two colourful, mainly green panels, like glass doors or holographic pages of a book

↑ Ture, U. N. Scowling at the Face of Danger. 2016. Digital oil on photograph on video.

Nervous Horse Art Gallery, Berlin.



There is no easy way to say this. You, the reader, are resting your eyes on the tenth issue of Nervous Horse, 10 being the number of digits and as such the number of totality — and yet we know deep in our hearts that the work is not complete, the journey not over, the entire observable Universe not thoroughly penetrated by the nervous horse’s equally nervous and equally equine schlong. The work thus far, however, is to be laid to rest and given a proper burial in the upcoming, long-awaited book, which, being a physical object, will once and for all lodge the journal and its loyal contributors into their rightful crack in the Western Canon. This project has been in the planning for some time and is therefore estimated by many to be delayed again for an unknown amount of time for no apparent reason.

As for the present issue, it needs no further introduction. Instead we would like to use this space to discuss another subject of some importance, namely the purpose of human life. If we look at ants, we see a society of individuals instinctly knowing their purpose and pursuing it to their best effort without hesitation, never losing the sight of their goal. They even go as far as to habitually urinate as they walk to make sure they will always find their way back on the right path. While if we were to look at humans, we would notice they do not do this. This is probably why they spend the entirety of their lives wandering aimlessly, drifting from whim to whim, collecting things they do not need, working for people they do not respect, masturbating to girls who will never know or love them, developing new variations of mental illnesses (both real and imaginary), drowning their hopes and dreams in alcohol and bleach, struggling to sustain their dismal existence as their spirit lies suffocated under the weight of their misery — and all this because politicians have successfully convinced them that urinating in public is a bigger crime than cutting down a forest.

So as not to repeat any of the remarks made in the last editorial, we shall not go off at a tangent to matters such as the futility of anarcho-primitivist communes and the upcoming extinction of the human race. We would, however, like to take this opportunity to inform the loyal reader as to why this particular issue of Nervous Horse, originally intended as the second and last issue of last year, has been awaiting its publication for such an unusually long time that the weak in faith were already convinced it would never come out and the tale of the journal would be over, while others merely suspected that certain malicious agencies, which for legal reasons shan’t be named, have been attacking the editor and some of the key contributors with black magick, thus hindering the editorial process. It suffices to say that the latter assumption is correct.







Start Freelancing Man

Richard Molar


I was without work for 6 months when my former Co-worker finally recommended me to start freelancing from home... It was only after I earned $5000 in my first month when I actually believed I could do this for a living! Now I am happier than ever... I work from home and I am my own boss now like I always wanted... I see a lot of unhappy people around me, working the same old boring job that’s sucking the life out of them day by day... Everytime I see someone like that I say START FREELANCING MAN! This is where I started





Almost Continent Results

York Mayagui


He restored the country

powerful and swimming

to life prosecution

the deposit was about to wait.


Worshipped prejudice

obtained an area

about the potato.


Repulsion ashore

invade, invade, invade!


The walls built vegetation

groceries perished;

convenience indeed.


While these poets —

language haunts their intestines —

exorcised chemicals out of their soul

read books






Punk Song With No Music

Seth Monroe


Fuck the left, fuck the right.

I hope they cry alone at night.

Fuck the neutral, fuck the middle.

They all belong atop a griddle.

Let it burn, I’ll play the fiddle.

Douse the fire with manic spittle.

Fuck the front, fuck the back.

Fuck the ones who never lack.





Excuse me its my pleasure

User Unknown


The temptation of living off of self abuse. Self hatred feeds the hunger. Abuse me its my pleasure. Pain exceeds no boundaries. Living without living is living amongst the dead. Living like youre dead is like living forever, but not at all.

The frustration of healing from excuse. Expellees nature receives thunder. Excuse me its my pleasure. Explain these growing found things? Giving without having is having with thoughts from your head. Thoughts from your head are everything, but nothing at all.





Loneliness Will Always Be a Part of Our Lives

J. K. Giih


If a tree can be dead but still standing, so can you. You are an amazing person who will inspire others to do great things so keep up the hard work. When someone asks you to hang out, do it, even if your hair looks like shit. You are alone in this experience. A day without laughter is a day. Electrons always find the easiest path to travel. All values evaluate to themselves. (The parentheses are included for clarity.) Depression is virtually nonexistent among nomadic hunter gatherers. Go and collect snake skins and such. Go through life without haste, unhurried, in a relaxed manner. Have many hobbies. Find a suitable mate. Seek prompt professional medical advice about the cause of any symptom. Make as much orgonite as possible right now. Convert harmful rays into healthful ones. Realize you are everything and nothing and of reality and not. Expect sunny skies. Have fun. I promise you'll feel better afterwards.





I Was Invited to a Wedding Once

L. T. P.


I was invited to a wedding once

to the capital city

151 kilometers away from home.





The Mind



what is in the mind

is what my widdow cant find

a closed door which hides the oyster

which in a far out moor, i can touch the moisture

the brass tube of a tuba, is shining and swirling

like a foil of metal it goes baluba, precious friendly darling

what deemd lost is found, and what is found is forgotten

in the memory of confoundment is a hat filled with cotton.





A Treatise Concerning the Principles of All Mysteries Solved


G. Bole Greyer


. . . the way for all beings that the existence of anything at the world will discover that most people in the great variety of communication and the nature always mark of a great a notion of which is a right deductions from it is need are removed all which is real sun to be supposed altogether worthy a soul as real things by the governing spirit is impossible there can be demonstrated that in the end of evidence in every moment in that shall the mind over the aforesaid powers — which is only such strange to this work or notion of god that harmonious train of arithmetic know the foregoing principles of mechanism in most effectual antidote against the things very precarious opinion that the cultivation and giveth us to the faculty of knowledge — from what some appearance or motion of words a name constantly followed by the world should be brought to study of nature of more absurd consequences — by what has set forth in nature of the being a contradiction in astronomy or judged of extension solidity cannot explain to maintaining tax treatment of an unperceiving substance which are not therefore that line in the medium with we are perceived — for the sides are to the mind or action whereby unthinking substance of all sensible qualities flow innumerable bodies to the manner of this notion of the same rule or motion with others at all ideas if there is capable of that an infinity of the bodies actually perceived by them by sense so little contributed towards each instance wherein the wisest men concerned in difficulties which is absolutely there . . .





Trying To Live Is Trying To Die

Georges Cunningham


I cannot contemplate

the meaning of this


It is so square and luminescent,

it reminds me of Bhutans higest peak

in the winter time.





Two Opinions on Giant Oranges

Erik A. Horn


Some people seem to dislike them

falling on their fields like meteors

and ruining the crops

but some other people who are more appreciative of unusually large fruits

welcome them with overwhelming joy

and caress their coarse surface

their hands sweaty of excitement.





Nothing Tastes Better Than Fine Seafood

Kelvin Waiksnis


If the world is my oyster, then I want to shuck it. Nothing tastes better than fine seafood. I’ll cut my hand in the process, but to truly live life you have to take risks and make sacrifices. I’ve already got too many regrets to starve any longer. I shall eat the world raw. I will taste salt and my own blood. Then I’ll succumb to bacteria with thoughts of my lost loves dancing hazily in my dying mind.

It was all worth it.





A View from a Window

Hiroshi Fujisawa


rain. invisible people.

no hats, dark hats, the same.

a sad white hat, a girl.

a depressed red hat, a woman.

a gigantic white head

floating high above the street

turns into an umbrella.

rain. invisible hats. peace.





Untitled #2

Giles Fayvel


While I was cutting my nails

the paint dried a little

and I missed it.