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Voice automatically recites at the loading of this page.
Written in Hotel des grand hommes, New York.
Hole in my psyche spying on the well of dreams.
Here I am where you had been before this sequence.
§
Fissure legs stalking the entire sea.
Pandaemonium is open
lifting the skirts of cities. Paris in Rome,
Gentleman, you cannot retain the retina reaction
a dull [...]
All your consecrated personages are no more holier than an atom.
The system we exist in is scientific and at the the same time spiritual. The two are identical across the universe. It is us who dissect the meaning from experience. What an inexperience!
The best examples of today’s poetry are information logs on the internet. Sadly or gladly, but definitely naturally.
X as/is/does Y.
A concise evaluation of films watched at the Hotel des grand hommes.
02 0CT 010 — El Topo (Jodorowsky) “Consecrating metamorphosis”
03 OCT 010 — La Dernier Femme (Marco Ferreri) “At the end of the film, we are left with a protesting cock, although mutilated, it really is the symbol of mutilation for what the Depardieu character is [...]
All history came to me.
It looked at me in the eye
for it could not speak.
Human forms his truth by mathematical precision.
It will always be inaccurate, unsuperior in relation
to the wholeness of this system.
Intermittent Lunacy is the second book of poems from KiNo.
Currently it is unprinted and only exists as unique handwritten copies
- you may order from the store at the bottom of this page.
KiNo is currently making a poetry album by the same title and content.
It features his voice and a collage of extraordinary soundscapes composed [...]
Voice automatically recites at the loading of this page. Poem inspired by this news.
The flighty dame stood over the Brooklyn bridge contemplating a suicide note
whence came the angel of death and already biased by her golden misery
gave her a novel instead.
.
She could then talk about the parade of faces on her last lover’s [...]
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Jealousy is a window,
slut,
and half open to me.
Corpses I recruit in the wake of love
never realise I don’t exist.
On this private street, venting songs
I have known many whores.
They come like saturn ringing around my glow.
My plans are evermore transparent and shows me the spineless.
Listless and removed
from [...]
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Places to go.
Reluctant with a pretty face
daily amorphous delicacy
in a grasshopper’s leap from my skin
I am roaming
beating the books
as the rare searches its muse.
Eum.
The best unfound way out
is the pact of life with scissors,
the union of my both sides:
amphibian and nocturnal.