a poem from the compendium dissimulate my reality – some nonlocal junk poetry – 23 nonpoems from the point of view of a black hole condensed in an orange – a collection of made up poets who live inside a shadow
thanathol lorenz is a neo-non-poet who dies every time after you read his short bio. he was raised in a lab near Sagittarius A with some onions and five black jaguars. he was not too much into mystical discipline but he could talk to the dead stars and comets. he wrote crappy lyrics on the walls of the motherboard about suicidal tendencies, cryptographic marxism, jealousy, bartenders, seashells and Photoshop metaphysics. the first book – neo-catharsis: cures for the itch was a stupid and abyssal manifesto of nonsensical poetry ‘clean the world magnetic dope! / elastic medium: grotesque/elastic punctuation / high diacritical mark/ fetus like / nigredo fleeting scars/ obscene is designed to avoid moral panic‘ ( baila baila braille brother) . for this compendium we choose a poem from his latest book concrete-ghost (2019 mupress) . the garbage magazine wrote about this book: ‘an outrageous and scandalous inquire of poetical cretinism. some poems are obvious deep shit literature: how to teach children to smoke in a toilet on Saturn or when I see a bug a feel the toothpaste void. there are also memorable verses like all we have/ are negative thoughts / a metallic snow / on your saints and barbies/ I shall vomit. (if you are invisible go more invisible). reading concrete ghost one would feel the retard-state of mind of an amoeba’.
we are not design to be happy. except the car sellers and sex dolls (eCHT Liber Vagi Discordia – cap. 3456 non-mind boggling issues)
– fmyu eium eium euim emiu emui eium um um
glyphosphate humeruseg
.pot pot erg ăek lmao lmau lmiu k; kollaps
.etherm etherm acojas lobsterilization
2. killmemanjaro posttraumanism
ngiyp gerkfa’d etc. plibios locked turma
..coffeen coffeefe crissypus is not dead
hemney giganicus lohn kollaps
damn gospodin da fuqqqqqqqqqq
REMOVE THE TOOTHPICK
from the rotten sandwich
as I lay on the procust’s bed in my therapist room
I ‘m watching the magenta clouds and a church shited roof
go straight to the object of your desire yields a child
in a quantum tomb
consume this reality moans a corpse in the cradle
carne promovați afacerea pluguri libelule afazice
1.2 Consuming purified tryptophan 1.2
scratch the concrete to find the primary source
of your panic attacks
flowers smells like the end of the world
there is a wind that blows no mind
eCHt 