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challenging, edgy, gutsy, turgid writing for the naughty aughties

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August 2010


Industrial Window 2010

               INDUSTRIAL *

Bring on the high moon of austerities,
the puking party-drama of overindulgence,
taste a little death before it starts all over again.

Wine and candles on every table,
the scent of body fluids lurks in the air,
masters and slaves with body piercing
and latex clothing exalt their wounds.
Transvestites, and cult worshipers
casually share androgynous bathrooms.
Trent, the mystic softly cries:
"F--- like an animal...
bring me closer to God".
Curious yuppies (sometimes narks)
trash the floor with roach clips,
leave pills at the bar.

With dark ale and the promise of leather,
one can seek the elusive gloom girls.
Strangers in a dark corner
by the cologne machines
complete their ablutions
dig stoned DJ's playing music
of the aughties amid the rattle of chains
and collars with locks.
No-one's requesting the Limbo Rock.
Debbie Gibson would turn to ice in here,
where anyone flashing the chest
of an "I shot JR" T-shirt tonight,
could risk abduction to a nasty ritual.

 

GENERATION THIRTEEN *


              There's a new attitude on the block,

                a generation with all black clothes

                  and a pierced and tattooed everything,

              self-abused riot girls and punks

                with a need for plumage in teal or fuchsia,

              mark of transition for hair-raising ritual

                taking an 'all or nothing' proposition,

                  to one more scalp lock of defiance.

 

              Along walls of grinding music

                all comers bash heads

              while tasting each other's wounds,

                dimly in the belly of a lower world.

 

              With an unclear sympathy

                dance hats come off of familiar partners

              with whom a young Keats or Shelley

                might have fallen down stairs,

 

              where four a.m. still celebrates

                as though Truth and Beauty

                  were lately discovered

               going down on each other

                 on a back-alley fire-escape.





Catastrodamus  7-23-10

It doesn’t take a giant leap   
Or calculation to predict that
Something awful will happen.
 
An act of deeming that it will
Relies on a lucky guess or
Jot of the pen, not genius.

Though revelation occurs to
All at the end, what matters
Is knowing precisely when.

9-7-10 is a date I dreamed *

Inscribed in stone, but of this
Event it gave no clue except
The date in black was written

backwards 1-7-9, the hand of
Catastrodamus undersigned. *




Vol. 6, "Industrial" idea suggested by R. Bissette 1996

Generation 13, Volume
2, © 2006

7-9-11 or 9-7-11 could also be implied *

No relation to the 16th century seer *

 

Photo by Eugene Brown
 

© Jimmy Warner, 2011

 

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