"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

Saturday, January 8, 2011

Fuck more - Think less

So to thinking. If this is THE modern day philosophy. How far are we going on this melting boat of cum? IS this all there is to thins point of human existence. Or is it just a comforting lie to everyone including our self's . People no longer even pretend to want or need something else.
We finely reached the primitive stage of our evolution. And in a way, I am happy. More sex shops - less gun shops. Tho, less sex shops - more book stores. Balance is a bitch when you need to find her. She realy is. But that bitch can make this life an amusing journey. Still, how one can deny the ultimate attraction of the gun?

And as you cant deny your past cause it is the future. All unravels it self easily. As the cigarette smoke in the desert. Slowly evaporating form the lugs to the unknown parallels in the minds of sand. If there is anger, there is meaning that follows to consequence.

Harlot. In the dessert of the human sea. The floating body over the ocean of the deep vibrating sound. Bringing the memories to the moments of beginning. The fingertips to numbing and velvet touch of fragnence. Burning feet and palms.. .

The sensation of eternity on the earth of water that reached the only passage in the mist of that desert. The one that led to eternal illumination. The escape.

Cracks in the land and gapes in the dryad up soil. Lizards moving in circles by four as sings of swastikas. Coloured waters and two dark passengers. Conversation in secret language. All collapsed. I had a dream. Sometimes when it is dark, cold. Or early. Or even hot with the breeze, I can hear ice breaking. Plastic.

All roads led to Golgotha!

Good night and god bless.
Sonia Dietrich

Saturday, January 1, 2011

All Glitter - Late stage of Decomposition

After all city had it's last go. Tables became naked and someone finely got rid of that fat man in the red suite. There is air to breath. Phone calls. Piling up bills and someone else new borns. Stanch of wannabees. No excuses. Promises for year 2011. Sleep deprivation and dowers with towel swirls. They come to get you. Hear god talking. 2 am. Bastard. Doesn't he knows when kiddies sleep? Recovery. How come nobody press the red button. . .

Same songs all the time. Joly for Holy. Roots and roads. Don't know how to get rid of it all. Let's dress the paper dolls together. Tickling sensation. I see bulimic passengers in the corridors. Dreaded phone calls. The gray haired man will pull the blankets. Write it clearer. Address the audience. You don't make any seance. Kill the music. Stay clear in with your thoughts. Join the real life. Stop swallowing the joy. Smile more often. Dress proper for the occasion. Read the paper. Watch the latest TV show episode. Turn on the news. Get a grip. Rotten fucking taters. Yes. How fun is all now. Hypocritical boneless rats. I don't watch your black box. Not in - not out.

Suddenly it all falls down. Looped machine. All remains of relived events and plot lines. All is one long walking flashback. Back or forward. Line is pulsating. Waiting for the word to appear at the white blank page. Mercy for the poets. Counting imperfections. Fire! Open bibles with non-biblical content. One on the line. Line cuts free. Low of science. Feet and the game ground plays. Sometimes. Intoxicated by night light. Surveillance. Past tense. Future tense. Light and luminosity of the strange fruit. All roads led to Golgotha. Time is on someone else side. Maybe. Trees stand naked with foolishness of the human kind. Honesty. Loosing their religion. Waking up. Forsaken by the creator.

They have a slogan "kill for Jesus - our god is better then your god" indeed. Dealing with the same memories that appear like flashbacks and stroboscopes. Never tired to show up and talk back.
God BLESS bent over housewife's... They bring THE joy to my life. Pulse to my bible and trash to my doorstep.

entry: 62.

finish date: 03/01/2011

time: 3:33 am

And god is nowhere to be found. Sleep is nowhere to be read. People are somewhere to be held. And all of this is a self-blown up mechanism with a backstage full of fruit baskets, timeliness when one should buy ticket and join the rest of the world. For better or worse in the circle of true awakening and knowledge. Somewhere. Somehow things are going to change as you are soon reaching the sedation of the bed that will be arranged by higher authority and 100% day to day care. God bless the care.

God bless the God. God bless the drug. God bless the Queen.
I have a crown and pocket filled with rockets. Hair that reaches the end of my buttom and 19000 flickering light-bulbs in front of me. Mouthiness waiting for the product. Not moving as nobody gave a signal. I am in. I am out. One more glass. One more page.

Good night and god bless,

Sonia Dietrich