Ode to the Moment

There is no greater power then the taste of revenge on the tip of the tongue. The the adrenaline rush that comes in heels when the enemy is spotted. There is no greater pleasure, then the reflection of fear in the eye of the enemy. There is no better taste then the taste of the battle. There is no greater passion the the passion of putting your foot on the head of the defeated. This is not yet the end. This is a process. But what ever it takes. What ever it will bring. I am willing to spread the ashes.

Framed pictures on the table. Outcomes. Counting calendar dates. Lovely whispers on the line. Ready to be counted. Presents and ribbons. The roaring sound in the headphones. They all have a right. They all have their own way. What a stupid decisions. Hes ok. Legs and toes. Five heads and en envelope in the mouth. Cut throat. Empty stomach. Everyday menu. Eyebrows are raised. 3 minutes. 3 cups. 3 tones. 3 witnesses. The problem with my situation is the hypocrisy of the man. A human. A box.
She said, music beats us. Dear Anne. You are right. It does.

Sidewalks packed with students and confusion. Faces in the light and shadow. Hiding the essence of time and age. The beauty of the dead bodies walking in the right. Chest goes up and down inhaling the smell of smoke. Left patterns on the wood. Grass is colored in the wrong luminosity. Ultraviolet. Blue lights. Stamps and shots. Bullets are flying from the the top floor of the sky high build bridges. We are confessing the inner mind. There is not enough poison in the coffee cups.
Metal construction taking over the free space. Reserved. Taken. For rent. To let. To consume. Flickering. Flickering. Pinning down. Supermarkets. Red mailboxes. The Ace! Heels in mud and paint. 2 meeter tall paper clips with illustrated corpses in the middle. Work of a life time. Work. Time passing. Trespassing. You are being watched. We are all stars here. No more B movies. Snuff porn. CCTV won the election. The best documentaries human nature ever produced. Grammy awards for the masses. Feed it with dried bread and cold water. Midget porn. Body farm in resurrection. Change the position. My god is on the other side of the camera. Watching. Waiting. The death of the battery. Taken by your naivety. Miles of red ribbon in the containers. Body dump sides. Music boxes and gift certificates. Helicopters are back again. Everybody want to be French. Everyone is saint and sacred. Everyone have a will and a wish. Be good today. You say yes, and the priest tapes your mouth.

Today out of all days we deconstructed the perfect machine. We putted the spinal cord out and tightened it to the door with out a handle.

Good night and god bless,

Sonia Dietrich


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