                                                book 4                
                             
  ߱        ߱   ߱  ߱  ۱   ߱     
                    ۱             
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        ߱    ۱     ߱      ۲
            ۱                 ۲
              ۱                     ۱
                                               
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                                                                겱 
    poems by igal koshevoy; february 22, 1993 - march 24, 1993   ۲ 
 Ŀ    
  blatant vanity (bl't@nt vn'@-t) n.  Unpleasantly  loud      ۰?
       and   noisy  yet  offensively  conspicuous,  obtrusive,      ۲
       obvious  in  lack  of  usefulness,  worth,  or  effect;    
       hollowness; futility; worthlessness.                        
 ٰ 






 ... two different poems, for two different TASTES!

 A DAY IN THE MOUNTAINS:
 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
 Bob loved the mountains, they  were  his  home.   Just  the sight of the snow
 capped peaks put a childish smile on his joyous face.  His eyes were so open,
 that he seemed to be drinking in the beauty of  the  scene.   Around  him  he
 heard  the  sounds  of  the  forest: the chipmunks scuttling around - wagging
 their bushy tails and the birds chirping simply because it felt so good to be
 alive.  Bob took another satisfying  breath  of  aire, rich and fragrant with
 the scent of fresh pine and the smell of damp earth.  He  slowly  dropped  to
 his knees onto the ground, and dug his fingers into the moist earth which was
 cool, soggy, black, and had the glorious dirt smell to it.  Gently he put the
 soil back to its place and stood back up, still smiling.

 A DAY IN THE MEATMARKET:  (THE CHEF)
 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
 Bob  loved  his  job,  and his job loved him.  After one got over the initial
 shock of it all,  they  could  appreciate  his efficiency.  Just watching him
 work, chopping away, forces a grin onto your face, because he just  looks  so
 happy.   Bob  was used to the stench of several tons of human flesh frying in
 caldrons in the back rooms, so used to it in fact that simply breathing it in
 would bring a smile to  him.   Most  people  would go into convulsions of the
 gagging  reflex,  and  promptly  faint  from  the   overpowering   smell,   a
 foul-sick-sweet  scent that was hot, thick and moist.  The gaseous remains of
 the lost humanity hung in a sickly fog  in the place, and clung to the tongue
 and throat.  Now it was time to stir the pots, and Bob literately dances with
 glee to the gas fired furnaces heating the huge vats of  liquified  humanity.
 With  a  lovely  smile  on  his  face,  Bob  stirs  the  red  soup - with the
 consistency of warm, runny  Jell-o.   Off  to  the  next pot, where a fresher
 batch is cooking.  And from the pot stare the eyes of dozens, all  at  him  -
 and make him feel so important, like he likes it.  Bobbing among the bloated,
 reddish  corpses  are red, meaty chunks of flesh - oozing their contents into
 the stew.  With a sip of  the  stew,  and  confirmation that all is well - he
 waves ta-ta to the pot and blows a loving kiss to.  Then he tippytoes, with a
 childish grin on his smiling face, off to another room containing new horrors
 and tempting new entrees.


                                     Igal Kosheovy; February 22, 1993

 DAS DIARY ENTRY FOR: 
 1:12 am, Thursday, February 25, 1993
 METALLIFEROUS DECADENCE (RUST) 14:6

 Strange, I'm really beginning to scrape the bottom of my soul again.  I guess
 the time is coming again that I lose myself, to myself.  'don't give no  damn
 about  no work, don't give no damn 'bout no one.  Time has come to consummate
 this marriage, the time for  the  divorce  looms  near.  Slamming home like a
 lone freight train, and extends it bony hand  to  me.   So  many  times  I've
 danced hand in hand in the flames, and burned away.  One day, someday, soon -
 nothing's  gonna put the damned flames out.  The flames of liberation, flames
 of peace, flames of death.  May they save my poor bones from the foul, fleshy
 pestilence that clings to them in that  unholy way.  Be they kleansed for all
 eternity of the wretchedness entwined withing  the  soft  pink  hate.   Leave
 them,  in their charred silence to pay tribute the loss - to the gain, to the
 end of bliss's reign.                                      [ 2/25/93 1:21am ]



 LONELINESS
 ~~~~~~~~~~
 loneliness is the empty black abyss where we exist.
 ...the little draft nuzzling at the ragged drapes
         in some forgotten and abandoned house.
 ...the cemeterial silence of the rust.
 ...running with the herds of rats, shutting your eyes tight so not to hurt.
 ...washing away in the stream, helpless,
         drowning - gurgling all the way down.
 ...holding someone in your arms and feeling miles apart inside.
 ..."just a little, lost child wandering hopelessly among the dead."
 ...staring into someone's eyes and seeing absolutely nothing.
 ...a damned, crazy stage
         where we puppets perform for someone's sick amusement.
 ...where you live to survive, and survive alone.
 ...knowing that 'belong' isn't in the vocabulary.

 loneliness is knowing that no one gives a damn.
 ...it's running off a cliff, and
         knowing that there's not gonna be anyone left to remember.
 ...when everything you've treasured,
         is torn from your fingers - tearing away the flesh along with it.
 ...walking alone, down the empty highway of death.
 ...just knowing that you ain't gonna amount ta' nuttin'.
 ...knowing that you ain't gonna make any difference.

 loneliness is knowing that you are here to fight
 and cry
 (and die)
 on your own
  and knowing that when this soldier is shot down to his untimely,
   unfair death
    that no one's gonna give a damn about any of it.


                                                -Igal Koshevoy, March 1, 1993
                                                 SOCIOPATHS Ju.6b



 PRETTY SHELLS - LOVELY SHELLS...
 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
 shells, shells - empty shells.
 cheerleaders and marching bands.
 models and salesmen and politicians.

 masks, masks - pretty golden masks, with big smiles.
 (like band-aids to cover up lacerations)

 words, words - empty words
 come out of those pretty faces.

 dance, sing - fun, fun, fun.
 just you wait till i get my hot little hands on a gun.

 shit, shit - nothing but shit.
 pours out of your mouth, darling.

 bitch, you don't mean a word you say.
 and you, bastard, you only give a damn
 about her cause you just don't wanna wank off alone.

 corpses, corpses - wandering around.
 i look outside, they are walking around.

 dead, dead - dead in the head.
 fools, just scratched till they bled
 (dry)

 blood, blood - it's not in their veins.
 nothing but industrial strength paint stripper.

 damned, damned - that, you are.
 cursed to plunder
 till your corpse finally falls down.

 dark, dark - so fucking dark.
 when i look inside your empty souls.

 blah, blah - that all i hear.
 sometimes it sounds like "i love you", "trust me", "i care",
 "it's not going to work", and "sorry" - but it all the same bull.

 wham, wham - goes my stupid head against this wall.
 i'm just not gonna learn at all - can't get used to all this emptyness.

 nothing, nothing - nothing there in your heads.
 nothing, nothing - nothing there in your hearts and souls.

 nothing, nothing - nothing left to do.
 blam, blam - whispers my kleansing gun.
 the crushing of the shells has come.


                                                -Igal Koshevoy; March 4, 1993
                                                 METALLIFEROUS DECADENCE 15:4



 CHEERLEADERS
 ~~~~~~~~~~~~
 smiling, laughing, grinning wildly.
 knowing that you are the centers of the universe - for a few seconds.
 meteors burning bright in the summer night.

 lovely meteors, falling from the sky.
 and they burn so brightly, so beautifully.
 so crisp, clear and heavenly.

 and they fall, and fall.
 disintegrating away, tearing apart
 on their short,
 so very,
 very
 short
 fall
 down.

 blazing their glory,
 painting the night sky so bright for,
 for
 just
 a
 few
 seconds.

 and then, sad eyed
 we see them disintegrate.
 their flames go out
 and there's not much left of them.

 even the prettiest of meteors
 burn out,
 burn away.
 fade from sight,
 fade from the skies overhead.

 "You're one in a million,
 yeah - that's what you are.
 One in a million babe,
 you're a shooting star.
 Maybe one day I'll reach you,
 before you make me cry.
 You know I tried to reach you,
 but you were much too high, much too high..."

 i reached my hand toward the sky,
 but i couldn't catch you.
 you burned up
 too much,
 too fast.
 and you never hit the ground -
 just vanished,
 into the summer's night.
 above some poor fool,
 that hoped, and hoped too much.
 as he stared upwards, with wide tearfilled eyes.

                            "Look!  Look, it's a falling star!"
                            "Make a wish.  Come on, make a wish..."


                                              -Igal Koshevoy; March 3, 1993
                                               METALLIFEROUS DECADENCE 17:3



 k'trs   n. (1) A female theatrical performer.  (2) One who takes part:
 ~~~~~~~   participant.   Slang: an undesirable person.

 An actress - that's what you are.
  Desperately trying to play the lead role,
          [...in a comedy of errors]
          [...in a drama]
          [...in a documentary]
          [...in a horror film]
          [...in a tragedy]
       but you can't get away from the faceless masses,
        can't break away to show your skill and talent to the world.

 You're trying so hard
  to show the world that you that you're so good (at the role you play).
       [That no one can even tell when you're acting.]
        [...or when you really are crying.]
    So lost, in your spinning dervish
         [...a tornado - tearing you apart]
     that not even you can tell when you're acting.

 To you * nothing is real.
  Not the audience,
       [...can't hear their cheers]
   not the other actors that surround you,
        [...can't hear their cries]
    not even the floor you stand on is real to you.
         [...fell through - no one could catch you]
     Nothing is real * to you but * the stage
      and the searing hot spotlight in your face.
       And the spotlight that you feed off of, has burned you away,
           [...like a tissue paper fairy in a furnace]
        and baked you dry, as the desert sands,
         dehydrated you of your feelings,
          boiled you, till the salt collected at the bottom of the glass.
            ["...the dregs remain, bitter as salt as pain."]

 maybe one day,
 the drunk director will come to his wits
       and give you the role
       that you deserved all this time.
               i wish he would,
               i wish you the best of luck.
                     but he's too damned busy,
                     shooting you down.


                                              -Igal Koshevoy; March 6, 1993
                                               METALLIFEROUS DECADENCE 19:8



 WAXEN BALLERINA
 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
 A pretty, little, waxen ballerina.
 Graceful, delicate, beautiful - dancing in the skillet.
    Smiling so hard, just trying to block out your hurt.
    Dancing so fast, to not feel your lovely legs melting beneath you.
       Mad you are - knowing that you're boiling away.
       Tapdancing feverishly in the lethal, blistering heat.
          ...melting yourself away....

                                              -Igal Koshevoy; March 6, 1993
                                               METALLIFEROUS DECADENCE 20:6



 FADED PICTURES
 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
 Ghosts, ghosts, mist and fog
 floating through the night.

 Pretty pictures, molasses memories
 flying away - leaving me behind.
 In my hands, I watch them
 as their chroma fades, hues dissipate,
 and the resolution turns them to a grainy blotch.

 Then the night's wind tears them
 out from my clutching hands.
 I chase them as fast as I can run,
 till I drop to the ground with exhaustion,
 just trying to catch their faded goodness.

 The wind keeps taking my pictures,
 my albums, my words, my songs, my breath.
 Sucking me dry of their feelings of joy,
 of exhilaration, of happiness, of beauty and of kindness.

 And what fills their place?
 The wind.
 The cold empty wind that billows
 across the empty highway I lay crumpled on.

 Cold, empty wind of the night -
 blowing me around.
 Tearing me apart
 till I'm transparent - then invisible....

 "Ghosts aren't real!" someone said.
  But I believe.


                                             -Igal Koshevoy; March 6th 1993
                                              TIN-FOIL GHOST 1:4



 A LITTLE DREAM, A LITTLE MEMORY, A LITTLE DEATH.
 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
 images of you storm into my head.
 burned with fire, etched with acid
 those times we had together.

 i can still remember
 holding your hot, firm marble-flesh,
 gripping it tight with my fingers.
 hugging and holding you so tight
 that i thought nothing could rip us apart.

 my muscles tightening
 like steel cabling being strung up and charged with the volts.
 heart pulsating - a staccato of
 a hundred-dozen tapdancing cats on amphetamines.
 your golden-blond serpents of Medusa coiling around my fingers
 and my fingers intertwining with them in a dance of death.
 soft locks of hair falling gracefully out of the way,
 so i could stare into your eyes.
 deep, soft brown ... knowing, and deep - so very deep
 (gaze of need)

 i want to feel your eyes pierce me with that look,
  i want to feel your arms around me,
   i want to hear your voice again,
    in between deep breaths.
     sweet, soft, viscous, seductive
      whispering:
       "Everyone's gotta die a little death.
         And your time is up...."


                                              -Igal Koshevoy; March 8, 1993
                                               TIN-FOIL GHOST 2:1



 S L O W . . .
 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~
 time here just fading away
 draining slowly from me.

 grabbing me like a bottle
 and holding me upside down
 as i pour away
 (down the drain)

 my blood - dripping away
 forming a red ocean.
 tears of pain
 flow to their destination.

 "Click, click, tock, tock, tock!" goes the clock.
 cutting me into shards,
 cutting to splinters
 as
 it
 passes by
 so fast,
 so fast.

 runaway horses, fleeing madly
 into the night.
 i beg them, "Slow down, slow down - for just a moment.  Please..."

 but the fresh, young horses are deaf to my cries,
 and barge along through the thorn lined ravine.

 charging and neighing toward the cliff
 they are too blind to see.

 "Slow down, slow down..."
 I keep whimpering.


                                                -Igal Koshevoy; March 9, 1993
                                                 SOCIOPATHS Ju.10b



                                TRAIN TRACKS
                                ~~~~~~~~~~~~
                            imposing, foreboding
                         coldrolled, silent, waiting
                      ...for their turn to be the train
                            (those steel ribbons).

                                             -Igal Koshevoy; March 10, 1993
                                                             CDX: 3303-10ib



 2 - 1 = 0
 ~~~~~~~~~
 We were one
   As I held you in my arms.
 Hot flesh against hot flesh.
 I never felt so complete,
   I had everything a man could want:
     I had you.
 The world didn't exist,
   It was just you.
 For once in my life I knew happiness,
   watching your warm smile melting me away....

              the sands shifted, time passed.
              you now forget my name,
                and what i was to you.
              now i'm left in the cold,
                watching you be happy,
                  watching myself fall apart.
              no longer can i bring a smile to your face.
              no longer do you call my name.
              no longer.
              stars-crossed and castes apart,
                i was the pauper (and the fool) and you were the princess.
                  they said it wasn't meant to be -
                    but i never gave a damn about them.
              now i watch you pass
                without returning my 'hi', nor my 'bye',
                  nor my smile (of last/lost hope).
              you go onto bigger and better things.
              and i,
                i still live in my past,
                  in my memories.
              and it is so hard for me to mend my broken memories
                 that i need just to survive.


                                              -Igal Koshevoy; March 11, 1993
                                                          TIN FOIL GHOST 6:9



 FLOWS THE CEMENT PACIFIER: PRERAMBLE
 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
 well, what do  ya'  know?   i  don't
 know  so  I guess I won't preach any
 more than i really need to.  so here
 is a random  recording  of those ol'
 brainwaves.

 every word  has  its  reason,  every
 thought is its  own and is there's a
 reason (for that thought).  read  it
 carefully - maybe you'll understand.
 maybe    you'll    understand    the
 significance of what those odd words
 mean to a lost little boy.  it is up
 to you.

 (it is always your option to respond
 by  slam-dancing while wrapped up in
 curtains [though whisky, cellophane,
 and nudity are of course: optional].

 "AMENDMENT 93, SUBCLAUSE 84.4: Right
 of a nude, drunk, and shrink-wrapped
 citizen to  slam-dance while wearing
 curtains.")


 FLOWS THE CEMENT PACIFIER
 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
 don't need no one
 don't need no thing
 damnit, i know everything.

 need not to hear your hollow voice
 i've got my own.
 millions of 'em all chanting out of sync
 a god-damned symphony of screams
 of voices yelling so loud
 you can almost
 almost
   s
    e
     e
        them.

 think i need anyone else?
 huh?
 bull - i got enough.
 i got too much too handle,
 i'm too hot,
 i'm too cold,
 i'm just too damned far out of control.

 careening down the the highway of death
 over the wooded hills,
 the dusty plains
 to grandmother's house i go.
 wield the ax
 as 'ah sing, sing along:
 "Swing low, swing low - sweet carrion...
 swooping down and draggin' me off...."
 to heaven
 to hell
 in between.
 it's the same place,
 same time,
 same channel.
 i'm channeling a river
 a big nitric acid river.
 i am floodgate
 i am dam
 i am damned,
 damned the river
 that flows
 flows
 flows
 through my veins
 like gasoline.

 pipes
 rusted pipes
 flow
 flow
 flush, down them pipes
 and it goes down
 down
 down
 into the basin of the souls.
 and scraps of food shall litter the ancient
 red canals, and the rusted soil.

 mechanical, steel rats and grasshoppers
 sweeping away their debris
 going with
 the flow
 flow
 flow
 of the metal raining down
 down
 down
 the river nailed down so strong.
 door of air, keeps me out -
 a wall in there,
 the demon in the air
 rips them to splintering shards.
 that rain
 rain
 rain
 and the rains
 flow
 flow
 flow
 like cars
 new and old
 freshly powdered and video taped
 privacy shattered
 secret exposed
 secrets now
 flow
 flow
 flow
 well, oh Well Of Tyme,
 and they all flow into it.
 rains drive up the hill
 horses charging and stampeding like LSDed slugs
 on sandpaper
 (with power drills)
 as they picked up the chain and saw
 saw
 saw
 did i but i did and did not yet  i am not therefore i am my therefoe of foes
 that scuttle and gnaw on the razors (sharp) and i shake they are  false  and
 false  is  truth  fact  is  fiction fiction is fact flood has come and taken
 wrath apon the lousy little  bunnies  that  never understood why the carrots
 were not theirs to/and/or/for their taking but they were mine but i couldn't
 keep them because i didn't own them and she did i never knew why she  didn't
 either  cause she did not care and i didn't mind about her mind because love
 is blind and she wasn't blind but  i  am  blind  that  is why i sea i am the
 threat because i am a treat or was that of the flounder  that  swims through
 the  ceiling  and  the  birdies of the cement and the maddened buffalos that
 just stand there looking  glum  under  the  weeping  widows that cry because
 their man isn't dead yet and they can't bury  him  eventhough  they  already
 have  in  their heads because the skull is a big graveyard and there's a lot
 of holes in there to fill up  and  you do of course know that the department
 of transportation fills the holes up really well with cement  but  come  the
 winter come the spring the holes are all here again and on the meadow of the
 holes  sits a little bird and stinks so bad because it is dead but really it
 is alive because so  is  my  hummingbird  and  my  holy butterfly that keeps
 biting chunks out of my leg and complaining about the formaldehyde  and  the
 lights that are so bright in its little face and the light reflects off  its
 teeth  and  ricochets  and sends them all fleeing to the hospital asking the
 doctor to patch them up  and  he  fills  the  holes  with cement like a good
 little construction worker and in his other hand he holds his  Klein  bottle
 filled with coffee and he drinks from it and never ever ends because it just
 keeps  flowing  and  the  flow  never stops not the blood on the plains that
 comes in tides not the frail whales  that scream into the night as the walls
 came crumbling down and day turned to mourning the monks beginning  to  wail
 like  babies  with  their heads cut off and their pacifiers stuck into their
 faces to shut them up  good  because  no  one  wants to hear anyone else cry
 because we all do enough crying ourselfs and the tears that flow make  holes
 and the holes need to be filled with the cement so we can't cry and everyone
 needs  a  cement pacifier so they won't be a baby but instead a silent fetus
 or is that chrysanthemum and racism or  was that the tears that i forgot and
 could remember too damned well that the water is in for  that  is  lost  and
 when  it  is  gone  they won't be able to plant any of those pretty brussels
 sprouts in Mississippi and for  the  sake  of  the sprouts at least they are
 green and not green because those aren't allowed to grow and they are washed
 away down the river with the flow with the ever growing flow  of  the  flood
 washing  away  the topsoil of the soul and uncovering the holes that were at
 one time filled with cement but now just filled with tears...

 excuse me, i've got a flat tire.
 can i please borrow some corned beef?

 i don't know cause i never  did  know  where  the damned beef was because it
 should have all been in my head and it wasn't of course and  the  course  of
 the  river  changed and since i had no corned beef i couldn't ford the river
 (besides the fact, that i was  in  a chevy) and those imported rivers really
 piss me off especially the ones from Sweden but i don't know  why  but  they
 always  did and always the flow goes on and there is no way to stop the flow
 and i ain't got no beef to lend cause  i have all that i ever could take and
 i wish i had some more cause that tire just might blow it was so flat and  i
 wanted to fill all those holes in the ceiling (eventhough i could count them
 pretty good) because i always hoped to fill the holes in someone else's head
 but they always bitch and whine because they don't like mint flavored cement
 but i do and i always used it and  there are so many holes in my head that i
 don't know how the department of transportation can afford not to gimme  the
 damned  cement because i really do want the cement (and the corned beef too,
 and that one Ford automobile in the river) because i could never fill all my
 own graves because there  were  so  many  and  i  was always too damned busy
 digging my own grave but it was just a big hole in the sky and  that  wasn't
 good  and that lets in the radiation and that is really bad because then the
 pretty flowers that i keep putting on  my  graves wilt and die and turn into
 ashes and i got a helluvalot of ashes because they go to dust and Herb never
 minded because all he was was ashes and the ashes have a special hallway set
 up just for them (besides the Hall Of Arms, and the Hall  Of  Heads)  and  i
 always  just  gotta put my flowers there and the flowers cost so damned much
 that i don't know how i can  afford  to  vomit all of them out like i always
 did but they are pretty flowers and the people thrashing in my coffins  that
 are  really me but aren't like the flowers very very very much but when they
 wilt they get sad and cry and you know what happens when they cry?
 the river flows
 flows
 flows
 and i can't damn it up because  it  just  keeps on flowing and i really hate
 that because i always wanted it to stop so i could at least mourn each grave
 and put the flowers on it but the flood keeps carrying the cement  away  and
 the  winter  and  the  spring  take all the cement away but i don't know why
 maybe i should stop using the  snow  chains  for that perverted use or maybe
 simply i should stop burying the corpses in the snow like the Chinese  never
 did  because they knew that one must mourn the graves and ALWAYS have pretty
 flowers and where there is no  beef  there  are no wheelZ and the wheelZ are
 your only way out to escape the flood.

 ever wonder why tires never made good damns?

 neither did i but i knew that i had to damn them all and damn them up  so  i
 guess  i  will  just  say  up  yours because i am already too high up in the
 continental crust and it's like bread that's is moldy and beneath it the red
 liquid just keep on a
 flowin'
 flowin'
 flowin'
 and i couldn't stop  that  either  cause  i  could  never ever stop anything
 because it was just so damn hot that i froze my damned fingers  off  because
 there  were blista`s on them already and that is what those bugs kept saying
 and i guess i should have  listened  but they should have always listened to
 themselfs and they of course didn't and because they didn't they now have to
 stand around graves and put little wilting flowers on them because no matter
 how fresh a flower is it is already wilted and the wilting flowers make that
 one  bird  called  Logik really unhappy because he just sits there (stinking
 and decomposing like road  kill)  for  no  good  reason  and he watches even
 though it really isn't his job but that of the white albatross but he's  out
 to  lunch  and  so  our little dead bird watches the mourners carrying their
 flowers and their shovels, buckets  of  cement  and  all to try to fix their
 little graveyards in their heads up for at least a little while and  because
 they  always  fail and they always do then they go running off like chickens
 with their legs cut off and the tears flow
 flow
 flow
 because they couldn't keep the  cement  from  coming  off and when the scabs
 come off then you know the time has come to leave and when  you  leave  then
 there  you  are because wherever you go there you are and there you were and
 there you shalt be for the end of time is coming and i just can't figure out
 one thing and that is why the  Hell  has  Hell waited so darned long i guess
 i'll never really know because they won't let me out because  i've  got  too
 many  damned  patches  and too many damned holes that are in lousy condition
 because i just can't get that cement to flow
 flow
 flow
 and i need to do that because if  i  don't then i will liberate my mind from
 my mind and that would be great because i never really wanted to taste it in
 the first place because i always get so damned  annoyed  at  those  bastards
 that  just keep yellin and thinking that they are some sort of gods and that
 they are the gifts of those  very  same  gods to us little (dead) birds that
 keep watching our graveyards overgrown with weeds and wilting  flowers  that
 flow
 flow
 flow
 like  the  river, like the ocean, like the stream - where's the rowboat that
 shall carry me up my river up  my  stream?   but i guess i've spent too many
 hours with this steel bar in my head wondering about this crap and it  might
 just have bent that bar so it won't come out so well because my teachers and
 my  parents always said i would never amount to nuttin' and i guess they are
 right because i am my little grave yard  and i am a little (dead) bird and i
 just keep decomposing while the shovel and the cement lay idle.

 hey man, could you please lend me a hand?
 i promise i will return it by next spring because i've got  too  many  hands
 that  are  just lying in my backyard in a big BIG stack and they smell awful
 and i am going to have to bury them  too and i can't cause i could never dig
 the holes fast enough and could never  fill  the  holes  back  up  so  quick
 because  i  was  too  busy filling my own grave with my own tears because...
 they were there.

 anyways, what i wanted to say was:
 thanks for all the beef.


                                             -Igal Koshevoy; March 11, 1993
                                                         TIN-FOIL GHOST 2:7



DON'T ASK AGAIN.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Well, what was her name?"
   ...she was a falcon that  tore  me  to  bits, and feasted upon the bleeding
   flesh.  she was the vulture that picked those same bones clean...

"No!  What was her name!?"
   ...some call her life, some call her death, and still others call her love.
   under a dozen-billion guises and masks she hides - and the banshee  of  the
   wind whispers 'lust'...

"Fine...!  How 'far' did you get with her ... ya' know?"  <grinning>
   ...too far.  a moth that flies too close to the flame gets burnt to a crisp
   -  but for some insane reason loves the 'burn'.  just like the jumpers love
   the fall, yet complain when  they  hit  the  ground.   i guess as soon as i
   stared into her eyes - i was too far gone...

"Hehehehe ... and what did you 'do' with her?"  <smiling>
   ...too much, too little.  i was a fool to love at all, still more a fool to
   fall for it again and again.   and  yet  a bigger fool still knowingly fall
   into the web of the black widow (again and again)...

"You know, you never did tell us the whole story about C..."  <leering>
   ...ENOUGH.   I  HAVEN'T  THE TIME, NOR THE DESIRE, NOR THE SANITY TO ANSWER
   ALL YOUR SHALLOW QUESTIONS.  GO  -  FIND  YOUR  OWN ANSWERS, BLEED YOUR OWN
   BLOOD, FIND YOUR OWN WOUNDS AND COMFORT THEM ALONE IN TEAR-FILLED  SILENCE.
   EARN  YOUR OWN DEEP SCARS ON THE BATTLEFIELD WHERE THE CRIES OF THE WOUNDED
   ARE SILENCED WITH GUNFIRE.  IT IS YOUR LIFE - LIVE IT FOR ONCE ON YOUR OWN.


                                              -Igal Koshevoy; March 14, 1993
                                                          TIN FOIL GHOST 8:1



 NOT WITH A MIRROR ... BUT WITH A PRIZM
 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
 The crowds of the righteous begin to chant:
    "You're  crazy,  mad,   insane,   evil,  foul,  vile,  sick,
    perverted, devious, sadistic, murderous, suicidal, stupid, a
    geek, just plain NUTS, and just plain WRONG!"

 They point at me, and raise their voices - continuing their chant:
    "You're a sinner, an unbeliever,  Beelzebub  in  the  flesh,
    wrong-doer,  killer,  coward,  black-hearted bastard, carnal
    demon,   scum,   fool,   social   deviant,   non-conformist,
    antisocial,  communist,  capitalist,  socialist,  anarchist,
    democrat, republican, chauvinist,  feminist, defiler-of-all-
    good, wretched-waste-of-precious-flesh-and-water!   You  are
    unworthy  to  walk the face of this earth!" yell the masses,
    as they  charge  towards  me.   Bearing  pitchforks, burning
    crosses, and jabbing wooden stakes into the air.

 And I calmly look at them, with a leer on my face, and whisper softly:
    "And just what the Hell do you all think you are!?"


                                              -Igal Koshevoy; March 14, 1993
                                                          TIN FOIL GHOST 7:5



 HAND IT TO YA'
 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~
 I've yelled so much - I have gone hoarse.
 You've bled me dry,
  'ah don't think there's more.
 Don't need no one
  to hold my hand,
   and drag me off
    to their promised land.
 I've got
  my
   own
    wings - to take * me * home.
       (and the acid river churns * burns.
       while the blood flows cold,
       through the land...)

 I look inside my empty soul.  I can tell that I'm goin' cold.
 You've beat me senseless,
  "Damnit, just how much more!?"
 'Ah don't need no guide,
  I know my way,
   down the streets of steel,
    and damn, I'm late.
 I'm running down Lovers' Lane
  holdin' my own hand.

 ...it's the healing hand...
    (burns * turns * mourns)

 ...in my dying sun...
    (cast out * thrown away * exiled * flushed away)

 On the path out of Eden...
 On the path out of Hell...

 ...with nothing but my wings * to take me home.
    (still I hold my bleeding hand...)


                                              -Igal Koshevoy; March 14, 1993
                                                          TIN FOIL GHOST 8:6



 I (DON'T) WANT
 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
 i don't want your problems,
 i don't want your tears.
 don't need your terrors,
 cause i got my own fears.
 don't gimme your sorrows
 cause i have enough of mine.
 i simply don't want nothin' that ain't mine.

 i don't want your hollow tears,
 don't need your promises.
 need no empty lies and all,
 cause i lie pretty well myself.

 never did need your religion,
 since i have my own beliefs.
 didn't ask you give me your god honey,
 cause as far as i'm concerned - it's me.

 i don't need your shallow troubles
 that fill up your wasted days.
 don't want no speeches
 since i talk too much anyways.

 don't tell me your stupid stories,
 and your wretched silly griefs.
 didn't ask you tell me 'bout the last bastard that left ya'
 and i don't give a damn if there were tears.

 i don't care to patch up your bleedin' wounds,
 nor your crazy set of mind.
 hell, i'm not gonna try to change you,
 cause baby, you're fine.

 don't shovel me full of crap
 that your keep spewin' forth.
 don't want to listen to your fables,
 cause i got my own mor-als.

 i guess i'll make this simple
 kinda like your little head.
 babe, i just want your body,
 ...i don't want your soul.


                                              -Igal Koshevoy; March 15, 1993
                                                          TIN FOIL GHOST 9:3



 SUPERSADOMASOCHISTICCARNALSTATISFACTION!
 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
 Oh, supersadomasochisticcarnalstatisfaction:
 Abnormal sexuality, with no public reaction.
 Lon Maybon's having seizures, and he's taking legal action.
 Supersadomasochisticcarnalstatisfaction!

 (Hump a lil', then you lie; hump a lil',
  then you lie; hump a lil', then you lie...)

 Homosexuality is not child molestation,
 these lies are simply the OCA's creation.
 Bigotry and fascism are sweeping half the nation:
 Supersadomasochisticanalpenitration!

 (Hump a lil', then you lie; hump a lil',
  then you lie; hump a lil', then you lie...)

 The Catholic church is up in arms, so's the Aryan Nation,
 But they're the ones who're practicing the perverse infatuation.
 Soon these Nazis will turn this land into the German occupation:
 Supersadomasochisticfoolswiththeirsickimagination!

 (Hump a lil', then you lie; hump a lil',
  then you lie; hump a lil', then you lie...)


                                                          -The Stone Jester
                                                          -THE hOLY rODENT
                                                          -The Green Pelikan

 * OCA = Oregon Citizens' Alliance, a very conservative minded organization.
 * Lon Maybon = Head of the OCA.



BIPOLAr(BEAR)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Elias, damnit!  Don't you understand?
We are all just addicts living between fixes.
There's no solutions, there's no way out.
You're gonna have to carry that Beast on your back for the rest of your life,
    and you can't run away from it.
The only difference is that some learn how to calm the Beast on their back -
    but they can never conquer it, never.
And the damned Beast will be feed itself wether you want it
    or not,
        so you might as well give in to its urge.

Man, don't you understand any of this shit?  You keep jabbering about all
    these wonderful things bright happy things, things that don't exist!
REALITY DAMNIT!
You are livin in a fuckin' dream, man!
Why the Hell won't you learn, that this ain't no fuckin' dream?  WHY!?
Reforms?  You keep talking about them and helping people up -
    what the Hell about you!?

Do you think that any of them are ever gonna remember you - HELL NO!
Do you think that any of them are gonna give a flying fuck 'bout you?
Get the fuck up and take this like a man, you blind and stupid idiot!
Damn you, no one is ever gonna help you up, until you stand up.
Now get up and walk,
    you fool - most people learn that when they are kiddies!
Where the fuck were you?
Daydreaming?  Thinking happy thoughts?
You and your fuckin' fantasies!
God, you make me sick to my fucking stomach!!
I'm young, I'm in my infancy - yet I've learned!
I was waiting in the black womb when you were dreaming and playing around.
Kept for being born till the need came.
I'm an Enforcer, and only come in emergencies -
    we've had our eyes on you for such a long time,
        and hoped that we weren't gonna hafta snuff out your pretty light show,
            time's come.
Damn, you've fucked up so bad - FOOL!

Do you think that you have this lump on your shoulders to lead you somewhere?
HELL NO, its just there for convenience!
You must follow your Beast, and it will lead you to greatness!
Look at all the great people in history,
    do you think they go there by being nice to people?  HUH!?
Course not, they got it by clawing and kicking the shit out of everyone else!

You have your Beast, you got your addictions - follow them,
    they're your guides to the trail.
Might as well learn this earlier than later, cause it won't help you much
    if you keep sleeping and dreaming your stupid and pretty dreams!
Take it, take what you want - it is what you need.
There ain't no stinkin' needs and wants!
They're your addictions,
    your Beast,
        and you are gonna feed it
            because if you don't then the Beast will claw you to death
                trying to feed itsfuckingself!

You ain't gonna accomplish any thing damnit, don't you understand that?
What am I gonna hafta do to get this through your thick skull, man!?
I'll say what my daddy always told me: "YOU AIN'T GONNA AMOUNT TO NUTTIN'!"

You're just screwing yourself up, and I hope that you know that!
You are fighting a fucking battle that can't be won,
    you are standing in the river
        and thinking that the current won't take you away?
WRONG-O!

You need to smell the fucking coffee,
    don't you get sick n tired of having it always being thrown in your face?
Damned imbecile, you're trying to bleed for others...
    you don't got that much fucking blood!
Get off the fucking floor and walk!
Stop trying to fucking help people -
    cause they are fucking you up as much as they fucking please!
Don't try to help the bastards up,
    spit on them - cause they'll be spitting on you in a jiffy!

Please Elias, stop messing yourself up!
You are killing yourself,
    and hating every minute of it.
You won't reform the world, you can't change people, and bastards will be
    bastards, and they'll beat the shit outta you whenever they damn please!

You can't fucking hide behind your hands all your life, man.
Open your eyes and see the truth - why won't you?
Does it scare you?
I hope it fucking terrifies you,
    but there it is, the fucking naked and pregnant truth!

Damnit Elias, do you think that because you own this fucked up body most of
    the time that gives you the fucking right to do what you want?
This ain't a democracy - but I've got my own vote, and they do too!
I'm casting my vote for anarchy,
    my voice screams in rebellion
        against your feverish dreams and pretty lies!

One of these days, you are gonna get mowed down if you don't learn.
(And you never will)
And I'll be waiting
    with our Beast sitting on haunched heels,
        licking it's chops.

I'm gonna have my fucking way,
I'm gonna have this fucking body.


                                    -Igal Koshevoy (for JTB); March 17, 1993
                                     TIN FOIL GHOST 11:4



HYDRA: HUNDREDS OF HEADS, MILLIONS OF VOICES, AND ONE BODY.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
[CLICK]  (St. E)
It is up to us to save the world and help it out of its misery.  I can do
something - there's a way and I know it.  I'll help them see the Light and
bring them to salvation, and they need it so bad...

[CLICK]  (BW)
Bad, yeah.  I guess so, I don't know.  Looks like I'll go along, cause I want
and I'm scared, I don't know what the heck I want.  It is dark here, but I
don't want out and I'm scared...

[CLICK]  (PC)
Scared, ha!  You're just a wimp - laugh you fool, and you'll be better off
tomorrow.  Look at this positively and laugh cause it is so damned silly that
there ain't much to do except laugh...

[CLICK]  (S)
Laugh, and the world thinks you are an idiot - shut up.  Be real, laughing
won't help no one.  If you are gonna help any one you might as well beat some
senses into them, like I would have if I could.  Iron fist and gleaming sword
is all I need and the broom will sweep the refuse up it self...

[CLICK]  (TR)
Fuck, listen to yourself you blind, old fool!  Morals?  MORAL!?  SHIT!  That's
what they are: SHIT!  Nothin's gonna change this stinking Hell we live in, and
you might as well stop trying.  Enjoy yourself damn it, you ain't gonna last
forever.  Listen to me, I've seen too many people walking around nailed to
crosses...

[CLICK]  (TBDOP)
And to crosses I shall nail them to!  I don't need no fucking nails, fuck no!
I'm just gonna get the damned hammer and beat them into a bloody fucking pulp
because they aren't worth much more than that!  Fuckers ain't worth nails,
might as well kill them all!  Just gimme a nuclear warhead and I'll bring this
whole harlot to a glowing salvation!  Hell, I'll settle for a gattling gun,
cause I'd love to mow the fuckers down with a hail of bullets.  Or with a
knife, cut them up slowly, drain the fucking life from them, and smile...

[CLICK]  (LCx)
And blood is what we need.  Hold her, look her in the eyes, and take it.
She's disposable, rip out her throat and drain her of the goodness.  Doesn't
it feel good?  YES, it does - you are immortal, these humans are just your
food.  She was here for your pleasure, enjoy her and take it from her.  These
humans are our servants and will yield their blood - take it!  TAKE IT!  You
can't get out of this, there's no way out - you are in this for life forever
and ever!  Smell it, sweet blood - taste it!  Look at it flow so beautifully
from her torn flesh, yes...

[CLICK]  (NN)
NO!  There must be a way, there MUST!  I cannot take life from them - it is
wrong, they are inferior, but I mustn't kill them.  I might be a killer but I
do it because I must.  Only I feed when I need to - I don't abuse like you do!
I'm gonna get out of this, I will...

[CLICK]  (TBDOP)
And the only way you can do that is by slaughtering them all.  There is no
other way.  They have sinned, they must die, and die they shall!

[CLICK]  (Thr)
"Like little lost children wandering in the dark.  Crying with bodiless
voices, crying in the night.  There is no way that I can lead all the children
away to the Light, some must perish - sad.  But the path towards the Light is
long and difficult and only the strong shall survive.  Take the path kids."

[CLICK]  (s)
But ...  why?  I don't like it here, but I'll live.  It is just pain, I can
take it.  I might not change anyone, but I'll change myself for the better -
that's what is important.  The current might be against me, but I'll make
it...

[CLICK]  (LH)
Bull shit man!  You ain't gonna make it, no way, and it won't help to fight it
either.  I've had enough, I've had too much of this shit.  I don't wanna
fucking live in this world any more!  ...and I ain't gonna either man!  Fuck
you all, I'm putting my light out - I don't want any more.  Take me away, take
me to a better place.  There's nothing left here for me, no one left here for
me to keep, ain't got nothing left to value ...  nothing.  And you know what
happens to shells filled with nothing?  'Dey get crushed.  I've had it up to
here, I'm gonna fucking kill myse...

[CLICK]  (St. E)
Wrong.  No one'll be helped by our death, you must live to bring all to the
salvation - live a long and beautiful life...

[CLICK]  (TBDOP)
Beautiful?  Yeah, must live to kill and kill we must!  Can't wait to put them
through a blender and laugh at the meaty chunks of liquified humanity...

[CLICK]  (S)
Damn, you are sick.  I should kill you for instigating this man.  Only kill to
show the force, not for pleasure - you've got a sick mind...

[CLICK]  (LCx)
No, it is art!  The way the flesh is cut, the way blood slowly flows from it
onto the tounge...  it is an art.  An ancient art, of the love of killing, and
the love of the blood that it sheds...

[CLICK]  (DF)
Gee, don't know about you but I'd rather not kill her.  I much rather have her
while she's alive and kicking!  Yeah, she's here to serve - and I'll take her
cause I need it and that's it...

[CLICK]  (AT)
Damned pervert.  That ain't right, ain't the way.  I'm ashamed that I've got
anything to do with you.  Tears fall from my eyes, because I look at you and
you let your lust rule you like that.  Love, that is what you need.  You've
never known love, and sure it's tough but damn it is worth it when you find
it.  Keep looking Dan, one of these day's you'll find her, you'll change your
mind and you'll never be the same...

[CLICK]  (BW)
I don't know, I'm scared to death of those women.  I don't like them...  they
might be pretty - put they are cruel.  I don't know, I guess I shouldn't be
judgmental, I guess I shouldn't try to hurt anyone's feelings...

[CLICK]  (JTB)
Hurt feelings?  Stupid fool.  Take what you want.  Take what you want, and
spit out the seeds.  A plan of action, firm opinions, ideas is what you
need...

[CLICK]  (s)
No, no need to get involved.  Just stand and learn and take it...

[CLICK]  (LCx)
YES, take it from them, your servants.  Think of them as containers of
pleasure, pop them open like a beer and drain the contents...

[CLICK]  (LF)
Whatever!  Whoa, you're starting to make my head spin...

[CLICK]  (Thr)
"We are all just jugglers.  Juggling bowling balls, unpinned grenades, running
chainsaws, big heavy weights, and feathers.  It is the best juggler that can
keep them all in balance, all in motion - and not get hurt too badly."

    AL> Igal?  IGAL?  IGAL!  <shake>

[CLICK]  (REINTIALIZING...)
    Huh?  Who????  Oh....

[CLICK]  (Mr.K)
    Sorry Angie, I was just daydreaming...

    AL> You sure about that?  You had this awful look on your face ...
    AL> contorted?  Are you sure you are okay, I mean there isn't anything
    AL> wrong?  What were you mumbling?  I could hear something, but I don't
    AL> know what it all meant?  You've not been getting enough sleep again or
    AL> did you get something weird and fuzzy in your breakfast, right?

    Yeah, yeah - that's it.  I guess I was just talking to myself in a dream.
    Maybe I was singing along with my walkman, I tend to do that when I fall
    asleep listening to one.  ...what did you hear me say?

    AL> I don't know, something about "jugglers?"  Does that mean anything to
    AL> you?

    Jugglers?  ...er ...no.  No, it means nothing to me.

[CLICK]  (Thr)
"The mind is a maze.  There are terrors and there are wonders hidden through
out its spongy mass.  A master of the maze must know the patterns, its ways,
and most importantly hide this information from others.  Others will not
question if all seems good and fine.  The efficient master must conjure up the
voices with speed, and put up a mask to hide the maze from watching eyes."

    AL> Igal, are you mumbling again?

[CLICK]  (Mr.K)
    ...oh, he was just... er... reading aloud this passage out of this here
    book.  Calm down, I'm okay - thanks for asking.

    AL> I wonder about you. I really, really do...

    Oh, no need to.  <confident smile> I'm just fine.  Really, trust me.

    AL> Oh, okay <satisfied with answer>.  I guess, I guess I'm just a little
    bit jumpy today....

    Jumpy... hehehe.  I don't know, I like you fine the way you are....

    AL> <smiling>  Well, thanks!
    AL> <and with renewed reassurance - returns to reading>

[CLICK]  (Thr)  <quietly this time>
"The wise master must learn to hide the Beast within.  People shall not
understand, and things that they don't understand they need not be told.
And things that they don't understand we shall not tell them."


                                            -Igal Koshevoy; March 17, 1993
                                             TIN FOIL GHOST 15:5



 BOMBSHELL  (bm'shl') n.  1. A bomb  2. A shocking surprise  3. A vulgar
 ~~~~~~~~~                  degrading description of an attractive female
 oh what's in a word?
 "bombshell"
 oh what does it mean?
 "bombshell"

 ...took me too long to find that out,
 too much time,
 and way too many tears.

 self-preservation?  no, she had none.
 a self-destructive tickin' time bomb.

 i wish i could have seen it
 but my vision was too blinded
 not by her
 but me.

 "people have have mood swings, guess that's what was.
  she's just have a hard time, * be there, understand and love."

 then i found out what it really was about.

 holding her in my arms - i closed eyes;
 and the napalm barrage fell down.
 when i awoke, i was alone.
 bleeding, burn and picking splinters o' shrapnel that cut so deep into me.
 i'm so tired, and cold, i'm still trying to pick my pieces back up.

 a bombshell, that's what she was.
 bombshell.


                                              -Igal Koshevoy; March 20, 1993
                                                         TIN FOIL GHOST 19:2



 COME BACK
 ~~~~~~~~~
 come, come back to me.
 come, come back.  i so sorry for being me.
 i know i was a hurricane when you needed a light breeze
 and i was a tornado when you needed me to blow you a kiss.

 come back, back.  i was so careless, i was so cold.
 come back, back, i comforted you with thorns.
 back - i feel as though i stabbed you in the back.
 i am so sorry, so sorry - i didn't understand.

 you needed me, and i let you go.
 now i need you and your not here with me * any more.

 come back, back to me.
 come back - i learned my lesson
 i now understand the price of my arrogance.
 come back, i need you love,
 need it, like you once needed me.

 you were kind and caring,
 and i didn't a give a damn * cause i was too damned self-centered to care,
 'bout any * body * else.

 come, come back to me.
 come, come back - i need you need you now.
 come back, back - i know that it's too late now.
 come back - and know that i don not deserve to have you
 back.


                                              -Igal Koshevoy; March 20, 1993
                                                         TIN FOIL GHOST 18:5



 ME, MY OWN  or  SACRIFICIAL PAWN
 ~~~~~~~~~~      ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
 this is my life - lemme live it!
 this is my own mind - lemme think it!

 can't you understand, I am my own.
 you don't even own me.
 NO, you ain't my God, so
 shut you mouth and let me speak for myself.

 live - i'm a livin' lie!
 burn - can't you hear my tortured cries?

 ya' send towards the minefields, then turn around.
 can't you even hear my screams - DAMNIT, TURN AROUND!

 you plan out my life, like some sort of battle.
 but I am the one that will lose this war.
 you don't even know where this soldier's traveled,
 can't count the paths * that I've paced.

 damn you!  damn you to Hell!
 suffer and suffer well.

 can't you see - you're too blind,
 you can't see that you're gonna die.
 you're the next soldier,
 you're the next pawn!
 you, yeah you're next to die!
 you, come on;
 you, your turn to die!

 grabbed me, and stuffed me a box.
 stamped it * with a bar code.

 you're too damned chicken * to call by my name!
 ya' keep sending me shit, addressed to number 96427.

 pound me * pound me into my place!
 damnit, you don't even know my face!
 and I am gonna spit with vengeance into your's!

 put me on a shelf * in a meat market.
 select me by a label, that I can't even see!
 read my records, that I didn't write,
 but you still piss on me!

 I * I am a pawn * I'm the pawn sacrifice!
 I scream cause I hear your * fuckin' lies!
 Mow me down,
 and I'll grow back!
 I am the weed * you can't rid of!
 I am the shit * you can't flush down!
 I am mine.  Me: my own!
 I am alone!
 It is just me, my own.


                                              -Igal Koshevoy; March 22, 1993
                                               RADIOACTIVE STUPOR 1:4



 MOTHRA MEATS THE BUG ZAPPER
 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
 waiting in the darkness for my chance.
 waiting for my breath of life.
 hanging from a branch
     and sitting in the womb.
 waiting for the birthing to come.
 time's come
     for this thing to pass.
 i'm the thing that shall pass.

 the shell breaks,
     antennae unfurl,
         as my dark wings dry
             under the cold, black sun.

 i am the master.
 i am destiny.
 always been a cog in this wheel.
 always been a log in this river,
     washing - washed away.
 now i'll damn the river!

 gripping the branch with my six arms,
     staring to the charcoal sky for guidance.
 always been an airport
     now i'm a plane.
             and i'm leaving you
             behind
             to
             die.
                 leave,
                 leave
                 you behind.
                         i'm
                         gone.

 i spread my wings across the sky of pitch.
 this is forever.
 all the clocks are blowing up.
 my fury and vengeance,
     lift me up
         into the sky above
             (into the sky below)

 you stand below, stumbling in your pains of life.
 me,
     i am above,
         i am below.
             don't feel
                 the pain
                     it ain't mine,
                         no more.
 your mistakes,
     your foolishness,
         feed my growing fire,
             feed my glowing pyre.

 born of my flames.
     i breath slowly in the scent of sweet human fear.
         my fangs and talons slash unending into the night.
             this is the way.
                 this is the pain.
                     this is the paving
                         of the path
                             to eternal victory.


                                              -Igal Koshevoy; March 24, 1993
                                               TIN FOIL GHOST 19:7



 ST. ELIAS' FIRE
 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
 walking through the forest
     where the trees burn and sway.
 walking through my garden
     where the flowers bite and tear me away.
 i run as fast as the blood in my veins.

 the flaming birds descend from the red sky.

 dashing through the toxic smoke,
 dashing through the thick gray,
 trying to run
     away from my past,
         my pasts.

 and the yelling birds descend:
     flaming wings,
         burning talons.

 landscape blurs into an infernal rage.
 i look back,
     now the trees are in chase.

 running on an
     ocean of gasoline
         and it's raining matches
             in flames.

 grabbing
     the wounded as i run,
 dragging the corpses
     to a better place and time.
 running,
     running through the flames.
 my infernal rage.
 my burning pain.

 nothing,
     nothing left to do
         but run
             from the pain.
 run
     from the creeping flames.
 shut your eyes,
     damn the pain.
 run
     gotta run through the flames.
         running, running, run...rrrr...ruu...u....nn..rru.....u... [THUD]

             (till you collapse,
                 and the firebirds consume
                     and feast upon your short lived glory,
                         short lived victory)


                                              -Igal Koshevoy; March 24, 1993
                                               RADIOACTIVE STUPOR 2:4



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      Anyways, I've wasted enough of your  valuable time and brain cells, so I
 honestly hope you have enjoyed the poetry that I've  written.   I  also  hope
 that  some of the stuff written has 'rubbed-up' on you and has or will change
 your life and that of others somehow for the better.  Take care.

                                                    -Igal Koshevoy


         Ŀ
           Copyright 1993 Igal Koshevoy, all rights reserved!  
          "Mess wit' mah' poems n' 'Ah break ya' finghas!"  -JTB 
         

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