Tuche & Automaton

Saturday, September 30, 2006

The Empire of the Crow

and the dark angels held a party to celebrate the dawning of the empire of the crow and to the party each of them brought a gift...


doriandra a cactus with a prickly skin and the scent of decadence


cocaine jesus a bottle labelled provocation


inkblot a bruised heart wrapped in razor wire


stickleback2, elegant celluloid


raven a cloth wrapped in menstrual blood that contains dark secrets


porcelain skull a mirror of skewed perspectives


killer luca, promiscuity in flesh with blush red lips


having delivered to you their exacting gifts it would be rude not to accept them would it not?



.
.
.
visit the dark angels

Tuesday, September 26, 2006

As If From a Distant Star

Gnawing serenely on the wheel of life
Leaves arching morosely over our exposed heads,
wheezing gently
Navigating carefully on terrain dotted with
bloodied, gaping maws
Threatening to spill the arcane secrets of
untold millennia spent loafing under
screaming skies

Divine procreation, unreadable,
untranslatable, and gasping at
light from the stars

Effulgent wetness creeping up on the copper gates to the arena. The overwhelming stench of evaporated alcohol left abandoned in cups for the miasma to sniff at. Sheer wonder. Child-like amazement.
Emeralds howling with pent-up rage in the rafters,
terror-stricken at the sudden onrush of white on white,
myriad sheets of empty oblivion waging their war
on the churning sleep of rusting spires

Smoke blanketing all transmissions. A few scragglers huddle into each other, hiding their eyes in awe at what they sense will come. Some attempt to communicate their surrender by loudly proclaiming undying loyalty to the unfurled clouds of id. Others wait timidly, bibles in back-pockets
appearing now as so much straw

Revelations begin to rush in from the outside, melting the surface of the playing-field into aquatic blue liquid. Some people start frothing at the mouth, bleeding from ears that no longer hear. Others speak in strange tongues before diving in, never to reemerge.

A dark grey plucked bones from our madness,
ageing us decades in the process


Perfidious spirits concealed in the distant thunder. Our hallucinations running desolate alleyways with emaciated rodents and optical larvae. The frenzy to learn new dances to win desire again. Commerce and labour croak their mutual forgiveness at each other amidst the looting. Money hides in fear behind black fishnets left to spy alone on wounded flesh wandering between rows of cold machinery. To traverse piles of rotting teeth laying in wait for unwary beasts to pass.

Brief flickerings return once more. Levees bray their gratitude
at every recording surface imaginable

Peace perfumes our sweating, chases the marauding hordes of blue away at last. Flesh re-carved passion on the swollen purple flanks running frozen through the empty aisles of the urine-god then

Just as we all realize there is a stillness in each of us
that is eternal and cannot die

Monday, September 25, 2006

b>rack-et-, sovran stayed

neglect krnstliches 7]>
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but the king is
too lose Nor fair from shade, to the oft' declines in shall short Summer's not thou
complexion

untrimm'd chance (un)fade


Saturday, September 23, 2006

Shags


Photograph by Phill Deason.

See more from him on Mandy's Meanderings

Monday, September 18, 2006

peage toute direction


virtual painting by cocaine jesus

Saturday, September 16, 2006

the perspicacity of edges


consider the lilt of a glassy wave

~~ isospora larruper ~~

fatimah loved the snapping release of the bamboo
the scrolls
the encycled readings and stygian straw-suck flutes

fatimah in love with the claims, ousting, pyorrhea

fatimah loving these days without the application of edges to inner skin

to appendages dipped in pus

mouths licking mouths

Friday, September 15, 2006

The Kindness and Pity of Good Lady Beltham's Chartreuse Cherry Neuro-Oogle

They thought he was a monster,
but he was the King. ~Daniel Johnston, King Kong



All Manu said is medicine
billions of anonymous human hairs are filling the hotel filter grille
best sleep i've had in years
was sewn into a telescopic butoh-pouch
bait for the sea Rocs
who are all here to feed from the obi
of green phoenixes
these are snot beasts

running wild in the city
hookers are just people who work in factories
where nobody gets laid
in fresh petals
like a tiny live blue crab
to sunbathe

on the radio bed
your white legs
are black legs

if i cut one off
and use it for an earring
it will smart
Christopher Robin

Dung beetles are loping
near the savannah cinema

what crunchy kind of fried monkey
gets into your handroll
throat
tongue is red
in taco
looking for a way to escape
looking like a tentacle
into the abyss

my face is covered in cellos
made of jello
all this a curtain of mangled bone
purring like a polka-dot
so orange

my wings are boiling pearls
as i dive into the emerald city of Lliana
my beak a transparent hologram
whose molecules are words
of angstrom thine motions whose
leads
are tocha, bead blad lethur, and snake
pattern the trouble of pencil upon ivory

devils
live in a tall crystalline android face
and do everything
while telescops
choose aquamobile

this coin
was design

token young rubber
cheap bronze statue
i carried for miles
to your apartment
when you had little johnny trussed up
like a roast
thats a game
big possums play

all the junkies
get turned into a hexahedonic grey
power cube

you will hear
one ugly voice
like drifting wooden
water

soliton washrag

Army

of King Kong Ninja Clones.

Thursday, September 14, 2006

rOBBIE fUCKING bURNS

The original name for the Bionic Man was the Ionic Man with Steve Austen played by a besotted Robbie Burns bedecked in a traditional Scottish trilby, a red and black mackintosh and bog-soled shoes, who saved the world from evil by reading poetry aloud under a windsock held aloft with a stick

Walpurgis Night (Walpurgisnacht)

The sky: a witch’s cauldron, crow’s wings, toadstools, a carious trickery, a scullery without the rub-stone, an avulsion of gray marrow bone gray; Saturday September 9th two thousand and six; the eternal return, this [a} teleological wasteland, a rub-stone without the Braille, this {a} foundry, a Coventry of trickery and misdirection, a witch’s playground:

Witches (in chorus)

Now to the Brocken the witches hie,
The stubble is yellow, the corn is green;
Thither the gathering legions fly,
And sitting aloft is Sir Urian seen:
O`er stick and o`er stone they go whirling along,
Witches and he - goats, a motley throng,

Voices

Alone old Baubo`s coming now;
She rides upon a farrow sow.

Quiet Cells, Priority Tresses

poised upon tired old metaphors
alluding to the cruelty inherent in
your every kiss dilated, reaching for
those blue-eyed cells. sweat lamps
ask for time out of breath
silver with fear, conflating tassels
with talking drum patterns scorched into
the very heat of night. two names
working feverishly to repair the
pet labia absorbed in the irate
moods of a quiet sea this evening.
with sudden bursts of ennui to sop at
news of a torrid affair unafraid
to become diffuse and splash
tears of joy powered by numinous
wings of silk, frayed but alive
with the black gaze of a scorpion
not even fit to travel alone
in public without love bloodying
willing mouths to moth sadness at
evolution stripping the sun of
charred, broken designs that echo
with the supreme elegance of your own
dark magic.

Wednesday, September 13, 2006

preamble fax factor 1


• GROUP I ( G1 ) / Old FM Transmission time : Approx. 6 MIN.
• GROUP II ( G2 ) Transmission time : Approx. 3 MIN.
• GROUP III ( G3 ) Transmission time : Less then 1 MIN.
• GROUP IV ( G4 )
Transmission time : Approx. 10 SEC.
The operation of a fax machine is strictly specified by the International Telegraph and Telephone Consultative Committee called "CCITT". This committee sets the standards for all fax equipment thereby allowing different
manufactures and faxes in different countries to communicate with each other.
• GROUP I ( G1 ) / Old FM Transmission time : Approx. 6 MIN.
• GROUP II ( G2 ) Transmission time : Approx. 3 MIN.
• GROUP III ( G3 ) Transmission
time : Less then 1 MIN.
• GROUP IV ( G4 ) Transmission time : Approx. 10 SEC.
The operation of a fax machine is strictly specified by the International Telegraph and Telephone Consultative Committee called "CCITT". This committee sets the standards for all fax equipment thereby allowing different manufactures and faxes in different countries to communicate with each
other.
Structure of Binary SignalsStructure of Binary SignalsStructure of Binary SignalsStructure of Binary SignalsStructure of Binary SignalsStructure of Binary SignalsStructure of Binary Signals
PREAMBLE signal
PREAMBLE signal

PREAMBLE signal





sequence sculpture by cocaine jesus

Tuesday, September 12, 2006

tHE sOMNAMBULIST

He represents the representation of citation, the citation of representation. In this manner all representation is citation, citing the citation of the representation, which is the conational representation of the citation, the representational citation of the conation. I, on the other hand, represent the representation of conation as the citation of citation, the citing of the citation, the representation of the citation of citation. My mind is a blunderbuss, short-armed and full of pebbles, an excerpt, a mention, a reference extracted from a citation, a conational citation of representation, a blunderbuss without a shove-stick or powder-sac.

One two three four five thousand that’s my pocket comb a gift from my mother for the birthday I never had. Give it here you dirty bastard. Give it here over here you lousy bastard. Here give it here…one two three four five…here. Five four three two one thousand that’s my picket comb gibe it here over there here you crummy bastard…my pocket picket comb…a gift from my birthday for my mother. Give it here you lousy bastard here there here my comb my pocket picket comb here. Gibe it give it here my comb for the birthday I never had. I never had a pocket picket comb one two three four five thousand. Give it here…

Monday, September 11, 2006

Improvisation #WD40

time was a poisoned distinction
as red as vertebrae attests to
silent alarms lining my libido with
a manic veracity to forego one stab at
eternity aligning cruel breasts who
remind us continually of nouns and
vowels in a neon-blue room after
rescusitating fallen stars missing your
strange smile and sweet, hairy cube
already. wonder stigmas lugging our
coded ennui left beneath the ruins
wandering barefoot through your face's
creative career flying communal fear
over worn dollar bills starving to death
thousands living below the bottom line
daily behaviour concealing the mark
of a plan carcinogenic next to denim
kisses left on morphing epistemologies.
a fiend sizzling less talk.

Fuzzy Navel

who is Malonely Malarkey?

ContactOrgTechPhone: please do
1025 USNetRange: 4.0.0.0:
your cut boat of pome is a real love dingie
I be flipped in
love, Miss TPL1

TechName: totally out of dejambment
others in the Eldorado Slobber:
Enter NET-4-0-0-0-1Parent:
NetType: POC
her BroomsFailedStateProv: mother expectorated over the shock stock or is it another
can well be bad
here dear
I be like this already-made
WHO IS your dada dad of Communications,
Inc.OrgID:
do u miss me, database monkey shit?
I Direct APL8-ARINOrgAbuse&Name you:
3COPostalCode: you
OrgName: ? 80021Country: be lonely love to meet you,
I pat my piggy big like hints
NS1.LEVEL3.NETNameServer:
additional searching is in order
I hear ARIN's do ding thing
9OrgTechEmail: on
NS2.LEVEL3.NETComment: zero
RegDate:
Updated: by The Cat

come do something about that "shut" bat on the 4.0.0.0/8Net:
alternative fold out love bed
or I'll sting this MphuckInLVLTASSddress:

Saturday, September 09, 2006

onthenoteoffive

= cj x *^^/ + CJ%~

= cj x *^^/ + CJ%~

sequence sculpture by cocaine jesus

Friday, September 08, 2006

Chopped Nude


"...of course, then the sky was a sea of dead eyes, and there was never going to be a good way to go about it. Whatever he (they) said, I understood that."

She spoke without lifting her eyes. Scar tissue around her mouth made a murk of the last few obscenities, the last few drops wrung out to dry.

"You need me dismembered, even if just a little?"

He nodded. The yellow overcoming the grey.

"I won't taste too good; I've eaten-"

She shut when [removed] came in, not wanting to sound like her sister. All that la tasse est blanche stuff, too hard to handle.

But Beth overhead anyway, was already halfway through smiling as she came in the door.

"You've eaten less than the starver in the basement; if there's fat then it's gristle," she laughed "I'd wonder only if you have the ribs to spare..."

Ash cut the bellyring out of her and threw it to the dogs. Inside, you could see the sac of intestines, rubbing over each other like shy kids at an orgy.

Beth looked surprised but covered it up with a song from Mary Poppins.

The Slits - Earthbeat

queen2knight4

@14:44:00
GMCON:J D L *
1192 - N0.8
00:15:30
00:01:40
4 __ 0
293
1
0
1 2 4 1 8
810
0
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2 4 2 1 9
907
1
12056
Y E S
MULTI
M U L T I
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D F L T:G M C O N





sequence sculpture by cocaine jesus

Thursday, September 07, 2006

the status story of jimmy


invariance on a lifeless shining sigh.  ummu-hubur stalling... ki... lifebed.  

And son-lord standing on life-mom's ass,
with his ruthless bat he smashed into her skull.
cut through channels of her blood,
scattered to the boreal wind to unknowns.


PLEASE HELP AND VISIT THIS SITE AND PUT YOUR NAME ON THE PETITION.


BRING BACK TRANSIENCE

Wednesday, September 06, 2006

the ways of nothingness

uniting as a hollow form
a horned and twisted oudflame
whose gaseous intestines
are the ways of nothingness
finds

krillwork hostages
palping the singing ogre-lamps
the bacterial choir beards
whose winged lavender helix snakes
mudra to the lewd bonanza of circumstance
to the threshing floor of stubborn furniture slaves
who chew the paper pupas and palp the krillwork
hostages now glowing in the fury

uniting as a hollow form
a horned and twisted oudflame
whose gaseous intestines
are the ways of nothingness
finds

cannibal abalone knights
who feast from pearly dishes
with silvery gillforks
who swim with jeweled scimitar fins
who look with liquid lenses
through the meniscrust of time
into the exploding mercurial purusha lung
whose only error is

uniting as a hollow form
a horned and twisted oudflame
whose gaseous intestines
are the ways of nothingness
finds

phonetic corpuscle ivory
globulusting corporatus who
washes in the victory of the
empty screaming loam
the white hare on the glacier
vanishing by the will of optics

uniting as a hollow form
a horned and twisted oudflame
whose gaseous intestines
are the ways of nothingness
finds

Monday, September 04, 2006

Dreamer

art by Albert Joseph Moore
her let knot..
and the
night's smile
white upon
her back:
a star string
burning itself
root torqued in its matter
her heart is turned up & tipsy

automated functionality grants greater access and enables a premium facility for sunservience and should be wormed at all times.
words by cocaine jesus

Paris Souvenir


Read about this on ParisDailyPhoto

PINK



Non pas perlée mais … en alliance à l’hybride,
S’esquissent les temples nacrés … le trésor
D’une lune noire incarcérée au cœur du …

Chez les …, un chasseur jouissant au
Lapis-lazuli aqueux … La comète cornée,
Si et … si sublimation est mange nom.

Oui à la salive des serpents… Rameaux
En … Ce fleuve auroral … flagellent leurs
… enfants … adorent ceux … autres …

Saturday, September 02, 2006

Velvet Ski Bin

Cool, liminal coughs come from somewhere beyond The Playground. The quiet, inert shriek of a batswallow drifts across the abandoned ski-jump, its vermillion wings leaving velvetine traces of retinal-burn in the cloudsmear. Tracy stalks the roads.

The If-Track has been opened; lefty-looking drinkers inch their way towards a slow, clay-coloured cataclysm. Stuart Walker’s voice slips off the ink-prism. Someone more yellow has taken his place.

Tall, limping carpenters drift, a few kilometres askew, off the tepid coastline of Ilfrica.

Does your head feel like an elbow? If so, then those carpenters’ve smoked your soul.

Molten pentacles glimmer in a dustbin. Like vegetables.

Peter’s House is almost dry.

bells

fingerless gloves for the five fingered man
who wanders into another mans dreams
and leaves a space in your heart for butter to melt
where the devil cannot set fire to the freedom
that lays captive within our collective memory.
waiting waiting waiting
for the chance explosion that never comes
and those bells will never ring lest
to announce yet more deaths.



words by cocaine jesus

Kuff His!

for its village like a scab
encrusting the blowhole
macrame' ants house the mirrored black
hookmop peeple

COCO

Dirty Wai-Nonda

sock pimple
i get mad at arrog ant peeple
like myself

the only holiness
is the sculpture
of is

the blue butter centaur
vagina producing blue frost apple
walkie talkie squid
umbrella della

COCO

Dirty Wai-Nonda

dropped on my head
in K-Mart as a child

This is what you get.