Disgusted And Repulsed

What better topic to post on Thanksgiving -- traditionally the biggest eating day of the year -- that a blog about gross stuff?
(I'll turn you all into vegetarians yet!...)

Only one picture on this topic, thankfully: "Specimen".



Almost An Autopsy
------------------

Arriving upon the near surface of edges,
This savage gore expresses its iridescence.
But I am yet stranger. I am barely touching
The wondrous blood, am barely touching the
Undescribed guts of a misaligned species.
And I too am beautiful. I also am vague.
But I do not quite caress the red amber,
Nor do I become aroused by the stench.
Ah, I attempt to define and identify such
A clump of bilateral imperfection. I
Attempt to deny this tangle. But surely
It is hollow, or is it opaque? Surely
It is curvaceous and delicate. For, it
Falters and dissects its own turbulence,
Cleaving its superstition from its fragility.

========

This Guillotine
-----------------

My thoughts decompose, for they are grotesque. The
Blade of this guillotine sliced forcibly throughout
Our virtuous assumptions of color and photons.
And thus I observe the decapitation. Thus I see
The truncated corpse to be both gory and complex.
Oh, the head of this beast is hidden and still.
But the severed neck rises up to show us
Its disease. From inside this blood I notice
The vertebra and the esophagus, notice
The larynx halved by human sadism.
And delicate is the void now voiceless.
Delicate are the preconditions of death. Yet
I am brought to my own execution also.
For, the queue is minimal, as is life. And
All is mindless due to our pathetic intentions
And mental misshapenness.

++++++++++


Excruciatingly Rotten
--------------------------

For the strawberries are excruciatingly rotten,
Bleeding their smelly pus onto the
Already soiled lace which drapes
Our lives, shrouds my dying soul.

And upon the floor rested the carcass
Of such a beautiful bird, now dissolving
Into a feast for maggots and poetry inspired.

Upon that floor rested my soul draped
In white and stained with the blood of disgust.
And I might be resurrected if I attempt to be.
But perhaps I just will spoil in my anguish,
Begin to fester out of the neglect
I still choke on. And I have become sick.

I have become so very sick indeed. Yes,
I have been poisoned with such sweet
And beautiful, yet malicious, strawberries.

...............

Gory Is The Neon
-----------------

Gory is the neon.
Aglow are the glands, the tumors, the ducts and vessels,
The porous organs, the tainted flesh.
Iridescent are the syrupy fluids that ooze from us.
Fragrant and glistening is the teratological decomposition,
Is the thought mangled by its neurons, by
Its celestial decay. Opaque is the splatter, is
The phlegm of our moist disease. And still,
Still it all is ambivalent and geometric.
Still, the filth that composes our truth, it
Resonates and yet perceives itself to be beautiful.
And in this pus is seen the spectra we have forgotten.
Ah, in the indescribable scum it is known
That this magnificence will metastasize. So we
Suckle the fermentation of our skin as we
Scar the awareness of our indistinct blood.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Slaughter
--------------

Once, I was but equal to my own self, as I stared
Upon my shimmering life. And then, then I heard
The shouts of whispered evil. Then the monster came
And surprised my shy imagination. Then that beast
Grasped me, tearing into my tender thoughts with
Its horrid claws. And I never before had known
That I could ever understand such intensity,
Such misery, such anger.

Oh, then, as if infinity was simply zeroness, these
Fists and talons pulled at my flesh and its extremities.
And, thus, I grew sick as this devil tugged
And then -- exerting a force far beyond any I
Could have resolved -- it, despite the screams,
Shredded my being, rupturing my soul.

Then, thus, therefore, our viciousness wounded me,
Dissecting my body into an inexact and bloody existence.
Then I became that mangled conflagration, as I
Gazed onto my innards strewn and ghastly.
And then I became rancid. But surely, certainly
My naive dreams dispelled themselves until
Death resorted again to its haphazard euthanasia; for
Now I am shapeless, I am putrid and delicate
In my abbreviation, am delicate in my transmutation into
Yet the miniscule fodder for such carnivores each
Ironically beautiful, strange, and timid,
Each grotesquely asinine.

oooooooooooo

Of Such Concave Dissection
-----------------------------

Semi-symmetric are the lobes adjacent
To the stem, to that prong underneath.
Septic are the thoughts evoked. For in these
Reniform entanglements I remove surreal moisture.
And yet the stench is abstract, is mindful
Of its formaldehyde. Yet I sever this darkness
From blood and pus and peculiar fluids contained.
And, thus, I separate the stratum from rotation,
Separate cartilage from tendons still paranoid.
And I observe that stain and its oil,
Observe that globule secreted by glands elongated
And arched into this structure. I inspect
Perplexing filth encased within uncertainty
And strange shapelessness. Ah, I dare not taste
This meat. For assumed is the beauty of such
Metamorphosis, is the beauty of such concave
Dissection.

'''''''''''''''''''''''''''

The Rotten Phlegm Of Ideal Possibility
--------------------------------------------

I delight in the cowardice we once regretted;
But then the tepid blood destroys us. But
Then the strangled thoughts endure us,
Endure their vacant and empty stains. But then
The certainty of uncertainty enveloped me;
It corroded such neurons, such voices aghast.
It became the music we deplore, devour,
Became the vastness we behold
And soon spite if to ravage these prayers
Of Oscillation, if to ravage the subtlety
Of our minds. Then the rotten phlegm
Of ideal possibility, it surely resolved
This multiplicity incarnated as what has
Been beloved, has been peculiar and stale.


^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Blister
---------

The protruding blister desired its painfulness.
And into it I stared, finding this
Which is but only curved and flat,
This which makes the viscosity itself fluid.

Oh yes, the blood and purity of what is
Absolute convexity, it dripped
Down inside the self-exploration which returns
To be me. And never again
Do I attempt to lance the blister,
For it is too unreal to concern me.

*************

The Kill
-----------

Almost hidden (so it was)
From our humanity, from
Our bigoted dreams, it rested upon
The dirt, that earthen ground - - for it was
The kill.

And the beasts took it down
In indeterminate pasts, in unremembered
Contemplations; stalked it, attacked it,
Tore it apart.
And it now only bled,
Became nothing more than meat,
Less than the flesh which was once
Its sole epitome.
From every darkness came the vultures,
The lions, the hyenas, those who would
Feast on any opportunity of carrion,
Of satiation, on any possible fulfillment
Of the final lust.

And this gore disgusted no creature
Who wished a taste, no predator,
No scavenger. And it
Did not disgust us, we human beings.
For it was we who committed the slaughter.
It was her, our innocence, our
Once-virgin child,
Who was that which was slain,
Which has found desire,
Found her unexpected ascension.

##############

(Had enough? No? Okay, one more.)

The Sore
-----------

Squirm, you maggots swarming.
Throb and bleed, for your gore is askew,
Is foul as all else
In this wretched conformist human mass.
You are the creeps, the festering stench,
That encompasses all in this
Once eternal sphere.
And such offensive monsters as you
Mate and dance, and scar our world.
And it succumbs.

Humanity oozes from the sore
That it has created,
That it has become.
And we are but a teratological tumor
Upon the heart of virtue and innocence,
The heart of paradise, a paradise now
Made sickly and disgraced
By our insatiable lust,
Our filth, our despicable excuses
For breeding, for existing at all.
No redemption can come to such evil.
For it has vanquished all mercy itself,
Vanquished all mercy for the crimes
Of tolerance and truth once desired.

----

Thanks,
Leroy Quet