Oneiric Poetry Cycles 11-23


Maybe the mall isn’t open yet
Maybe it’s about to close
Little people scattered about
Lost among highway sized corridors
Sloping, curving away, no end in sight
The dentist clinic is somewhere near
I can smell formaldehyde, tooth filling
Sharp drilling, gas powered shrill sound
White lab coats behind counters
Is that mice I hear? Squeaking under the tables?
Faces behind surgical masks
eyes like blown out bulbs
Maybe it’s the wrong clinic
I’ll come back again, maybe, yes, no
too many escalators to the basement
It’s a 24 hour mall
Food court, like a football field
frail ladies falling asleep at eating tables
bag of oranges spilling, tomato cans, cat food
The food, oh, some fresh, some stale, left overnight
Little people scattered about, hunched over,
slurping up ink noodles, colored ice
I could use a lift
The escalation, takes too long,
i age when i reach the top
copious number of shutters
Rising, falling like civilisations
Men arrive with dreams, leave with no penny
Jumping into the fountain near the car park
Head first while classical songs play with the lights
They cannot stand the sight of cardboard boxes sealing up failed goods
cremation with P+L documents
Lost children are sold in the pet stores by horrible mice men
Helium balloons soar to the sky
Another boy missing
(is that lullabies I hear under the table?)
coming from a buddha box
I rush back to the dental clinic, armed with security guards
baton, barcodes flailing
“It’s here! It’s there!”
it’s closed
Surgical masks and gloves littered the floor like flyers past expiry dates
“good morning shoppers, welcome to (insert mall name here)
I cannot find the car park
I’m trying to leave
But the laneways go round and round
while cashiers are asleep at food court tables with spots of ink on their faces
“good night shoppers, we hope you had a lovely day.”
all the coloured ice have melted




-haiku for loo loo-

toilet light blew out
it’s o.k. I’ve got candles
real romantic shit


After touring post dinner
An estate of smoke develops her
In one domestic cycle, a cyclonic rubber tire stands near legless chair
We sit, with milk in our bellies, anticipating blowback, nursing post traumatic farm species
White interruption, ghost moth cutting into paths outside


Wayward fractal navigation maps out chaos theory
A sign surely, a crescendo of voices speaking of the European bird lady
She constipates
with red faced hunky dory men
Blocking pavements the way riot cops erect barriers
mild pigs working for loud sheep with wild zoological thought forms

The green man is frantic
then fills with L.E.D blood

Tides freeze like an astrological mishap near Jupiter
Planets pause for giants to pass away (star piety)

Absent: the route through these myths

Absent: the camera stand that overexposes blind limbs

Present: an unmanned umbrella, opened and fruitless,
under shelter

with no thunder


Haiku For loo loo II

this is a warning
flatulence is dangerous
in candle lit loo

jalan terus
jangan pusing
sedap ya? jatuh macam buah rosak
sakit atau sikit?
mesti ada duit
mesti makan kulit
semua berhenti
semua tak jadi
mana dia? keretapi saya?
dah lambat
dah lembek
cakap banyak tetapi orang belum dengar

keep moving
do not turn
yummy huh? fall like spoilt fruit
sick or a little?
must have money
must eat the skin
all stops
all not so
Where is he? my train?
I’m slow
already weak
talk much, but people have not heard

coffee breakers

Three tables
Chock full of lung abusers
Isolation in yellow box
As if quarantined, marked, somewhat despised
Aunties walk by, faces twisted in disgust
Crumpled tissues stuffed in face

knights of the viceroy table
Condensed milk ash trays
Empty Guinness bottles at 4 pm
White cigarette butts crushed in
little saucers full of chilli seeds

It’s hot out here in hawker

Our dried leaves burning with holy smoke
Time traveling, grasping at ephemeral life

Best Denki guy is burping
I silently squeeze between cups of half drunk tea and men
Gangsters talking about gangsters
Yellow skin, black skin, all the same, inked skin
Dragons, tigers, scorpions, Japanese koi.
Brotherhood of the image
Warriors sealed with scars

“People know him you know! famous in Desker!
“That time I go inside, I still see him. He sit seven years.”
“I only sit D.B 2 days.”
“His face gone, already! His brain gone already, the thing he smoke ah, he sit in front of you, he know you, but his head outside don’t know where.”
“That thing ah, make you think you superman. My friend jump what.”
“I ten years old, after smoke, I do like this.”
He mimes masturbation.
“All my brothers around me I don’t care!”
They laugh.
A feeble woman walks by, accidentally hits one gangster with her bag.
He stares after her, unforgiving, even
when she says sorry four times.
I put out my fire in the tin can
I put out his fire with my mind
I finish my coffee
For a moment, I remember Desker road
I don’t think I remember him,
he who sat for seven years,
but dangerous streets do
and free men do
sitting at filthy tables
smoking on behalf
of fallen friends and famous figures


the dog is afraid
of heavenly flashing lights
he leans his furry body against mine in faux winter
he stands on bed ledge, inching forward
looking down at earth, tongue dangling
mother is baking cakes outside – as Jesus dies -
i’ve got a stomach full of gas
a head full of trash
thoughts clumped in two mental rooms
filled with strange hipsters from vagrant dreams
a car horn blows outside
“faster, faster, we must catch his passing”
a canvas of rain whitewashing views of the sea
making islands and ships disappear
someone is instagramming the body of christ
glorified lashing
tooth and nail and wailing
the dog makes unusual barking noises in his gut
he barks at sealed tombs and doors
tonight, the apes from a godless court come out to play
flashing saturated light into the eye of crowds
tonight, a man sits and prays with his wife
he heard the news on Maundy Thursday
“Doctor says there are advanced treatments”
I met his wife in an old church
where masses arrive in tour busses and wait for death
the dog is quiet
I need a cigarette
stratosphere, still pouring sweat
the man with stage three cancer prays with Christ in the Garden
The Lord has defeated death, surely,
The lord has defeated death

Conceptual starving self / waiting in dinner ballroom
(there’s no hunger in dreaming)
dressed to the nines, black tie pomposity
(nine o’clock) and still we’re seated, everyone else is done with dessert
(napkins crushed and marked with chocolate cream)
“Do not approach dinner the way hunters do” my date refuses to move, her hair is too firmly sprayed into place
high society, stuffing on barbequed meat, corroded on champagne
laughing, clinking chinaware
(seven star hotel buffet ensemble )
tables stretching round the great hall, an impossible spread, chandelier satellites
we’re such prey / an exotic slaughterhouse
(I think this is hell sponsored by L.V.)
“They are closing the meat sections soon, if we don’t hurry, we sleep emancipated.”
Anxiety forces my hand (but no, it’s not hunger that drives me,
it’s the CLOSING TIME)
Shiny white plate, I don’t know which animal to start on
Flesh sizzling on hotplates, I bypass greenhouses, avoiding emissions
One slab, two slabs, blood pooling in oil and butter, sprinkled with herb shavings
Walking down aisle of food like an anorexic bride, salivating, I finally turn the bend and put my plate down (in search of silverware, napkins, salt shakers)
I return but the plate is now missing
Panic, senses amok (where did it go? Where did it go!?)
I ask witnesses, waitresses (someone has cleared your plate sir)
“We’re running out of time” My bride is slapping on lipstick like a whore, licking off mayonnaise from her sultry lips
Frustration buoys me to the plate section
It’s too far from home, such horrible beige walls blocking my view
I turn into an animal, running on all fours
Claws digging into expensive carpet
It’s dense, this air, difficult to wade through
Atmospheric burden, like a cougar with blood turning to cement
“There. Is. No. Time.”
I push myself, animalistic, atavistic, driven like a predator
I’m praying the chefs have not packed up (leading bound and bald lambs up the ramps)
I turn a corner, jaws aching
And there…
Fleshy naked chicken wings in silver trays
Copious amounts of meat, flame grilled, steaming
“No matter how late we are, the fresh poultry remains, ready to be eaten by starving huntress.”

Creatures of light from undersea
bulbous and translucent
embracing our innocence

tendrils floating in space, touching obscure
places in our arctic depth
melting away the turmoil of gravitational
free falling to the mountainous below
proud monuments of Atlantis, rising to meet
our searching hands

We sink ever inwards
ever downwards to Her core
floating through bottomless skies of an unseen heart

Whales wail gently, their final song,
untimely goodbyes, slow and unfurling
opens like a coral palm,
waving, then reaching for the outer shore

Venusian tides, ebb us to the other
She calls us back, our amniotic mother
lulling us to our first and ancient source
deep below, deep inside
her House of Salt and Mysteries
So vast and majestic, abysmal arcana
flowing from elsewhere to elsewhere
from dream to dream
all of us, her oneiric children
never growing old
dreaming in unified fields
drifting, stateless, surrendering
to the Iridescent presence of Home.


Large toenail on my mom’s right foot
Is open like a bonnet
“Pull it out” she says
“Any pain?”
I study the hard dead thing. It’s still attached to her skin.
clip, clip, clip
Shorten the ancient thing
Her feet are maps, deeply drawn from decades of
climbing hills and mountains in her way
death of children
wayward son
half-blind daughter
a slow and grumpy lover

I sit at her feet
I fold the wet tissue and clean up old dried blood
carefully wiping, mentally counting the scars on her body
Major ops, heart and hands
Screws and metals and rods in her spine
broken femurs (knocked down by running children)

she never stayed down

she carries on, despite the age
despite broken toe nails
despite pain and fatigue and dizziness
she keeps moving on, with wheelchairs and walkers and physio
climbing mountains and hills
talking and acting in her sleep
talking to dead people
half-waking in altered realities
dreaming of strange streets filled with pot holes and rising pavements and road blocks
but letting none of them stop her, from being a true mother.


Bring out the worst of humanity. Turn it into art and music. Scare strangers with children. Make them feel disgust. Do not hold back.

It’s your duty as an artist.
You are
mankind’s mirror.

Will you show truth?
Will you provoke the world?


I remove the image of the eye to find the image of the baby
Secret chiefs speak of oneiric activity
Repo-deities luring cats along the lorong
Temper proves I’m not a senang man
I’m pasting paper words on red and green colored doors
swinging with sheets of poetry 16 syllables short, aligning narratives

A spastic boy is shocking curly girls in dinner jackets and murky skirts
debate team lines up in rows of two, about to stake their cause,
ready for performance in a ballroom

I’m late to the counter, mis-shuffled documents, must submit thesis to a Majapahit

Secretaries unsure of his surname and whereabouts
He’s on the third floor, he’s on the fifth floor, the phones can’t get to him
I must leave by six-thirty
What time is the deadline?
I have handwritten manuscripts but not in my hand
foreign curves in imposter colors, I’ve forgotten the actual prints, page numbers turning into false data-arranging discord pages on a hotel chair

A black woman is telling me how she spiked the pens with black coca cola sugar
Her team mate is tasting it furtively
His overcoat tightening over his body
Pages are missing, de—printed, I must return to the restaurant by neon light to get them done

The school is turning into a vortex

Scrawny boy in Chinatown drops fried chicken on damp roads
He curses the mall he came from
Picks up what he can, balancing crispy
fries, two drumsticks, three drumlets and a small potted plant on hardcover coffee table books stolen from libraries,
murmuring as he returns heavy handed to the singing lounge

Abstractedly, I know the painted face dolls are there in their sequins and glossy man—belts and jewel crusted garters

I help arrange rather than gather remains of this street side disaster,
yellow silk mounds flattened and tucked into corners of tents and stages
placing detached blocks from a broken bench into a wooden box

My heaven has no plans for hurrying me up

The K.T.V has enough for the family

In mid—work, I abandon the stream of thought
Papers fully and comprehensibly changing, night-time in full swing

Everything and nothing, is at once, happening


a live multimedia performance detailing terminal psychedelic astral states.

original music, visuals, sound design and words by
Pereira Irving Paul (mata data / oneiric field)


#NaPoWriMo Days 8, 9, 10

Thirthia – Ten


Is this a
postcard holiday pic?
thermonuclear horizon
such beauty, of mushroom flowering
orange,black against the blue
green field, ocean
thermonuclear boiling
time and again I watch it
but it was peaceful last night
none the invasion
no debris raining down
no strange coercion
various phases of
thermonuclear life laid to waste
carry on
the light will be against my back
elsewhere, another horizon
no radiation
no fall out
open road ahead
it is nearing
just as the crater is farther away
no need for memorials
there is, there, the new city
or just home
where the thermonuclear heart finds no violence



Thirthia – Nine


I’m rushing through the rain because I’m late 
It’s a long way to walk, my feet hurt
I left my umbrella behind
Never mind, someone needs it
Such absentmindedness 
One minute away 
I’m nearly there
Few more steps
She smiles back
She drops her skirt
“Come to me my dear”
Her purring excites me
I’m on autopilot now
Losing my shirt, my tie, my pants
The fatigue of the day drops away
She pulls me to the bed and bites my neck

#singpowrimo#napowrimo#poetrychallenge9Pereira Irving Paul

We’re both lying there, on 
a bed, in the dark
We’re in a house made of wood
Candlelight blown out
No power lines run this deep into the forest
There is only moonlight and it’s not enough

The bed is soft and we’re sinking into it
Sinking into initiation
The priestess stands at the foot
She says, “Thoth is coming through.”
She begins to speak, but not in her voice.
It’s deep, masculine, alien, cloaked in greys and greens,
chords from the sub-conscious

the woman next to me begins ecstasy
it’s sexual and spiritual and surreal
lovemaking with invisible forces
“I’ve never felt anything like this!”
moaning, squirming, deep in heat
a river of fire scorches the right side of my body
building from within
cells and nerves and bloodstream burning
the woman sinks in deeper and I roll down the slope of bed
my back touches her right arm
the fire escalates

I wake up

The buzz from my body is still there
Fresh and following me out of the dream
But it was no dream

My system is altered by the voice of Thoth.


Thirthia, day seven

Sidewinding, skid marking into alternate history and
I’m still with the mad shouting couple
(their baby in pink in the back seat of a cramped car)

It wasn’t my fault
It was too crowded
Too immense, this megalithic mall
At some stage, I lost sense of which floor I was on
Trace back, recall, what did you do with the parking ticket?
We can’t get out
(the car had to reverse)
the drop gate won’t open without the ticket
the slot is starving but we can’t feed it
(dug my pockets countless times)
fade out receipt found on first search (left side, right side nothing)
half ripped movie ticket on another occasion (it was not there before)
the pocket regenerates lost paper
useless, folded evidence that won’t get us out

I’m highly stressed
Disoriented with the heartland mobs
(where did I throw away that ticket? Which beige dustbin?)
They all look the same, on every floor, each a gaping mouth receiving spectacular rubbish
Memory serves up imposter actions
(dug the pocket, dropped the ticket)
did I do that?
Escalators up and down, jam packed
I’m highly tired, angry
It’s not my fault
I want to scream and shout like the mad couple
I need to find a machine
Get a new ticket (but where the hell is this technology?)
No signs, no maps, no one to ask, everyone lost with the tide, following bulk patterns
Mass migration in the mall
To the south side
To the western hemisphere
Into basements obscured by an alley of food
Human tributaries converging into an ocean of annex
Money exchanging hands, fighting for deals
(I don’t know what to do with this)
they walk away holding strange objects of no value

I find a touch screen within a white wall
small messages, centralized, computerized, telling me to take the ticket
a card slips out of the slot of an oversized teller

we can get out now.

Back in the car, I’m with the pink baby
The mother, in passenger seating says
“she ate the ticket.”
It was her fault
But we don’t blame children
Her mouth is wet with saliva
Pieces of cardboard on her lap
Lapping up our ticket out of here
Half swallowed

we’ve got a second ticket now
for an alternate vehicle in an alternate universe, altering the other course
where the mad couple is divorced and there is no baby.

It was never my fault


#napowrimo, #singpowrimo, #pereirairvingpaul, #napowrimoday7


Thirthia – episode 6


Mircrobiotics unfounded in corners, windswept clean

Singular chair


One-way glass observatory

The groom in an accused grey suit, black skin

He will not speak about the package in the taxi





Dehumidifier in my room.

Silent hum.

I was with him in the cab. Back seat

suspicious of few hundred-dollar fare


“How much does he know of the page?”

The woman is going through my typewritten document

a block of words, straight-laced

unfamiliar story

not done by my machine


false narrative to throw off trajectories


he does not break a sweat

so zen

is halogen buzzing like they do in movies?

“I will not cut a deal to send him in.”

she doesn’t whimper or smirk or offer consolance::


stripped free of macrobiotics

thickening of blood in his veins

darkening of blood in mine

osmosis through sight and thought and the male gaze

of shared injections

mutual transplants


she’s pointing out mistakes in the narrative


black blouse, curve of skirt, wave of hair falling in slander

neutral ossification


body found in trunk.


“There’s nothing I can offer you. About him”


He does not twitch or smile or offer condolences

they are forensic testing the cab we arrived in

dust particles, macrobiotics, D.N.A swabs, open fake mouths

“He does not belong in the grey room.”

“He won’t have to be there, if you cooperate.”

Her eyes are no more sensual

Not like that night

After drinks and petty footsies

Curled up on a naked bed


She’s a snare, a howling trap


Entangled hair

Sex soaked skin

Undercover operative


I told her, “A part of me, as a child, is in you.”

I’ve given her that.

“It’s not enough.”

It’s o.k.

The child knows what to do in her mind


No more.


He’s no longer in the room.

She leaves the block of words on crème paper, on the metallic table

“you decide what is truth”

the room is windswept, a clearing of presence

she’s no longer in the room



waited, I sit

where have they taken him?



Electric chair

Bed and breakfast

Scene of the crime


outside, agents mingle, whispers travel through aircon ducts

I think they killed the cab driver. Execution style.

I don’t know how I know this.

I can smell cheap coffee, gunpowder, guerilla tactical

Military industrial complex

He has something they want

I was just there for the ride, the forbidden vials, the basement experiment


They put a bag over my head

Led me out into the heat

Round and round in the bowels of secret bases

Insect songs buzzing, directionless, overhead P.A announcing numbers, color codes.

I heard noises of pain but not from him

There are others here


I’m strapped down

Steel bed

Needle arm

Extracting macrobiotics

“your blood will tell the truth.”

I doubt that

I’ve changed the course with sheer will

Internal organ tricks

Falsifying data from kidneys and livers

Dendrites delivering diversions


They will never find out


I tolerate.

#NaPoWriMo Day #5

quickly provide urine sample
quickly deflate purple balloon
quickly, decide, become couple
quickly visit wedding saloon

quickly Christians, donate something
quickly virgin, perverts return
quickly Jesus, second coming
quickly, priestess, banish phantom

quickly, lover, pants undone
quickly student, lessons, unlearn
quickly kneeling, worship Wotan
quickly robber, reload weapon

quickly, soldier, arrive intact
quickly pissing beside temple
quickly writer, poem, redact
quickly escape, panic, trample


Thirthia – Episode four – #napowrimo

doomed, last days of man
black skies, black sea, black time
black gates gape
hounds from hell, stalks our land

dark with mad rage
howl, lunge, force of bite breaks bones
holes in skin, torn neck, chewed heart, burst
gash, wounds, rip, eat
blood pours, won’t stop
trails of prey
hear them scream, cry, pray in all tongues
run, limp, crawl, push off beasts with bare hands, legs
(no use)
this foul force is too great, too wild, too bent, too set to kill
to eat all
all moms
all boys
all girls
shred, soiled dress
clumps of hair still stuck on scalps on wet roads




for fucks sake


doom dogs will hunt you down
red eyes in black night, sees through walls, heat sense, sharp ears


(no use)

be still

(no use)


(no use)

fear scent too strong

they can smell you

you shut your eyes

(no use)

they see you

you know they are near when your skin crawls

guns won’t stop them
blades will fail
one can’t kill that which is dead

“oh God.”
“Oh, please”

watch the dogs
lick up blood from founts of vein
watch the dogs wag their tails as they drink from your dead loved ones
they love your blood, your meat, your red, soft heart
they won’t stop

pray you’ll die quick
have mercy
have mercy

run, till you can’t

force your legs
till you can’t


till you can’t

then give in
give up
close your eyes






Thirthia -episode three- #napowrimo

Dig out the red folder
from your mothers’ room
open the white door
go past browned, laminated birth certs
computer print outs
irrelevant doctors orders, hand—scrawled, abstaining you from weapons training
look for the right letterhead, the original

you’ll need it to change the future

burn the fake identities
toss transcripts into the fire
it’s all in your head now
aged and utilized
It’s all in your blood
leave no trace of the one you leave behind
follow the resurrected

You can stop running.

let it come to you
find the file and find the life
find your ruined black ballpoint
find the yellow highlights

sign the dotted line

you can stop fighting now
this ends the poverty of your starving heart
you know what you must do
you’re tired, but the past is put to rest
you’ve done this before

fold the original cert
fold the papers
put them together
drop it off
let time and detail do the rest


The woman on the phone said it’s alright
“We won’t change anything until we receive the papers.”
lick the envelope
postage paid by addressee
they can spare a few cents
they’ve taken enough from you
now you take it back

the institution can feed off the others. you are now the predator.

There is no crisis here
the crisis is ending
you can stop struggling now
this ends the poverty in your time
on your terms
you have safe passage, you have permission to pass, to build

this is your corner stone.

It all leads up to this
You’ve sent for your future
You have asked

Now all we have to do is wait