iM.

Iain Moggach + words

GB

I am from - Wait Iain, that’s not the assignment!

Ok, check your alignment

My god, look where the time went!

Seems just yesterday I was peachy clean,

Super keen

Almost feels obscene.

But now that it’s over,

I feel like I’ve been bowle dover

… Was I just linking words?

My back feels like it is going to crack

My breath is shallow, and my tongue is slack

I read, but not with focus and intention

And I already miss the fear of teacher intervention

It seems I must want to go back!

Who and How

How can I feel so falsified,

When I am here, and alive and my brain hasn’t fried.

Where everything is naught but blue sky

Why do I keep asking why

What? Have ‘good things’ past me by?

Who can I turn to? To ask to fix this? And should I?

Molloy

Utopian visions of your nightmares coming true.
I contain my joyful expressions of my outward psychosis
As you tell me that you can’t sleep
But daydream all day.
Dreams of spermatricide
Caused by inhuman lust
Of angels raping women
And a feeling that hot coals would
taste better than cold meats.
That your brain is filling out of commission.
You tell me you want perpetual renaissance
But are met with rapid decomposition
That you feel more Neanderthought
Than Grow-Magnon,
That your body seeks the joys of hot shade
And cold sun.
You beg me for silk to slit your wrists.

And I see you walk away, my Molloy,
Your brain falling to pieces,
And asking God for fog to choke on
And I cannot help but smile.

Yak.

Attractive distractions attack our actions with exaction and hack at our traction.
Fuck these maniacs whose black machinations smack and track and compact interaction into a Mac. I’d rather hack out my back than lack actual tact and not see facts for facts and screens as crack.

I may sound like a quack,
But lack distractions for actions and life gains spectacular attraction.

“If something burns your soul with purpose and desire, it’s your duty to be reduced to ashes by it. Any other form of existence will be yet another dull book in the library of life.”

The Night Enders

Moosehead pipe dreams and dead cows.
The quintessential time for secret revelations
And the revealing of secrets.
The hour of the ‘Night Enders’
The frank philosophy, the anxieties spewed faster than the beer is being drunk.
And the men, all seemingly harder than the rocks of Stonehenge,
Lifting up those who need it in the hopes of keeping them there for millennia.

And yet, I have no interest in dead cows.
Most meat is dead to me.
But support is human food
And sometimes we all need lifting,
All… comrades.

Clock and the Levelist

“Time Resonant and Time Antecedent meet in Time Abstraction”

Said Clock to the Levelist.

“And yet, you are abstraction of Time Abstraction

Figment of a distorted figment.”

“Oh no.” Said Clock.

“I am more real than the tree you can caress with your fingers,

Than the love one bears their newborn child.

For all thoughts, feelings and acts are in reverence of my power.”

“And yet, you are abstraction.”

“So is all. I speak of my power.”

“If all is abstraction, then you have no power.

Only those who see All as abstraction do.

For they see All for All’s worth.”

“How, then can you live your life? Armed only with Abstraction?”

“I live by the clock.”