spider hacksaw eats & is eaten

Your beauty bleeds me, Your beauty seeds in me
It needs me not, but still it feeds from me,
eating me alive, from the inside out
It forces its way into me, the bowels of my skull cave,
smashing itself through my baby blues
It cracks into my slice of nice, smattering me
with such kind and delicate
articulate malevolent
vice

I can not hide from it, I can not fight it
I hear it, I smell it, I taste it inside
It gets into my house through the holes in my head
it invades my home, through my attic-eyes
my addict attic-eyes and
i can’t keep them closed from the plight of you,
from the marauding wroughting sight of you
I can not defend myself against the onslaught of you
your ravishing infinite brightness, the shape, the sound, the pale of you,
your raw beauty-noose slithers around my neck, it hangs me
and I choke on your spectral nectar, your juicy god-flesh
I am crippled by the plague of you,
i am trampled and made lame by you

Your beauty infiltrates my bastion
your beauty gets inside and preys upon me,
again and again it gets within, wreaking its pleasant havoc,
it rips the breath from my lungs,
it tears the screams from the cage of my paperweight soul
leaving me crucified and speaking in forked tongues,
your beauty fingers me, it digs itself into me
and plows blades through my wrinkled cognitive meat,
planting the crops of you deep down into my cavernous vault,
where it hunts and grinds, and enshrines itself,
your beauty is my cult, and I am its sacrificial fatted calf
it gathers and scatters everything aimless,
so that nothing else matters except you,
then it searches, and reaches, turmoil turning,
toiling and tilling my sovereign soil into its goblin garden,
where nothing can grow except you

it infects me, it infests me, it wrecks me,
ransacking me for something it needs
Your beauty is so crucial, your beauty is so unreal
Your beauty burns, but it does not feel,
It bends me, unkindly, it twists my mental metal
as shame and twine
your beauty exists only
to hunt and grind

Your beauty is a thief, your beauty is a vandal
It riddles my whole with holes, It unravels my tapestry
It gobbles and devours the paste of me
drinking my thinking to the very last drop of me
Your beauty savages me with its wild scar-fire,
it ravages all of me, for all to see,
for all to see all of me

then it captures and bottles my reedy red muck daub
then it takes it and rattlesnake-shakes it, and rapes it,
my red burgundy blood-globe bauble
and with devout surgical implementation
it plucks the scant kernel of love that I hide, and pilfers it,
leaving me a mottled smear
leaving me a gutted hollow
an abandoned blackened tomb
a chrome shard of hard buzzard tart,
tossed aside to a pile, on a bleak fissured path
leaving me, a collapsed carnival clown
who once upon a time
entertained your beauty’s sin
who can never entertain
your beauty again

Your beauty is a vandal, your beauty is a thief
and I the shrunken carcass
dashed ashore
upon its teeth

________________________________________________
( beauty cult )(©) (by spider hacksaw) (copyright 2013)
(thou shalt not covet)

repost – in light of recent George Zimmerman activity

( ZIMMERMAN! )
© (2013)(spider hacksaw)
___________________________________________________________

It’s a turd! It’s a stain!
Yes, It’s ZIMMER MAN!
just a bumbling Super Zero
and his “save-the-world” scam

Able to leap to conclusions in a single bound!
Able to hunt hoodie wearing young black men,
and shoot them down!

As they roam the streets at night, talkin’ on they cell phone, like ever’things alright! Ever’things a chill zone.
but everything’s different under king George’s Law
everything’s different in king George’s kill zone,
Because for our super zero
every black male’s a defendant
guilty ’til he’s been proven innocent

On they way home from convenience sto’s
across this great nation o’ mine and yours,
dangerous and deadly with they Skittles bag
and they cans of iced tea,
they hoodies hangin’ high,
pants down to the knee,
all you Trayvon Martins,
you betta’ flee!

He’s the heaven-sent hero of the redneck-inbred clan,
He is them and they is he!
He’s their lord and savior, almighty,
and he’s making his stand!
Taking the law, into his own hand!
Don’t call him a racist,
Call him: ZIMMER MAN!

Able to trick and fool those liberal media guys,
as he wins the Fox News Justice-Peace Prize,
with his magical fantastical bullshit cloaking device!
just keep it all tasteless, so nobody gets wise.

Gonna track you down, to stand-his-ground
Gonna take the law into his own hand
Better watch out there, young black man,
He comes assuming that your guilty!
It’s a turd! It’s a stain!
it’s ZIMMER MAN!

Watch him troll around in his SUV,
self appointed watchman for the whole community,
he ain’t the thing that he’s pretending to be
he’s some creepy-ass cracker
looking for a bad-time, you see.

See him as he parks his Zimmer-Mobile,
goes creepy-crawling all ’round on foot
with his little gun-cock loaded, looking to get real,

matching his cocky attitude
with his strutting-hunting shoes,
gonna get his face stamped “Hero!” on Fox News,
Better watch your Skittles there, and don’t be too tan,
He ain’t no racist! He’s ZIMMER MAN!
Gonna get his glory plastered all across Murdoch Land!
It ain’t about nuffin’ but makin’ his stand!

He even wears a chip on his shoulder
as his super zero disguise,
just to make himself appear arrogantly ignorant,
like any other inbred-redneck guys,
all you black boys, better run and hide
ain’t no protection from guns that shoot lies

It’s ZIMMER MAN! To the race-cue!
When you least expect it, he’s right behind you,
Ready to pounce upon them young black boys
wearin’ all their Shoot-me-please Hoodie noise,
as they stroll about king George’s hood,
littering the world with little Skittle trails,
black boys in hoodies ain’t up to no good.

Whatever you do, young black man, don’t defend yourself,
never go against some creepy-crawly cracker elf,
never use your fists to stand your ground
because some gun hiding inbred-hero
is gonna gun you down!
some gun-concealing redneck-hero
is gonna gun you down,
claimin’ that he was just “Standin’ his Ground”

And another redneck-inbred fantasy prevails
and another inbred-redneck fantasy fails!

He ain’t no racist, he ain’t no Hoodie fan,
It’s a turd! It’s a stain!
Yes, It’s ZIMMER MAN!!!!!

(zimmerman)(copyright2013)(spider hacksaw)
(thou shalt not covet)

“There were two builders. Both had their own toolbox.

In one builder’s toolbox he had tools such as these:

truth, honesty, reason, logic, compassion, goodness, generosity, faith, charity, and the like.

In the other builders toolbox, he had tools such as these:

greed, self righteousness, confusion, dishonesty, cruelty, arrogance, deception, selfishness, fear, and the like.

Both Builders went about their business and their lives, building their worlds around them, with the tools they had.”

—spider hacksaw (1985)

“Some things must be repeated over and over again in our hearts and memories, so that we do not repeat them over and over again in our lives and realities.”

—spider hacksaw

I’ve never forgotten
our ravenous nights, our common wonder
I’ve never turned tail to run,
only come,
to warm, to be warm

midnight casts its trick-sleeve
off sweet water, its hollow
emotional gasp, chillingly
surfacing, resurfacing
circling,

dark light

tending to a rebel other
fitting lover, the tender thunder,
our guilted blanket swollen sown,
home to swirling feast,
a shunning sunder

daring, dragging, our darling fading
masks perfumed, perform agonies best delight,
a feeling of beast in us,
a blade makes its way between gusts
feeding through our hours,

dark light

it all moves in circles slow
prowling, glaring out, it stares
us down, us dogs, impounded,
turning and returning
to some pristine point,
a silent sound

i’ve never forgotten
our ravenous nights, our gentle wonder
becoming something,

it all moves in circles
below the surface
of us,

dark light

_______________________________________
(the tender thunder)(spider hacksaw)(©2013)

“So on and So Forth and Such” from: “The Kingdom of Boredom” by spider hacksaw (©2013)

Should mind numbing boredom and disillusion with this existence be propelling me to take huge risks that might create a life-tornado that might then not be sooooooooooooooooooo achingly boring? I have to trick myself into finding interest in things and/or people and if i do it well enough i might tend to forget that i am endlessly and aimlessly bored with this thing called existence. This thing called “life” that everyone else finds sooooooooo fascinating. I find and have found the majority of my time here in this manifested flesh, surrounded by this temporary universe to be utterly lacking in interest. I can observe myself fooling my mind into finding some point of fascination upon which it can hook itself. And the most available and immediate fascination-hooks are irritants. Because they are essentially constant. The external-God throws these at me to keep me busy, to help me keep myself busy so i don’t go searching madly or idly for an escape shoot or hatch. But the truth remains, i am always, from the back of my head, feeling about for a way out, my thoughts working as fingers, frantically digging and prodding and plodding for release. I find, and have only found, during my entire visit here, in this jail cell flesh, the act of creation, the energy of creativity, to be anything of essence. Not even the item or event created itself is as good as the trance that overtakes me when i am lost in the mountainous mystifying misty midst of the creative force of this Particle-Globe. And yet, i am overwhelmed by the inability to engage in the creative process, because i am so constantly being sucked at and into the maelstrom of worthless existence by those that have found a way to command me and control me as their slaves in this world. Because they have found the religion of this world, rather than the spirit of this world. They have made idols of false gods, and chained themselves, as well as the majority of “others” to these false gods, these gods of fast cars, and fancy clothes, of game shows and jewelry and bravado and plunder and glamor sport and so on and so forth as such. While many others find wonton chit-chat and gossip and complaint to be their warped chauffeur, casting themselves and their fellow similarly strung neighbors into baffling spells of endlessly circling escape-routeless patterns of brain curdling banter, by which existence is mere mimicry. And the shameless examples of false-god spectacle go on and on and so on and so forth and such.
I blame no one, for my misfortune. I am no better. As i too, attempt to play the fool and get lost in the goo-glue. To find some sense of redemption within this curse, along this long hearse ride called “life”. Is this what i was made for. Is this what we were created for. Is this why we all exist here in this place. This circle-jerk of consistent apathy. This horrific clamoring hayride. This joyless joke and fizz-free coke called “Life-lite”. To be confused and befuddled in a dark despair. To be used as putty by others that use themselves as putty for others and so on and so forth and such. To not create but to collect eons of rusted crust beneath mounds of ash and dust. To bumble and boggle and pooh-pooh as corn and cattle. To hem and haw and blah blah blah. Forgive me my decimation, forgive me my snickering whimpering will. Forgive me my lack, as i forgive your ravenous maddening complacency, as i forgive the joyless spring-summer-fall, and as i try to forget what i was even squawking about, a little while longer, in this dirt filled snow-globe,
in this Kingdom of Boredom
and so on and so forth and such.

(spider hacksaw)(2013)(from: the kingdom of boredom)
(this is the intellectual property of spider hacksaw – do not covet)

“All created things have their self destruction sown within them. Nothing Created last forever. Only the Uncreated, the energy of creativity itself is eternal. When a created thing self destructs or is destroyed, the force that created and animated it retracts, and allows the created matter to return to an inorganic state, so that it can be reprocessed. So that one day it can again be utilized as organic matter, and filled by the creative force. All created things are this way, branching outward, so that created things can also create. A never ending cycle of expansion and contraction. The Unknown inhales its life into the Known and then exhales it back out. Life is death and death is life. They are ultimately the same thing. Heads or tails.”

—spider hacksaw

the lord is my high capacity semiautomatic rifle(s)
I shall not be “wanted”
he maketh me to lay my enemies down
he drown them in bloody waters
he reloadeth my arsenal of weaponry
he ploweth a path of righteousness for all guns’ sake
yea though i walk through the Valley Elementary School
I will fear no children, for my guns art with me,
my semi-automatic and Uzi 9mm, thou comfort me
thou preparest a destruction zone before me
in the presence of mine enemies,
thou anointest their heads in blood
their shattered skulls runneth over
surely bloodshed and murder shall follow me
all the days of my life
and I shall kill in the house of the lord forever

_____________________________________________________
The Newly Revised Lord’s Prayer / spider hacksaw / ©2013

“Let the killing tiger die, to release the loving butterfly.” —spider hacksaw

“I’m more or less inclined to stay or go here or there now or later with or without you, my ugly lovely.

—spider hacksaw