Calliope Nerve Media is proud to offer you Michael McAloran's newest chap Final Fragments.








And since we believe in letting the words speak for themselves:



…In saying, that there can be no laughter, is like saying that there can be recourse to final slaughter, regardless of the consequential…Dragging this corpse from one day to the next, spilling tears like piss into the abattoir of desires and failures, wretched, obligatory, yet perhaps not, listless ennui…Bled dry upon a circumstantial cross, at once bleached by the indifferent sunlight, and all that permeates, in between...Idiocy to think, to think that there is a degree of meaning in our tears, our joys; the asylum awaits…I see the teeth of the night gleam in the pissoirs of foreign abandon…My heart vibrates…I piss upon love as if I were scratching at a festering wound…I find joy in the obscene…There is laughter, also, at the heart of the stricken void…





…The resilience, that makes a mockery of a man, unto himself, finds in the shadows a breathing self that is at once alien, fluctuating, abandoned to the guillotine, the viscous dark and the laughter of the Unknown…There is nothing but…failure…And so impaled upon the cold blade of night, how much is sought for, and how much is found lacking?…Defecatory smiles, broken glass shimmering, the blood flowing, my head in a vice of worthless staggering…I know no motion…I am the stagnant breath of nothingness, drained from an infinity of lingering shit…





…Yet the laughter is of the slaughterhouse, shearing the skull, dressed in bloody light dressed in the foreign wind of dismemberment…I envision myself, stripped blood-red raw…The drained hand whispers, bile upon bile: I remember the silence of never having been…And so I whisper, and so I whisper, locked to the waves which crash, without hesitation…