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The Lapse
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This Is Not The Pure Aesthetic
When you slice the neck
The heart keeps pumping
And the blood flies everywhere,
It covers the face
And if you're in the jungle
The mosquitoes swarm down
And cover the face.
And if you're surrounded by smoke
Use a knife more than the gun
And the more you kill
The more materialize out of the dark
The grey dark.
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In a vacuum like a videogame,
And the more you kill
The further away you move.
Those are plastic mosquitoes
And well-practiced screams.
My children live on TV-screens and bars,
And all the action is wasted,
Wasted, pointless, all alone.
Empty removes from emptiness.
The pure aesthetic is magic,
And magic is a pseudo illusion
Of getting something from nothing.
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