"Behind every system, behind every rule stands a corpse and laughs. You can't tell me who I should sleep with. I don't work for wages. My life is a revolution... My life is a beautiful life... What you call freedom, I call waste... I will continue to love my own voice. If everyone becomes me, everything will collapse."

Bruno K. Ă–ijer

Sunday, December 20, 2009

Candyman awakening


The shovel had a hard edge, it was steining through the frozen ground. Back yard it self looked completely average. Everybody would say, perfectly normal. But it wasn't, as i know how the shovel works. It never keeps the work on done. Hope is a mother of fools. Fullish kiddies must play outside. The shovel tended to overwork it self sometimes, as the edges needed to be sharp. I still hear the melody, my oh my. Sing for me Mr.Candyman.



Lovely isn't it. As the work was done, the shovel kept distance. It was somewhere between here and there. The place had no geographic spot on any map known to mankind. The instance spot was marked it moved to other direction. We all felt the ground move. Like a blister from yesterdays dancing. Could you pleas stop scratching, or is it a position as an on going battle fields structure.

Sunday, December 6, 2009

BATTLE



Tongue was long, as time witch was passing by so slowly... on the other hand it was a perfect match - shitty attitude, low-fat, rich in fiber, carbonated with high protein level.
You see, people are right, nothing happens with out a reason. It seems IT was my reason, for fuck sake, so funny! The tight feeling, witch I usual like, but here... It's like a year long flue, doesn't mater how many pills, snuffs, shots you get, it sticks with you.

And yes, the target was not moving, how can you hunt it, if the one is stiff as an anorexic girl in high heels.

The coffee is on the wooden table, seamy stainless-steel spoon is over licked and poses on the cheep china plate. White sugar. Not brown, white. Nothing racist, they serve only one type, white.
Through the mist of white sugar I feel he is staring at me, I will not play that game. Not my armor type.

"The hunter must hunt, for as soon as he stops, he becomes a hunted"
(B.R. and Friends)

So did somebody swiped cards, places exchanged? The seamy drunk knight in shining armor needs a stick in his ass. So that this "Best top-class pub" would not look so disappointing for the master. As he failed to get under the skirt of the waitress.

And this is the part, where I should talk about the differences:
Some hunt for pleasure, some for the nice smelling,tender pages with intellectual impact, and some for trashy and cheep, used up meat.

And this is how the story end kids. So what did you learned today?

"Never wear red lipstick to a "Best top-class Pub""




She left a small tip, and moved to another page.
Good night,
Dietrich

Wednesday, December 2, 2009

The Walk

I can actually feel the room, the room have a shape, it has a voice. Have you ever thought about it? When the room is talking to you, it's as you fall it to it, like a tiny little rabbit hole. Oh the room is so beautiful. Aren't we all, from the inside? I felt it once. Its like the first day of winter, when you came out side and you feel hairs on your arms stand up. Yes,.... You know what I'm talking about. It's that place no one could ever enter.

I call it a bubble, a place like a room with many doors and drawers. It's a nice silent place. The air it self is like an echo, it comes towards you and stops for a second. Then turns around and hides. I have an idea. I will never tell you what actually happened. But I will give you hint.

The walk was long. The ride even longer. The cab driver made a discount. The door opened. Rain, the British rain is always there. Then, the sound came along. The sound was tempting. Faces where dull a bit dark. The light was dim. Air thick. Sound was growing. And then everything in reverse. Then it happened again - SNAP!

Time is not always on my side. And now I have a perfect date. Mr. Freud told me he will love me till the end. I know he is a layer, but sometimes I tend to trust him. He is waiting for me, right now. On the corner we usually see each other. You know on Nicolson Street. In that coffee shop in the basement. He loves it.

But is it all in a deed of a person. Is it all about the sound of the air that day. That tricked me into it?
As Mrs. Dalloway told me yesterday: “I thought how unpleasant it is to be locked out; and I thought how it is worse, perhaps, to be locked in.”

I remembered the dream I had today... He's back, again. I can tell you exactly how many breaths he had taken.

She told me the thing I tend to trick all the time. Time is here again. The room with all it's drawers is talking to me again, and I feel how all of vibrations imitates the wind that blew that day, I know what they try to remind me. Hopefully this will all go away. The dream is nothing more, then the wind with a twist, my road will expand. And this time, to the angel I will never miss. This time, It will not be a mistaken. Although that time, all those times, where not a mistake either.

Your and My,
Sonia Dietrich


Then, she took off, leaving the unfinished cup of coffee on the table, with all the memories in it.




She was a perfect little girl

A long long time ago, there was a little girl. She lived in her own little kingdom. And then, a big bad wolf came along. He was like a knight in a shinny armor. His voice worked like a magnet. She could not resist. After short time, he told her, well he made it obvious to the public, they will never .... never.
She knew it was a lie, he didn't abstained... After a day of so, he started to hunt her. He was everywhere, and so she ran... The woods where dark and heavy. But she ran as far as her body could take her. Oh yes, the body! The body was feeding it self, it was boiling and all the thoughts had turned it to necrosis. She became a little princess. She knew the wolf is watching her, but from where she stood he was to far away to reach. It was a secret. They still played the same game. Hide and seek with a twist. - Yes, i like it with ice. He once told her. The touch was inevitable, as it struck her as a plague. She was never the same.






Thursday, November 26, 2009

A Fairy Tale About the Body



Dear Princes and King and the holy spirit,

It happened some time ago. I felt an erg to meet her, to know why is she so perfect. Her hair looked lovely that day. I could feel her dwaine power over other people. She was sparkling in the sun shine. My need was growing. Her skin was so soft. Oh, dear. How I loved her. The cold metal table was like a lovely dish plate. She knew I was looking at her, she posed for me. I looked around the rood. The small table near by had lots of sharp objects. It seemed to tempting to try one. So I did. Slowly I sank one in to her, I puled.. she didn't mind. She was smiling. She was forever my. She, the perfect little princes was feeling my cold steel.

Good Night,
Dietich




Sunday, November 22, 2009

The Men of my Dreams #1





















As he told me early that day, he will stay to cook some dinner. He sad he will never forget to pick up the prescription. We planed to move to the cabin in month or so. And then somebody moved me, shaked me hard, I felt how my long hair is hitting the walls. Everything was moving so fast, I got dizzy. I felt something is not right. And then, I woke up...

Saturday, November 21, 2009

Happy Birthday little white trash to me







All in all, thank you for making the world a better place! It's always a pleasure talking to you and dear. Such dedication to the work and love to the humanity makes me horny. I promise you, I will dream you late at night, in the shower and oh, everywhere. Have a splendid evening and indulge my fantasy more ofter. Your little princess and white trash whore.

Good Night,
Dietrich

Wednesday, November 18, 2009

I want to tell you a Story
















All the pictures where taken and edited by me.

Tuesday, November 17, 2009

ALFARMANIA and Violet Black Mist

The time had come. It's risen from ashes. Home town with all it's gypsy ghettos is somewhere under my red fingernails. The dark and cold Vilnius was talking to me. After several hours the smell of the rotten streets was so gentle and warm. Tempting and so familiar. Home sweet home. Then in the evening the grotesque wonderland of filth and porn opened up. There was a wonderful sounds coming from a dark basement. A leftover from soviet times. It was the best present for the sleepless night and 2 plain flights.


It was wonderful! Finely here in Vilnius we have some projects which with honor can be called Power Electronics. "Pogrom" and "Clo Goelach" pushed the red button inside my head. They made me do IT! MAGICALLY DIRTY. Like an old autopsy documentary, you can keep you hards off the screen. A need to touch is so strong. It's calling you, a lady in a fleshless dress is eating your desire. What can be better than deep and wholesome sound of PE.


As by mystery I had a part in it, here is the play list:

Nicole 12 - Substitute
Nicole 12 - Playground/Lolita Love
Survival Unit - Murder For The Mission
Folkstorm - Information Blitzkrieg
Mz 412 - Burning The Temple of God
Nazi UFO Commander - Strange Monasteries
F/I/T/H - Come Closer Cut Deeper
Subliminal - Coping
Subliminal - Gracebudd
VA 3A4ICTKA - Fuck The Modern World
Grunt - Europe After Storm
irm:virgin mind
Genocide Organ :IN-KONFLIKT:
Deutsch Nepal - a silent siege
Skin Crime - General Modification
Government Alpha - Sporadic Spectra
Atarax Morgue - Pathophyciolagy
Brighter Death Now - INNERWAR
SHIFT - Bulk
Martin Bladh - digre;the peter sotos files
VA Break Your Face
Brighter Death Now - Kamikaze Kabaret
HEAD ON

It was a lullaby evening. Peaceful, in full harmony. A best fairytale before bed time.

Later On I got a nice surprise. The Alfarmania box set reached me hand in hand with "Nicole" an
d "Golden Geissel" tape.




Now dark violet lips and red nails are sinking slowly into Alfarmania box set.


"Martin Bladh - Digre;The Peter Sotos Files" is perfect to go near the Alfarmania LP. The "Dirge" CD is deep and pretty as a dirty old hospital. People tell you they're most personal stories. And in some twisted way you feel close to them. Almost in love and compassionate to they're life... Mesmerized by the sound and experience. The fantasy and the mind of an artist and the rapist. Hallelujah!


Good night,
Sonia Dietrich