Lonely Train-station Blues #8: Mindless Apologia

This is part eight from my collection of poetry titled «Lonely Train-station Blues». Get it via the links below, if you should be so inclined.

Straight back to the unbalanced apologia,
strange visions emanate from peculiarities.

Opposites attract and distrust opposition
that belong to shivers, radiant
in summer-blues
perplexed and free.

Alternatives to liberty frought in dystopia
shook me all night long
(you)
shook me all night long,
in linen drenched in anxious free-form sweat
sweeter than the qoutations `round your neck
or the roughness of your vampire lips.

Shaken, not stirred, we watched the sky
turn from black to blues as spanish rhythms
shook the dew from mouths raging sin,
who sang fractured nursery-rhymes whose golden
tunes inhibited practical applications of libido.

A lone violin complains in the corner .
Bedridden and deceased,
born from original sin,
we thrust and thrust and go nowhere,
digging mass-polluted multiples of graves to burn
the fleas off our backs in imagined shame.

Which ecstasy to seek suffered I in wandering
cataclysmic cacophony,
in chaotic crawlspaces
as a mind numbed with drugs sensed strung-out
gutters counting cracks in pavements decadent,
as the sun rose nonchalantly flipping the bird.

We, the fucker-uppers born from repressed rage
gathering dust `neath eyelids gazing at truth
or imagined truths of strange undignified pointed
existence sharp as needles in our anaemic gums that found
divine beauty hidden in the folds of an untrained bicep.

I shook.
You shivered.
We shone.

Defendant,
primitive,
and alone.

To think that these whirlwind wonders of truth
lied not in the pursuit of truth as shown
but lied in lies larger than continents,
grander than galaxies,
nailed to the lips
of we,
deemed unclean
worthless
cold
callous.

To think grandiose schemes lay broken boundless
`neath our fractal nursery-rhymes, or in beauty
drugged and bound in the chest of Prometheus
chained to simple soulless skyscrapers gazing
at the concrete-moon in search of truth concrete.

To hear the cars hiss outside windows pounding nails
in hardwood floors where legs numbed by millennia
walk and wallow in pain drowned in drink
fuels the fires of blank blindfolded brilliant catharsis.

I belong to the blind-eyed I said he
and so said I.

Odd footsteps
on pavements
drenched in blood,
we raised our glass
and sung his last
word:
Catharsis.

Enveloped in wombs of decadent jazz
as mud flung from skies turning blues
shone the sun through our eyes where we saw
that truth is naught now but deceit.

Rampaging we roared calm-fisted,
our voices fluttered by like flutter-byes,
to bury our hands in eternal deserts
of oil-tainted asphyxiating asphalt.

Shone we numb-naked
with our thumbs in their eyes,
all smiles and birthday-pasts-and-presents.

I saw the sun rise through a draining glass of wine,
and truth revealed itself to be a gelatinous blob.

We drained our dreary glass again,
all birthdays and smile-pasts-and-presents,
the jazzy sky glowed radioactive.

what is matter?
nevermind
what is mind?
no matter

And we are nothing but leeches
pondering preposterous notions of
rainy-day freedom in selfserving
attempts at justice legionaire,
where might is all and all is might.

And we are nothing but silence
whispering violently violet ideas
in dead-pan slapstick comedies
where truth became satire
impossible to satirize.

And we are ghosts
beholding beauty
burnt and buried
bottoms-up,
we drain our glass again.

Imagine if we walked out
never to look back.

Imagine if we turned away
never to return.

Imagine if we became truth
never to apologize.

  • Please like, share and subscribe
  • Moiret Allegiere, 29.06.2020

My Generation Killed Rock «n» Roll:
Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B089DHKBQB
Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B089M59JXF

Lonely Trainstation Blues – Poetry for the Lost Boys, Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07ZB6K2JX
Lonely Trainstation Blues – Poetry for the Lost Boys, Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1692495518

Howling at a Slutwalk Moon, a collection of previous blog posts:
Vol 1 Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/107571074X
Vol 1 Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07TZTPDPR
Vol 2 Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1075714184
Vol 2 Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07TZR25NL
Vol 1 Illustrated Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1075717094
Vol 2 Illustrated Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1075723078

Other links:
Parler.com: @MoiretAllegiere
Blog: https://moiretallegiere.wordpress.com/
YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC3IaCxAXE3pQd7PCdvHoaaA
Bitchute: https://www.bitchute.com/channel/EvbGZyTZSraY/
twatter: https://twitter.com/MAllegiere
Gab: https://gab.com/Moiret_Allegiere
Minds: https://www.minds.com/Moiret
Flickr: https://www.flickr.com/people/152465815@N04/

Lonely Train-station Blues #7: Stayed all Night

This is part seven from my collection of poetry titled «Lonely train-station blues – poetry for the lost boys». Get it through the links below.

I got drunk and
stayed all night
in burnt-out
toilet cubicles.

Old-school guillotine madness
at schools stained with memories,
a dream from footprints in snow,
a trail of blood and cum.

Carry on, my wayward son.

Transcending life and death
with a drunkards hypnotic gaze,
I exhumed God, feeble-minded,
from rolls of toilet-paper
on cold stone-tiled floors.

An imminent explosion –
pulse beat at the tip of the heart,
pounding nails into my jack-hammer migraine,
transcending life and death
to sway far away, saintlike.

Clouds floating overhead
head over heels,
posthumous humour between
walls lined with graffiti
saying “fuck” and other
juvenile vulgarities,
pointing
at the road toward intentions;
paved with good hell.

Crude drawings and sketches
of cocks and cunts
and words alluding to
fornication
within this holy cubicle,
within this inner sanctum,
within this shrine,
this temple to
the body.

After a while,
cloven in twain with
my particles rising towards
space incandescent, diamond-like
and scattered alongside my marbles,
fell I to my knees
at the feet of my porcelain-altar.

Lying coiled at the
feet of God
drawn wishy-washy towards
enlightenment, cold as hell
and huddled under my cheap
trench-coat stained with vomit
and with booze and rot,
lost in midwinter
booze-hound partying.

Existence exited right of centre
with high-strung nervous tension
and frost caked in the corners
of closed eyelids, blinking REM-like
aiming at immediate psychosis.

Voices crying «NO!» elaborating
drunkenly on fingertips elusive
in this foul crows-nest-night,
cold as the babble
found in throats closed by anxiety
where God descended his beggars
throne, asking for handouts
and receiving analogue telephone
receivers to comprehend
only silence on
the other line.

Heavy pressure on chest
huffing puffing heaving
for air, forcing breath into
lungs to be met only with
hyperactive neural interface-madness
click-clacking on the receiving
end of telephones spattered with gold,
alone and descending onto
madness particular to God;
his voice whispering in my
elusive ear: “transcend”.

Then transcending what exactly?
Collapse of air and breath and lungs
prolapsed back-stroke and neck,
stinging burning sensations of pain
and fatigue extreme
and fatigued extremities,
then turn your head and wobble
then turn your eyes inwards
gaze at pits of madness or
vicious despair, to become
cold and clinically insane.

Then transcend transcendence.
Become a noose,
a laughter golden.
Become a silence,
metaphysical, then freaking out.
Running wildly over the hills,
wild horses roaring with laughter,
sacrosanct, taboo, fetishistic,
seeking truth in nonsense
and finding only nonsense in truth.

Words spat at murals
hanging drugged from streams of
light, crawling naked towards
mountains of madness, covered
in piss and shit and dust and stone.

Eerie mechanical prophet-words
immediate, cleaner than
impatience
in the face of God and in the
face of Society and its snake
coiled in the back of my throat
forcing vomit out in
screams of frustration
and roars of rage.

Then meet only silence.
Hands that claw at heartstrings,
silence more profound than
words of wisdom gathered
in stoned drum-circles, or in
dilapidated concrete-blocks where
peeking children gaze at death
through folded curtains padded
with razor wire.

Seven layers of madness.
Tragedy ensues.
Suicidal seeker-dream
drug-born, ravenous and weird.

Pecking at the eyes of reason
when shivering scatterbrained,
huddled in a corner of sacred
and permanent building-blocks
of bygone society, resting
at the feet of psychiatry
showing no mercy
to the likes of scatter-marbled
me, seeking drunk tiger-dreams
and strength in adversity
as sweat drips to the floor
and find me crawling at the door
beckoning for a reckoning
and begging for alms to
grace the ever present
present of the past
with calm relaxed
I-don’t-give-a-fuck-anymore
sentiments.

We exit.

Stone-hands stitched at our sides.

We exit.

Stage door open left and right,
gone from centre and balance lost.

We exit.

God and me and vibrations stranger
than her whispered voice in
meditations lost to eyes and
shaking voice.

We exit.

  • Please like, share and subscribe
  • Moiret Allegiere, 22.06.2020

My Generation Killed Rock «n» Roll:
Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B089DHKBQB
Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B089M59JXF

Lonely Trainstation Blues – Poetry for the Lost Boys, Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07ZB6K2JX
Lonely Trainstation Blues – Poetry for the Lost Boys, Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1692495518

Howling at a Slutwalk Moon, a collection of previous blog posts:
Vol 1 Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/107571074X
Vol 1 Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07TZTPDPR
Vol 2 Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1075714184
Vol 2 Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07TZR25NL
Vol 1 Illustrated Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1075717094
Vol 2 Illustrated Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1075723078

Other links:
Parler.com: @MoiretAllegiere
Blog: https://moiretallegiere.wordpress.com/
YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC3IaCxAXE3pQd7PCdvHoaaA
Bitchute: https://www.bitchute.com/channel/EvbGZyTZSraY/
twatter: https://twitter.com/MAllegiere
Gab: https://gab.com/Moiret_Allegiere
Minds: https://www.minds.com/Moiret
Flickr: https://www.flickr.com/people/152465815@N04/

Take a Wee

«SNAFU, GTFO»

Take a knee, buddy-boy, and pledge allegiance to the cause of justice and of fairness which would see you on your knees to lick and kiss the feet of your superiors for the equal treatment of your betters.

All for justice, see, the justice of the fair and few that were so left behind in hungry shades of imbecility and unthinking amorality perceived as supreme morality by the department of irresponsive irrelevance.

Random acts of violence and of arson ain’t happening; no looting, pillaging, sacking or razing here to mirror the violent excess and chaos brought by the Mongolian army sometime in the 1300s.

No manufactured outrage to be seen; no hand-made ruination, no rent-a-crowd to bring dissent, disaster, destruction and despair to further the great divide of the dread, the feverish, the hollow current year.

Aye, ‘tis but a peaceful protest; slight civil disobedience, some miniscule materialization of righteous anger directed at the wickedness of the world as the world is presented by daffodils with only justice on their mind.

Aye, ‘tis but a civilized, pre-planned, pre-programmed collapsathon of all that may well be considered old; tear-downs of old decrepit statues raised in memory of the wicked long-agos.

Aye, ‘tis naught but mob-law and mob-rule by the oppressed who want for nothing more than free shit looted from local businesses that ain’t done shit, but, hey, ones own neighbourhood is oppression gone supreme.

Aye; it’s all sealed by the blowfly-maggot-kiss of the western world showing solidarity with the beautiful rank-and-file hysterics of a crowd gone ape-shit, never thinking, only feeling and – then – acting.

And “Oh”, they’ll say, “you don’t understand the institutionalized this and that and you must educate yourself”; a grand excuse for petty loss of thought and knowledge never having to explain themselves.

And “Oh and woe”, they’ll say, when asked a simple question, “we’re not here to educate you – you must do that for yourselves – better you just take a knee and lay your swords there at our feet”.

And people are beat and robbed and mugged, and buildings are torched and businesses looted and still the mindless drones will say that it is mostly peaceful, mostly peaceful, and, not least of all, righteous.

And the mantra and the war-cry spreads throughout the mob; “By any means, by any means”, chanted high and loudly roared by violent thugs for whom dissenting words are violence, yet political violence ain’t.

Take a knee, buddy-boy, and pledge that you shall never hurt, nor scar, nor burn or torch or touch or speak a word in opposition to your masters and their righteous mob of stray, feral, urban beasts.

Peace, you see, will be achieved when all demands are met, when all that is old lie burning, when all that is known lie broken, when all that once was is ruined and ravaged and raped.

Peace, you see, will be achieved when all agreements are in place, when all your old are found hanging from the street-lights, swaying gently in the breeze of our very own brain-wiped and pathological nuclear holocaust.

Peace, you see, will never be achieved for there will always be some new outrage, some new complaint, some new thing dubbed “institutionalized” that must be torn down by harmonious thugs.

There will always be something new, something other, something else that must be taken and destroyed and torn down and burnt, bruised, beat and killed to soothe the anger of the mob.

There will always be some new cause, some new schism, some new fracture to widen, open, piss and shit into and then infect with baby-faced glee and childish insistence on the righteousness of “me, me, me”.

There will always be some new demand as long as the demands of the mob are met. To believe that the mob will ease when once they are granted legitimacy and power is absurd, to say the least.

You don’t apologize to these people. You don’t bow down to these people. You don’t even have to fucking speak to these people… for they will not speak to you; they will roar and rage and throw tantrums…

But they will not speak to you.

They will speak at you and they will speak over you, but they will not speak to you.

They will scream in your face and kick you in the teeth, but they will not speak to you.

They will demand obedience and for you to pledge allegiance, but they will not speak to you.

They will burn your business and ruin your neighbourhood, but they will not speak to you.

They will call you names and label you as this and as that, but they will not speak to you.

They will threaten you, harass you and even dox you, but they will not speak to you.

They have already made an enemy of you; turned you into a caricature or an effigy upon whose un-personed form all scorn and rage and ridicule may be unleashed.

And they will not speak to you.

They will only speak at you.

Ignore them.

Kick them out of your life.

Don’t give them an inch of anything but your middle-finger.

  • Please like, share and subscribe
  • Moiret Allegiere, 17.06.2020

My Generation Killed Rock «n» Roll:
Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B089DHKBQB
Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B089M59JXF

Lonely Trainstation Blues – Poetry for the Lost Boys, Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07ZB6K2JX
Lonely Trainstation Blues – Poetry for the Lost Boys, Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1692495518

Howling at a Slutwalk Moon, a collection of previous blog posts:
Vol 1 Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/107571074X
Vol 1 Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07TZTPDPR
Vol 2 Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1075714184
Vol 2 Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07TZR25NL
Vol 1 Illustrated Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1075717094
Vol 2 Illustrated Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1075723078

Other links:
Redbubble shop: https://www.redbubble.com/people/Moiret/shop
Blog: https://moiretallegiere.wordpress.com/
YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC3IaCxAXE3pQd7PCdvHoaaA
Bitchute: https://www.bitchute.com/channel/EvbGZyTZSraY/
twatter: https://twitter.com/MAllegiere
Gab: https://gab.com/Moiret_Allegiere
Minds: https://www.minds.com/Moiret
Flickr: https://www.flickr.com/people/152465815@N04/

Lonely Train-station Blues #6: Salvation

(This is part 6 from my collection of poetry «Lonely Train-station Blues» Get it through the links below.)

And we, the obscenities, should rave and roar and laugh like beasts let loose at the fall, at the dawn, at midnight and at noon.

And we, the alienated, weird and disenfranchised, should rage at the night-lined sky filled with pompous dreams and sacrifice; hollow futures in empty promises held by miniscule terrorists pointing fingers through the sockets of their eyes shooting us for revolution.

And we, being unceremoniously buried beneath the weight of a thousand thousand-yard-stares should bleed profusely profound truths delivered poetically true and just into the megalomaniacal minds of watered-down tempters ensnaring wild and mild and free kids with promises of salvation.

And that is salvation from liberty; the oppressive tyranny of free expression ideologically detained in waste-bucket nights; wild spittoon images popping up behind eyelids closed by the encroaching bombs dropping from skies sanctified by political circus-clowns trembling with alcoholic delirium.

And that is salvation in the post-apocalyptic utopia of an elite feigning incoherent anti-elitism; establishment goons fighting shadows of former glories pretending not to know of their own circumstance and happening upon blood-stained walls and gutters lined with entrails from sacrificed kids led to the slaughter by brutal behemoths frostily parroting death-terms of surrender.

And that is salvation embalming dead nights in drunk despair forming loose-knit bonds of me, myself, and I in drugged stupors claiming to know unflinching how the world works and where the world begins and where the world ends, miraculously pondering free-falling poetry encased in postmodern piss-pots overturned atop the heads of thinkers howling that truth is not beauty no more.

And that is truth. And that is beauty. The death of both in this perplexing glasshouse in which they stand to throw rocks and stones and gargle words that none would dare to understand, nodding in silent agreement for not daring to state the obvious and point out the elephant in the room; faulty reign of queen bee supreme, Mrs. death-despair locked within these walls and upon this gargantuan never-mind and never-where, spread words that sing like truth where no truth now exist.

And that is truth. And that is beauty. All glazed over in eyes that fill with fever, flailing like mad to gain a foothold within this hive of arrogance and decadence and dead-night despair where once we set our feet to pound the rhythm of the music, dancing in lines the conga stratosphere disaster, and then fall on the floor like mad vultures landing upon a carcass remembering where we used to be and how and who and whom and why.

Then weeping a little.
Then turning over to cry.
Then burning up and trying to recall some grand memory of times gone by where we remembered childhood innocence and pure understanding; where once there was such things as beauty and as truth, no longer valued in a state of bliss where we stay locked in cages scared to come out and play upon the streets and in the woods for all is locked down and caked with ice and crusty streaks of semen mixed with period-blood, guffawing crisis splendid and decayed.

Then creeping a little.
Then turning over to weep.

Then dying in mixed splendour, our screams reaching climaxes never thought or heard or seen before, stomped beneath the weight of land-whales marching to the tune of some frizzled memory of a grounded disco-beat.

Ahhhh

freak
out.

  • Please like, share and subscribe
  • Moiret Allegiere, 15.06.2020

My Generation Killed Rock «n» Roll:
Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B089DHKBQB
Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B089M59JXF

Lonely Trainstation Blues – Poetry for the Lost Boys, Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07ZB6K2JX
Lonely Trainstation Blues – Poetry for the Lost Boys, Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1692495518

Howling at a Slutwalk Moon, a collection of previous blog posts:
Vol 1 Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/107571074X
Vol 1 Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07TZTPDPR
Vol 2 Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1075714184
Vol 2 Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07TZR25NL
Vol 1 Illustrated Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1075717094
Vol 2 Illustrated Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1075723078

Other links:
Redbubble shop: https://www.redbubble.com/people/Moiret/shop
Blog: https://moiretallegiere.wordpress.com/
YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC3IaCxAXE3pQd7PCdvHoaaA
Bitchute: https://www.bitchute.com/channel/EvbGZyTZSraY/
twatter: https://twitter.com/MAllegiere
Gab: https://gab.com/Moiret_Allegiere
Minds: https://www.minds.com/Moiret
Flickr: https://www.flickr.com/people/152465815@N04/

Lonely Train-station Blues #5: Monsoons

Part 5 from my collection of poetry «Lonely Train-station Blues: Poetry for the Lost Boys», which can be bought by following the links below.

I dreamt monsoons as a kid

wired and lying still
and
wide awake
drowning in the nights satin madness.

And overcome with panic
floating in permanent
acid-solutions,
moon-mad and
colder than cold.

I dreamt tall trees
and
blasts of air
and
drunk death
behind waking
eyes

as a kid.

I dreamt faces of stone,
marbled, garbled visions
of faces closing in
laughing with silver-fangs

as a kid.

Locked in, stocked up and shaking,
vibrating ferociously with mild
hay-fever
and
ridiculous fever-dreams
stir-fried and stiff beneath lead-sheets
grasping at midnight-straws
the colour of swans
giving birth.

Midnight lovingly left me
drowning in perspiration
dripping of my waxy skin

with

Calligraphy-lips sealed by
mad-monk-kiss
sounds of sweat
and whispered breath

drip

drop

Reciting verses
cold-heart mantras
reading chapters
buried in my pillow,

Repeating repetition
repetitiously

same as before

as a kid.

Engulfed in plague baths
and
cobwebbed whispers
chanting my name
and
hollow sounds of
disembodied breathing
and
hallucinatory tactile
sensations prodding
flesh and skin and bone,
cold as cold and
limitless, yet encaged,
yet
enraged

as a kid.

Bright stars high and slow
dazed my late night
night-light frenzy
calculated
and
as cool as
corner-store bullies
showing down in
grievous ecstasy
noiseless
voiceless,

voiceless
and noiseless

lessons learned from
sleep deprivation

as a kid.

Talk-show gibbering rubbish
gibberish through paper-walls
and
down the up-stairs
and
slam
and
bam
and
wham
and
thank you
ma’am
with white noise
buzz and drone
and drone and buzz
sat I, nonplussed,
dreaming monsoons

as a kid.

Weird surreal dreams
and
wicked wide-eyed
white-out absurdities
went premeditatedly
clink-clonk,
trembling
in a wishy-washy
wishing well
and
white feather fantastically
burning
brighter than the
brightest flame
deep within the
great wild yonder
and
smoke signals
and
varied visions
and
salutations
and
greetings,
singing
greetings
singing
greetings
trembling
weirdly

as a

kid.

  • please like, share and subscribe
  • Moiret Allegiere, 08.06.2020

My Generation Killed Rock «n» Roll:
Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B089DHKBQB
Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B089M59JXF

Lonely Trainstation Blues – Poetry for the Lost Boys, Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07ZB6K2JX
Lonely Trainstation Blues – Poetry for the Lost Boys, Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1692495518

Howling at a Slutwalk Moon, a collection of previous blog posts:
Vol 1 Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/107571074X
Vol 1 Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07TZTPDPR
Vol 2 Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1075714184
Vol 2 Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07TZR25NL
Vol 1 Illustrated Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1075717094
Vol 2 Illustrated Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1075723078

Other links:
Redbubble shop: https://www.redbubble.com/people/Moiret/shop
Blog: https://moiretallegiere.wordpress.com/
YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC3IaCxAXE3pQd7PCdvHoaaA
Bitchute: https://www.bitchute.com/channel/EvbGZyTZSraY/
twatter: https://twitter.com/MAllegiere
Gab: https://gab.com/Moiret_Allegiere
Minds: https://www.minds.com/Moiret
Flickr: https://www.flickr.com/people/152465815@N04/

Lonely Train-station Blues #4: God is

(From my collection of poetry, «Lonely Train-Station Blues», which can be bought by following the link below)

The spiritual path is a knuckle-sandwich, a blunt force smackdown in the middle of a crowded street.

It is the ugliness of catatonic despair slapped haphazardly upon your beating heart and at the same time lost in the beat of your heart.

It is the realm of the slow trains coming, trading loneliness for solace in solitude, trading dreams for reality, sleep for waking.

It is the beauty of the beat-down of all that once was known and that yet stood still, unknown.

It is the raging storm without and within going strong and going on still, in whose eyes and mildew-thighs one can find calm.

  • Please like, share and subscribe
  • Moiret Allegiere, 01.06.2020

Lonely Trainstation Blues – Poetry for the Lost Boys, Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07ZB6K2JX
Lonely Trainstation Blues – Poetry for the Lost Boys, Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1692495518

Howling at a Slutwalk Moon, a collection of previous blog posts:
Vol 1 Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/107571074X
Vol 1 Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07TZTPDPR
Vol 2 Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1075714184
Vol 2 Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07TZR25NL
Vol 1 Illustrated Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1075717094
Vol 2 Illustrated Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1075723078

Other links:
Redbubble shop: https://www.redbubble.com/people/Moiret/shop
Blog: https://moiretallegiere.wordpress.com/
YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC3IaCxAXE3pQd7PCdvHoaaA
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Lonely Train-station Blues #3: Vacuum

(This is from my collection of poetry «Lonely Train-station Blues». It can be purchased by following the links below.)

Vacuum in
vacuum spread.

Together and
separate, vacuum
spreads in
vacuum ,
sealed and insulated,
indoctrinated and
in throves.

Spread in vacuum
vacuum values,
virtual supremacism
in hindsight.

Blind immaculate misconception
misconstruing niceties
hidden in
folds of valium-vacuum
as Benzo-Buddha arises
in this hazed mind,
hosed and enlightened.

Peculiar deeds and
misdeeds
seen as such in
vacuum-values
valued vigorously
with no minds
and little matter,

as long as
noone says anything
in vacuum
folds of
folky vacuum,
we grab coronations
or disparaties of
coronations
to construct
social equality
vacuum-wise.

In vacuum everyone
is equally
miserable and in
vacuum and under
the same sun:
vacuous and vague
exposing
nonbinary reality
misconstrued as
factual evidence

oh,
do
behave.

  • Please like, share and subscribe
  • Moiret Allegiere, 25.05.2020

Lonely Trainstation Blues – Poetry for the Lost Boys, Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07ZB6K2JX
Lonely Trainstation Blues – Poetry for the Lost Boys, Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1692495518

Howling at a Slutwalk Moon, a collection of previous blog posts:
Vol 1 Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/107571074X
Vol 1 Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07TZTPDPR
Vol 2 Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1075714184
Vol 2 Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07TZR25NL
Vol 1 Illustrated Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1075717094
Vol 2 Illustrated Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1075723078

Other links:
Redbubble shop: https://www.redbubble.com/people/Moiret/shop
Blog: https://moiretallegiere.wordpress.com/
YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC3IaCxAXE3pQd7PCdvHoaaA
Bitchute: https://www.bitchute.com/channel/EvbGZyTZSraY/
twatter: https://twitter.com/MAllegiere
Gab: https://gab.com/Moiret_Allegiere
Minds: https://www.minds.com/Moiret
Flickr: https://www.flickr.com/people/152465815@N04/

Lonely Train-station Blues #2: Sleep

(As promised; part 2 of my collection of poetry «Lonely Train-station blues – poetry for the lost boys». The collection can be bought by following the links below.)

Raise the chains
towards death.

We cling to
immortality
rampant in
immorality,

believing strange
notions
decaying
in streets and
in gutters
believing
in sleep
long

and

arduous.

A process of
permanent
dissolution
and disillusion,

Building train-stations
in which
to grieve
the passage of time
black-footed
sure-footed

and lost

within these
withering ruins
of time,
where we
choose
to sing and
dance
and not to live
and not let live

as we raised
the chains
and waved at
death as
though
death would
never come
for
us.

Sheltered
in time
long forgotten and
blown away
from minds
blown away
excessively
poignantly
in pregnant
silence
about to burst
and give birth

to us.

At the moment
of death,
at the peak
of existence,

to us.

At the tail-end
of fear

at the beginning
of despair

to us

who laughed
where once
we wept

who sang
where once
we lived

who died
where once
we knew.

  • Please like, share and subscribe
  • Moiret Allegiere, 18.05.2020

Lonely Trainstation Blues – Poetry for the Lost Boys, Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07ZB6K2JX
Lonely Trainstation Blues – Poetry for the Lost Boys, Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1692495518

Howling at a Slutwalk Moon, a collection of previous blog posts:
Vol 1 Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/107571074X
Vol 1 Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07TZTPDPR
Vol 2 Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1075714184
Vol 2 Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07TZR25NL
Vol 1 Illustrated Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1075717094
Vol 2 Illustrated Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1075723078

Other links:
Redbubble shop: https://www.redbubble.com/people/Moiret/shop
Blog: https://moiretallegiere.wordpress.com/
YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC3IaCxAXE3pQd7PCdvHoaaA
Bitchute: https://www.bitchute.com/channel/EvbGZyTZSraY/
twatter: https://twitter.com/MAllegiere
Gab: https://gab.com/Moiret_Allegiere
Minds: https://www.minds.com/Moiret
Flickr: https://www.flickr.com/people/152465815@N04/

Lonely Train-Station Blues #1: With This Writing

(As promised, I will be uploading my collection of poetry «Lonely Train-station blues», bit by bit and piece by piece, every Monday until it is done.)

I am writing this with immense pain
in my nuclear brain cavity
thoughts numbed by existential dread
in ungained high-strung muscletension.

I am writing this with fogged down
nuclear winter thoughts
a cotton-laced mind punctured by
knitting needles absolved of sin.

With this writing I am dumbstruck
cords wrapped round my neck
with skin dry as salted leather
white as churchbell-thuds.

With this writing I am ghostlike
apparations sprung from eyes like water
overcome with cold war despair
I shall seek your smile again.

Writing this I come undone unravelled
thoughts explode from maggots
tunneling through my fractured flesh
in laserblind poetic justice.

Writing this I find my reason
pain eludes the sharpedged pen
fingers race upon the parchment
I shall seek your smile again .

Lonely Trainstation Blues – Poetry for the Lost Boys, Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07ZB6K2JX
Lonely Trainstation Blues – Poetry for the Lost Boys, Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1692495518

Howling at a Slutwalk Moon, a collection of previous blog posts:
Vol 1 Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/107571074X
Vol 1 Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07TZTPDPR
Vol 2 Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1075714184
Vol 2 Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07TZR25NL
Vol 1 Illustrated Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1075717094
Vol 2 Illustrated Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1075723078

Other links:
Redbubble shop: https://www.redbubble.com/people/Moiret/shop
Blog: https://moiretallegiere.wordpress.com/
YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC3IaCxAXE3pQd7PCdvHoaaA
Bitchute: https://www.bitchute.com/channel/EvbGZyTZSraY/
twatter: https://twitter.com/MAllegiere
Gab: https://gab.com/Moiret_Allegiere
Minds: https://www.minds.com/Moiret
Flickr: https://www.flickr.com/people/152465815@N04/

Masks

«A portrait of the artist studiously studying in his study»

(AN: This did not turn out as I wanted it to turn out. I blame that on insomnia. Damned difficult to focus when running on precious little sleep for weeks on end. Still uploading it, though. Enjoy it for what it is.)

There’s masks hanging on the walls and floating ‘round your head as you diligently walk about, go roundabout, turn out and out and out…

Whispering sweet nothings in your ear, softly caressing your hair with oily air as you wear and tear and burn and yearn and earn…

The constant drone, the noise and hum, the buzz, the bomb, the dialogue-gap that bridges the divine divide between spun truth and lies…

An eternal drum that snaps and beats, that clangs and bangs, that cheats then waits behind the scenes to amplify a long lingering disease…

Tenaciously clinging to decayed ideas, habits, shapes and forms that never die, evolve or grow to go nowhere but here and now…

Whispered married token love from windbag masks that fly so low, that fly so slow, in summer-evenings drunk as hell on rage and ruination…

Amorously, amorphously, antagonistically digging fingernails into your eyes and brain and ears to shove the whispered whispers deeper in…

Strange token words of love when once he is so woefully begot; how good she did – got herself a moderately decent provider if nothing else…

A marvelled measured miraculous maverick”, the woe-betide-us masks will say: “one halfway decent man as all the rest are trash”

A man is little to the masks but his title or his job, his work, his errands and his sacrifice of self for the greater self that is his better half…

A man is little more than dirty deeds that need be done to maintain the lumpy city-walls that separate the city from the wild…

It’s not that we don’t like men”, the masks will shout into the wind, “women are just so much better, see”, says the writing on the city-wall…

Some people never passed the test, never got across that kindergarten-line that separate bad cooties from the sex, you see…

Remarkably childish and simplistic, yet there there it is such as it is, was, ever shall be – a childhood thing that never left.

A man ought to be seen as more, and ought to see himself as more in turn, than the sum total of his work and of his labour’s paycheck-fruits…

do diligently slave away”, the masks will say and sway and pray; “sell your soul to work and toil and death”, for them and for the greater good…

To provide and to protect, to preserve and to perish; to come home and to be kicked right in the teeth and in the throat by mass-media supreme.

Stunned and shunned and shamed through malignant mass-media’s day-time choke-hold-chats showing man to be but a bumbling buffoon…

Buffoonery and brutality; violence and vulgarity – either dumb and somewhat tolerable, or dangerous – completely, utterly intolerable…

Clinging to school-yard breath, berated and demeaned and yet; “Step up, men, and do your part”, masks will yell, then vaguely promise love…

A formal invitation into the fold”, say they – a cluttered greeting-card – to do our part over and about again; #HeForShe for she, for sure, for she.

There’s nothing new beneath the sun for those who play, who creep and crawl, who live and die in the shades and in the sunday-shadows cast…

There’s nothing new beneath the sun, nor will there ever be; what was our yesterday is the norm of our today; masks of a different shade of grey.

To labour limitless and in love’s labour lost; to seek validation and verification in what he does and not in who he is.

For who he is, say the grey-specked masks of malignancy, is a pig, a beast, a brute, a bastard come to ravage and to rape the earth.

For who he is, say the grey-and-floating masks of misplaced malady, is one who must be cleansed and then redeemed through sacrifice of self.

A self that’s little more than specks of dust floating in the air, to be hoovered up and tossed aside as someone else gets gratified…

And that’s all fine and dandy – now read my lips and middle-finger, pretty, pretty please – kindly bugger off and boldly fade away.

Vulgar masks do babblelogues and babble on and on: a living dance that sways the current culture, regurgitating old chivalric ideals…

Packaging old static metastasis in new and fancy language; rules for thee and not for me, or mine, oh my, oh goodness, gracious me.

Walking away: leaving well enough alone never tasted as sweet as this; a middle-finger never sounded better than it does right here and now.

The masks will ruminate and they will huff and they will puff and bloat and swell in anger and resentment, shown and blown in great guffaws…

And they will shame and blame and ridicule and conjure vivid images of inceldom and vague sentiments of violence and rapey over-under-tones.

They will whimper and they’ll cry and scream with wild cry-bully crocodile tears; they’ll postulate profusely on irresponsibility and men.

There’s no reason to keep listening, to remain forever shamed, to remain a slave eternal to ridicule or preposterous acts towards proposed penance.

Society, as it stands, is in shambles – it crumbles before our eyes, ground to dust from the I, me, we, at the top all the way to the bottom dregs.

If men are obsolete as the masks claim and roar and scream, then men are obsolete and should as such not be called to dance or to do no more.

Nothing to see here and nothing to do; the masks proposed we leave. And who am I to argue such wisdom from such wise toothless crones?

  • Please like, share and subscribe
  • Moiret Allegiere, 29.04.2020

Lonely Trainstation Blues – Poetry for the Lost Boys, Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07ZB6K2JX
Lonely Trainstation Blues – Poetry for the Lost Boys, Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1692495518

Howling at a Slutwalk Moon, a collection of previous blog posts:
Vol 1 Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/107571074X
Vol 1 Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07TZTPDPR
Vol 2 Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1075714184
Vol 2 Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07TZR25NL
Vol 1 Illustrated Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1075717094
Vol 2 Illustrated Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1075723078

Other links:
Redbubble shop: https://www.redbubble.com/people/Moiret/shop
Blog: https://moiretallegiere.wordpress.com/
YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC3IaCxAXE3pQd7PCdvHoaaA
Bitchute: https://www.bitchute.com/channel/EvbGZyTZSraY/
twatter: https://twitter.com/MAllegiere
Gab: https://gab.com/Moiret_Allegiere
Minds: https://www.minds.com/Moiret
Flickr: https://www.flickr.com/people/152465815@N04/