WHERE ALL TRACKS LEAD There is a song with no body, there are words tapping like the legs of giant centipedes, straining through darkness. Each stride uncoils its segmented length, with a sound like a scrunched up paper bag. Crisp and dry. I lay here and the muck of the past year is a patina on my skin, a dreariness clogs these veins. How did I allow this to happen? I have been here too long. This infernal region where all creation ends. I have become deadened to wonder, lost in a two dimensional reality, seeking corners to bend myself in three. An array of faces, the steeps of past tension, the parade of friends who could never make it, riddled by pressure, the alcoholic extent of their season; fallout, the burn is coming, you cannot last. I have been sent whirling down a corridor of horrors. I cannot see paradise, I never could. To long to be accepted. To reject. To project the self perceived persona I am not perceived as, to mirror those around me, to throw it back. I’m too dead inside now. No one else can carry my herald. It is a Spartan rag that beckons my ascension. Will Captain Michalis stride down these sunny boulevards of Paleo Kastro? With his bull neck and his brown eyes, snorting, nostrils flaring like bubbles from a muddy puddle. Will he stride and blots out the flaming blaze? Will the storm gathered at his brow freeze me in my tracks? Here, gathered at this northern port: Kaptara captured in the glowing sweep of Helios' crown. I am going to claw the grey from this tomb of flesh. Return what I surrendered at the shrine of compromise. (sung) if I was fused with blood if I was a mannequin bound would the moon hammer in my heart? would the mountain draw me closer? if I were a creature of instinct if I were a cog in the fixture would I strive to get out? Would I feel so at odds? there is fire and my words are nothing, there is rain, my words gasp from me, the night without a friend can crush me, dreams are a breeze of myriad realms. We are feeding through and fazing out. The airwaves throng with mixed up electrons, particles dance in waveform, binding up these memories we immerse ourselves in mortal transience like the death dance of a fly, spiralling around the light, vertiginous with the buzz of life, too fucking blind and stupid to stop. We shoot the dope, get too drunk, have unprotected sex, drive too fast, extra cream and a fry up double size. We can’t help ourselves, we can’t control ourselves, there is nothing holy can halt the madness, only a sudden slip from grace or the merciless trip that signals a paradigm shift for us all.

I have torn bloody strips off the night across the pale moon across the livid memory of her pale moons on those nights, clear from the terrace he'd gaze out spotting the bulk of the my against the starlit hide of serpents somehow distant, somehow part straining his eyes as though to capture a shot imprint the sensation the moment but like all moments approximations like all moments we are no longer here you are the unwitting criminal you have stolen something precious and, little wolf, i want it back although you do not even know what it is! never on the edge of his tongue the roof of the cavern the skull housed edifice beyond it words never came so easily in the company of vigorous mouths these frantic parleys of memory these anecdotes of egocentricity made wood of his tongue he had dined on every wound cannibalised his every action shaken bough, stem, root he has shaken the earth deep without knowing the eel squirmed on the stones lay peeled and bloody we can only guess at the hours only hint these abstractions when wordage is sensitised by the occasion of her crime

Just to listen to the shimmering trees no plans in mind no real need to attempt to reveal how yesterday on the dry road i realised that i am finding my gods reflecting inner and outer and that the great mother is life itself but here on the construct follow geological with vegetal all that is blooming regardless of time she echoes through timeless giantess of scale womb within wombs skin like the night blessed with eyes swollen with worlds her face is a spiral vortex of creation her body is a serpent curled around her lover the dog-faced serpent her other, the god within and without both pulsing and turning give birth to universes through chaos and order the masculine, the feminine in the boat of the sky as witnessed by the ancients with gut instinctive clarity burn through the bridges clear in the sky Sweetness cupped in Destiny's mouth a baklava of crushed pistachios sodden with honey dipped into your mouth she hunts us through various guises brushes hair gracefully from the arch of her shoulder she is a doe a butterfly, a frog she is astounding and ugly ungovernable, knowable and still i seek her despite my failings (the mating star) her name is Ishtar her count is a singing mouth of animate tongues our dreams collide together her previous manifestation was the morrighan of pained painful, madness undercover a sweet veneer of honey sodden kisses promises that were the buboes of her infection. the thorns are hexadecimal mazes pried by the hot of the pathfinders a gentle rain of dung mixes the thyme the scent of these hills deeper than the wound in her side as she swings above the cross the mountain tea has some for your tongue but driven here deeper than stratas of quartzite and crystal glittering ancient jewels the breeze that lifts my heart

Time bears its weight upon him, in the gasp between each footfall, the circle is waiting, like a deadly charm it will circle there, below, the ocean; each wave an upturned face eager to receive the blessing of his impending extinction some will grasp at his heels, others will trim wedges from his sole/soul they are mute witness to this show of shows and what mighty opponents he has reckoned with: the book of the law, and the circle of black crows time pressing down grinding its heel slowly, ever so ever so… in these gathered instants, the point becomes the line recedes back to point you see, everything is now loaded with extreme poignancy, never were the cobble stones so profound would that they had been before the sentence, a sentence, a barrage of words defining the parameters of his world: to the blinkered walls of his cell, to the sentence, the sentence, hanging over him he shall… that serpent shall strike the breath from his throat constrictor! foul abominator! He shall feel the press of weight upon his shoulders as the leviathan grinds him down The clouds turn their faces the sparrows turn to stare the discarded toy is god itself staring through those missing eyes footfall on the platform the knocking at the wood the mannequins of doom are arranged in regimentary fashion their hollow faces of bitter lips betray each shivering conscience he will rise now the serpent coiled slack its presence like a black hole there is no going back 6 am the serpent strikes the pressing weight the leviathan's bite sinking down to rise