1. |
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She says:
1. no more seeds will sprout in the afterlife of this terminal summer.
2. that awakened bones of an ancient god folds into the horizon.
3. that almost everything or maybe everything will be everything else.
We'll experience similar moons under different skies.
She says:
4. that our discontent with the continent is only the beginning.
5. that we'll splinter off into constellations lining a prison.
6. that it's genocide in the Philippines with 2020 vision.
We'll experience similar moons under different skies.
We'll drown in wasted blood in a tangle of vines.
We'll experience similar moons and drown in wasted blood until the end of time.
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2. |
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The Imitation of Christ clad in pink vegan leather / I felt a terrible curse unleashed by accident. The purest heir of nothing in the ocean of violence / another instrument of the gradual reckoning, combined and uneven.
Once more with the Flowers of Evil.
Once more for the Man in the Clouds.
Once more in the Empire of Senselessness.
Once more with a funeral shroud.
Once more as we limp through contagion.
Once more as the darkness descends.
Once more through the Castle of Recklessness.
Once more in the Year without End.
It's enough to grind your spirit into dust.
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3. |
Endling
06:20
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it must be a psionic wave or sunbeam scorching the earth that's covered in rust. maybe if my mind retains its shape then i'll return in a flight of delusion. the line my between my favorite words is in the process of vanishing in a cartoon twilight.
and an old unbroken stream of nothing is waking the dead betrayed by the present. maybe if i stopped myself from feeling this wouldn't taste so bad. the heart inside my heart belongs to no one; it's dropping DMT in an abandoned room.
i find it funny when a cosmic event makes me want to destroy myself again by which i mean the acquiescence to breath and recognizing its impermanence.
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4. |
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outside the world there could be nothing,
nothing worth talking about at length, nothing worth thinking about too long.
outside of time, we'll be with everyone in a network of floating points turning to everything at once.
outside the world there could be others: random text producers, procedurally generated.
outside the outside / in a haze of waking,
the universe atones for its mistakes.
if you could really read my mind,
you won't hear anything
you'd know i think that i don't
you won't see anything at all
you'd know there's nothing.
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Kristo Baal Manila, Philippines
Kristo Baal is nothing in particular.
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