"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

Tuesday, May 4, 2010

The Pink Room





There's a weird sound coming from the roof and between the walls. This time I know I want to but-cant. Anger is moving us towards the edges. Sharp floors taking us away. We are choking on information. To much complications. Still there is a wish for the better outcome. Going in circles for someones orders. Terrified that someday we will need to take the risk for the actions. Never understood why is everything so complicated. Keep running. Nothing will change even if we will drown our self's in smart quotations.

My cigarettes are leaving burn marks on the fingers. Trembling in hands for the new glass. I've seen it before. Nothing will change the hunters mind. Know all the words that come out from the guilty mouth. Seen all that in books and screens of my past. You are right, I should wright a novel one day. Temperature is rising, don't forget you intake honey. I promise I will not. I promise i will be good. I promise I will do my best... fuck!




Promised him I will do good. To change my DNA. To take medication. Not to rush with the dog. Gain back the reasonable way dealing with money incomes. Cope with the state of mind. Think before you act and everything will get back to "normal". But there a woodpecker sitting in my left side. And every time the mouth opens, wrong words seem to come out. PROUD? What the F was i thinking or even better NOT thinking. Stupid stupid lady in her tight black jeans and subliminal T-Shirt.

The snake is eating the patterns in my gray brain material. I think some day it will all end-up on the floor somewhere in the box. So important now - so useless later.

7 am - we rushed and rushed, shared the bathroom on pri-organized time table. Peanut butter will kill you and cigarettes will save the world. The Lolita was born again, walking that walk even if the soil will burn my feet.
Drive in. Have I mentioned before that the building it self looks like an old lady on her last breath? That all the people inside are looked in, even if all the doorways are clear and there is no keys to hide.





My mind refused to remember the corridors and the ways to go. Instincts shut-down. Asking directions. OK. Here. Sit. Wait. .... tick...tack.... as always all the magazines are out-dated. 40 something minutes later. I knew all of them by hard while writing this in a notepad. Uncomfortable silence. Everybody moves in chronological order. Everybody speaks the same - lips not moving. Like flash light commercials on local TV and dozens eyes packed in the skull watching.

He walked in slow motion. All in glitter. He had a plastic smile and Pinocchio nose. He looked. Standing almost not breathing. Picked one in line. - Welcome to the paradise. The plastic smile grew and the pink room shined of gold, glamor and cotton-candy. To fucked-up to think and to dosed-up to tell you whats happening. Meat is coming from the roof - tops. Beeping sounds on the other-end make a perfect melody and I sure have the lyrics.

I felt as need my prostitute back. Her tight arms. Her bent back. Her unconditional obedience. I wanted her to lie on the table for me and stop the chest from moving. I wanted to feel the tightness of her neck. To look in the eyes of the magical creation I raised in my mind. I needed her there. I needed to touch the unforgettable.




Good bless and good night,
Dietrich

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