he looks out the window at the light broken by the poorly placed frames of this damned house.
he tells himself that this mess isn't worth it anymore. he picks up his rifle and goes out. there are two vehicles parked on the street. a gray one and a black one. he starts to shoot at the people driving the passing cars making sure that they can't see him it would be too bad not to be able to finish the work begun he reloads his rifle and walks in the public square. nobody notices him until he liquidates an eighty-year-old in a wheelchair who was moving too slowly. people start to scream

chaos
music

his ears can barely tolerate that racket. he harmonizes it with two cartridges. one smashes into the skull of a little six-year-old girl and the other in the belly of her pregnant mother. he laughs enthusiastically. no policeman stops him. they look. he begins to understand what he is doing and he wonders where this desire to destroy comes from. he tells himself that it could not be otherwise and that it has been far too long that he has been waiting his whole life he has been waiting to see this moment. he hides his face behind the sight of his rifle and he fires again and again blinded by adrenaline and the euphoria of ending all those lives and of being the one who who who who who.

Jack wakes up in his shabby basement filled with broken light that comes through the frames of his poorly place windows in this damned house and he tells himself that he has had enough of this damn mess so he takes a knife and goes outside it is two thirty-three and it is very cold several pedestrians could be targets for him he chooses one at random and cuts him to pieces in an alley. the other man doesn't even have the strength to scream because he is also fed up with the damned mess of reality. Jack Jack Jack wakes up in his dusty attic and begins to eat the rats he hunted that night before the pieces cut from his dolls provide him with salt for his filth and he refuses to believe that this girl is not of ivory but in fact of flesh. Jack wakes up and wakes up again and goes back to sleep while waking up and he takes his time with the body of his beloved. Jack sits down on his couch turns on the TV and begins to watch

he feels better.
his house is on fire.

he doesn't feel the heat licking his skin and making his eyes boil. everything he feels is a stretched smile on his lips that are no longer his, but in fact those of an ordinary demon. Jack wakes up and sees jackals shredding his carcass. pigs eat him all around.
Jacques wakes up and suddenly he observes that he is in class and he has to write his psychology exam. the teacher laughs but Jack doesn't laugh.
he shoots himself two days later
and that's the end of our story

pain of living

sounds of dry breaths / cuts abrupt and fluid
discovering the fragile tactile volume of my tight throat that frees my words

I would have to have a tongue to speak / an absence to have a reason to have an idea to know
where to go with this thread of forced shivers.
the odour of copper muddles the living room with asphyxia
the nerve tightens the hands stretch out on the lascivious faces of cyborg brides
waiting in line to jump into the volcano

they stretch their wings. they try their refuge, their fantasies incoherent in the inn of our flesh. we implore a sky blackened by atomic faults. blind and howling for pity pity pity to combat the objectivity of nuclear precision. our families united in one last instant of life

unbearable sufferings shared at random like those shootings in the media like those parades of macabre mirrors on TV its claws rapacious hollow its voracious nest in the cavities of my skull

I have. / I have a / I have an ache / I have a tooth / I have a toothache / that will only be healed
by pulling them out / I have a heartache that will only be healed / by pulling it out
again and again and again and again and again and again and again
for centuries and centuries
blessed be he
amen.