Hyperpop.2 by BenB*
Hyperpop.2
Hellacious sweetmeat, son of a sinner, eye of some ungracious storm. Be my unilateral decision, my deciding electorate vote. Spindle sperm and faith, treble and arterial spray. Bless my wounds in nightshade neon, vending machine supplicant. I need this nearness, this all is intractable evidence ━ these sloppy sounds of sick on sick, wet sick, warbled over ice like disco butter ━ of Geppeto’s cunning strings.
But I digress, pressed as I am against this filthy wall covered with pen marks, pleasure votive, the diacritical philosophies of a horny, hapless cellist. Cellophane pressed against my mouth, counting the molecules in the moisture. My lover means to kill me. My lover hasn’t succeeded yet, but love means letting him try.
God is not good, god is good at. The distinction is my chapped knees, and grotesque hairdo, huffing bathroom paint and the plastic peony fresh of toilet bowl cleanser cakes. I know, I know, this part is where I am penetrated. Where I confess that love also is a suicidal need to rend. But Ginsberg help me, this doesn’t feel transcendental. This bathroom stall confessional has lost its punk rock charm, its ironic ire and menace-eyed grace; I’m on my knees in a puddle of piss and my lover means to kill me.
But it’s not all bad, my delicate merciless, my covetous machine. We can make up the difference in penny alms and mealy-mouthed apologies. You can pull out the knife, the narrative, the epistemology and lay them lengthwise. You can examine me with your libidinous litmus test, green means two fucks and salvation, white means strangulation at high noon.
Love is always a question of forever, you say through a knife-toothed grin, then ask: pine or cedar, dark earth or white fire.
*the audio quality is shit, but bear with me, attempts at reducing the white noise just made matters worse.
Hyperpop.2
Hellacious sweetmeat, son of a sinner, eye of some ungracious storm. Be my unilateral decision, my deciding electorate vote. Spindle sperm and faith, treble and arterial spray. Bless my wounds in nightshade neon, vending machine supplicant. I need this nearness, this all is intractable evidence ━ these sloppy sounds of sick on sick, wet sick, warbled over ice like disco butter ━ of Geppeto’s cunning strings.
But I digress, pressed as I am against this filthy wall covered with pen marks, pleasure votive, the diacritical philosophies of a horny, hapless cellist. Cellophane pressed against my mouth, counting the molecules in the moisture. My lover means to kill me. My lover hasn’t succeeded yet, but love means letting him try.
God is not good, god is good at. The distinction is my chapped knees, and grotesque hairdo, huffing bathroom paint and the plastic peony fresh of toilet bowl cleanser cakes. I know, I know, this part is where I am penetrated. Where I confess that love also is a suicidal need to rend. But Ginsberg help me, this doesn’t feel transcendental. This bathroom stall confessional has lost its punk rock charm, its ironic ire and menace-eyed grace; I’m on my knees in a puddle of piss and my lover means to kill me.
But it’s not all bad, my delicate merciless, my covetous machine. We can make up the difference in penny alms and mealy-mouthed apologies. You can pull out the knife, the narrative, the epistemology and lay them lengthwise. You can examine me with your libidinous litmus test, green means two fucks and salvation, white means strangulation at high noon.
Love is always a question of forever, you say through a knife-toothed grin, then ask: pine or cedar, dark earth or white fire.
*the audio quality is shit, but bear with me, attempts at reducing the white noise just made matters worse.
i'm a big fan of your hyperpop series so far! nice. liked the audio, a nice touch. the only parts that were weird to me was the Geppeto part just because it feels out of place.
ReplyDeleteI questioned the zoom out around Ginsburg, but after reading several times, I think it's fine. Also, "I know, I know, this part is where I am penetrated" is just an awesome thing to say.
So good. so very very good.
The audio gave me chills.
ReplyDeleteI love "my delicate merciless"...
yes.
ReplyDeleteOh shit. It's been like two months and I haven't thanked you guys for your comments.
ReplyDeleteSo thank you. :D
-B.