Arachnid Selfportrait /7 — Louis Armand

& so again the midnight chimes — if words their loved=ones gone to pieces — humxn privacy was invented by the plague — withered deathbone fingers at the door — dull pre=glow under the blind — enclosure mimes a dwelling in austere ratio — 1.618 — who wldn’t suffocate to death w/ only themselves in a hole for subject matter? — voices through walls — fire in the clouds — a photon being the quantum of the electromagnetic field & carrier of the electromagnetic force — desperation begins w/ the unseen — appearance less disturbing than its disappearance — breathe through yr teeth not w/ yr mouth open — waiting for the deadhand to come is already provocation enough — an imaginary child w/ ants under its skin promising to piss on their graves — if only the occasion were to present etc. — but that the Arachnoid is of a more lymphatic ancestry — obscure bloodtheories of descent or rebirth — the destination’s whatever arrives — up to yr neck in a watershed moment — the savage parentheses — the salient fang=milk — je lâche mon con — in autophagic parallel dimension — a starved spider is a thing of beauty to an infant blessed w/ a healthy appetite — this wanting that is supposed to be the wanting of all others — image=cache of what’s dead=&=buried — incest makes a meal of mother dearest — its machine is deathproof — PSYCHO DRAG MASTURBATES FETISH NORMAL — turning the chronic hourdrip — does the unloved symptom reciprocate? — gasping ob=struct — sexface pulmonary — the Arachnoid breathes underwater — massless dancestep spasm — a species in mid=evolution — first impressions mount a diseased comeback — these random precisions — carving=out sonar bodies visible to the liquid eye — like strange fruit hanging in the braintree — “a poem w/ its images & tropes” — she whispers to them always — KNOW THY ENEMY — for this it matters who is listening — [see how poorly they go at suiciding ghosts?] — it doesn’t take a hammer to kill a spider [why a hammer?] — but what wld it take to kill an author? — of yr dreams? — of yr despair? — of yr very existence? — BY IRONY IS THE MIND AROUSED — BY PARADOX IS CHARACTER ESTABLISHED — FROM DEFEAT IS FINISH RECEIVED — sitting blind at the crossroads w/ hand out for charity — memory touches broken glass — the frozen air — infernal night — pieces of G.O.D. falling from the sky — ash on piano keys — a thousand years [or several] playing catastrophe variations in a sub=jazz bordello — the question was whether or not to leave the territory — people have died for less — at the suggestion of the hypnodom they crawled around the room — if the destination has a source of light this means the target colour will refract — using a spoon to push themselves across the floor — the monster was a changeling in a cinderblock — a hypodermic neutron star — like one of those Hitlermädchen want nothing better than to get you in a scissor crush — a crowd of people stood at the door — there’d been an earthquake corpses protruding from rubble — Dr Ketanserin sidles up — “whadya make of the situation?” — wore a leopard dress w/ matching umbrella — like Jesus Christ she’d worked for her father’s bank — “what’s the matter?” — they looked around at one another — w/out the taste of money Spyder Grrl cldn’t cum no matter how hard [she tried] — revolutionary discipline — the Doctor injected a Real World Complex — another floor=scene ensues — were they the only ones who felt comfortable playing w/ their hermaphrodisiac? — each personality was quite unique but resembled the others as a perfect instrument of control — as long as they stayed quiet fucking was just a mask for clinical amnesia — use this power for more effective attacks against targets in danger — before the crash she’d been chief operating office at Papa Walt Enterprises — it was then that the redhead realised the monster had already been defeated — behind the picture were words they weren’t supposed to be aware of — there were 8 discreet cum levels w/ an infinite number of fractional cum levels in between — the more you move yr fingers inside the eye the larger the force of increase — the first parameter is the name of the parameter — a sub=object is just a new superposition that can be manipulated & defined — looping the silk around the neck & upper=arms numbing the extremities — needle quivering in the vein — a chaos pendulum — a prosthetic hole — “think y’ve been here a little too long sister” — hair like a refugee Molotov — what covers the talk is a gridlock on the reptile brain — voice of a cagefighter been punched in the throat too many times — the difficulty is the next step forward & the one after that — never write poetry, she said, unless y’re willing to die for it — recognition’s having to always think twice — rough trade from asymmetry to unilateral power — when established the primary purpose of a killbox is to allow the vampyr brood to conduct interdiction against humxn targets w/out further coordination w/ the Brood Mother — EAT MY HOLE! — more than ever discourse language information is a battlefield — the chair the Arachnoid was tied to was a Louis XVI it gave them a 400year pain in the arse — ceremonies of dialectical materialism — the requirement of props & costumes & simulation of pain — wordanus birthing its wordself — their eyes twitched in time w/ their orgasm — dead dance lying down — taxed by the stiletto wedged against yr throat — & once more I am sobbing in the night to garbage trucks & heavenly spheres in a mummified New York tenement w/ strips of leprosy hanging off — spiders goin’ down to Alphabet City where the katz w/ the gats are crackcrazed pretty — chewing roachcrust in pleabargain w/ an 8=ball moonshot & slipped on sidewalk ice to fracturelines of boneshear — awake once more in legless subterraneanisms — A=train coldturkey jinx & ocean blackout scenes abducting this late last flicker of mind on a bench in Far Rockaway — waves roll in from continents of hostility wanting only to bury you — Thalassa! Thalassa! — in this situation the seizure not of armies treasuries interior ministries but the secret farce majeure — THEY PUT LSD IN THE DRINKING WATER — these little things that remind of subtle imperfections in the humxn microdrama — their fiction encompasseth all reality da=dum — this goes w/out saying but the Arachnoid says it anyway — things permitted not=permitted — dreaming still of lost toys broken thrown away out of reach love & other catastrophisms — East 9th Street — Heliogabalus selling the Erased Years at gunpoint — dress to kill [time] — from the period of their aluminium paintings & Kurt Schwitters — hangin’ a louie through the drift in a jacked Lincoln w/ fake diplomatic plates up & down the Stem till the distributor gave out — anachronism’s the only rule here — in previous experiments it had already been established that mescaline is effective in spiders & causes changes in webbuilding — the cartilage behind the right ear swelled into a pulsing knot — [looks in the mirror to see if even a passing resemblance] — stromatolitic eyeholes into a substrate of nonresponse taprerecorded monologues from rarest occasions of sleep — these & other out=of=body stratagems for random disappearance — the oscilloscope recorded a monosonorous cortical hiss — w/ singular intensity of purpose the Arachnoid observes the marionette performance of an insect caught in its web — maintaining the illusion of objectivity right up to the end — like a character in a novel it was all part of a desire for authorial approval — a beautiful death — well what’s life for? — [repeat that] — because it’s never too late to have a happy childhood — détournement de mineur — begin w/ chemical reagent & work backwards — how to take even one more step w/out decisively scripted motivation — there at the edges bleeding in & out — was the Arachnoid merely a thing spawned w/out attributes? — cerebrotonic? — when it comes down to it every lifeboat also requires a lifeboat — just as a book is the sum of a writer’s fears — & so we enter the world of perpetual guilt & the onerous labour of unheimlichkeit — where even the most innocuous symbol finds a victim — this world which isn’t your world — they build fortresses with parkinglots wherever there’s scenery — why wait for extinction when you can choose an active role? — infecting posterity’s mitochondrial DNA — wordvirusing the escapepods — the next level is a Soviet comicstrip w/ riotcops — Charles Atlas shrugs & cartoon planes fall from a sky of atom floss — discovering the mind=trick to make things move that aren’t there — like a lost enchanted childhood forest — how many others have forgotten you already? — like breadcrumbs scattered through a hungry forest — or a sabot’s clogs in the guts of a machine — escape wasn’t the daytrip they’d foreseen — once the enemy had strayed from the warpath w/ sumptuous gifts — work — leisure — boredom — there has been steady progress in the quality of universal suffering — why be burdened by authenticity when you can be anything at all? — the subtle combinatrix — polymorphed from cyborg shunga subroutines — the spider first excretes what it eats — subject & Borromean countersubject — weaving the anchorknots — burning the ships the bridges — incense of immemorial prophesy falling to lacework ash — behold the future’s cataleptic bones stacked upon the sky! — dynamiting a hundred Troys to find the hole deep enough to bury them — HEREIN LIETH INERRED THE BODY OF THE ARACHNOID WHO DEPARTED THIS LIFE ON THE 4TH DAY OF MAY 2022 — congratulations kid y’re everything we ever hoped for — Dr K palpates the coiled tube=like cyst concealed on G.O.D.’s left testicle — “for we live in molluscan times” — one & many dreamings wound through nebulous spacetime — the shape that has no shapethe image w/out appearance — circuits carved deep in its metaphysical fuck=organs — a circle in a birdless sky — uroboros=like — Avernus looms — here one finds the portal of descent — a subsister crawling through undertimes among upended monuments — the runes scatter on the ground — fate inscribed in a chicken’s guts — incense & tinkling bells — hellmouth yawns cavernous — GO DOWN! the voices wail — dulleyed in brailfingered demi=dark — groping its intestine — a saxophone rears up out of freighttunnel stillness — syncopated batwing — sewergrate rustlings — faeces of the damned hung like stalactites — a mock of moonbeam drifts from on=high — torn clouds — the Arachnoid lies at the bottom of the mirror staring out — itsybitsy beside that colossal wreck w/ iron in its loins — heraldic — drawn&quartered — more montage than man — rebirthed from corrosive sublimates distilled from the spit of ages — all that lives comes here to drown [in due course] — gluing the rewind button — back when G.O.D. was Ideas Guy on the Ship of Fools — 20,000 leagues & counting — way south of crush=depth where only seaworms & grey disfigurements — [every time they encounter language anew it amounts to a “discovery”] — written down into a margin of terror — deviations non=standard — who do the Doodles do? — viewing on=screen rendition of the old faves in Houdini stress=p[r]ose — chained into a safe=zone or snuffing everything within a hundred=mile radius? — literature’s just filler between successive blows to the head — metaphorically speaking — nowadays they have fear viruses that do the job w/out any of the labour=pain — such vistas! — rose=coloured through collective periscope — happy Platonists secure in communion w/ their logos at last — submarinal wormholes onto the soul proverbial — look! — listen! — static interference upon the brain pure LSD to those who dwell in our future Potemkin verbiage — bottom of the ocean or bottom of the mirror or just the bottom of the TV screen? — presuming one distinct from the other mon semblable ma chair — finally face=to=face [we are the histories of whatever see us] — drawing a line at where the mask begins & the mask ends — CUT HERE! — now see how the image bleeds

Louis Armand is the author of THE COMBINATIONS (2016), THE GARDEN (2020) & VAMPYR (2021). He lives in Prague & Beja.