"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

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

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