Liam Swanson




There is a horrible growth on the Assistant Director's belly and chest. It pleased Mulder to discover it, like he was discovering the part of the human hidden in plain sight. When he pressed his hand against the Assistant Director he felt an extra skin. One set of skin on top of another. The Assistant Director went up and up.

24 hours later the growth was a series of words. It was consciousness come from being. That people no longer wanted being in the world. A series of bruises up and down the belly and chest. A single spark falling out of an eye. It was that form determines content.

The Assistant Director suggested next time no feeding tube. This isn't a game this is real life! he said. Mulder looked at the window and said I am tired of all these restraints. You are beginning to look historical to me.

Outside the window the stars moved a little. This is real life and the form of living.





We find the cop underneath a freshly dug grave.

Oh I get it the cop is alive truly and enjoying life. Banging on the lid of his box. Cute.



Every time the toilet flushes I hear a voice.

It sounds like Scully or maybe it's my own voice. One of us must be stuck in the sewer, I think.



Mulder check your email I received something unsettling and I wonder if you've gotten it too.

Scully this is a picture of you what are you holding? In that bag is an alien. A fetal alien and it is alive.

What you are looking at is my love of you.



A man is dead, Agent Mulder. Dead and full of alien DNA. Until this matter is cleared up, your butt and mine are in a sling. What's a little butt stuff between cops though, right?



Look this is getting really confusing who is dead and who is alive and who is mostly dead and whose hand is down my pants is this a dead hand the hand of the state the blistered hand of Scully the invisible hand the fingers bursting from the palm of Scully we are aging together on this ghost ship there are fingers bursting from the palm of Scully that's a seven fingered hand are you dead or alive a cop asked me.



What you are looking at is a series of clones of you

That they are here among us

That they are currently bathing me

That their eyes are my eyes

And that they have begun to colonize

To wash my colony body

My body composed of insects

That the frogs eat the insects and I am free in my tub

That I too am the enemy

My bathtub is sticky and dry and has a body in it

I wake up to use the toilet but I cannot

Every night there is water all over the toilet seat

I am scared of something

Something is pushing itself up from the toilet







These two poems are from a collection of X-Files poems I'm currently writing. Pop art, the spectacle, ideological state apparatuses, sex being bad, horror, etc. If you're in the mood for suggestions, watch the series (including the so-called bad seasons) and read through [this webpage] and watch [these videos].