"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. Öijer

Wednesday, December 25, 2013

White Storm

Fitting time frames. This is what all this shit is about. Fitting some fuckers time frame. The undeniably misogynistic, racist fucks and their non erect time frames. Need to put a tape round self – do not cross. Over. In the process of. OFF. ON? Step on the pedal boy. Lets play who can sleep louder and scream slower. Step over. Move across. Not in self. This process of development is kept in hand. A hand print. Black and White. Infra red. Digestible. Time is passing. Floor is making heels itch to step over and under again. No.

Sound of nervous twitch and white sky.  Hair smells of formaldehyde and someone’s rest in peace .  White tablecloth and glasses of wine. Silverware and festive appetizers.  Frames and faces. To – From. Smile. What a surprise. I always wanted!

 Pass through driveways and packed parking lots. Tried. Tires and black cars. On white roads. Hungry passengers and eyes full of. Light. Fire. Works. Lakes and woods. Scared animals. Barefoot on the snow. Hidden bottles and nausea. Water. Feet. Foot. Stones. Do you see? Grey. Lights. Offers and promises. Suggestions. Inflammations. Irritations. Confessions. Now do you please the collarbones. Touching god. Reaching. Self-explanatory surgery. Still.  

Peace in moments. In frozen lands. What a line. Oh what a line. Your interface is breaking….  All the hate and all the glorification. The race for happiness and divine intervention. Damn how good it tastes. How soft the apathy and sweet is the storm.  

Good Night and God Bless,
Queen of Disorder,
Sonia Dietrich 

All images are copyright of Sonia Dietrich 

Wednesday, October 23, 2013

Liberating Concession

I am too much decibels in syllables of information!

One dares not fall. In front off just behind. Can not - NOT be. Baring skin. Gently. Who is one talking to. At night so tainted. Kill. In. The parallel motion. Who do you see – in front off. Off - skin. Vomit, holy like the water that cleansed me. Bare self. Not barring but not yet barren.. Buried you did not. Touch someone. Outside the box when one puts ones body in punishment. I could not. Not – BE. Flashing screens. Devil inside. On. Side. Other side. Sweaty dreams and terrors of consumption. Forget. Forget the night. Forgive the momentum. SoulFULLy! Track me! Get inside. Find strings attached to unborn. What is this sound about. No samples. Of life. Irritant. Irresistible, god.

One off one inside. On. On top. Inside the building. Crossroads. Complicated conviction. Not gathered. Killer king.

Almost parasitic. Slightly. Poisonous. Watching her give birth. You knew. Did you – do you. I do NOT. I do. Do I? Not knowingly. Remembering. Imagining. Thinking how was it. How it would be. How it “looks like”.

Poisonous concession. Pretence 
dignity presented marginally through a repetitive patter of communication. You had it all. So easy and sweet is the juice of ambrosia one can posses on daily basis with reassurances not too wilful. I solute you.

Watching. Every second watching. Passing. Back and forth, watching. You!  Construction. Projecting. Constantly. Back and forth. You. I solute in decibels. Perhaps to often. To tainted. Where is the light. Swollen. Frozen but alive. Lively. Living. Infused. Influence. Not touching. Know you see. Remember. Relive. Her in the light of hospital whiteness. Giving the continuance of bloodline and surname. Not my bed. Body. Not! Why are you dong it, this. One asked. In anguish. Slightly paranoid. Can’t stop. Not today. But, perhaps. Tomorrow. I would. Could. Somehow. Where is the image. Imagine… IMAGE!

That one puts in every congener. Like an icon. Not to forget. But remember. My ceiling has gaps and cracks. Borderlines. Passports. Appointments and maps for 2nd of December. Stability. Being on track of monitoring and talking heads with pre-recorded massages. Of kindness. Love. Compassion. You will be fine.
Thank you.

I clinch my little fist to ram it in the cavities - unspoken.  Looking how far one can bend. Giving up the spine. Happiness. So prolonged the chemical imbalance. The casualties. Political. Explain me how you use your words. Meanings… Are you listening to the pulse that is hidden the underground conceptual hypocrisy. 
 Gender stereotypes. Have you seen the dancing Queen.


Good night and god bless,
Queen Of Disorder,
Sonia Dietrich  

All images are copyright of Sonia Dietrich

Friday, September 20, 2013

Me I Am Not

Lets reminisce, while I take the dagger out. Lets laugh
and remember… THEM! The glorious. Mighty. Superior. 

Lets reminisce. 

While I try and find the psychotic needle. Dug deep. Too little. Too close!
Could sing it to you. Rings became too loose. Big. Nails slip off, exposed meat. Too sensitive. Nothing comes, goes. Stays the same. Nothings changes. I am touched... 

While listening to the same show outside the window, fog finely climbs inside. Outside murmur.
Heart rate. Applause. Again. Again... AGAIN! Putting self though rollercoasters. Guard all - too settle. And so goes the hate. Me I Am Not!

Integrity. The holy hole one dares not to fall. But must. Step over self. Realize. Find. 23:23. I step. A stone have moved. No longer am I one. I am many. For concrete had melted. I can see. Nothing ever changed. Same man behind the glass. I am many. As Me I Am Not!


Inevitably. Fear chases horror. Fragile yet stronger. The cliché tells truth. Not life living. Living. I hope you do it strong, light and long. Live. Life.
Me I Am NOT!

Smell of latex natural feel. Pretence desperation in minor. Honesty. All day nothing, I ate your - chilly. Not waking up - not falling asleep.
Hand. Hands bend back. Backwards!
What a stupid thing to DO. Just a window in a window. Lit. Nothing more. Shadows of bodies… Synthetic sheets. Heat. Heart. White. Whore. Elite.


Just window in a window. Asinine. All of a sudden everybody had a manifesto. What a shame. All looked so promising.  Waiting for breakfast.

Someone is in/on the menu.

It seems insanity has a very silent leaping steps. It approaches in moments of absolute procrastination and orgasms. Want to be real. Can smell you on my hands. Hair. Cotton swirls float barely touching the sidewalk.  


Bourgeoisie discuses dying children. Black iron railing seems distant. Contrasted. Glued on. Stuck. Hallway carpet no longer resemble the original sea blue colour. Electricity that supports building alarm system glares and hums with gentle noise. I am almost fainting. 
There is nothing else to give.


Let's reminisce.

Good night and god bless,
Queen of Disorder,
Sonia Dietrich

All images are copyright by Sonia Dietrich

Tuesday, August 20, 2013

Clitoral Superiority - Social Consumption

It's a hot cold. A burning yard with untouched roses and windflowers. Who I remind you of. Do you repeat your actions? Silence that acutes between breaths and with them drown in lethargic chemical and full moon induced coma. I can't find a soundtrack for thoughts. Hair is pinned and unbrushed for more then a week. You have separating particles. When I see Jesus, you are not in the picture. Red hands. Burning. Long red nails moving. White keypads… Jesus! Smoking does not cure grief. Passport stamps. Rabbit on the finger. I stain my own outline.

Every time there is a syllable I feel the kick to the head. Don't waist away. Cure! Rearrangement every time the postman strikes. Poisonous. Watch out -we are on the mission! Question everything. I try to see where hypocrisy surrenders. Check your inbox. Don't forget your flossing. At all the parties there is shadow presence. Just swallow!!!

Clitoris express open vein rage against you. Aftertaste of your ''non drowsy'' kicks in. Are you aware of the anger that lives inside the body that knows its enemy? As the poet of resistance once said " Go sodomise yourself"! You are an excuse of ungrateful calibre and purity number. While despising the temple, you build yourself a throne in it! Are you comfortable. Troublesome equation. I solute you.

Genocide of thought. Makes one superior. It's a judgement call. Breakthrough. Non descriptive velocity. One becomes god like. Inhale poison from aurora. Open window, statues glorifying someones penis as historic achievement. Candle in a bottle. Broken glass. Wax on the windowsill. Burn cars, save the landposts. Don’t compare, killer of inhalation. Assassin your memories. Start over! Unbutton your shirt! I wonder where the organ goes. Before and after the act of communicative exhumation. Like breaking of placenta, I need to give birth to it. This hymen of non creative shit and chaos is incurable.  So I solute YOU!

If all it takes is a ribbon on a box with no context. Wrap it up in plastic. Sun is up. Out. Billions of molecules cure the dead while earth takes it tall and brings the holy practice of revenge back in style. I am amplified..! Having and not having stands too close. You walk with me. "I would die for peanut butter!".  It's all about the blue pill. SHIT!  Lost a plot in sea of social vomit and rage. How could he, how could she. Who are they listening to. Amy, you where suppose to win the war. Now they will all parish! Non descriptive capitalist evacuation. I have nerve particles leaving my blood stream.

What happened to Mary. She was the first among thousands and millions. This text has a strange aftertaste. I get sick from my own work. Body heats up - heating up the skin. Skin is covered in perfume and disappearance. I can smell the smell. This agreement was not the part of the plan. Your traffic extended it's limit.  

We are all tracked. The abuse of power is custom. Border control. Put the lid back on!

Good night and god bless!
Queen of Disorder,
Sonia Dietrich

Tuesday, June 25, 2013

Carpet Burn

In the anguish and equation. Non. Repeating. Nothing so highly open to the media of as self proclaimed genius. So I disassociate. Your subconscious pathetic attempts of rebirth as a minuscule grandiosity. Challenge of self and horror to fit into outline of the ongoing joke. If in you shines all light of the holy the others stumble fall behind.

Wondrous mind. Where the fueled abortion of thought comes and penetrates. As a part of non participant relativity. REVELATION! The judgment of self penetrating control kills me!


Truth or Dare. Who is insane? On the carpet of hair and cum, slightly twisted arms and blistered, bruised knees. Stumble. Air.  Are you having a panic attack? Same story. Medication. Smoke. Drugs. Medication. Smoke. Alcohol. 15 again. 99 again. Split in the middle. Post Op. Pre Op. SMILE. SMILE. SMILE! The world is beautiful place.  In concrete resolution center. Pressing the weak - turned strong.  Who are you the holy drifter of self-pity. Arrogance. Fairytales tell us there is darkness in this world, untouched. Censored. Self control.

Good night and god bless,
Queen of Disorder
Sonia Dietrich 

Friday, May 24, 2013

Cream In The Middle

 Working against self. Praying to the streetlights.

Naked in heeled boots and drunk of once mind. Constructive thinking. Whiskey. Beheaded unicorn in the room. Head on the table. Legs in metal supports. Where are animal right activists when you need them. Not delusional. Reality check - unicorn still present. Currently. Boots off - dress on. Repeat. You excite me! Cream in the middle. Blurred images. Straight back - twisted line. Silver lining. On the table there is no plaits, cloths or placement mats. No visitors and no illusions. No passengers and no curriers. Glitter falls of the eyelids. World drives itself mad. Cliche. How we love this world war parallels. I let it slide. You have your last word in this dialogue. I told it together with a smile. Pinned hard to both sides. Good grip. Tight ass. What else it there to wish for?

Learning everyday. Songs about the last day and fish in the sea. All that bullshit. The romantic gates is nitroglycerine. Why does one burn?

Ah I see. Counting all the fingers - left. Can hear voices clearly. Not one of those moments of forgotten teenagehood, it's not cool to be fucked anylonger. It's a whole different game now. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Long legs. Front tooth got cracked even more, remember when you rammed my face in full size mirror that night, in room 347? Pictures on 35mm tell tales. Reminding moments lost in drunken haze, the high state of reason. Countdown! The green light is on, we are rolling! Vomiting battery acid and swallowing cream. Throat is screaming from the cliche they put in the burn bag! COME ON - make me look at you! This is not ego that brings us here. I can see the moon. Your hand is in my hand and somehow the chaos freezes. We swallow and you count my body parts left in deferment poses around the beautiful apartment with the sea view.

Good night and god bless,
Queen of Disorder
Sonia Dietrich

Tuesday, February 26, 2013

Disrupted Mental Facilitation

When it happens, you will know it. From down under. Between - momentum. Tight.  Like giving up something sinister. Body convulsing. PUSH ME!
Race from right to wrong. I feel tamed. Not in the nature. AGE.
Starving for race against the world. Striving for that kick. Open eyes, enlarged veins. 
Brighter, torn apart vision. Voices in the background. I want to be - NOT!

Breathing. Heavily. Sound delay. Fast forward. I am in particles and coming back again. Burning fingertips and air passages.  Intake. Intake. Intake. INTAKE!
Decisions. Decisions. My fairy burned her face off. Tore the skin off and happily observes the redness of flesh grounded MEAT!

Can you just put a penny in! Twist and turn and up and down again we go. Shinny surface.  No more underwater glamour. I want it raw and spoiled. Just like it was before. With screaming beasts in the wrong side of reason.  NO MORE FUNERLAS!  4 sizes smaller and still puking. They say I have problem. I tell that there is a reason for being. Just. I do not want a number!

RUSH! Can you see clearly now? I do not sleep anymore. Just keep up, keep up and RUN! No seat reservation, no middle names. No airfare. No room reservations. RUN! Just RUN!

When inner body reaches the DNA deadline we all will be in a new database. I slave for systems and postcodes. For lack of temper and overpriced medication. So PUSH ME! Cigarette burn marks and trashed floors.  The outside façade has nothing to do with the inner manifestations. Tie it up and put it your mouth. Swallow and pull. 10 amendments of disrupted mental facilitation. I am not from your tribe!

There is no air and no water, no political comfort, no social life, no love and no more hate, there is no being and there is no death. There is no absence and no present time comfort in being. There is no me. There is nothing to cherish. No solitude and no company. NO SELF AND NO YOU! There is no silence and no more noise. Where we stand – there is no ground!

In the purple room joined hands with no pulse. With knees on broken glass. Observing what is left . From breakfast to dinner. I am what you want me to be when you want me to be.  Put the song back on!

Good night and god bless,
Queen of Disorder
Sonia Dietrich