"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

Thursday, February 25, 2010

Unopened envelope

It takes only one lick. One hip bone move. One slight tender touch. One pill. One shot. One bullet. One kick. One sound. One smoke. One picture. One breath. One glance of the corner of the eye. One step. One word. One confession.

Hes out. Again.

Sight gap in the closed wall. A pattern. Unopened envelope.

Flowers on the night stand move and dance when lights go off. Blooming. Growing. Shrinking to the light of the new day. Mornings. Screams of construction workers. Reminders of old horror movies of early 80'ies. No stooping now. Conditions. Colored paper post its. Note pads. Unreadable writing. Scribble. Stamps. Signatures. Milligrams. Codes. Insurance. Matriculation numbers. Cards.Cards. Ant thou pockets full of cards. Micro chips. Press out name tag and logos.

Meet the new market.

Communication. Body language. Nodding. Yes. The one and only word stuck in my throat - YES!
Ignore the ignorant and stay at exact same place. As long the the walls keep waving. Cant stop, just not now. Running from one pad to the other. One button. Red-blue-green-violate. Green.
Smells keep the show running. Don't let go of the knot. The silver lining.




P.s. I see it, watching YOU,

Good Night,
Dietrich

Wednesday, February 24, 2010

Snowing in the club of Gore




I was sleeping with an open window. Woke up strangely early. The view through the window was mesmerizing. It snowed. Snow was landing heavily, massively and with out any breaks what so ever. It felt strange, as suddenly somehow the country and the city of stone itself was changed unrecognizably. Beautiful. Old Gothic buildings where covered in gray. Speechless. The smoke coming from chimneys was playing along with the strong wind and snowy swirls. The city was still.

Only sounds where coming from the ambulance sirens. Whom is a long term visit-card of this fairytale look alike country. No misunderstandings, no mistakes, no fake smile. Just the snow, wind and the far along sirens appearing and disappearing in to nothing.

A calm and stay in bed, kind a day. So I did. Reading page after page almost manic and obsessed with my new lover. My long term affair. Sometimes it feels like I'm cheating on one with the other. Whom lay by the bed side, on the ground, on shelf's, in bathroom, on the kitchen table, window shield, cheers (2) in the bedroom, near the sinks, closet shelf's, couches. And yes, in my bed. I love to feel them when I lay my heavy head on the pillow. MY unpredictable, stunning, extremely smart and demanding lovers. My books.


It an unforgettable experience. A one in a life time shot. A roller-coaster ride. A walk throw a mirror. A rabbit hole. An acid trip. A jump from the floor number 97. A knock down. A needle filed with adrenaline, strait to the nun beating heart. A white line on the golden framed mirror. A carefully arranged stack of pills for the new beginning.
Thous relationships are eternal, they stay in the back of your head for ever. You remember them, dream about them, feel them coming trough you, have a taste of them when you have morning coffee or evening lunch.
It's not that sex is out of the picture, but for a breathe moment imagining the boring talked, cocktails, beers and useless blahblahblah bullshit when all the need under the table are already boiling, the wishes and cards under are already MIXED.. It seems so boring, useless and cheep. As the busyness is over you always think the exactly the same. What a fucking moron....! You split the territory, wash away the bad/satisfying "memory" and hope, that the one and only truly satisfying non fictional lover will forgive you as you, with tremble, lick you finger and turn the page after page.

So, if there would be a choice (usually there is none) it's better to be completely "nuts" then believe there is a night in a shining armor that will bring you the same joy that paper with a maze of words does. Choice is pretty clear. Although I have never meet the one who had put me it no the choosing position.



Good Night,

Dietrich

Thursday, February 11, 2010

Here to serve YOU



We are manufactured. Shipped in wooden, plastic, metal boxes ant huge gallons. We are new age production. Cans filed with body parts. Someone stands by the machines and prints out lables. Cans are bestsellers. No need to think, no need to fill in, no need to struggle trying to figure out who are YOU. Machines works perfectly, makes no mistakes. Labels are pretty and in high resolution. Easy to file and easy to use. You can find us in every store, every gass station, news paper agency, drive-buy markets, even the tiniest one. Sold all over the globe. Strategically moving out market to other partners of the galaxy, we improve the selling and NOW,YOU get us only at half price. It's a new and improved version of old fashioned "Stepfords Wife". Millions of different flavors, 100% satisfaction guaranteed. Thow out all the bad memories, sadness, disappointment! We are the new answer to all your prays and wishes. WE "Love" to OBEY and serve with an open "HEART"! Feel the need and be needed, join us or buy us, we are always there for you.

We are THE new comfort zone. The modern lullaby, the Frank Sinatra type of thrill, the sun, the moon on summer evening and the romantic autumn rain. The economical, physical and psychological satisfaction. The beginning of true passion and the end of all struggles. We are you, cause you are US!

Press THE button now, it only takes 30second and next day delivery guaranteed.



Good Night,
Dietrich

Wednesday, February 10, 2010

Flashbacks

It was a long one. Waking up in the mornings was never my "thing". Open. Eyes are not used to chat with mirrors. Smell of fresh coffee and yesterdays dinner. Leftovers. Trouble with taking-out trash on time. It seemed that everything helped me not to go out. Tingling sensation. I put on some ambient for this early beginning.


Northaunt was always one of the favorites. "The Ominous Silence" is brilliant. I never got tired of it throw all the year. The sun was coming out, slowly... although it looked so warm and seductive, cold sounds of Norway's rain and snow seemed the best choice. You can hear the whispers of water combining with the rusted sound of opening gates. Feel the paths in the mountains and the trees shivering throw the cold wind. Moments of purity, calm and coziness with the morning view in the window. Looking at the city of stone. The amount of birds this morning reminded me of Hitchcock. Seagulls where making their early hunt.
Suddenly, I got lost in my thoughts. So much needs to be dun today. But here, this moment, the one you wait for so long at times was keeping me in exact same place in an exact same position.

Do you always know where are you going and what point do you need to reach? Or where it would be better just to look throw all the variations and stay put?
Somehow everything pases. Day are to fast to catch. They swing by me in seconds. Although nothing changes. It's exactly like in chapter from Alice (throw the looking glass) as she ran with the Queen throw the chess squares in the fields trying to reach the point she wanted to go. But the thing about living in an looking glass world is that, everything is opposite and backwards. So the trick is to stay put, or ran twice as hard. Wait for the results on the mild stone.

"Alice looked round her in great surprise. «Why, I do believe we've been under this tree the whole time! Everything's just as it was!»

«Of course it is,» said the Queen, «what would you have it?»

«Well, in our country,» said Alice, still panting a little, «you'd generally get to somewhere else—if you ran very fast for a long time, as we've been doing.»

«A slow sort of country!» said the Queen. «Now, here, you see, it takes all the running you can do, to keep in the same place. If you want to get somewhere else, you must run at least twice as fast as that!»"

By the time my favorite song started playing. I remember trip to the woods with my dear fried. She smile and we lade in the tall grass at summer and listened the track "And I fade away" on repeat... Summer breeze was bringing a nice chilling feeling. We talked and looked at the sky, soon the sun hided and the stars came out. We haven't noticed the time passing. There was nothing besides us and the tall grass. Moments of pure happiness.

Memorizes came and ran away in a snap shot. Focused. I had stared at the cut out figures in my collage thinking what to this puzzle means. Looking at people who praised god and hoped "HE" will bring them joy and happiness. Using brand new
scalpel to sharpen my pencils I realized how fucked up our generation really is. So lets play the game we supposedly are good at. Your turn, push the black button on the time clock and make your move please.

«I declare it's marked out just like a large chessboard!» Alice said at last. «There ought to be some men moving about somewhere —and so there are!» She added in a tone of delight, and her heart began to beat quick with excitement as she went on. «It's a great huge game of chess that's being played—all over the world—if this Is the world at all, you know. Oh, what fun it is! How I wish I was one of them! I wouldn't mind being a Pawn, if only I might join—though of course I should like to be a Queen, best.»



Good Night,
Dietrich

Thursday, February 4, 2010

Match Box

Sitting in, waiting. The atmosphere smells like death-sentence. Your body kicks and stumbles. Face shows no mimic. No showing off. No chit-chat. Slight jokes with receptionist. HaHa, yes yes, Painting!
Next step.
Faces, loads and loads of faces. Come in, go out. Sit here, stand up, follow me please. Faces are nervous, anxious, self-indulgent, narcissistic, frightened, numb, jealous.
Trainer suits, wooden floors, blue trash cans. Plastic. Recyclable. Now everything is 100% recyclable.



Sneakers: white, back, striped, velvet blue. 3 pairs of long brown high-heels. One pair of black leather boots. Black, blue, purple, yellow, and flower blouses...

* * *

Need for nicotine is intense. Overwhelming. Pupils become dilated. Tunnels of stability. We are in the matchbox. Sticking out throw a tiny gap. Full of sulfuric acid and ready to explode. Blank stares. Watching carpet patterns. It's terrifying. Patterns are moving in slow motion. Delusional. Some how they are matching with patterns printed on the fabric of indigo blue chairs. Horrible indeed.
Why this selection was made? It seems that Mr Decorator had a good and black sense of humor. Seconds after, siting in the same indigo cheer. In a smaller matchbox. Queen Bee was looking at me from above. She was huge. Shiny, new, perky, with synthetically whitened teeth. And why the fuck did I agree to all this? At that point this question was invalid. "Tick the correct answer in the box".
OK. I don't like her and it seems that the feeling is mutual. She has no smell, no emotions, she is a perfect Queen. The look in her eyes tells even more than the body language. She doesn't like this match-box. As she the royal Queen Bee should be free in her privet practice office and take 250P an hour. Bitch!!! I so wanted to star barking. But keep the politeness on. Yes. No. Never (I have ticked all the answer boxes). She took my papers, looked carefully, pretended to read. Stooped. Looked at me, at paper, at me, page with all ticked answer boxes. At her clock.
- I will see you in two weeks. At same time. OK?
- Thank you...
(yes. OK. Fuck OFF)

When I walked out, immediately took out a pack of unconditionally cheep Lithuanian cigarettes, took a sit on the concrete bench and slowly smoked. Never understanding what was that, who was she, and for fuck sake, why did I ever came there. The smell of fresh gasoline when up in the air. Memories awaken . I remembered home, my Dad, walking the dogs. Home made dinners, my bed, LP collection. Family album light up in my head. Sweet taste of home was sitting in my mouth. The high kicked in. Slowly. Melting inside and out. I let this city taste a bit of home made blue fire and took off.

Walked throw rows and rows of book shelf's, counters, people wearing name tags, same faces same greetings, same tasting coffee, same special "K" morning serials bowls, sketch books, Pakistani owned newspaper agencies. Snap! My studio, paper rolls, ink bottles, paint tubes, pallet, mind maps, project books, paintings. Snap! Home, doors = five, shower, track lists, books, old Russian cinema...Snap! I'm Alice and this is throw the looking glass. I have finely found it! Snap!

P.S.
"there are no means for escaping this world
it penetrates even into your sleep
and is his substance
you are caught in your own dreaming
where there is no space
and a hell forever where there is no time
you cant do nothing you aren't told to do
there is no hope for escape from this dream
that was never yours
the very words you speak are only its very words
and you talk like a traitor
under its incessant torture

there are many who have designs upon this world
and dream of wild and vast reformations
i have heard them talking in their sleep
of elegant mutations
and cunning annihilations<...>"
Current 93


Good night,
Dietrich
Alice