"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.