"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, August 23, 2010

Tightening a Cherry Knot


Empty, domestically perfectly chaotic bed. Out side limbo is inviting me to every possible fair there is to please my self. They scream and scream. Monsters. Thinking it over. I sit in my bed listening to the silence that is so unusual in this city. The festival is tacking over every inch and every corner... but sometimes lets go. And at this moments there is pure silence mixed up with construction workers mumbling and sound of metal. Engines of excellence. We fear what we do not understand. Crave the unreachable. Still. The mind of the one is wonderland. So many things left unsaid. It seems that there is one head to share. It feels so familiar and safe. Hope I make you happy. Lets go round and round on the Ferris Wheel. I will tell you all the stories of the future. Never mind the attachments. Never mind the voices. Never mind ...


Fever kicks in. Perimeter of the room is covered in tissue and cups. Ginger. Lemon. Honey. Paracetamol flows in rivers of eternity. LemSip. Get a hold of every possible pharmaceutical miracle there is. Walking streets at night. The amount of people is horrifying. Living in one of thous old, strategy, computer games. The look the same, talk the same, walk the same. Stop. The banality of language pressures the brain tissue. Inspiration. The song brings memories from the front desk to the back yard. I hum along. Icicles and Raining Blood. Remembering the questions. How much are you wiling to put in the vault dear. Will you run away from all of them... Beautiful garden. Seeing rain. Not on the forecast. Resistance to self. Resistance to wishes. Inches. Fools gardens. Eyes tell more then words. Don't crucify your self over the gift that is given.






One centimeter from the black sea. Dust. Half empty. The sky.... is waiting. Do I imagine or is it really happening. Finely. Out side is on hold. Air does not move. Gelatin. Twisted pictures on the walls. Antique post cards of churches and girl school buildings. The echoes of past brings the will for tomorrow. This was suppose to be your day - the voice told me. Like in the "dark city", someone is messing around with the memories. So it feels like the timing is perfect. Tightening the knot. Cherries. Lets play.


Pick it up. Put the red on. Brush throw. Find the second shoe. The evening s waiting.



With scent of magnolia...
Good Night,
Sonia Dietrich

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