"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

Wednesday, September 22, 2010

The Queen of the Condition



The whore is back. Nothing had changed. How are you. Where were you. Is that good, to much salt. Yes, will take you to the other level. Now. Tomorrow the light with be young and the rails will be moving.. Some thing that have been said are digging it's way back to the rotting brain. List of qualities that sounded as compliments witch never reached the other end before.


Wonders. The lost unspoken wonders of the world, lies side by side in beds, on the shelf at your local tesco. People, come and gather around. The pick of the week. 2 for 1 offer. Don't miss out on the wonder of this week. This month. This road. This body. She looks like a cured addict. Back rooms. We smokers, with the packs of prescription heaven, know the best way to do it. Dust. Covering the table, covering the keyboard. Covering the sound. The illusion of moments and sympathy. The illusions of the one and the two. Was it tasty? I will buy her a medal. So that the light would shine brighter. The one.




The move was on, the confession was made. The burglar is know by name and address. Moving toward reality and bitter ends. Anger on anger. I am the queen of this condition. Visiting hours are over. Moving ground. The simplicity of the tongue. Another month. Another trade. Another parallel. Another house hold item in the trash. Another time. Another girl. She will never be the one. It will never be the kingdom so tightly build. Impostors abducted by head masters. Impostors are getting the low to the leg. Sore fingers. Simple answers in the coffee shop. Yes. Yes. YES... yes... So just wait, till all of them are hooked. Till healers did the job. Till the turpentine will be my vomit.


Look at them. Little match made machines. They have them in-stores now. Want to dance on the table. Chemical peal. Sodomy. She wears a cross. Tell me baby, what are you doing at home when the holy is up and he comes. On your knees and pray for the holy father. Scarfs and sweaters. Pure white flowers. The god obeying victorians. No stocking shops. Where to indulge the addiction. God, help us all! Save us from the misery and suffering. Oh sister! Pray sister.
Yes. Pray! Pray as there is no tomorrow. Pray as this is the last holy you will ever feel. Cover the eyes with on hand, press the throat with the other and pray! Beg you corps for mercy and wish to be under the cross your self. May the holy rivers of pure and goodwill cum wash away the disobedience. Now sister, now you are healed. Do you feel it? How the holy is dripping of your breasts, your neck, your face. Do you feel the GOD sister? Do you feel the holy father? He is there with you. Deep. Walk sister, walk on your bandaged knees, as you are heal.



"I have lived many lives. I have been a slave and a prince. Many a beloved has sat upon my knees and I have sat upon the knees of many a beloved. Everything that has been shall be again"
W.B. Yeats




Good Night and god bless,

Sonia Dietrich

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