what is rape

Rape is the undoing of it all. One becomes no one. One’s  body becomes bound to nothingness. One becomes  nothing but the space that surrounds , the world  is darkened, shut out  in agony, cut off from one’s self,  even the possibility of the construction of self that belongs.  The taking of another self, the body of another is a consequence of the sheer intent of another.

Indeed, it is a violation enacted by another who’s only wish is to mask the other as absolute. The one that is raped  masks the repercussions of the sufferings that rape brings forth. It is forever the topic that is unspoken. Speechless rape remains.

Rape is disappearance, it is the making of the invisible . There is no voice just as there in no body. The body disappears  and becomes that of the rapist. The raped becomes that of the shamed, the outlawed, the disposed, the raped one lives deep in her silence and in turn propagates the silence of others.

The nature of rape is that of the dictated . The body ends and begins again in totalitarianism . That body, that flesh, bones, muscle , nervous system,circulation system  will never be that again. It has been reconstructed to that belonging to the rapist. Indeed the fear that is instilled is the victory of the rapist; instilled fear allows that flesh to be of that violating disunion again and again.

Now the body has been possessed, the flesh is now his and  the the rapist  has made his territory   The loss that  of the raped  is insurmountable,deadly quiet even. A quiet darkened death.






Pool of blackness, dive deep into it my friend and gills will operate. The gills you’d never imagined possessing and there your body will know the state. The state when the end is near and now it is time to relinquish possessiveness, now you know there is nothing to own, no need for jealousy for you never owned it in the first place when it was taken from your hands. So all the objects that surround lifetime mean nothing and all the people who have passed through lifetime mean nothing. Just is. Yes, it is a state of just is or just was or just could’ve been but or has it all been wasted trying to get, trying to hold onto someplace, somewhere, nowhere my friend? Has it been wasted? Have I been too familiar with the death state?

Element is the water, the water is the cleansing and cleansing is a derivative of death. Dive dive dive for the drowning dreams dig the tunnels for the conduction of melancholia when the pores, the pores in your skin seep helpless moisture, passive moisture, moisture with no will to act upon. It just is there. Cleanse as you fall, falling, falling effortlessly falling as if falling through air. You are and so is the deep dark pool. Falling effortlessly when there is no bottom and no person can reach her cause there it is,..the stillness, her silence, her melancholy, her demise. This is the work when there is no longer your child for the father, for the mother: this is the deep dark pool when all there is left is need as you fall with a shopping trolley. The metal glistens with renewal, so much so that you fail to associate a purpose like remember shopping in Woolworths with the shimmering floors and the fluorescent aisles with all the population pushing a trolley, tripping over their own feet or crashing into a fellow shopper when in a flurry to catch those specials. You were the only one naked with all eyes staring, screaming into your skin as the floors beneath you drifted away to meet the dark water.

You fall pass cliffs and there goes a washing machine with it’s lid flung open with the bowl facing you like an expectant mouth, and you expect the machine to creak or clang, as its metal house falls against a rock ledge but …nothing. There is only stillness without purpose, without intent. Can someone say something?

Can someone speak and give their undivided attention as they are speaking just to be carried away, far away from this desperation to avoid the moon shinning its opaque light on to the surface that you fall beneath?

R U?


U! I roasted the garlic tonight 2 a charcoal crisp and I thought of U and how U and we left each other behind even though we both bake garlic.

If only I were antsy enough, if only I wanted to infest myself with saccharin hopers acting like the charity infested do gooders storing only the best interest of others in their poisonous hearts.

How U evidence U:  all those pics on facebook, eliciting  honey dripping compliments stating that indeed U r the most humanist of human beings. R U? R U U?

It wasn’t the burning of the roasted garlic, but the eating of the charcoal shell that made me think of U, U. Wonderful U, careless heroin user U and overdosing heroin me with U the 1 traumatised as U were 2 stoned to CPR me; suicidal U wanting to cycle into cars whilst weeping inconsolably on the phone to me; mental illness U, nefariously recuperating in a private rehab where you were given folders outlining CBT and DBT strategies.

And these were only some of  the Us that overtook it all until all my Us were flimsy and unmentionable.

Needless to say, the charcoal garlic was not wonderful.


out and about

A thousand habits shared fractured

A thousand conversations implode

Now all this is incomprehensible static

That bolsters a thought hardly.


How all those events were turns taken, the corners left beyond distance,

I can only pray that your selves come to me spinning

Parading my dreams like models on a boardwalk

How you were then and now then and now

You are what you are.


War Story

My presence of mind necessary to hear her evaporated whilst she sat across from me

brimming with her story of how he harmed her, devoid of my story and his harm belonging to me now, and here we were trying to digest an undercooked Spanish omelette I prepared still wearing my coat cracking many eggs in a cold and old house with splendidly yellow yolks the larger the better to emerge amongst the whites, milk and cheese; and how I wanted you to immerse in me where above us both all my muck, spice and pleasure afloat.

but that wasn’t appropriate with your war story that enveloped this tiny nation of citizens with no voice to call home home until eventually this cemented silence arose  and so we ate lunch locked into the cold ambience of a mother daughter relationship eroticised beneath his unrecoverable violence.


Dead Relations

When I was young I slept in a bed not far from the graveyard,

nor far from the sea;

where I was fed fish lovingly, but my true nourishment came from the dead.

One fearsome morning I went to feast

sucking on my parents bit by bit

chewing them to the bones, gnawing on these

their sweet marrow delighting me again and again.

The afternoon brought forth words

that barrowed into the ears of the faithful

hollow God, lay your penance upon me;

holy fire, burn forlorn.

My sister and brothers, their flesh so much younger and sweet

I bagged labelled and dated them;

but they were that enticing that

my deep freeze remained full for a time unexpectedly brief.

The evening tide left the words creepy and naked

with your footprints in the sand

this communion, remained in thought only,

for the sake of the dead alone.

My love for the taste of flesh failed to relent

as I supped upon my lovers and their children

and my apparent lack of friends was a simple case

when I devoured them seeking their death as belated.

For the sake of my ferocious gluttonous bent

the dark bought forth a new language

dwelling alone amongst it’s echoes I am

with the faithful now safely digested.

the young and condemned

She  is young and wants to be educated, but no money;

She is young and wants to be employed, but no job;

She is young and wants to be housed, but no shelter;

She is young and wants to be safe, but  male violence is always.

She is her mother’s daughter though,

and father’s daughter;

Indeed, she is her grandmothers and grandfather’s granddaughter, her aunty’s and uncle’s niece, her cousin’s cousin and her friend ‘s friend;

but by her country…she is condemned.