"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

Monday, April 26, 2010

IN between :-: when pages are SHIFTING



I never liked little boys and adored shaved heads with pearls. Probably it's just one of thous days. When all goes to spiraled roots. Drowsiness kicks in. 5 days to go. then the final count down. A decision to make ant more chemicals to take. We stand in line at the shore. Viewing no horizon and filling out mouth with promises. Mistakes. To much to say to little time.

Moments flash in front of misleeded army. The sings of past battles. Keep it up. Water level. Too much changes in the weather. Too many bullet sounds.

Foolishness in rebirth. In attempts. Speak to much - bite your tongue little whore! Never liked what turns out on the page of forgiveness. He is there again. Hes back. Under the bookshelf. Idiot. Hate that stair. Thinks it's perfect. The other on is on the train going in circles. The other one is sitting strait. The other one is counting the days. The other one is praying. The other one is striped and strapped to the bed. The other one is on his last pill. The other one is gagged. The other one is pretending. The other one ...



Should be walking in white. A long white dress would suit him just perfect. A baptism dress. As a ghost. As the game he loves to play. The game where he is a:
  • The strategy leader
  • The main character
  • The prisoner
  • The god
  • The holy sufferer
  • The little boy
  • The crazy genius
  • The fallen one
  • The dead one
  • The one with the wish
  • The one who try to reborn
  • The lost one
  • The powerful explosion
Then the other page. No beep sounds. No radio transitions. Falling in the moment of who and where. Changing roles. It hates to be on the other end. Cant concentrate. Need to go. Ready to burst. All the emergency exits are waxed. it's 5.10 in the morning.Division CD is spinning me in serpents circles. No way out now. Update. Update. Update. Quote:

"Blood lover. Blood hater. Blood creator. Blood destroyer. Speak NOW - or forever hold your voice. It's YOUR choose"

My hair is trapped in endless swirls. Even on mute. Fingertips are moving under the sheets. Will never get tired of counting. Never enough. So strait foreword. So right to the point. Someone will pay for it. Light out. Light in. Light on. Just don't forget to breath.

Working again. Finely. We are back!
Now it's time to go to my corner and pray.

Good Night,
Dietrich

Friday, April 16, 2010

Holydyas in airports metal chear



...The simple ride of joy
. And toys in the suitcase...





Sitting in like footless rabbit in a hole. No way in. No way out. Bandaged with out reason or a wish for the first time. Stay reasonable they whisper. It's time. Times is the one that is guilty. Time will pass. If so, who will spin that fucking plate with numbers faster? Lubricate it!Keeping silence. Moaning and terrified. Little ants walking on two feet where defeated by the simple acid rain of ashes. Whats next? Will you keep it best vegetarian behavior?



Will you bee so kind and stop looking over your shoulder. As it doesn't work. It have no potential. No easy out come. No easy landing. Cotton-candy in the jet engine.
And here comes truth. A leading star on the local TV show. No departure. No arrival. Dear Jesus fucked us all. Made it perfectly public and simple. Reminding WW II. Stay in your fucking country and weep. Ha-Ha! Joke is no ants now.

Grey sky is sinking in asher of revelations. Opening of stigmas on foreheads. Oh, so dramatically wonderful. So pure and so perfect. Pushing him away, just because the need is overwhelming and collapsing airways. The unneeded freedom is choking us. Wanna stay home? Honesty. What could be better. Yes-Yes. Just don't forget the shotgun. Even a standard pistol issue will do.

The old vocals sing: time = sky = nonrefundable. The "IT" talk about the second front. So here we are ladies and gentleman. Fucked by natures favorite. And the glory of Jesus will lead us all the way to hell.



Sit. Stay. Wait. As we all need somebody to blame.
Bless you all, in and under.
Your overdosed guru.

Dietrich

Thursday, April 8, 2010

Jarboe flashbacks - sideefects



I don't just don't. She sings me out. The river fool! Time is growing - limits are boilings... We don't know who writes what. No no. We have the vision underneath the poisonous sin. Spinning and thundering through the intension of the will being. A child unborn inside the fruit of sinful knowledge with the forbidden frown. A legend boiling in a juice of waste . You whisperer last time we've met the eye of the creator. Thant you had seen Jesus, yes son?

No intension to confess the overruled word. Sinking in too deepness of the voice and the sea of transcendental illusions. Opening of all the possible veins, no changing can talk in same voice Now, i feel how the cork bowed a hand bomb in the ribcage. Freedom of suspension and demolition.
Forget the known and the wanted mastery. Told them, that there is a monster in all of us. I fall in to the void of the ... dots.
Women are burning the feet of an enemy. An empty blizzard is walking on it's own 4 feet. Arms of unconscious and unrecognizable. Numbers numbers numbers numbers.... we do we do we do we do .... on two on four. I have the answer... you have a question. on, in.
The eyes are sending light installations. light delirium. spoiling of the moment. back again ... now now now... to much cake to eat they say.




WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU, TO TELL ME WHO AM I?

Open, open, open, open.... breath it in. Vibrating under my feet. Open the wind swirl. watchers will watch, baggers will sniff. I opened my mind. Stiffness came in. cold overruled me. Red water in a green grass. Just a satisfaction of visions. You got me. Have a bitch in that cage. Rip it off. Translate. Transfer. Come on.
We both know you are good at this. Pray for me! Pups - it's all or nothing. coiling in like a cork screw... read it or leave it.
Unconditional strong bondage will save the forbidden and delighted.
Good save the KING!
Ans yes...As i told the one in black " we all have a monster in side of US"...


Welcome to the kingdom of mud!
Good Night
Dietrich

Saturday, April 3, 2010

Eater egg is a cum-dumpster star



He talks to me. The bible is right. Who is wrong then. Now that car is going thou the wilderness of hight roads and freeways. Tension. Boiling blood. My ego is mixing with poison. Feeling are constructing... Root 66, 99, 57, 89. 93. 23. 50. Being in a head. Being under the head. Putting the head in-out. Frustration. I mix Led Zeppelin with Family Man and new tape list. I hear the same lines in every track. No mater how many of them had shifted.



I checked the weather there. Cum-dumpster of misunderstand on the top and soil under. Choose your favorite position. I hear only one thing. "The bible is right, the bible is right, the bible is right!" Again and again and again... looped. FUCK! My selfishness was eating me alive. I just needed to know what i already know. It's a huntress.
My intestine spit-out blood. How come this is all looped. There is no more questions, still the fucking cockroach is biting my brain. is he, is he.... Using, abusing, loving, hating. I missed the Son of Sam.

WE NEED TO TRUST SOMEONE ONE. Closets, mirrors, shelf, doors, old wallpaper tons of postcard and old painting are staring at me. I feel them on my dear shoulders. The intolerable weight of the past. The other one try to get to the picture again. Don't want to. But she is still on the self so who has the bigger body count is still a mystery of four. Baby wants a rock'n'roll "nigger"!





List for the day had millions of tasks. To do and not to. Still, I had a perfect white-trash episode. The arm of God touched me from the inside. Nothing will save the sinner now. Addictive. Confessed. No more protests. Flashed it all down the toilet. Glancing from above to the plate of yesterdays parties, realization reflected like badly stomped Charlie. If every hated would have a vibrator, it would be easier to kneel. The modernity of new-age philosophy is a curs-word. Just tell them as it really is:

All the thing you try to build is nothing more than a sand-castle. And you will NOT fit in it. Even if you try to sniff, drink, eat and choke on every single and taken good from Alice table.

Don't loose your balls at the egg party.
Good Night,
Dietrich