Surrealism -- Bondage Style
Nikolaus Maack
with a riding crop until blood flecks my lips. I know that you aren't
serious about your love for me, until my eyes are torn from their sockets
and crushed beneath your heels. You love me, yes you love me, only if
you'll kill me. Only if you'll tear open every vein in my body with your
teeth.
Love is tender and cruel -- I long for you, you long for me. That desire
makes us weak, and so we hate each other. As I love you, I despise you, I
hate my weakness, I hate your strength. You could destroy me in an
instant if you so desired. So let's get it over with -- kill me now, kill
me now. I don't want to live with this yearning for you in my heart.
Animals rape each other daily, so you rape me, so I rape you. Want, love,
lust all turn into the force behind my fist as I punch you in the mouth.
True love is violent, true love is cruel -- everything else is but a
shadow of the violent passions we have for one another, out here in the
woods.
The normals sit politely over dinner and talk about their jobs. "That's
nice, dear, that's nice, dear, oh really how very interesting!" And they
long to escape each other, flee into the night, where they can tear off
these polite shackles and rape willing victims in secluded motel rooms and
forests just like ours. Their houses are like prisons stuffed to brimming
with knick-knacks and television sets, groceries and children and
transistor radios.
But who knows what they do, when the door is closed, the kids in bed?
Maybe there's violence there yet, between these two cardboard people in
suburbia. Polite in the kitchen, cruel in the bedroom -- a plastic cock
stuffed up an ass that bleeds and bleeds and loves it all the same.
We are in the woods and we love it -- surrealists are only animals, base
creatures, drooling, violent, unenlightened, ugly brutes. All humans are
so low, so low, so very horribly mutilated, vicious, vile, wonderful --
enlightenment comes through the end of my fist. Let me teach you beauty
by covering you with bruises. Let me show you art by choking you until
colours spiral behind your eyes until you fall over, dizzy, drunk, dead.
Why won't you kill me, why won't you crush my eyeballs beneath your heels?
Have you lost your nerve at the last second? Why is there no blood
flecked on my lips?
Manifestos manifesting, dull paper tiger artists, talk of the adventure,
while hiding in the womb. Adventure, what adventure? You lie porcine in
your hammocks, sipping nectar from the treetops, thinking yourself a God.
The whipping adventure must continue, but right now you are sleeping, just
a little nap before you stretch and get to your feet. Just a little nap,
a little one, maybe half an hour... Or maybe years, centuries, eternity.
Forever? That sounds kind of nice.
I would choke you, tenderly choke you, make you dizzy, drunk, and dead --
but you died a few days ago, choking on your treetop nectar, writing
manifestos in the sand with a dildo you thought a pen.
Nik
--
Every good piece of art kills something soft and small.
The Nik Maack Art Gallery
http://www.nikart.com
Nikolaus Maack
> Something about wanting to be God, and also Jesus undergoing public
> humiliation.
(?)
Gee, uh, thanks for coming out. You probably couldn't read the entire
message because there was sex in it -- sort of. I understand. You're a
prude. Reading about sado-masochism makes you feel all icky. It's like a
religious calling. You can't help yourself.
I've got an idea. How about, instead of mocking me with idiotic
criticism, you post some of your own writing/poetry? Wouldn't that be
nice?
Nikolaus Maack
> Idiotic to a blind person. But I'm glad you understand that it _is_
> criticism, quite what I did as a graduate student. It's not personal,
> Nik.
Cythera, do not be daft. If this is the sort of criticism you handed out
in grad school, I doubt you earned your degree. Good criticism actually
points to the text and makes comments on it. What you did is say:
"Something about wanting to be God, and also Jesus undergoing public
humiliation."
THAT is criticism, in your world? I don't even know what it's supposed to
mean.
You went on to say:
"How simultaneously boring and freakish that sounds. But at least then
you won't have to be you and feel your own feelings?"
Again, what are you talking about? And your criticism contains "nothing
personal"? Gosh, this bit sounded like a personal swipe at me, don't you
think?
Nikolaus Maack
> Why does a poet (as you've called yourself) need a supposedly
> incapable former student to explicate his text for him. You
> have a brain.
"Here's criticism, Nik."
"Huh? Um, Cythera, your criticism is gibberish."
"Why should I have to explain your text to you, Poet Boy?"
Cythera, you've stopped making sense -- assuming you ever did make sense.
Normally I'd say this is progress -- slipping into nonsense -- but your
nonsense isn't much fun. Try fluffing it a little, as though your
nonsense were a great big pink pillow in your tummy. Fluff that nonsense
like there's no tomorrow. Fluff it as though your life depended on it.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to experience the cure for cancer:
http://www.themestream.com/gspd_browse/browse/view_article.gsp?c_id=66145
Dale Houstman
"cythera" <cyt...@my-deja.com> wrote in message
news:8gm75f$bit$1...@nnrp1.deja.com...
> In article <8glorl$hlg$1...@freenet9.carleton.ca>,
> ac...@FreeNet.Carleton.CA (Nikolaus Maack) wrote:
>
> Something about wanting to be God, and also Jesus undergoing public
> humiliation.
> you won't have to be you and feel your own feelings?
>
>
He'll have to dig a tiny secret hole with a sharpened spoon, build a raft
out of kitchen scraps, and brave cold waters full of sharks first. And then
hide out under a human alias for a time, until his trail of cake crumbs is
all eaten up by hungry swallows.
dmh
Dale Houstman
"cythera" <lukeydN...@earthlink.net.invalid> wrote in message
news:11fbc2e4...@usw-ex0105-040.remarq.com...
> Why does a poet (as you've called yourself) need a supposedly
> incapable former student to explicate his text for him. You
> have a brain.
>
These sort of wild assumptions can not be borne. The proof is in the pud.
dmh
Dale Houstman
> In article <8gm96r$c4o$1...@freenet9.carleton.ca>,
> ac...@FreeNet.Carleton.CA (Nikolaus Maack) wrote:
> > cythera (cyt...@my-deja.com) writes:
> >
> > I've got an idea. How about, instead of mocking me with idiotic
> > criticism, you post some of your own writing/poetry? Wouldn't that be
> > nice?
> >
> >
>
Ha! More evidence (and it is now piling up in a very large room) of Nik's
failing cognitive abilities. You posted some poetry not less than a week
ago! I posted drawings and articles and poetry. Not once has this giant
black (well - off-black) hole deigned to make a comment, as useless as that
would be.
What is his problem? Does he know how foolish he sounds, demanding things
that have already come to pass publicly?
dmh
Nikolaus Maack
> Before _I_ call someone a poet I need to see poetry. May I see some?
This Wasted Day
http://www.themestream.com/gspd_browse/browse/view_article.gsp?c_id=16782
If You Loved Me, You Would Die -- a prose poem
http://www.themestream.com/gspd_browse/browse/view_article.gsp?c_id=21486
The Subtle Smell of a Japanese Sumo Wrestler -- sarcastic haiku
http://www.themestream.com/gspd_browse/browse/view_article.gsp?c_id=34678
A Rotten Tooth, A Broken Wheel -- another prose poem
http://www.themestream.com/gspd_browse/browse/view_article.gsp?c_id=38514
That should be enough to keep you busy.
> for years I've been wondering, and asking people,
> about a song called "Who Do You Love." I heard it when I was young.
> Now I think this song is by Bo Diddley. The part I recall, other than
> some of the melody, are these words: "He has a cobra snake for a
> necktie" and "... made out of rattlesnake hide. (Tell me) Who do you
> love? Who do you love?"
> Does anyone know this song? Is it fabulous?
I've heard a cover of the song by Nash the Slash. I forget which album.
I used to be a Nash the Slash fan. My brother has all my old vinyl,
otherwise I'd be more specific.
> Don't you feel that the Judeo-Christian "God" is a sadist (and a
> masochist) and...
Yes, yes -- I know all of this already. It's grade one sadism humour. I
don't see my piece as having much to do with Christ and God buggering each
other with nails and pieces of wood, that's all.
Nikolaus Maack
> Ha! More evidence (and it is now piling up in a very large room) of Nik's
> failing cognitive abilities. You posted some poetry not less than a week
> ago!
Jesus -- everything I post gets interpreted in the worst possible light.
I was trying to suggest that she RESPOND to my poetry with MORE poetry.
That's all. If I make a post about sadism and masochism and love, and
someone disagrees, I find that instead of writing a casual, "You suck!",
writing a poem back, that expresses their point of view, is much more
meaningful.
That's all.
> What is his problem? Does he know how foolish he sounds, demanding things
> that have already come to pass publicly?
Do you realize how foolish you sound, taking every opportunity you can to
shit on me? It makes you seem like a little kid in love, flirting by
pulling on my pigtails. Dale, you can't stop talking about me -- don't
you find that a little weird? Have you given any thought to why this
might be?
When I'm in a newsgroup, and there is someone I find completely and
utterly worthless, I ignore them completely. Why is it you can't ignore
me? Is it because you're a sadist, getting off on trying to whip my ass?
Or is it just that you lack the self discipline to ignore me?
Dale Houstman
> In article <392ef5b1$0$12264$65a9...@news.citilink.com>,
> >
> > > Why does a poet (as you've called yourself) need a supposedly
> > > incapable former student to explicate his text for him. You
> > > have a brain.
> > >
> > These sort of wild assumptions can not be borne. The proof is in
> > the pud.
> >
> > dmh
>
> I meant "Binar" as in "John Binar the comedian."
Binary laughs.
>
dmh
Dale Houstman
> cythera wrote:
>
>
> Eureka, this song _is_ by Bo Diddley.
And a fabulous and creepy little icon it is.
I heard "Who Do You Love" when
> I was five, lying in a small boat in my grandfather's pool, not too
> long after I'd come back from Japan. I had thought the song was much
> newer than it is, so no wonder I couldn't find it... What strikes me
> as poetic in this is that a little child can recognize, and for most
> of her life hold close, the marvelous in a Bo Diddley song, or in the
> full moon rising over pines on rural Hokkaido, while some adults can't
> seem to ever stop going in the same circle. Why is that?
> Dale, what do you think?
>
This is such a complex question I don't know whether to run from it
screaming and lie facedown in a dark cool room, or answer it as if I knew
what I was speaking of, and hope I don't get caught!
The short and partial answers might somewhere in that reflecting back and
forth of the neurological character we are born with and the socializing
pressures that soon begin, or even the natural stimulations that begin to
barrage the senses. Some entities instantly are more apt to be curious and
out-reaching, plus be able to withstand the general erosion that occurs as
the world rubs up against the thigh. Others might be instantly defensive and
apt to fall back into themselves, turinng off the tap as soon as poissble,
and never getting up enough "self" to turn it back on. Others - and this is
most like me in its crude outline - turn the socialization portion of the
noise source down (this takes discovering that there are distinct sources of
noise, and thus the diminuation can be finessed), look at these social
stresses from deeper inside (and thus become "outside"), preserve a posture
vis a vis the social world, and thus reserve enough "energy" to turn the tap
back on once the supposed "maturity" is reached, and some vestige of
autonomy is gifted (however reluctantly) back over to you.
dmh
ft
Nikolaus Maack
What maid you say that?
johnqadamsiii
ac...@FreeNet.Carleton.CA (Nikolaus Maack) wrote:
>cythera (cyt...@my-deja.com) writes:
>>> > That should be enough to keep you busy.
>>
>> Why do you continue to use domestic images when you speak to
me?
>
>What maid you say that?
>
> Nik
How much have you maid off those earn per click articles you
post? Just curious.
john
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johnqadamsiii
So, ill simply post a reply here. I think i had already answered
the question a few days before concerning publishing and it being
dependent upon the circumstances. But if ive missed something let
me know.
Nikolaus Maack
> How much have you maid off those earn per click articles you
> post? Just curious.
$270 -- but I haven't been paid yet. They pay out quarterly, next payment
due some time in August, I believe.
Nikolaus Maack
At your request, I will. I can't, at the moment, because I'm at my
girlfriend's for the weekend, and she has an Imac, and I can't figure the
damn thing out.
> There was another in which you mention God. Do you ever listen to
> eminem?
Nope. I have no idea who that is.
> In his music he kills his girlfriend, he repeatedly kills his
> producer Dr. Dre (ah has anyone else noticed what a beautiful man this
> is)... he kills a heap of folks. Why not just delete "God," and your
> parents?
They are useful.