"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, August 8, 2010

The cold floor of Yesterday

It comes inside slowly. Never asked why. Frightening. To demanding. To personal. Somehow you know there is only one question that could ruin everything. Only one thing said wrong and the army will march upon you. I missed him. The one who talks at night. 6.14 am. Edinburgh. My eyes do not close, body does not listen. Fingers are in compulsive relapse. Needs. Forgot how seagulls are hunting the morning for me. Never liked how some called them flying rats. Gorgeous creatures. But rationalization comes. This is pure ignorance. Something needs to be changed. I want to know why and how it all happened. Is it revisable. Do it, drag it, fuck it, screw it, nothing make seance. Spins in the ceiling. Ground feels like the acid pool. Endless spiral of lasting hookers. Mega mega white thing! The beat takes you to the roof top. Forget the dreams. Forget the wishes. You will end up like all of them. Stupid stupid decisions. This fucking ship has nowhere else to sail.

And somehow I am stuck. To this chair and the walls that are to thick to let the air it. THIS IS A BOX! A box we call computer room, and leave trace mark of coffee stains, just like Hazel and Grethel, for our savior Jesus Christ. The room is black, no windows. One door and screens. It seems here, at this point, other type of living form exists. I wonder how long it will take me, to loose it. A homeless record lady. Not so bad. Alto, where will i plug my turntable? coffee cup number four and still no result. Streets are dirty. Don't want to. No. Walk out/in/on.




The right side. Something in my organism is killing the substance. The donor. You can have it. My isolation. Eating grapes of the wall paper is not the worst thing that could happen. The sky is collapsing in the middle, as no one bought the ticket back. Then told imagination, where is the key. Black is saving the watery substance. No seance make seance. The vibration of the sound brings hope and forgiveness. Mentally. Slowly. Throw the veins and fingernails. Near, near, near. I need a change of skin. Somewhere. Come and tell me all that you know. Run run run cute rabbit, I hold him. Run to the perfection of exemption and dignity, run to the fields of memories. Run and wish you never been here. Where the fields change colors and breathing gets hard and Heavy. You wasted all of it. Not me. You put the dagger in. You have greedy fingers. I am suddenly afraid of water. Cant do it. Cant face it. Cant look it in the eyes.



Playing the game of not talking to save the moment. Coping mechanism. As he once told me, deep cleansing breaths... two sentence exchange. Getting ready. Sings on the wall. Travel. Empty beds with no emotional connection or impact. Lost. Touch is a loaded automatic weapon. Escaping. Hoping. Dreading. It feels like blanket is turned. It feel cold. Watching never felt so damaging. Escaping. Look at the creator! Needs. Give me something, to shoot it. Never card for calibers. Just turn it OFF!

Lying on the floor listening to his cd's and you...where as cold as yesterdays coffee and the floor it self. Obsessed. Does it takes so much or little? Drawing lines on the thies. Slowly. Selfishly. As not to. Escape, as not to be, feel, think. As not to...make it stop. Make it all go away. Let the army of the pigs suffocate inside the vomit of the prophets. Churches fallow me like the headlights. Train is zigging. I wish it would fall. Slip. Skip. Choke. yes.....
Redress me, brand you look. Play as wished. Adjust to the mood and the type of the evening required. Endless sea. My heels where downing in the sand. Moments. Multiple personalities. It was 2000 of us. And you. Lets jump the gun.

Bang Bang!



Never fear the rails.
Good Night,
Sonia Dietrich

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