From ‘echonone’ (Oneiros Books 2015)



ember absence ash emerge recede silence warp-ember absence emergence warp…voice non-stir utterance claim overture pulse magnet dry bone non-stir overture…absence bones flesh breath hollow echo sky crack claustrophobe intact scar risen…caress non-stir vocal silence ever-amber ember ash…
overture tide silence silenced presence claim once claim other intact caress flesh breath…voice non-stir absent a…claustrophobe intact ever-ashen ember silence claim…absence ever-bone clad silence breath a-breathe foreign…echo hollow distance foreign…claustrophe scar silence non-vocal tidal utterance/
voice wordless dredge design subtle hollow break surface dead follow bled bleed nocturne out-step collapse…spoke less ever-speech cleft stun break point zero tint…collapse dread foreign wordless subtle break…less wordless hollow follow dread…absolute bled speech echo blind distance eradicate…
claim once twice +1/ expel skins purpose foreign subtle breakage edge bone wordless stun break…once claim dread state unfollow bled speech absolute eradicate final ice…blind echo on speech-ever lack dredge wordless subtle breakage…voice…claim forgotten…ever-forgotten expel edge once twice bleed +1/
collide broke tide ever voice breathe ice-dim vocalise claim speech jagged refresh collapse un-sight…dead tone vascular sky emptily vocalised…breath earth in-sound vibrate speech-claim un-sight speech erased…jagged silence collapse vibrant voice bled un-breathe dead tone speech-claim broke bones warp…
dawning echo vibrate pissoir vascular endless voice un-dead solace empty…warp broken claim speech less empty solace record vibrate dead un-breath elect bone…elective dawning echo non-forage silence erased records dead stun elective absent absence…splice shale words discard silence absence all/
excise mark claim vocal tide pageant silence crack stillness breath abound…tide silence obscure trace vocal stone wind excise…breath non-spoken lapse collide fallen re-fallen waters bone sharp dislodge expire…crack voice filter dredge irreversible step one abound…fall drift emblem traceless obscure…once final edge excise…
break stun inflex abort sever obsolete reclaim lack silence…expire void breath-bleed re-spoken spoken echo tint sever broke stun shatter trace collapse bleed foreign inflex…utters waste climb passage breath redempt invert collide ashen promise…shatter bleed foreign X…trace tint sky abort void expire obsolete/
flex beheld echo glimmer reflective…skin-clad mercury…dissonance traceless endless…bone flex rot climb terrain in-speech colour-trace echo-echo vibrate reflective…trace expound collapse in-trace vapour terrain dissonant…vibrate in-step carrion accolade bone flex warp stone emptily…
subtle force gesture lack eradicate erasure tide subtle…erased voice climb dead pause absent landscape…eradicate gesture silence bound…flex non-breathe vocal entity trace emasculate redeem climb flex…pause absent landscape lack force eradicate gesture silence non-entity obscure/ subtle edge break/ sharp voice collapse/
vocal non-voice choke stun remnant collide…chamber echo splice hollow breathe demarcate wrang…stunt vocal ashen choke sky collide remnant…non-sung breathe sudden escapade collapse lack sustenance…chamber vibrate excise splice gutter stun echo sudden splice collapse…non-voice solace erasure…
distance ever-lock clear shock sudden remnant…zone foreign malign interstice…vibrate lack echo-shock erased voice clear wrang dense expel…ever-lock interstice pulse clear remnant dissipate…distance foreign breath choke sudden vocal trace silence malign…voice clear dense expel dissipate interstice/
trace non-stir reverberate silence reclamation violent…silence permeate expel claim dredge undone…vocal non-stir penetrate claim ember trace lack-will…break stun trace reclamation…etch clasp weight expel final obsolete…solace lack permeate dredge undone non-stir…shard clasp bled echo echo tidal…
echo echo tidal trace penetrate obscure excise collide trace non-trace…collide trace silence etch silenced vocal lack…lack trace echo solace malign claim dredge non-will erasure…bite lock break…permeate clasp weight expel final obsolete…non-stir bound edge +1…tidal trace echo collide trace silence silenced/
zero attribute claim crack severance edge lapse…collide non-step exert shimmer bled lack…lapse attribute un-spoke silence barrage crack lapse zero absolve…non-step recede recession blind traceless catascope absence redempt…(steps back into)…blind zero aptitude exert sky-lapse silence breath non-stir…
voice-traipse absent recollect collect…barrage silent…attribute of…silence spoke…lapse resolve of zero crack zero closed non-wound…non-closed wound zero…it…desolately wound collapse un-dread…silence silenced silence silenced silenced spoken non-spoken…utterance out…bails out erased pageant exert/ spoken/ none/
echonone‘ is available to purchase here

‘Un-Sight/Un-Sound (delirium X.), (gnOme Books 2014), reviewed by Christopher Brownsword


(gnOme Books 2014)
130 pages
In an age where the author has become just another marketing tool whose name is of greater importance than what they might have to say (perhaps a sign that ‘we’ value not so much the content of a book as the brand itself; moreover, that too few writers actually have anything worth saying and are therefore capable of little more than self-aggrandisement), it is refreshing to encounter a publisher such as gnOme Books whose project is the production of clandestine works by anonymous writers; and in the case of the unidentified M., it is almost as if a process of dehumanisation has been required in order that one is again able to approach the question of what it might entail to be human, to stand naked rather than be dressed upby corporate profiling, and to turn away from the absurd cyber-dream of a Singularity so as to accept the irrevocable frailties and limits of the body:
‘…in stun light of bled ember embark viscid endless
…marked trace of scar scar’s out-breath of reach emptier than
…dead spark of wound collapses headless viper taste attrition.’
       So begins this impressive sequence of prose poems, and what follows evokes the feral shriek of one of Francis Bacon’s figures whose pitch remains at a nerve-jarring constant throughout while here and there gritting teeth against a starkly exquisite image: ‘a lung locked suitcase full of carrion.’ For the most part, however, the tone is one of harsh alliteration (‘voice no longer rapture closed fist slash breath lack endless collapse vicious’)or the type of jagged repetition which brings to mind Gertrude Stein’s Stanzas in Meditation (‘of the eye extract it cannot detraced no it not a of the eye’s detract it cannot be detraced’ or ‘locked bone nothing severed ever nothing none of nothing less than none that is or of the naught said without’).Elsewhere, as in the second part of the book, ‘It’ sequence, in which abrasive vowels swarm around a nexus of incantatory permutations, Samuel Beckett is recalled: ‘…it/yes it will/wills/it will eat you alive/wills not/it has or does not it will and can/it will cease/resent/it returns it will forever be/yet no/never was given the benefit of lack/in the redeem still it exists yet spitsblood from a mouth full of broken teeth.’
        Eden, Eden, Eden by Pierre Guyotat, Kenji Siratori’sBlood Electric, the post-Poems output of J. H. Prynne, the early novellas of Kathy Acker, the almost untranslatable final poems of Paul Celan, and the dissident texts of the original L=A=N=G=U=A=G=E movement are all conceivable referents, but the sequence itself directs the reader to Georges Bataille, William Burroughs, and, indeed, Francis Bacon. It is interesting to note that in speaking of his portraits, many of which inspired nausea and loathing in their subjects when they were at last revealed, Bacon related something to the effect that he found it necessary to distort the image in order to bring it back to reality. Likewise, there are moments in Un-Sight/Un-Sound where it seems as if the hold language has over our perceptions is being, if not broken, then at least distorted enough for us to catch a glimpse of the world that lies behind our makeshift descriptions and definitions – ‘the dogs devour the tears shed as of skin sanguine in lapse of momentary lack of resolve cast out into negate of the redempt’: redemption here is denied, for without the Christian belief in the fall of mankind there is nothing for humans to be redeemed from, that is, we are no longer strangers thrown into the world but only an ephemeral contingency of it.
        Nonetheless, for all its dissonance and fragmentation the sequence cannot help but now and then assemble itself into an almost melodious refrain (‘sound simulations gripped by breathless/soon to dissipate/songs of un-being/traceless violet songs in bloom/distillate to point of never having been/all purpose shredded/white lung till breakage’), as if some kind of tenuous equilibrium is straining to be recognised amidst the chaos, even though, as the reader is reminded, where by chance it appears, this harmony is ‘soon to dissipate.’ Yet the fact that this brief intercession of musicality appears to arise by accident rather than by design somehow makes it all the more fragile and beautiful.In its condensed form, the passage mirrors the Japanese haiku poet Issa, who wrote: ‘Never forget:/we walk on hell,/gazing at flowers.’
        Appropriately enough, the sequence ends in a squall of disjointed ‘shards,’ after which we ought really to be rendered mute to appraise it. After all, to search for meaning or reason, while among the strongest of human impulses, is to neglect the possibility that life is there simply to be experienced, nothing more. So, too, is this book to be experienced, for like the human organism itself, it seems to have no core, no cohesion; rather it is composed of strata and detritus, bits and pieces that by the purposeless drift of evolution happen to work together while forever exhibiting a tendency towards disintegration: ‘…the naught cancels all,’ runs one particularly exceptional passage, ‘glimmer hope and I/else the retraced footsteps seeking outward step/words drained in dissipate/sands blown across erasing the tidal of…’
You can get it from gnOme books here

‘abattoir whispers’ (Oneiros Books 2014) reviewed by Gillian Prew

Yes, we are the human slaughterhouse, our voices barely audible if anyone were ever to listen. And what of it?
“…I die, and in this death I see nothing, I see that I am nothing…” (Untitled #1)
This is Michael Mc Aloran…or his narrator. One could assume that they are interchangeable if not rigorously identical. As interchangeable as life and death, life being a continuum of dissolution, a collection of loosely associated, absurd fragments which the narrator does not care enough to embrace nor reject. Yet, there is care. There is care in the creative outflow of inner dialogue: a man transforming his idea of self, his troubled place in the world into a voice traversing darkly surreal landscapes – his verbal and pictorial wounds.
“…no I do not want to leave, yet I do not want to stay, either, something has shaken the fruit from the razor tree, they sparkle upon rent soil in the moonlight, I laugh because I cannot believe myself, that this is, I subtract from death’s irrelevance, with some sense, deepening the wounds, I am the skyline, I am the aborted sun, I am the disfigured sneer…”
(Untitled #1)
Mc Aloran makes his own sense of the failure of objectivity and, ultimately, meaning. But sense is transience. The moment of understanding is also a moment of confusion where neither lasts beyond the expression of itself and all is ultimately emptiness.
“…we spit dreams like sparks that fade into emptiness, and ever the return, ever the return to this perpetuating emptiness…” (Untitled #2)
Existence is trauma. We are born alone, and so it goes. An inhospitable world is our cradle and our attempts to thrive are idiotic and self-defeating.
“…I ejaculating into the void with streaks of dissipating words, my death, my death my starry death I am alone, no not else, ever else, the violence of existing, the ferocity of birth, a cold stone hearth in which the bone’s of a child rot unto idiocy, I too am that idiocy, that murder, that abortion, the time taken to unlearn, to forget…” (Untitled #3)
In this world of Mc Aloran’s there is no definitive suffering. One accumulates scars like years; not always aware of each day, each slice into flesh. It is both an accumulative living and dying; a horror and a wry smile at the ongoing absurdity and meaninglessness of existence.
“…I observe my scars in wonder, I cannot then see, I suffocate on the bile of my dying, something grips me, viciously and I expire, void of my ineptitude, I am this flesh, this meat, this absolution, this waste…I smile…” (Untitled #4)
“…At what point, in the striking of lightning does the flesh awaken, once death has awakened in the eyes the clamour of the silence, having no recourse beyond the filth of decay, the brutalizing winds, ejaculating spent bodies emasculated, birthed, into endless nothingness, as if a dream could suffice? I laugh yet I am ice, I see nothing else, penetrative scars, the implements of foreign dreams, and the skill by which such dreams are dissolved, in the cancer of final night, in the shifting parameters of lunacy, cutting the teeth upon the rock’s of bleak mortality, as if to speak were enough, as if to convey were enough, as if this were enough, unto that final line, dressed up for the kill, my head in a vice, skull-dust, heavenly teeth…” (Untitled #11)
In Mc Aloran we have an artist living as a poet living as an artist living as a man. In short, he cannot be separated from his work. His verbal skills translate to disturbing visuals yet one wonders, given that Mc Aloran also has consid-erable talent as a painter, whether it is the visuals which he finds necessary to articulate in words, as if neither medium can suffice on its own, that his thinking, his interpretation of the world is too complex, too insufferable to be expressed merely in one dimension.
“…Meat petals and the slashed eye, a clock face smeared with blood, the shadow of a death knell, ice in the veins of the death of air, mocked by the crumbling walls of dissolution, a trinket, a casket full of rotting teeth, the death of air is a flock of diseased birds sprayed across the ashen sky, the waste and the frugality of tears, nothing changes, no, not ever more, I am a dream, a figment in all of this, the shadow pierces like none other, echoing, drunk upon the intoxication of blank stone walls, at which were stared in starvation, hallucinogenic, some kind of dreaming, yes…” (Untitled #21)
His tone, his surreal landscapes, put one in mind of Beckett and Bataille, where his inner dialogue cannot rest with itself. There is a lack of decisive punctuation where most everything is a continual struggle with conclusion to which a full stop would be an almost be an act of hubris. The sun, the eye, decay, shattered bloody skies…Mc Aloran has interminable versions of these all beautifully and disturbingly visual. Here, again, his pen would almost be substituted for a paintbrush.
“…A chain of metallic petals, dragging along the spine of all living, beneath the teeth of the sun and throughout the breath, lingering, like a shimmering of cloud in a womb of black sky, the tips of the fingers licked clean of blood, ice shatters, something between to the to and fro-ing, the hands quivering with dislocation, chewing glass to make the smile more opulent, there is no darkness, static absurdly weeps, leeches upon the breast, the heart fades to murmurs, where joy advances like an unwanted drunken lover, a singular butterfly smashed offhandedly upon a white-washed wall…”
(untitled #29)
Michael Mc Aloran is a fractured soul living as best he can in the brief pauses, where the in-breath meets the out; where the comma is the most fleeting of respite. The rest is almost an impossibility; one filled by poetry and art, where apparently contradictorily, the process of dissolution is one of creation. His work is dark, disturbing and compelling; a fractured version of reality. When Beckett remarked of Joyce, “His writing is not about something. It is the thing itself.” he could well have been referring to Michael Mc Aloran.
In a world of existential paralysis, where there are few authentic voices, I would recommend attention be paid to at least one – Michael Mc Aloran.
Gillian Prew
(Author of ‘Disconnections’, ‘In the Broken Things’, ‘Throats Full of Graves’ & ‘A Wound’s Sound’)…
It is available from Oneiros Books, here

From ‘the black vault’ (published by VoidFront Press)



chafed skin
the silent purity of frozen eyes
the mockery of bruised flesh
the beauty of discolourization
the depth of the sky is no wound
flourish of dead frozen lightless catacombs
a candle burns as dried menstrual blood
coats the limp cock…
pale gardenias
shuddering in the night fallen crestfallen
death inhales the emptiness of stale time
endless blue light
the beauty the adjurant ague
the vault opens
a scream drenched in earthly blood
death as a whisper
blackened ruptured bleeding existence
the depth of the sky is no…
shrouds of wounds cover the dry listless soil
the heart is open as a vibrant flower
laced with death
the snare of it
shutting off the cries
as a guillotine erases
wasted tears before the harlequin
of dissipation
the skies do not answer
they never will
is the bounty
blank tomb
the Shadow dredges the depths
of restless oceanic
a barrel of a gun
a blessed orifice
bled dry
extracted teeth of eviscerated love
a centipede birthed from the
corner of the mouth
drenched in whispers
the hollow kaleidoscope of whispers
stilled breath
honeycomb of rotting blood
a vacant sky
a holocaust
fucked over to dance in shimmering circles
beneath a black harlot skyline
extinguish the night
(extinguish…the sky…)
the rapture
has aborted
its worthless

Untitled #3 (from ‘all null having’)

   throughout the cruciform trees the breathe of a silent laughter of the blood where once bone light distances of the ever-forgotten of where what taken from never other than were to be expelled where the closure pulse is to be the shredded flesh of some obscurity breaking apart the vocal of appeal of the dark then held too close to absent dredge of a kaleidoscopic temperate yet ever neither it is once non-said not of the ever-closure of the wound where the bleak earth shimmers through the frost of ague as if to it what were throughout some callous carnage silhouettes rent through by the ocular of some meshed what will then of till shadowy entails as if it were spoken of in the calamitive expiration of it in the stillness of yes or of the other of all’s to be the forgotten of premise bleak shine a broken ambience cracked the skeletal apart in a fracturing of dense blood lights it is of the unsaid echo terse vapours & the slashed throat that rebinds spit them out your tones your lack of the given other than nothing here to behold where the body vocal amber’s lights caress where ever-said throughout the murmurs of the lie of the percept unsound coloured by the neither nor awash with the piss of this or that it etching what etches nothing of the giving through the shadowlongfall of the corpsus tightening the skull of the upturned psalm echo-echoing desiring of the rent meat it elected to nullity abounding in the nothing of it in a here of then in the roving eye tight as fist & the bitterness to keep so sayeth the solace spat out in the nocturnal lapse of breathing close to the cage of rib till ever-clad alone what redolent of it collapsing into hollow earth ever to expire from breathe a lack of purpose yet not a trace the fingers itch for the blade for the cult of bone trees crucified by light’s skeletal swarming distantly throughout these dead zones it-all blindness as it were in the scarred traces the itch of the stitch cold clamour nothing as if to touch forthgiven endlessly ashen uttering only of some vapour attrition stone winds the bitten of the refusal nothing breaking forth into nothing ever of till collapse eye-breathe the culling of-of till unto dead unsung lights promises eye cannot throughout given unto purposeless the haven twitch this cold stone departure sinking into of the pillage prism of the never having yet it-lung & the pulse of the in-trace collectively design for the once given ever than where none & the else collide through the fleshed weight of nothing given ever of some butcher’s landscape a sickness of given meat to dis-chase as if to say what words to grace the ill-testament of final excremental evacuating into the dawning of all of as if it were throughout guttered upon the ledge of breathe silently opposed that it be sudden as if to shrift were to be calamitous what held eye of the body felt the sense of being in the searing of it in the wrack-stretched bones some semblance to touch it has of yet calling ashore through desert chambers cold drift it-eye the lungs of want the lack of which collapse into utter dark what of it where vicious rooms await contract & then blind where eye of else neither the other than imploding glass shatter upon the denuded body vocal broken through some manner of impulse as if there were to be of the shadowing collision lack-cold-hand severed as if there were to be or were of the other sands brimming with the non-blood speechless devour else ache the bloody ache of fleshed verandas & the bitter chase of the blood’s given to outwardly speech collectively obscured where once of it were of it magnanimous a in severed chill a sting in veins what spelling it out some solace of the never slaughter of unto collision waste where naught is of the bitten shell the heart-lack were of the once before cold chase of desire & the body broke stone where to be is to be collapsed where colour eye these coloured eyes that in the all reek of it given unto acrid shit given to demise of the one thing permanence collapse as if to say where once was were of it of in-gladiola of discharge through the blood cum shit & piss of it & the haven of it that closes the door as the rest to follow onwardly into corridors ripped as if to shattered through the blind light of bone lights the cruciform trees of having sensed nothing more to onwardly unsung eye breaks it is unbroken colours eyes collide where breathless entity & the vermin settlement of seeking sought for the nothing of whereof the colour’s grief of the bone weight atrophate it speaks then where of it there was what spoken of nullity where to utter blank light a colossus of breath cold as die as of the cast what spun where of this prism pillage dense tones vapour tones of the obscene devour in midst of violent colourings cold light breaking apart the body vocal cleft of throughout where whittled down the excreta of severed blood a viscous dense in the midst of colour it ashore it echoes were to be the sudden as if to fall whereof this then of the cold tide the whispering fingers tracing the embalmed flesh beneath the weight of the bled sun light the sarcophagus of the therein what matter of in the callous colours carcass bound where the din lights the flesh smeared across the tangible skyline of acidic colourings never longing for the here or of thereafter the gritted promise of rats in a barrel collapse all spoken for what promise of throughout what dim lapse jaded throughout where obsolete where long is once held in the psalm of emptily redressed coloured as if to naught benign of in throughout from dense lock of the bitten reaching outwardly from zero point closes the door to vellum infinite snap shut reduct as of the die what held colourless detract where blend is of nothing ever a cold discharge from broken given traceless as what once was in the vocal of of the body rent through by absenteeism’s empty edge of in throughout of blade sudden clasp shiv of electrical given to demise till speaketh what of it yet to matter blindly where sung-unsung a virulent collision the what & yes what of it seething in the spit of violent outwardly reaching toward nothing ever & the break-neck stun of asking for where entity ceases & is no longer in a decimaladial presence of blood to colour these whitewashed walls where breath alloweth the eye submerged in = what purpose to or unto of cracking one’s fingers blindly through the devout speech of vapors traces tones of the broken vocal in whispers cold chalice some dirt some soil in the veins the eye carries on regardless nothing left to see other than the atrophy the soundless speechless in a scattering of orchids ripped from the fingertips cast unto the embrace of nothing ever that was nor if what was a taste of illusory asked of never spoken of neither of the silenced attrition where speech treads carefully upon terror’s edge the faculty none utter dark what lights never to having observed says close the eye the absenteeism of the breath sunken of in or which to of soundless yet as if it colourless dread what spun for echoing of broken emblems nothing of the forgotte as drift along whereby as if to taste the stillness begging of the bones absent the flesh all called ashore bitten as if having been through shiv lights fucking the premise taint in an echoing rhythm as so long to the length of it the final lights encapsulated where shadows crawl across the denuded flesh in a devour-heat dead lights and the passage of searchlights scattering across some foreign abandon till taint what broken upon bodily the broken resolve to clasp what breath until its expiration where the laughter fades & cyclic the decimation bleeds its vitriolic in an instant’s it what dense flung to the hyenic laughter of tomorrow’s breath neither collapsed of the skull’s fragment as here or of the skeletal trees converse in a warp of blood’s light whispering together once more as if it were to trace little else as of some vacuous else