nth & x’th day

day 9

K is full of film
spooling inside her,
red bulb in dark room
pictures appear
a time, a street, a motel,
built then gone
long before she was born

tespu tells me
“her soul moves from body to body”
(Mara, Marian, Daphne, Nicole)
(she’s faithful from age to age, just like her master)

“she’s a model for your myth”
my maiden, my fuck toy, my witch
“the ‘her’ you die for and live with”

I too have moved
from body to body
(Jhon, gHos_haus, Monroe, Lore)

we are DNA strands intertwined, two changing stars in a fabled Armageddon

the blind one is taking photos of me
(to show me my histories, my forms)
the blind one is taking photos of tespu
(to show us his passage, his norms)
Kae keeps these copies
warm in her body.
Letting them grow, letting them fester, letting them fathom.

day 10

Theology of the blind one of many doors (partial)

only the young one knows a little of the blind one,
but tespu knows all, for they are all of tespu,
the all in this room is not the all of the larger house
And there are many more houses still, crouching on the unknown street, ever changing
Sometimes with two doors, sometimes with none
Sometimes a building, sometimes a hut, sometimes a bunker, sometimes a skyscraper
appearing, disappearing from the neighbourhood

Oh mysterious neighbourhood
where ghos_haus stands, that magick shop, corrupted by the outer echelons of slutter gutt, steaming in the red light districts of ATON, calling our souls to erotic nest
into the city, the wombs of night, to which the outher ones belong
they, who are mere organs in the body where cities converge
The cities a mass of flesh and glass and stone and volcanic ashes
Body next to body in the room which is a land, stretched and curled and handcuffed and fornicating
Sea fucking sky fucking space fucking Sheol

Pillars of lightning and fire
spearheading the spreadeagled superblackhole
one of many in the tomb full of tombs, in an underworld full of other worlds
the upper worlds
the current worlds
Inside the greater world that’s outside the outer world bound by the utter world
as
one thread in a legion of realities
Spun like rays of light from a disco ball, in a ball room where the blind one and the young one dance to the music of the luminous void

day4


“the tomb is on a ship, the ship is in a cave, the cave is a signal, the signal is a figment of tespu” – lord anon
Kawaii from Korea is crying on the ancient bed
“mother…father…”
the wolf-dog is comforting her, head on her lap,
“she is mourning the complex”the blind one said
I’m rolling a cigarette, heart broken by the sobbing sounds
“madre…fadre…”
“Ït’s ok” the blind one says softly. “they are now timeless, in a monochrome hotel, dancing to old songs they loved.”

She is becoming younger in her grief. I did not expect her to carry this pain with me. Her sorrow seems to be making my tobacco taste better. Such strange medicine, this girl, this recurring spirit who visits me from the dawn.

The dog-wolf lifts its head and looks at me. Eyes, white as snow.
It sends me a time, a place, a continuum. a book unfolds within me. a name. an invocation.
‘omandae.’

The blind one senses this. He warns us.
“Only +espu can call it into our world…”
I contemplate my cigarette.
“…and only you can call tespu back from Golgotha.”
I blow out my last drag,
K. Kawaii is finally asleep.

day3

day three

charcoal vines replace erotic red lace
guts of organic room tech revealing
snake like from ceiling,
complex, gordion nests
insect symphony, soil on ancient bed, shamanic soot

K K grows, supple, round, like sweet meat buns
the blind one meditates in shadow
+espu, in hell with The Lord

I’m on the shore, mainframe dreaming
lucid gel, petroleum muck, glowing lube
blown from nose
I’m on the shore, darkening
wolf-pup swims out to ark
“the statues are the greater things” Tespu said
“hewn out from hull, an ancestor mountain,
old ones sleep in obsidian tombs, a shipwrecked temple.”

“She did not crash” I remind him
“Yes, yes, they are our settlement, our early fathers from the dark desert.”

“there are no traces of fadre here, though I remember him being present. but it wasn’t night when he stayed awhile. He had been called by name. the sun is still his ally, but I, the son, contemplates the moon.”

the spirit of tespu moves over the waters
elder wolf-kind swims back to shore,
eyes, the lightning of love,
a crooked branch between its fangs

“I had gotten rid of wood painted blue
but here, I’m given the othern bark”

the naked trees bend away from sea
I bend my soul to the ark
the blind one is a bandit in zebra sky
I hunger for the blood of cadre

day1

“we will darken the wooden wall
with the hypno of piano”
The Lord, Steinway & Sons

it takes time, the dried flowers

to be hung
to be shrouded
to decay
to attain patina

such still life hours

or the framed Victorian wife
golden portrait faded
wood eaten by centuries and lice

six notes from the lords’ thin fingers
opalescent, sinews strained, blackened nails

how I memory blood on ebony
thorns from dead stalk, reveries, ivory
a blind man on an ancient bed
a wolf dog, a young Korean underwear model girlfriend
leaves on heavy beige blankets, winter, stellar conjunctions

“we didn’t know what we were fighting on the mountain.”

“tespu knew, but he also didn’t think so.”

I now know there were taxis waiting outside the wall
that it was late
that I had spilled coffee on the wheelchair
that death feels like all roads home has changed
cupboard doors opened by the winds
her blouse on a hanger, floating in zero G

Tespu reminds me,
“this is not a song for madre”

I know.
I know.
I understand.

the young Korean kitten child mews at me for milk
the blind one on the bed wants fortean cakes
“I don’t know where the knights will lead me.”
The Lords’ hair is wet from rain

the prophetic occurrences of tespu in the current realm of the poet

how curious
these oneiric symbols from years ago, three
patterns in circular
prophetic, alarming, familiar
as if belonging
to my modern nights of sorrow


It is Monsierre Tespu who speaks

evacuees? crying furniture? saying goodbye to mother?
there was something there
there is something here
in the data, rearing its consci
from third world and darknesses,
to this frame of mine
“I have to go.”
I had gone, I had come back,


fadre dies, madre dies
and here I AM

commandeering the body of tespu
not so much glorified
but teeming with strange.memories
a remote voice from beyond the fifth wall,
wearing a new hat
speaking from the stations of S.E.P.T.U
on the day of our sepulchre

being a response to the work on 13 october 2017


collapse in the room of spheres and circles
**
“I find solace in the body of tespu
I take him in the train
ass high like native morphia
his mouth is full of Luna
his head is full of girls from Ho“
__
what is this madre-complex?
voice, trickling in
from remote medical centers
I’m in the upper cylinder room
waiting for the train that runs past
the forest of stomachs
into darkness
into that other third world
i’m in the circular room
cutting off ties with drug dealers
studying the splatter map of cup cakes
destroyed by domestic violence
i’m in the circular room
in the wake of evacuees
young wooden furniture alone and crying
young upright chairs aching for bodies
i have said goodbye to madre-complex
“i have to go” i tell her
“your sun is a forest in a body”
trickling out of first-world
into the familia of darkness
towards remote, orchestral strip malls

forms

I Am a projection, surely
from the city of spirits
a flicker of candle
passed down from ever fire

the enterer of darkened places

I Am flesh, surely
a prism and not a prison
passing through walls
of caves and constellations

surely then, Am I like
an inner door
a gate-like being

an orbital path of eyes
searching skyward

stations of nacht – parts V, VI

V

the imps of night, visit
bringing gifts

the first brings me meat of fowl in styrofoam box
steaming grain, wheat, lost soup

he is late

giggling and shifty eyed
having returned from prison
‘for harassing a young one’

I know the traffic lights are confused around him
there is no hunger in me
he yabbers
he leaves
I sense a small pink dress on his person but he hides it well
I do not consume the offering

VI

the second one enters Chinese mall of labyrinths
red lanterns, massage women, cheap pyjamas hung on plastic hangars
clothes rack wobbling under strain
women eating lunch out of styrofoam boxes
the second one stresses
the escalators are confused about him
he scurries about, to buy my airline ticket

he is delayed

but I will still depart, sitting in a spacious room
lit by projector screen
flight path animations on the wall
the cities below us
arteries of snake lights
black oceans
weaving, rippling
punctuated points, glittering

I’m in a night room in the sky
the repose of creatures around me
the softly breathing
the hum of movement, the transatlantic

dimensions and hours and genius loci changes

I’m at a ballroom wedding
luxury and feline and designer handbags, fabulous people engorged in wealth, bridesmaids, tuxedoes

blood clots on the bathroom floors
red streams on the walls

he washes
he washes
spraying down the scene

blood and water
water and blood

(what is this intimate relations, between grand hotels and restrooms?”)

maybe the year is ending here
marriage of heaven and earth

images of guests in drunk positions are sent to my phone
stances, celebration, dancers in mid turns
legs cocked, knees bent, night dresses akimbo,
feathers in ruffled hair, peacocks and strange birds, curved flesh bent waist, winged masks
pictures after pictures appearing on my screen

I do not know where the bride wants me
I am here to anoint women of sequins and glazes
glitter on powdered skin

they are not at their oblong tables
they are scattered from their numbered tables
a disruption of sequences
posts and spots abandoned

the second imp of night still has my ticket
I watch the whole ceremony on the screen
in the wooden room, the sleeping room
on a ship, in the upper echelons of sky
far above the cities
streetlights below like lost and glowing insects
converging, dispersing, crawling through the crevices of dream

a manifesto tbc etc no.0

manifesto of
manifestations in
progressions of

Irving Paul Pereira
&/or
Ingvir ul’pa Arpei Er
a chant / chance encounter with

the other
as

Light / Life (Form)
as
Spiritual offering
art form offered
The acts of / performance
Holy and wholly ritual base(d)

creation : created

slowly emerging

from
fragmentation / dissolution / syncretism / secrecies

an interior castle and/or citadel
a project within a projection, projected / projecting

a state / apostolate /
a poem appropriating

  • dream states of a poet
    in mourning but immortal
    (possibly immoral)

a modal collection of prayers and/ or apparitions
a photo in a holographic universe
an emanation of The One who sent me

archetypal / ascended / uncertain
a landscape of swirling ash
a formation in the aftermath