butt meat

butt meat

and orange wine

holy fire

what a human

better, clearer, crueler

she gets it right

every time, with ease

she makes it a home

automatic gear

driving reckless

near her faster

with my soul 

rock hard

her warm skin

and sweet smell waiting

wet

she cracks the ceiling

she burns the doubt

she lifts the carcass

she howls me clean

another kiss

another touch

another nut

what holy madness

she makes it holy

she makes it real

she makes it possible

she makes it easy

more speed

scream loud

heart split open

stomach rough

breath gone

life given back

drained in sweat

on memory foam

i inhale her

and exhale purity

she does it all right

perfect even

she makes me want it

she makes it possible

she makes it bearable

I praise her

I praise this goddamn life

and I praise what I will become

if not already am

don’t you worry

get up, young soldier

and walk towards the light

with all this luck and all this gifted might

only one thing left to do, my luv

and that is to write

Another line

 Another line—

and again you don’t write

Another line—

her face is obscene perfection

Another line—

why the hell do you never shut up

Another line—

her smell cuts through the static

Another line—

your life is simple, but you twist it into barbed wire

Another line—

lighter, yes, it gets lighter, until it doesn’t

Another line—

she throws a song into the room, and suddenly i breathe again

Another line—

fun, goddamn it, fun

Another line—

this is supposed to be fun

Another line—

you believe in yourself until the snow runs dry

Another line—

her legs, her neck, your half-mast cock

Another line—

the mess of being alive

Another line—

your dreams always make sense in the fever dream

Another line—

I am what I will, even if the will is cracked

Another line—

I come in her, thank Christ for her blood

Another line—

time is a crooked joke

Another line—

and still it keeps me pulsing

Another line—

I get angry at everything I see

Another line—

chasing the next distraction

Another line—

chemical spark or despoiling of ruin

Another line—

clawed my way forward a hundred times, only to collapse in the sick joy of escape

Another line—

doubting, cursing, loving, failing, trying again

Another line—

because the crooked truth is I already have what I wanted, and yet it’s never enough

Another line—

the world spins, I spin

Another line—

too good, too few, too fragile, and still orbiting

Another line—

I swear I’ll do better

Another line—

and I sink back into the velvet swamp of my own excuses

Another line—

another line of confession

Another line—

the ugly miracle of breathing

Another line—

no ending, no redemption

Another line—

just the raw stench of survival

Another line—

racket in my head

Another line—

an absurd compulsion to keep going

Another line—

still furious, not loose

Another line—

trying to scratch down stray reflections

Another line—

before these walls finally cave in.

The Soul Does Not Suffer.

You suffer.

You hold yourself down.

You strangle yourself

every day.

No way out,

you tell yourself.

You lost,

you tell yourself.

You are nothing.

You have nothing to give

and nothing to show,

you tell yourself,

and start believing it.

Another YouTube video,

another hour lost,

another depressed thought cooked.

Where is my power?

Everybody telling me this is my world.

A white guy,

that’s easy,

you just have to go out and ask.

I asked.

They laughed.

They left me on read.

I wrote 400 companies,

only the AfD answered.

Weird feeling,

but understandable.

I threw away my life

when others worked for the future.

I had to murder and plunder

’cause working was anguish.

I spread love,

but only got adversaries.

And the love that I found,

I pushed away, out of necessity.

Forever alone,

like in my room at 12,

homework unfinished and

nobody to ask for help.

Always alone.

Nothing left besides dying.

I’m dying every day:

in my head,

in my soul,

in my body.

A powerhouse,

a leader,

defeated by the whores,

defeated by Babylon.

I just want to think

and create.

But I open my eyes

to destructive thoughts

and rising grief and ache.

Maybe it’s the drugs.

Maybe it’s the life.

Maybe it’s me.

Maybe it’s you.

An answer,

this is not.

Right & Left

In Fellini's world the bad always win, in Pasolini's the good always loose. The Right and the Left.

empty and isolated

isolation

deliberate isolation no doubt

but still hurting

every day

it hurts

every day

internal misery

pull yourself out, man!

i scream at the mirror

with art, your amazing shit

or maybe another round of unhealthy autoeroticism

sometimes the mirror listens

sometimes it don't

and still it's alive

and still something is moving

you always got what you wanted

the master of your realm

so many times you doubted

what was already certain

you are a god

a creator

a celestial

climbed Olympus more than once

frowned upon by whole cities

and still fucked the actress from your favorite movie

scorched timberlands of invasive plants

yet still managed to create a sanctuary 

sadly again you are lost to fear

lost to unconstructive reflection

talking down on your achievments

listening to alien and stucked-up opinions

of all people, especially you, should not

you are a transformer

you transform even without trying

made the worlds in your head a physical reality

again and again

and here you are filled with anxiety

a faggot around the uptight

an incel around woke

a nazi around the blacks

and a commie around the whites

boring

bored

uneducated hump or genius mage

a little bit of everything one would think

you do run, run run

away from them

and you do run, run run

away from you

run some more, maybe

run until you transform

transform again and again

until there is no telling what you are no more

a new essence

a new monster

hopefully one you can trust

Ooglor, The Scholar

A somewhat distinguished Orang-Utan Scholar, though at a spry 238 years young, is barely more than a teenager by his people’s standards. Raised amidst the steamy chaos of Delthrak’s jungles, Ooglor honed his intellect under the enigmatic Master Banook, the infamous Tamer of the Lesezeichen Tribe, within the hallowed, and slightly overstocked, halls of Bibliotekopolis.

Growing up in the lesser-known, and slightly questionable, Keep of Ostebrem (which, incidentally, has yet to be found on any respectable map), Ooglor developed not only his wit but also an uncanny ability to stretch his arms to remarkable lengths—mostly to snatch books from under the noses of local riffraff, occasionally resulting in the odd scuffle where he found himself having to administer a few well-aimed paws, against the sort of unscheduled parade of things that go bump, rattle, and grumble in the night - a group of friends you’d only keep if you had a necromancer on speed dial. So, Nothing too serious. Before taking root in Bibliotekopolis, Ooglor journeyed across Delthrak, meticulously mapping its verdant splendor. Having completed this grandiose bout of exploration (which involved less mapping and more enthusiastic drinking than he might admit), Ooglor now keeps his eyes wide open, constantly aware of any new knowledge that might cross his path—or any foe foolish enough to disrupt his studies.

This venture, apart from improving his cartography skills, left him with a somewhat suspicious knowledge of magic and an unhealthy obsession with the board game known as Life’s Great Feasts. Having left his wild baby steps behind, Ooglor now leads a rather reclusive hermit’s life in the grand library of Kreuzhügel, never far from a dusty tome or two.

His magnum opus, The Houses of Ill Repute in Delthrak and Delara,, remains a bestseller in the Delthraki travel community. In his spare time, when not deciphering occult pasta recipes or pondering the culinary uses of rare herbs, Ooglor can be found writing scathingly accurate OoogleMaps reviews, much to the delight of local shopkeepers.

He takes great pride in being a well-read Delthraki ape—unlike some other characters who might feel differently. He looks down on those visiting so-called “heroes” sometimes, scoffing with light loathing disdain and thinking, “You barbaric sewer crawlers! Shhh! Read a book for once.” Though, to be fair, he does have a soft spot for the elf—one of the few who understands the importance of well-preserved scrolls.

Starting Equipment:

• Self-Published Book of Wisdom: Detects traps and secret doors in a room or corridor.
• Recipe of Life e Olio: Once per battle, adds 4 Body Points to either the Scholar or an ally.

Abilities:

• Manic Simian Impulsiveness: Once per battle, the Orang-Utan Scholar can completely dodge an enemy attack.
• Streets of Delthrak: Once per battle, Ooglor can roll 3 attack dice instead of 2.

Character Sheet:

Attack Dice: 2

Defense Dice: 2

Body Points: 5

Mind Points: 5

There i was again

Again feeling lost

Again not enough

Again chasing instead of creating

Another tumble, another large-scale coin flip

Will I again convert this life into new satisfaction

As I did before with youthful gusto

Do I still have the vigor of days past

Or am I nearer the burnout than the explosion

As I comb through my howls of 12 years ago

I see the same person still withstanding the same wraiths

Muscles expanded beyond the secular, tho

This friction be like gains

I fought and won

I doubted and overcame

Nothing new, mate

I tell myself

As I ponder if I should throw this day away or use it

Time flies when you live

And I lived

Not yet there, sharing the caelum with the divinity

But touched so many Numina—

You can call me seraphic

I got what I desired

And I will get it again

My dominion is my creation

For decades now

That never altered

Thank the universe

And will never be swayed

I’m proud of that

I can say I did it my way

And I will go on like that

I tell myself while I ponder if I should throw away another day

Or use it

You did it, my g

Don’t forget

You’ve been here before

And will be again

Lost in loathing

Pondering the orb

Instead of finishing up

But do not dismantle yourself

Raise your vital force tall

Treasure you

Outstandingly in times of distraction

And you will find control

As you found mastery

Which will lead, like before,

To foreseen and hard-earned bliss