Within the past 6 months I've taken to writing poetry - it is less time consuming than creating music, and fits more readily into my schedule. The only gear necessary is a pen and paper. However, coming from a musical background, I tend to create these poems expecting them to be set to some kind of sound, if not exactly "sung", but at least spoken-word style over ambience.
Some big influences (off the top of my head):
Edward Ka-Spel (the Legendary Pink Dots, the Tear Garden)
Nivek Ogre (Skinny Puppy, ohGr)
David Tibet (Current 93)
H.P. Lovecraft
Thomas Ligotti
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Some recent unfinished works.
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.
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the unfunctional corner
A wasteland
Discarded names, numbers, concepts
A hair, a string, a desert
A man, a briefcase
. . . . . .
Walking existence
Perambulating
A cane, poking non-static
Giant red “A” and white zeros on sand
. . . . . .
A black hat
Garbage heap of phonetics and pre-algebraic equations
Leftovers of mind
Long gathered dust
. . . . . .
The unfunctional corner
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------test pattern
Static white blood from TV
Eyes swollen shut but open
Staring maybe lifeless
/ / / / / ///
Pupils shot through with red
Red and sea blue
Eyes shot
/ / / / / ///
Noise shock / electric shock
Knocked off the table
Knocked off the world
/ / / / / ///
A face a number a name
White noise composed
Shouts the same thing
/ / / / / ///
Listening with no ears
No face or anything at all
Absorbing test pattern
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it must be time
Tip back the lid and share a swig
Under Blackmoon
She smiles
Suggestive curves, the room spins
Flicks the wrist and
Leads the way
-
Unlock the gate with practiced hands
A decadent hymn sings doom
Nothing touches us
-
Bodies hardly capable of containing our souls
We escape and fluctuate
And float into that emptiness
-Falling so long so far so fast we no longer realize
We are falling at all
She reaches for my hand once more
We share the hollow
-
The nihil becomes something else entirely
Shapes and patterns and pillars and fire
As that decadent hymn emerges again
A carnival theme for organ in B-flat minor
-
We have reached the festival of night
The merrygoround of anti-matter and the anti-gods
We manifest as orbs with no defined edges
-
We perform black rites
And smile and nod and embrace among the symbols of ruine
She kisses me with black lips
Decadence I cannot resist
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We dance and play in darkened corridors
We curl and arch our backs and watch our cats
We clutch and envelop
We watch nothing become something
-
She overlaps me and we contrast and spark and glow and bind
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