Stack Overflow in Corpse Pile Interface (2026) A Forest of Stars 🇬🇧 United Kingdom

Half focused on the blowflies as they flash by.
A few choice sites to survey before settling
on the eyes.
Foisting the squirm anywhere that stinks
inviting.
Welcomed with maggotblown arms to foist
almighty. Shit begat shit.
The enshitenment. Shy away from the lightning.
Fumble screwing another struggling bulb into
an earth long since unyielding.
Power saved by never insisting.
Power saved by never insisting.
Descended like the fair essence of filth on a
foul wind, they did.
Infantilised those fertile minds, they did.
Holy guardian angels, they were.
But we dig that hole, not that one.
Yes that one, too.
No, no, not that one.
(holy guardian angels) (advanced fail state)
It's the pits.
It's The Pit for us all.
All just a'squirm eternal spinning sulphuric
drain daze.
Pay as you go, my boys. Pay as you go.
Rest assured, you will pay.
My colleagues amongst the carrion aficionados
rock on their pointed heels, poking fun with
horn'ed toes.

Cracked by lazy mirth.
Dead eyes seeking the weak spot.
Pointers ignoring the code.
Minds so open they've emptied with only the
bare minimum of prompting.
Two plus two equals five, my boys. All is as it
ever was.

I see beasts on the periphery. I don't know if
they will eat me.
Maybe I'll eat them?
They grin bathed in half-arsed light. Yellowed
teeth as medals struck off in fool's gold.
Padding around the lucky one, their strength
in creeping numbers.

All part of the fun, the dice roll, the who
on earth gives a fifth of a fifth of a fuck.
Many spasms to this dance. Involuntary
contrary twitch show.
The network of ruins are many and varied.
Hurriedly shovelled into this carpet bombed,
carpet bagged facade.
Urinal songs urge the failures on.
Cakes for everyone. All toasting hell.

All a waste of timing.
Relative as irrelevant.
All a waste of timing.
For time all out of time.
All out of time.

I see beasts on the periphery. I don't know if
they will dance with me.
Maybe I'll run rings around them?
They grin bathed in half-arsed light. Eyes
down for a full pit.
Each descent grows colder. Padding around the
lucky one, their strength in creeping numbers.
Cunting on down, down these rivers of constant
strange.

Whilst mishandling my own back, insinuating
myself somewhat unwillingly between here and
there, the pavement tipped a wink and rose up
to meet me.
Eyes down for a dead house.
More's the lack of pity that the mausoleum
wasn't in the least surprised.
We were welcomed by an apathetic maw, my not
me, my not myself and my not ever I.

We inspected the gape behind the belching veil
As all good children must.
Assessed the plan for concrete.
Became the aggregate.
Street level vertigo. Go. Go. Go.
Even our fossil records were shit.
All filler, no killer.
A pauper's grave will do, I'm told.
No pit to speak of.

My mind's eye on a cocktail stick all a'float
in the great urinal. Backed up in a service
station out of time.
Out of service.
Floating amidst the froth of a thousand
miserable piss artists. And many thousands
more.
Face down, cornea down, all a'bobbing to the
beat of 8 billion ball cocks.
We choked it all down.
We choked it all down.
We found ourselves in a battle of wits with
processed meats.
Mechanically separated ideologies. Sheen of
plastic choking on cheap shots.
Human shields as if it's even worth wasting a
shield on.

Merry, merry micturition stations. Everybody's
cross.
All herrings red.

Pick a colour. Any colour. As long as it's
horrible.
The prize was a raised eyebrow each and no
feigning of surprise.
Swelling with pride.
Spitting nails from our shitty prefab posing
plots.
Two out of three for two men's fermentations
sake, then?
Not for the first time versus this humourless
precipitation, let's hit the ground running.
Let's hit the ground running.
Bursting without enthusiasm...

...Bursting without enthusiasm.
I'll be leaving a brutish smear across the
gods' linoleum.
The place should be condemned, really.
After all, pride comes before a fall.
And sometimes after.
Sometimes after.

Once upon a time I (not I) spoke to the trees
that fell so that I (not I) could wipe my
arse.
They and I (not I), we stumbled back through
knots in time, barking at nothing much.
No point trying to cast anchor in a hole of
mirrors.
A seen it all. A portal to the great
clattering cloaca.

Best just to show your hand of spades against
the earth.
After all, she's used to it.
She'll cast us off like the spent shells we
are.
Not even the staunchest hermits will be safe
once the coat shakes.
Having absolutely no desire to contribute to a
seen-it-all-before shitefest bereft of
characters.
Rubber stamping eager faces into post nuclear
dust.

Just as dust is brittle.
Foundling in the arms of none.
Dust times prison time.
Mad goons rising, grifting shame.
Shameless; Shameless.

An already cheap backdrop bespattered with
dried bore.
...the only bore I don't abhor is a twelve
bore. Bores to the wall.
...Oh it's cheap, undoubtedly. But nowhere
near nasty enough.
All sliding into the sluice pipe like so much
oil against glass.
You can bet your shit rhyme that you'll have a
whale of a time deciphering your own
extinction
All the while bathed in the afterstench of
mankind's excrutions.

If you can't climb it, beslime it. Since we've
already pre-fouled it, it's only gone and
warmed to our descent.
Doffed it's crap, opened wide for the sewer
age blowback.
Pining for a box won't help you. Your
prejudice won't save you.
Once that eye watering wind takes us, rest
assured we will be one and the same.
Ashes in the eye of the storm, boys.
Ashes in the eye of the storm.

Falling forward under the future, all further questions.
Exchanging unpleasantries by proxy via creeping interconnection within corpse pile.
Stack overflow.
Nasty, brutal and of average height. We fester and foist here with all of our might.
White noise machine.
..........Howling.
Jehovah not witnessed. No one likes a grass.
Still they shine, though. Somehow.
All hints dropped from a great height.

I am not I am not I am not I am not I am not I am not I am not I am not I

Mortice. Bracing complication
Fallen. Frozen untimely
No notice period. All fall. All fallen

I know I am nothing
I know I am the nowhere all around me
I know I am not I
I know I am receding all around this

Mortice. Bracing complication
Fallen. Frozen untimely
No notice period. All fall. All fallen

I know I am nothing
I know I am the nowhere all around me
I know I am not I
I know I am receding all around this

I know I am heedless of you
I know you never were you
I know I am heedless of you
I know you never were you
I know I am heedless of you
I know you never were you
I know I am heedless of you
I know you never were you

Adrift amongst the canopy.
Scheisse upon the prizes that pained the dead one so to leave.
Our vantage point, their untimely disadvantage.
This scree of trees rooting for the victor.
On strain of death.
NO PRESSURE.

Tinkling these ill gotten ivories like their very lives should have depended on it.
They sway, draped in vague.

If you take a chance
If you take a chance
Don’t hear me
If there is no time
If you were attacked
Where are you?

We’ve rounded up the errant fragments; built a guy for the centuries to decry; hurling pennies at an empty sky.
So many fires burning now. Autumn is a particularly foisty one this year.
A REAL throat closer.

Every hole the goal, my morons. You aren’t, you never were, you never were you.
Folk like those dead boys, they expect better. Get fucking digging.
Dig your own hole. This one’s mine. They tell me the soil’s wonderful this time of year.
Be your own judge.
Settling like so much ash into our permanent address down six feet street.
A crumbled vault into deincarnation.

We’ve made such a lovely jolly folly of filthy leaves to obscure that sorry mound so rife with their leavings.
Our pockets now making a music that only a mother could love.
We are our fathers. We aren’t in heaven.
Your shot be true, your eyes of blue.
On earth, as it isn’t heaven.
Give us this day our daily shit, still insist on your place in the pit.

All insight, slowly fading
Vague on through the other side
All insight, slowly fading
Vague on through the other side

All that I wanted was all you decried
All that I wanted was all you don’t need
All that I wanted was all you decried
All that I wanted was all you don’t need

This song is dedicated to the memory of Ben Hanson

Lost to it all under such a weight of water.
The pull of the world and all its in-betweens.
Put faith in stone and rope to keep you down there.
Faith in nothing else.
Faith in nothing else.
I presume you surveyed their stunted dance from that moorside with weary eyes and wished it well.
The twinkling lights in the valley waving you home.
The twinkling lights in the valley waving you home.
Not enough eyes on though. HORIZON though.
Not enough eyes on.

A deep breath, a last breath, then paid the ferryman with a bag of stones.
Gave it all to such a weight of water.
We all waited up for you, but the trail went cold before we chanced to look.
It was the work-shy rope that gave you up.
Such a weight of water.

Weight of water, faith in nothing else
Faith in stone, faith in nothing else
Faith in stone and rope, faith in nothing else

Faith in stone and rope. Faith in nothing else.
Faith. Faith in stone and rope.
Faith in nothing else.

‘6 foot badge x21 at time of writing.
Happy 24th at time of realisation. Same badge.
‘x’ for Benjamin James Hanson, 1978 – 2001 ev