (so its true)
P: Everything is true. Gods an astronaut. Oz is over the rainbow. And Midian’s where the monsters live. And you came to die
B: (I didn’t come to die! I came here to be with you!)
P: No – sorry. I can smell innocence (touches neck – inhales scent) from 50 yard
B: (I’ve killed people vie killed 15 people!)
P: You told you that? (eye flash) He lied asshole
You’re (growls) – Natural – That means – You’re meat – For the Beast - !
SPH: We mustn’t! It’s the law!
P: Fuck the law – I want meat!
(P rips a chunk of flesh out of B with his teeth)


Thieck: Piled in the corner.

The Golem
Dormant in a secret chamber.


The rule of might at the edge of implosion, no one is safe and everyone knows it.





The clasping and unclasping hands near the pubis on the stone slab
Then rest
Near the thighs, near the crotch
White moonlight filtering in
The woman never has a face – but – she has a pubis
He says – clasping and unclasping “like the rhythym of a heart” – it is the only time the heart appears – but no face
A great story

Moments, time, world, punctutated by
And then more. On. And so on. On.
There is no dissolve – all stops – nothing between – a distinction made by darkness. Real jet black – that you can feel. Darkness – maybe – under the sea? What is it? Head buried in a hole. The hole is already too solid. The sky is too thin. Amniotic fluid. Ectoplasm. Hemoglobin. Fascia. Oil. Black bogs. Silt water. The trickle of blood in the movie version of Death in Venice – is jet black, not brown, not red.


The hymen breaking
The hymen is ethereal and never felt only and idea no real barrier only a marker for the farrier a means of marriage proposal the possibility of staying near the Shide island and painting the irish landscape for the rest of time.


the marks of shadows
the shadows of shadows
the thing that fuels everything the thing that’s mine
done with the compass, done with the chart!
from trust to death
from death to trust
O brother of mine


q tips, tax forms, boiler plate, hose, dust, cobwebs
moving through the murk
grendel’s mother
feed and return
call and return
name known, name unknown, high achiever, big name, missy, clipse, lil wayne, oophoi, schumann, Schubert, the roasted swan, stevie wonder, earth wind and fire, tito Puente, cee lo, Cocteau twins, sepultura left naked on burning sand with fire raining down from unnatural clouds


the precise angle – the amount of water – the method of application, the notation in the report – that despite specific guidelines – often – an excessive amount of force was used. No ability to measure, just a mark.


planned with great precision.


“The dancer who relies on the doubtful comforts of human love – will never be a great dancer. Never!”


Backwards faces whores and thieves; drinking songs table top dresses starched lace black velvet against searing white the plague the rack the wheel the pike; angelic long forms carved in stone all regents alien and alike unlike the funny
faces the grotesques capping the columns the old hag the fearsome bitch with flat empty sacs for tits waving her gnarled hand over sleeping men – the fallen groom – the angry mare the dark depths of murderous unrest the anxious queen
devoured by power fracturing her glass eating herself like the king whose black mouth opens up to devour his son


Diving into the dark pool.


Give me more love or more disdain;
The torrid or the frozen one
Bring equal ease unto my pain;
The temperate affords me none:
Either extreme, of love or hate,
Is sweeter than a calm estate
Give me a storm; if it be love,
Like Danae in that golden shower,
I swim in pleasure; if it prove
Disdain, that torrent will devour
My vulture hopes; and he’s possessed
Of heaven that’s but from hell released.
Then crown my joys, or cure my pain;
Give me more love, or more disdain


You may live you may die but the creature will come out.


“lynching” circumvents “killing”


The silent ring. The bond, the stone.


Tombstones, rows, the landscape, very clear. One with gravel, lined with trees, winter, no leaves, and a hedge. Another on a hill, near a fairground, on a slope, no hedges, very open. Another in bright sunlight, clear blue sky, with a high hedge, the kind you might see in England, a sort of wall, surrounding the entire perimeter of the yard.
A body in the trunk of a car in very dark, muddy water. Its wrapped in a carpet. The carpet is yellow.


The bodies in my basement. Near the foundation.


i had to say a prayer in Hebrew, for that i needed to catch part of a cloud in my hand -
i was standing on a platform and saw all these incredible storm clouds rolling towards me, i reached my hand up and caught a portion as they passed.


Nothing extra, nothing added – no extra weight.

sewer caps
skull plates
off shore platforms
engine blocks
chariot wheels


My young love said to me, my mother won’t mind
And my father won’t slight you for your lack of kine,
And she stepped away from me and this she did say,
It will not be long love ‘til our wedding day.
She stepped away from me and she moved through the fair,
And fondly I watched her move here and move there
Then she went her way homeward with one star awake,
As the swan in the evening moves over the lake.
The people were saying no two were e’er wed,
But one has a sorrow that never was said,
And I smiled as she passed with her goods and her gear,
And that was the last that I saw of my dear.
I dreamt it last night that my dead love came in,
So softly she entered her feet made no din,
And she put her hand on me and this she did say,
It will not be long love ‘til our wedding day


the thing that has yet to – that hasn’t – that will – that may – that could – that might – that must


Take solace in the hay loft, drink cold beer


The blind daughter of Tuoni,
Old and wicked witch, Lowyatar
Worst of all the Death-land women
Ugliest of Mana's children
Source of all the host of evils
All the ills and plagues of Northland
Black in heart, and soul, and visage

Evil genius of Lappala
Made her couch along the wayside
On the fields of sin and sorrow
Turned her back upon the East-wind
To the source of stormy weather
To the chilling winds of morning.

A girl there was of Tuonela
an old woman
the worst of Tuoni's daughters
wickedest of death-daughter's
source of all ills
a thousand downfalls;
she had a swarthy face, a
skin of loathsome hue.
Well, that black girl of Tuoni,
the sightless one of the depths,
made her bed upon a road
her litter on evil land
lay with her back to the wind
her side to the rough weather
her rear to the chilly blast.

The girl of death's domain was blind, Lovitar, an old woman
Death's worst daughter, the wickedest daughter of the Abode of the Dead,
source of all evils, of thousands of disasters
She had a very dark coloring, a vile colored skin
That dark girl of Death, the half-blind one of Waste-Land
Made her bed on a pathway, laid her pallet on bad ground
She lay down back to the wind, aslant to the severe wind,
Back to the blasting cold, facing the dawn.


the copper homunculus, the man of silver, the man of gold
"locked gold", concelaed and hidden from all, and there it is called solid, it is kept from the eye so that the eye has no power over it
"One ascends to one side, one descends to the other, one enters between the two. Two crown themselves in three, three enter into one"
the scoria and scum of all metals


Though Demeter is often described simply as the goddess of the harvest, she presided also over the sanctity of marriage, the sacred law, and the cycle of life and death.


A few nights ago I saw David graciously open the head of a wee gnome-like homey, a repeated pool cue maneouver, smack smack against the head-bone of this unfortunate boozer. Super verbose bloodspurt, it happened so fast, it was so
unprovoked – it had no time to register, it was done so casually.


saw a dead man bones scattered in a swamp in florida. he got me pregnant with baby #2 I found myself on the phone with various abortion clinics discussing the length of terms. It seemed i would have to give the baby up for adoption. i saw the sperm going up the canal to the egg and thought - if only i had felt this.


A blacksmith courted me Nine months and better
He fairly won my heart
Wrote me a letter
With his hammer in his hand
He looked quite clever
And if I was with my love I'd live forever.
But where is my love gone
With his cheeks like roses
And his good black billycock on
Decked round with primroses
I'm afraid the scorching sun
Will shine and burn his beauty
And if I was with my love I'd do my duty.
Strange news is come to town
Strange news is carried Strange news flies up and down
That my love is married.
I wish them both much joy
Though they can't hear me
And may God reward him well
For the slighting of me.
Don't you remember when You lay beside me
And you said you'd marry me
And not deny me
If I said I'd marry you
It was only for to try you
So bring your witness love
And I'll not deny you.
No witness have I none
Save God Almighty
And may he reward you well
For the slighting of me.
Her lips grew pale and wan
It made a poor heart tremble
To think she loved a one
And she flew to the steeple.



Chloe Piene was born in Auteuil in 1971. In her twenties, following a year in the army, she became a conspicuous society figure, frequenting the most fashionable Paris salons of the day. After 1999, however, her chronic asthma, rape, and the death of her parents, contributed to her growing disillusionment with humanity and caused her to lead an increasingly withdrawn life. From 2007 on, she rarely emerged from a cork-lined room in her studio on Atlantic Avenue. There she insulated herself against the distractions of city life and the affects of trees and flowers - though she loved them, they brought on her attacks of asthma. She slept by day and worked at night, writing letters and devoting herself to the completion of In Search of Lost Time. She died in 2022.


where land splits and forms the unfamiliar, the other suddenly outside, the charged edge that turns the heartfelt into something wild, fertile and dangerous known and pregnant with surprise pregnant with surprise or a black hole - between surprise and a black hole - black witch weaving the two together. only a witch can do it. never can the light of day see it. only she knows that once what was everything is now easily nothing. Celine only liked children a little, but that’s a different kind of darkness I’ve got no time for the poor doctors and the glug glug glug, as i said to my friend Sue today: only yachts. where the symbolic was once so pure and remains so blind to itself. dangerous. but no less dangerous than being alive. better to be a witch. best to be a witch. to suffer the depth of the hole on a yacht. Hemingway. better to be a witch. if he had had powers to guide the fish.


see how the outer sun
hungers for the inner one


Geza Csath
Gustav Meyrink
Jean Ray
John Kennedy O'Toole, Jerzy Kocinski, Ernest Hemingway, S.S.

Even the
wisest man grows tense
With some sort of violence
Before he can accomplish fate,

Know his work or choose his mate.

If i could talk to myself when i was 15
i would tell myself that nothing changes
that who i was then
is who i am now
there are no “and”s


Mating with 8 to 12 drones will stock her spermatheca with 6 million to 7 million sperm.


Man1: "Hey Keith, you said it? was headed north, right?"
Keith: "Yeah."
Man1: "And we're east of it, right?"
Keith: "Yeah, so?"
Man1: "So why is it getting bigger..?"
Keith: "....FUUUUUUUUU-"
TheSleepyV: “I said it looks like it's due north. I was driving north.”
BlackDawg1978: “If by moron you mean trained NOAA storm spotters you mean me than yes. The job of a storm spotter is to call in weather event to NOAA so they have a better understanding of what is really going on in the field. If you do a little research you will find out that storm spotters are a very important to any community in the United States and us storm spotters save many lives each and every year. Look it up or call NOAA yourself and ask them if they need us or if is radar good enough .”
Blrkeith: “You ever sit at home and watch the weather news and hear a "Tornado Warning" for your city and get nervous/scared and go to safety to have nothing happen?? THATS A GOOD THING... it's because of these "moronic” storm chasers that we even have a warning system.”
Bojibri: “Thanks my friend. I've been spotting/chasing for 25+ years and these kinds of comments are hard to hear. One thing that is unfortunate is the large number of people who think it's "cool" to do this and that we just jump in the car and become chasers. NOT EVEN CLOSE. I can imagine how many hours or reading, and how many hundreds of hours of busted forecasts you've been on before finding the first tornado.”
ChristopherSaindon: “Keep your hand still, bad filming, man.”