"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, 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 

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