Posted by: H.Tawater | January 30, 2015


Sometimes I feel like I am in a dream – that I am not fully awake and everything is kind of hazy, distorted, dissonant and uncanny.

Sometimes I look at my partner and I know I love him so much but I am looking at him and he doesn’t seem real and it doesn’t feel like we are together. I think this is why sometimes I can not physically get close enough to a person I feel affection for, like closeness can not be felt until I merge into them. Sometimes I want him to lie on top of me, his weight pushing down, suffocating, in order to feel him there.

Sometimes I am driving and my surroundings feel like they are moving as if on a reel and I am still and I am on autopilot. This happens also when I am walking, my limbs moving of their own accord and I am just present to watch a landscape paint itself around me. I feel like I am in a movie and somewhere there is a soundtrack playing, but I can not hear it. Images break down into patterns – geometric or organic lines flattening into two dimensions. This happened just now when I looked out my office window into the building-enclosed courtyard and my heart started racing and I got scared and couldn’t look anymore. I don’t usually get scared. Mostly I just feel ambivalent, grey, but sometimes I am scared that I am also flattening.

Sometimes I can not process my reflection – I can not consolidate that image with my own. I know rationally that I am looking at myself, but it doesn’t feel like me.

I can not connect to photographs of myself.

I am incapable of nostalgia. My past happened to someone else. I hardly remember it anyways, like waking from a dream I can not quite bring into focus. I know the events of my past like a book I read once and still remember parts of. Whole men that I used to love do not exist as real people anymore. Some elements of my experiences have left lasting impressions on me and my behavior, but I feel mostly detached from it all – even instances of trauma. I do not think about the abuse my father inflicted on my mother and feel sad or angry. I feel… objective, detached.

Sometimes I want to feel sad but mostly I just feel empty, and when I feel empty I can feel the blood moving inside me and I am uncomfortable. I don’t know how I am alive. I don’t know how my body works or does the things it does.

Sometimes I worry that I don’t have real thoughts. This is why I am uninteresting. This is why it is so hard for me to connect to other people. I have nothing to share. So I just say things and I just do things and sometimes I think, that was a stupid thing to say, that was a stupid thing to do, but sometimes I am just automated, just participating to feel like I am involved because if I am involved then I must really exist. This is also why I need my worth to be validated by other people because it is so hard for me to trust my own perceptions of myself.

I think about the materiality of existence a lot. I like the feeling of reducing everything to atoms, to abstract units beyond perception, knowing that most of what we can see and touch is just empty space. It makes me feel enmeshed with my surroundings – a static part of some plane. I like less the thought of reality being defined by process of a subjective mind, preferring a subjective mind being a product of unique material occurrences. But then when I think about this too much I get scared again because I am losing myself. I am in a constant resistance to unbecoming.

Yesterday I learned that “depersonalization” and “derealization” are things. I feel simultaneously comforted knowing there might be a reason why I perceive the world and myself the way I do, but also feel symptoms have gotten worse the past 24 hours as I slip into a hypochondriatic need to define myself, even through disorder. Putting names to things is the realest they can get. But even sometimes the unrealness becomes real and suddenly trees are so pretty when I can not process their treeness but just see them as a collection of shapes and colors. And every song then becomes about me because everyone else is a projection and my mind, wherever it is, is the only real real thing. And it is so real.

Posted by: H.Tawater | May 22, 2014

Rainbow Serpent

I can’t be
the only one who’s made
this connecting patterns on the back
the beast with a lazy leg
dangling over the edge
like we were in a fucking psytrance
or something and the edge
of the infinite reached us
a common deity if creator
arcing over one pool to
another mirror over Charn
a wood between worlds
charred afterglowing portal everywhen
magic mythologies prism
in a dried dying capitol
slow decay of colored glass
uranic war waking ancient
unstable gods bleeding between
legs radioactive and ceremonial
gassing race to arms
stretching from either end
blasting outwards fingertips
dipping into alternate dimensions
of the same fable I can’t
be the only one who’s here, father,
slowly decaying across spacetime

Posted by: H.Tawater | May 21, 2014

Níðhöggr & Jörmungandr

tucked in wing bringing
the end of all gnawing
at the roots of corpses the world
tree sucking up carbon gnashing
teeth on the last great expulsion
malice and villain beasts rooting
forth from a gnarled
twisted thing with feathers


sea thread grasping
its own tail on the other
side of world tightening
continuous coiling
everything and all points
in time across one back
of the sea child keeping
all minims strung together
until the moment we rise
from the ocean to poison
the sky in half notes and acid
single tone vibrating
a hall of twisted spines
endless ribs from which
to choose a newer species

Posted by: H.Tawater | May 20, 2014

Hydra, Ophion, and the Gorgons

fucked an ocean wrapped seven times
around a bird, an egg, a hatchling in sand
hoisting heaven against time, father
fighting minutes, fighting directionality
women with tails morphing into doves
blood so poisonous whole planets formed
in the space between words between ions
this madness growing two more in place
each second dividing in half ad infinitum
slowing the rhythm of flightless titans
snakes always mouthing underworlds
always incubating other gods’ spawn
constellated mythologies hanging in star clusters
each severed line doubling chthonic or cosmic
divided twice more now into stone, sea daughter,
changing gold into serpents with too many
heads to count so let’s say just one
set of vacant eyes turning eventual dust
eventual neutrinos slowed to apathy
sluggish and waiting for reaction, father waiting
for catalyst, eruption, a shift in the geography

Posted by: H.Tawater | May 19, 2014

The Coatls (Quetzalcoatl, Mixcoatl, Coatlicue)

serpent and twin both
interlacing loop the continuum
vacuum swallowing whole
fucking planets, the harvest, star eater
plume of multicolored gasses
sprouting quill by quill by quill
down my neck of scales

1. feathered

my god of wind current wriggling
through light years turn in the middle
bending back towards venus embodiment
of sky sun fable my conquistador vision
of underworlds seeing strange
sails on horizon father of fertility
my morningstar snake heart in a beaked mask

2. cloud

war, always, and the hunt eating hearts
stars made out of proteins, aminos
smoke river taste, nuclear rich
harvest across ashes, dust, ancient light
all of this into one, father, with his bow
drawn behind a darker matter

3. mother of gods

my mother of war, again, always
always chasing up skirts of serpents
back inside the dense mass pushing out
stars moons everything a man
fully armed tossing the heads
upwards becoming satellites an orbit
tracing magnetic to the one who devours
everything a ball of feathers rupturing
on my belly swelling my chain of hearts falling
from my headless neck gushing hatchlings

Posted by: H.Tawater | May 18, 2014

Wadjet – Renenutet – Nehebkau

double headed again, two sides on the same
plane how can we be dia-
metric splash of dasein on the wind
shield unfastened in the collision
two heads are better
than two arms, fierce and with
more bite a shudder in the after
taste, scaly arc over the under
worldmaking and redisunconcealed

harvest breeds war with the nile
making it swell and overflow
into more fertile soil ploughed
molded into mud walls
a crust on the outer husk
a cobra on the crown relaxed
limp slaughter by gaze

king or woman
in childbirth two
ladies, a snake with feathers
string around a circle
semisphere with a gilded
crest for every name scales
and feathers are made of the same
things, you know, a gullet loose
enough to fit the sun
swallow coiled around a head
or shaft or arm of spiraling
light and radiation tiny explosions
cosmic lady of flame
I have et

but how can I mean
in this perpetual sameness
how can I mean when
snakes are birds

Posted by: H.Tawater | April 27, 2014


just only one
thirds man a cuff
off the shoulder
a staff in the belly of
the bitch snake twining
around the other two
thirds god or goddess or
therioceph forked
in the tongue coughing
keratin in the belly of
the inner core sulfuric
burp in the continuum
or maybe we were reversed
anthrocephs writhing below
the neck bottled into
furry quadrupedal grunts
clawing a cloying mark against
the good tree on a waterless
river a barge wrung
on empty vessels bobbing
up and under currents
of static and hellfire

Posted by: H.Tawater | April 26, 2014

Nāga Mucalinda

1. a parasite in the crease where hood meets neck

2. a necking under a tree of snakes

3. a snaking seven times around my gut

4. a gutting of a three-eyed milk fish

5. a fishing smoke in my wet clutch

6. a clutching of coils around a thin tongue

7. a tonguing at the crease where neck meets fang

it rained seven days
but I was cocooned with a cobra
a head around each leg beneath a billowing
sheet sponging venom from a parted
mouth unhinging at the jaw
swallowing it all bones and everything

we’re still missing one thing

Posted by: H.Tawater | April 25, 2014

Nāga Vasuki

a thin string in the center of
an inter-dimensional palm
tugging up a tuft of primordial
aluminum a trans-
human topography churning
in a cosmic ocean an opening
at the bottom of a whirl
pooling mercury G-
forcing into form an elemental
taking on light years in
directional aging in
the fifth sea

stretch an arm across one
universal, an ancient soup
the fat of the surface solidifying
into circuitry, serpentine
coiling blue around a throat
full of diesel, a crude nectar
dripping from the churning rod
onto dry basalt

Posted by: H.Tawater | April 24, 2014

Nāga Sesha

pick and plant
a green scab
for you, father I
still bleed minutes
and eons
and nebulae dislodged
from under a crooked
platelet of an im-
material cosmo
snuggled into the hood
of a ticking, the corner
an impostured king
cuddled in cold-
blooded rhythm
a string vibrating
under your belly
a fourth dimension where
I rouse bearded and older
dividing into a left
over pile of spacedust
inching along your back
comfortable and hoping
you don’t recoil

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