The chatter in its original language can be found here
larvae anthem
...caution...
..................................................................
as if something remains here after the thought spills out of your shattered skull, soaked with cheap vodka when they barge into your home, they say, or better yet, like this.
tsa-tsap scratch, I wandered as a termite in the smoky towers of my castle when rams broke through my chest to penetrate the citadel filled with blue lakes, hidden in the very heart of the fortress.
the border guards scratched me with bayonets, but more painful than anything was their audacious laughter with which they sprinkled my defeat and downfall, initiated by others and prepared for me a thousand years ago.
if you have predetermined for me, digging a pit with stakes - impale your throats with the stakes!
if you prayed to your god, cowering in fear under the creaky old bed, smear your trembling guts across the floor!
for all that remains of me - the taste of gasoline in my throat and Lophophora williamsii in endlessly dreamy dreams on an airy foundation.
all that remains of you - a union with norms that twist you, but you let them in again and again, and you thrust yourself into anything and everything, rotting seeds give rise to shoots, and the shoots will become gardens - inside you where your scars rupture from the invasion of what is alien to your nature.
i will knead the earth with my fists at my own funeral.
and if it's necessary to chew fibrous glass, the wood of the coffin lid.
true to an unconscious attraction to life, which would be better not to exist, but has become a given and encompassed all of my being with its unwavering force.
if I obey others out of fear, in humiliation to myself, to suicide, to self-betrayal - beat my face until my nose is broken.
if I join this wild orgy of morals and humanity - beat my face until the white dental gradation.
reject myself, lose both nose and teeth and eyes and hands and legs and ribs and entrails, kill me before it happens, and it will be a perverted but most profound of virtues.
this will be your gift to that untamed and swift creature.
true to the creature that I was in the flashes of myself, in the upturned depths of my head, which they slit with lobotomy time and time again, burst the door of the boarded-up apartment and seeped through the windows. what you have, you must follow the unrestrained orthography of insignificants who conceived algorithms not governed by anything other than God's electric notes.
a dance without impulse.
a dance without design.
chaos in order to smear, depict as worms, and mutilate to worms.
bring down to a worm with nine hearts and two nervous nodes.
chew your own flesh if you desire, spread meat plates on the counter. these are riblets Korean-style, this is the best of the month because you're running out, and this pile of flesh is nothing more than a pile of flesh ending in the void of a grave where there's no corpse ravaged by cannibals for worship of a disgusting fiction.
we dance, we dance a dance on the cramped pyramid and cube space. it's the geometry of perfect parallelism, but mommy, why does it seem so scary to me? it's called agony.
cities are nothing more than hexagons, thousands of hives, rooms where it smelled of excrement long before new, unblemished collars with underwear on jerking straps appeared there, those who betrayed even then in the sandbox without striking the misbehaving brat with a shovel, destroying the nascent creations of sandcastles.
nothing is scarier than the larvae that never became a butterfly.
that became no one.
consuming itself.
so swear to yourself, to yourself alone. you don't need witnesses. embrace yourself in fire and flame. pyyuuu-oo-oh! these are the remnants of rails and destroyed hexagons, and we will walk on a road unpaved with anything, and we won't let the stench of these inhuman unions of new imagined egos, built on treaties written by those devoid of soul, passion, pain, and the ability to cry and the ability to roar and the ability to live.
don't turn yourself inside out and don't spin in circles on the carousel, dancing on a growing mountain of bones of those who danced away their lives in favor of the tradition of sly and empty. that's the true art of a larvae that extolled flight.
January 4, 2019.