Greetings from hell,
granted, it is one of my own manufacture.
Turn a corner, open a door and it is paradise
(No! Let it be hell-let us embrace this wiggly warm demon
this squalid pathetic child of the demiurge)
Oh madness mine,
O my malaise
Come, old pal
we should walk arm in arm
through this salted earth
this blasted land.
we must take digital snaps of the ranked and ravening waves
of hungry ghosts.
O my malaise,
O madness mine
O terra sventata
Guai! Guai! Guai!
You left me crying at the discotheque
Bleating into a cellphone in the fog.
In the arctic winter night
On the hyperborean streets and galleries and tombs
of storied Romagna.
Among the ranks of Roman knights.
(toga! toga! toga! it's a frat party for the legions. the plebs and patricians
a legacy, a forum, the civilized hordes of spectres, phantoms, shades, spooks that haunt this Italian boot.)
O, incandescent misery!
the will o' the wisp glow of its friction rubbing against the fabric of illusion
the warp and woof of delusion.
Oh charge coupled device of my despair
Oh quartz semi-conducting sandwich, blue LED of my discontent.
All hail the dark man who stalks the crystalline clarity of this winter night.
who mutters and mumbles a steady glossololiac chanson.
All hail the demented russian chat babes, who send me their pictures via ICQ,
bare breasted, long legged
Oh the women,
got me all shook up
Bring on the long knives, girls
One for each of you
no names just now, the last 8 or so
Plunge, dip, drink
as I lay supine
In a darkening Julius Caesar pool.
Terra Sventata by Blaine L. Reininger is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
Based on a work at www.mundoblaineo.org.
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