A Spasm of Vitriolic Verses, Hellacious Haiku, Pustulent Poems, Satanic Sonnets, Lupine Limericks and Odious Odes. Read 'em on any device: Tablet, Smartphone, e-Reader, Laptop or Desktop.
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Adults-only, read 'em and weep.
Here's a sample:
Scissors cuts paper
The mind that is too keen and too sharp cuts the paper on which truth is written into disconnected shreds of reductionism and limited perspective.
Paper wraps rock
With lightness and breadth, truth enfolds and conceals the massive dead stone of ignorance and superstition.
One day dad went into McDonald’s for a burger but it was quite busy and he had to wait in line. Also, the teenage staff weren’t very efficient: one was flirting with a boy, another was talking on her phone, and another was just plain slow and useless full stop. Dad got more and more impatient. He had a terrible hangover and all he wanted was a nice greasy burger to throw to the pain in his gut.
Finally, he got to the head of the queue and grumpily placed his order but was told it wasn’t ready and could he wait a couple minutes. That got him steaming mad.
The Same God So That He Obtained Of The Magus Was By Demons Be Pulled In Pieces:
Engraving by Pieter Bruegel the Elder. Along the Hallway of Tomorrow
All the tumours beg and borrow
bloated bags of pus and vinegar
shiver, quiver, quaver or deliver
punctuated full-length features
starring all pipe-smoking creatures
eponymous green-hatted leprechauns
strangelings taut and sinning blameless
well-known if not despised and nameless
unhinged, unhorsed and plump with sorrow
trotting comes my old friend Zorro...
along the Hallway of Tomorrow.
The faint tinkling of fairy music
Encircling that which won’t
or that witch will
shorn of etymological linguini
equilibria egregiously punctuated
its verisimilitude quiver-cursed:
Harmonies of Baked Liverwurst.
Arrowshot, debarked and deboned
so very like the river
burst its bank, the peoples’ bank
sea-stark, unthroned
its verisimilitude to health renursed:
...
Secrets imprison knowledge, constrain understanding, obscure true pathways. Some secrets throb with power, sparkle with the colours of alchemy. Such is the secret known as the Elixir of Eternal Life. Such is the secret known as the Philosopher’s Stone. Some secrets are tucked away at the back of your mind never to be known on pain of death… secrets carried to the grave and beyond… secrets that curl in on themselves like frightened creatures, furtive and small… hidden in places where the foul miasma of corruption marks the presence of horrors beyond imagining.
Dark knowledge lies pooled in stagnant ponds, where the stench of decay hangs heavy and close. Such is the nature of the Secret that lies forgotten and inert inside the bottom drawer of a dust-covered cabinet concealed behind the cobwebs at the back of a dark benighted chamber behind a heavy bronze-studded oaken doorway at the end of a twisted passage in the Mansion of Unremembered Things.
The Scottish war-chief McMac and his war-bud Lord Mildew were heading home after a long, hard day of slaughter and mayhem. Behind them was the whiskey-soaked battlefield upon which their foul-breathed minions had totally vomited upon the enemy — the cowardly, beef-eating English — had thrown them crying into their warm beer back to their moustachioed mothers and pink-cheeked fathers.
Mounted upon their champing war-nags, bollocks bruised and battered, the noble haggis-lovers clip-clopped their weary way up and down a lonely stretch of heather-cursed witch-land, as mountainous and boring as this very tale itself.
Once upon a planet named Zurb was a species of lifeform with a complex culture and sophisticated civilisation based on advanced technology. The Zurbs, as they called themselves, were proud of their culture and civilisation and especially proud of their technology. They had devices and contraptions of every shape and size and nature; inventions and innovations of awe-inspiring cleverness. Their civilisation was so sophisticated and required so much energy to keep it going that they constructed a gigantic Kardashev Device* around their entire home galaxy, to capture every last pulse and flicker of energy from all the stars and black holes and comets and oilfields in the Galaxy.
“Growth at all costs,” their politicians and economists would say, “it’s a fundamental Zurbian right, the Great and Sacred Zurbian Dream”. ...
