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Raging out of every house we're dying in

"
Beware the preachers
Beware the knowers
Beware those who are always reading books
Beware those who either detest poverty
or are proud of it
Beware those quick to praise
for they need praise in return
Beware those who are quick to censure
they are afraid of what they do not know
Beware those who seek constant crowds for
they are nothing alone
Beware the average man the average woman
Beware their love, their love is average
seeks average

but there is genius in their hatred
there is enough genius in their hatred to kill you
to kill anybody
not wanting solitude
not understanding solitude
they will attempt to destroy anything
that differs from their own
not being able to create art
they will not understand art
they will consider their failure as creators
only as a failure of the world
not being able to love fully
they will believe your love incomplete
and then they will hate you
and their hatred will be perfect 
"
(B.)

Samarkand

This bad weather circles us this bad blood strikes us ugly
let them undo let them undress
they would either way abandon us
we would either way split in two, in three, in millions
so shatters our skin so break our bones with this heat this love this zest
let them widen their views stare at every floor
violently as it storms and rages this bad weather this bad blood
they strike us down.
Tell me now am I good enough
are my hands harsh enough
to steal you off your pretty skin
to turn you into solid dust in tiles.

This state metaphor

Hi,
my fingers stick because I held a piece of chocolate with bare hands and it started melting before I got the time to eat it up. Every now and then during the day, something about ten grads warmer than the rest of the world oozes out of me and remains.  My teeth have this matted feel -the feel of unwashed teeth. Wash them. What for, I don't need shiny white teeth to sit here and think while trying not to. There was that movie on TV, the ugliness they presented was just everything I have ever seen. Not because I have not faced beauty, but because their beauty is so extreme it can only appear constructed and predesigned. A subtle shiver when the same scarred back appeared as monstrosity for them show business people and as a beloved view for us the great unwashed. This warm thick paste is the antidote for our lovemaking and, damn me, it works. Not that I trust them healers but this does the job. I haven't laid my hands anywhere near myself. Only at times when I get too curious about the viscosity of the paste I slip my fingers there and take them out bringing in front of my eyes nothing more but some pieces that dry out in no time. And this is where my curiosity peters out. What a great explorer, aren't I, you'll definitely agree with me on that. There was that movie on TV and I have turned out to suffer through all the commercials to get back with forgetting alone in a chilly living room. There's a cake I baked molding. An army of ants. I step on leftovers and hairs are hanging from my toes every time I dare to glance at them. They are not the good type of hairs, not your soft, light colored hairs, they are revelations of something dirtier and harsher that has taken place here. They are neither mine. I can't even tell my hairs on my body when I look at it, they mingle well. I haven't laid my hands anywhere near since the last time I have been squeezing you and clinging onto you and coying you, don't take me wrong. It cannot be helped, these hairs are here due to one or more deeper, wilder encounters that never spoke back. Never have I been so loyal, never has this empty living room been so real. The chocolate had no taste, I have lost the ability to taste. Thus I am now constantly craving and hungry and eating. That movie was the first movie I forced myself into, that expensive TV that acquits my apartment and myself from being a boiling trailer and a sweaty sloven. I spent three days laying on the floor under the kitchen table, sobbing, peeing painfully and scantily, with the eyes shut. The fourth day's night to the back they jumped in from my living room's open window. They smashed my back and all  the bones of my squalid dog. He didn't bark a word, he was a creature right out of the gutter but brave, so I like to think. They smashed my back and smeared the overcooked oatmeal on my face. The travel from the safety you provide to my chilly living room had starved me -it was dinner time when I got here so I sat on the couch and held a bowl filled with badly made oatmeal. They threw my bowl against the wall and it painted a wide beige splash , not to mention all the sharp heart-ripping little pieces on the couch and the floor, poor bowl broke. They grabbed my hands and stepped on my wrists to color them a pretty scarlet. They didn't tie me, they were screaming that I can leave this state any time, they were screaming I make every decision. My back was dust, my back is dust, how am I to leave with this sack of meatflour for backbone, how was I ever to leave any state? They wouldn't respond, they wouldn't -they kept stepping on my wrists and pulling my ears. They burned my flowers on the tea table pots, they sprayed the ceiling with my squalid dog's blood. I was starving, still, I wanted to vomit my stomach, I was achy and itchy, I crawled under the kitchen table. They emptied me in the sink. They chocked me over the undone dishes. They pulled my hair and I pulled theirs. Our hairs gathered on our wet skins and hung. They fed me their words. They scuffed my tongue, burned my palate, took away my taste. Then, they placed me back under the table. They left from my living room's open window, leaving hairs on their way out. I spent three days laying on the floor, with the eyes shut, wishing them to never come again, to never think again.  I came round to throw my squalid dog in the trashcan outside the house. I tried to watch TV, I read some, I tried to talk to you, I listened to some, I walked around. I picked up every dead cell of the poor bowl broken. With my back torn I licked the dried oatmeal from my shirt. I boiled me spaghetti and stuffed my mouth with spaghetti fluid and spaghetti. I placed a piece of chocolate from the fridge between my fingers and then in my mouth, it didn't taste, didn't taste at all.