"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, January 30, 2012

Ode to the Visionary Within

‎"You cannot find peace by avoiding life"

And it was here where it all started. Where it all changed. Where all so simple became so very complicated.  I watched the shadows of the chandeliers play with the ceiling all to quiet. Seeing things from a frozen perspective of the own being. Where there is not many options to give out the information hidden with in. And the saddest thing of all, it never comes out right. Perhaps one should give it away in some strange form of yet unknown, unborn monster. To let it go, out of any possible disfunction… You have to let go at times to regain the balance - vise words…. But oh, what is the balance. Life and death is balance. But what else. What else is balance and where to find it. The love, the pain. The lie and the holy truth. Perhaps some of us find balance in disfunction. But in the end of the line all search for same pebbles and landmarks. We read book after book, desperately dry our eyes in front of computer screens. We sit in cinemas watching our lives on the screen part and get glued back together again. Searching. Always searching… for beauty, love, understanding and the holy communion. We crave same emotions and for better or worse, suffer from the same touch. 

Like the feeling you get from gently touching your own palm. This strange sensation and realization that you have A BODY. That strange and fascinating thing. BODY that shrinks in to NO BODY and then into NOBODY. How does it happens. How do one become nobody… 
It's in that moment, and that moment only you leave the BODY. Calmly. Understanding the taste your life is leaving in somebodies mouth. How skin cells fall down and multiply our chances to see each other again. It's that moment, and that moment only that can bring us the lost connections of the past. I embrace the moment. Keeping in under the pillow. 
The day of loss is difficult to describe. It covers you. Numbness. The settle cold breeze inside the lungs. Empty headed. You reach to do something and freeze. Nothing comes out. You settle, flashing pictures appear and you see a coffin. The marble room. The face in the box. People around the box. I could not be there, with them. The funeral. Strange.

In the church light was dim. Smell of candles, boys where cleaning the carpets. Somehow there was no emotional response. Recollection of the last time seen, last conversation. Last embrace, the kiss that was given not to honestly. The words that where suppose to be sincere (sin)... where they? Someone was talking and … the glass had erupted, cover the land with million different peaces. I excepted the difference and the loss. Complicated. It's a blunt object hitting on the back of the knees when you are trying to learn how to walk. C O M L I C A T E D.  How come. Self absorbed. Making things be what they are not. No. It did not work. Out. I … waiting for the …. last train to the seas side. It's too cold, regretting the journey I wish to step back, from the platform. From the oblivion of wires, arguments, flower arrangements on the wreath, last words and he said she said paraphrasing. Cocktail banners and black eye liner. Evening dress, a corset and a hat with a veil. Covering all the unseen. Pre-ordered. The paradox. The body language. Lean forward, lean back. Touch the elbow, the chin, lick the finger. Looking down, then to the side again. Eyes half closed. The stranger in the mirror. Of life. Of coincidence… 

Even when, do not want to talk, you tell me about your day 
You do not know me - I do not understand you
I used to sleep naked, now sleep in my favorite bra
It's my skin under the camouflage blanket - blackened
Afraid of the covers - the bed 
This purple sky of day - It's not their night

I kneel in front of these words. It becomes a ritual. Cold air from the old white windows on the sixth floor is letting trough cold air. The air likes my back. My neck. Little loose peaces of hair trembles with every breath. I touch my eyes. Open them again in write compulsively till words make no sense.  Freedom not too far away. Almost reachable. Almost there. Your shadow is standing in front of me. We do not talk. Exchange smoke rings. They pierce though. Who am I. Who where you. What are they. 

Oh, how funny all this magic. Levitating on the last step. So it is. On different sides we stand.

Good night and god bless,
Queen of Disorder
Sonia Dietrich 

p.s. all images except of the 'Ladder' magazine cover are copyright by Sonia Dietrich 

Wednesday, January 18, 2012

Momental Mental Idealism

There is a moment when in pain mind separates from the body. Body becomes almost pointless. Senseless. Obscure. Mind becomes clear. Pure. Passionate. Afterwards it left the feeling of rapturing parts. Something snapped. Quite loudly. I could feel the sound. Somewhere between blather and uterus. Something just died. I still cant put my finger on it, what it was and what it could be. That something left decaying, rotting roots inside of me. Opened and burned. For a second there was a momentary high… and thus how come this neat body contain such a distorted mind.

I don't know what it was. Water covered me. I do not remember the face. Just the corner of the lip. I want to dress all in white and walk barefoot on the snow. To disappear in it and melt away in spring. This place is too red. Somehow. Do not feel gravity. It disobeyed me. Lightheaded. Towers of lost and forgotten cities on the flip side of sanity. 

I could sit like this for hours. Days. Weeks. I would pee and puke under myself till time stoped. Would dismember once body to drive though the veins as maps of lost lands. The ambitions that overpower our existence are blinding. Should one realize when it's time to let go, or still try to reattach the missing parts for the better future. Never understood people. The way they communicate inside the glass boxes and podiums. Something is clearly missing. The venom. 

Inside the days that turn to night all too fast, outside the lands that burn to slow. Inside the arms that spread not too often. You. Me. Them. One is searching for a mystery that is not there. As it just is non existing. I skip time, it lies to me. Playing tricks. How is it suppose to make sense. Nick names and time limitation. Visiting hours are over. 

And lips are red, blood covered and ripped at one side. Yours are bare. Remind them of a doll. Walking in passages, you do not wish to see. Read. Listen. My warranty is ending. Bending. 

"So tell me, how does the blind man paint?" A woman paints with her heart. Soul. A man…  Burn myself with the coldness of the glass. Full then empty again. Drinking tequila from wine glasses. Night is covering. It's a rase. The price is unknown. Make same mistakes in parallels they chase one another, till one is senseless. Breathless. 

Hate. Lust. Love. Power. Empowerment. Catching glimpses of reality. Guessed it right. Number 800. Where is the mighty land and mind. Where is the sold dignity. Where is the glory of the future. Where is…


"What has been will be again, what has been done will be done again; there is nothing new under the sun." 

Good Night and god bless,
Queen of Disorder
Sonia Dietrich 

Saturday, January 7, 2012

in short - How I Observed London - part I

I was siting in bed eating hot porridge watching cold wind, that came from an open window dancing for me. The 7th of January. Tracey Emin's book was in my lap. It's the 3rd sunny day in a row, finely the weather forecast was honest and did some justice for us - light seekers. So tired and bended after the seasonal mishmash of friers, booze, drugs, and family dinners. Traveling and work plans, setting year goals for the so parsed year 2012. Loose some weight, eat healthy, don't get hight so oftener, be nice to people, stay true to your self and fight for the things you believe in. DO NOT BACK DOWN! ART! ART! A + R + T my secret code! 
And then…Strange, my fingers are not yet used to type this number, I always get confused. and type something like 1202. Sun keeps distracting me. I left one last chapter of "STRANGELAND" to keep me company while the sun hides again. Don't want it to end, neither the sun, neither Tracey. Her words and my thought are made from same soil. 

And then it strikes me, the recollections form London and the feel it all left inside my mouth. The taste. The smell of the polluted air. I can see how people get lost in cities like that. It's a dangerous place to be, if you are not quite there. Yet. Ever. 
I scrambled these little notes in note pads, cigaret packs, and self messaged them to myself. Just not to forget. Then I remembered that I still have one more story from the wonderful and cold Berlin. I am either lazy, or it's just not the right time for it… the baby is still unborn. 

From London High Ways 

This is so gay, that is so lesbian. oh and it is so bisexual. Push the triple X on XXX. She sing "Fuck the pain away" I decided to fuck my brain away. Fuck the body away. Fuck the body, give birth to the mind and then fuck the infant. Fuck became sexless. Genderless. Speechless. Timeless. Roses are red and violets are blue, world is full of hatred but i still love you? Fuck you, consume you? 

* * *

On the bus three was woman crying, she was talking to her family, then her kid was on the phone. The child was telling how he missed her, and told about his day. woman silently cried not releasing a single sound, her tears where whipped off with a pink tissue. Bus was empty. Bus terminated here, she left the tissue on her seat. 
World is full of sadness, I embrace you? 

* * * 

London is full of pretenses, glitter and luminous trees. Gardens and street corners with golden displays. Under which steal animals, the shopping carriages live with their homeless owners. We walk around in circles, we change bus after bus, end up in the parsons green district, counsel houses 2/4. Plane after plane dreamers leave this earth. World is full of hunger, I dissect you? 

* * *

London is genderless, but up tight and judgmental? Maybe. Homophobic flat mates and clueless embraces. Who are you under the pink? Too much pride in wrong places. This is a true act of apocalypse. When suddenly gay curious is the new black. Having no respect and actual realization why. The stupidity. It seems some people are still living in the 19th century. Why not burn it all down then. World is full of stupidety, I respect you?

* * * 
* * * 

I still have much more pictures I want to show you. But sadly it takes a while for 35mm film. But as I promised, I will. All that I promised, I really will. 

Good night and god bless,
Queen of Disorder
Sonia Dietrich