AloneNess

Alone

The mountains are lovely in the fall.

the streams run a little bit colder.

the dead leaf carried away into another winter.

the snow so white and deep.

the privilege of being there.

Why do they laugh

they....

think I a'm so alone.
[poem by Lubinus Labinus]

Boom-boom

Boom-Boom

LUBinous LABinous

Painting by LUBinous LABinous

Lubinus Labinus

The Green Budgies
.... Where the fagz walk with a gleam in their eye and where lesbian-twat'z move with a strut and a swagger. She drank a lot of black-coffee, smoked a lot of Pot and always dreamed of Lubinus mounting all the Town-Pig-Fooker'z. In the past thirty years Pavlik Sweet-Dick had, on Monday mornings, always awoken with a massive boner while listening to "I'm In the Mood" by J. L. Hooker. It was like a salute to, all the pig-fookers around. Lorne, a one-eyed She-Dwarf who had no Azz-hole and a foul-mouth that opened sideways got pregnant and produced a child that liked to drag his head through the mud and farted all the time. It was a very strange town. Two bitter budgies could be seen perched on a bench just inside the train station. They constantly traded insults and often fought, resulting in a cloud of green and white feathers and screeching bird-noises. "Nice pool-shoes ya'z sweet Flat-fook!"... No one paid any attention to them... except Pavlic Sweet-Meat. One day he cut them down wit hiz sawed-off 12 gauge shotgun, screaming, "die you'z sweet Flat-Dumb-Fooker'z." The END...
[Written by Lubinus Labinus]

P-lismo

THE SOLITUDES
The hushed barren east Atlantic beach
on a past Phoenician harbour,
where vast sand dunes and waves meet
in a marriage of splendid isolated convenience.
The serene deserted snow covered mesa
where on a past Native flint quarry,
the whispering wind in the naked tree tops
communicating with the frigid Arctic quietude.
These are the tracts where my heart
feels most comfort,
These are are the zones where my mind
is most at ease.
The inner solitude corresponding to
natures outer solitude,
the paradox: the starkness and you. - [Dec 24/96]
[by Lubinous Labinous]

Pins

___________________________________________

Writing on the Wall

My two angels in the hand or in the burning-bush

Increased the hardness of these impotent men

Living bread... loveth the fruits of my animated wine

Life said not of this time, from the opened ancestors gash

My father... that hath set me up, in these kingdoms come

Man to him... gains... what is in his opened resourcefulness

And he denies the truth, with illusions, with dreams

Answered by the labour of his sweet unkind vices

Said Jesus... of the Chairman, my son... Mao

From the iron barrels, bullets, out of the gun...red power

Red propaganda, Red bible, Red butchery spilt

From the RED-club, the feast of maggots and flies

Peter, Paul, doubting Thomas and the Zen-Way

Roman soldiers, grit and storms got in the way

And by the word they stood by weedy curb side

Disciples of revolts, shaman-zombies with stand the way

The father hath sent me on this avocation-dance

He poureth wine from the Holy Grail-goblet

By the countless dew perfumed droplets

Why have you deserted me, why have you forsaken-me?

And beasts of the atomic intergalactic seminars

Mercurialize in the doomed hours, poets beseech

Or weeping in the promenades of hallucination nooks

Vocation on Black-holed macrocosmos, down on Gravitas Street.

poem by Lubinous Labinous