"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

Monday, December 8, 2014

MESS - ME - SS or Space Odyssey of Oddities on Crack




Perhaps like rehab - I love the mess. The tempting, destructive, torn stocking and thighs filled mess. Me - Ss. Narcissist tendencies. Diseased. Watching city fall under shame, weight of first snow and railroads. Many roles and many parts. Sports. Flashback. Roles and expectations of purity. How far can you bend? 

Lamps on metal wires and flat screens. Pushing word after word. How exciting it is to push self to a boxing match. Four days in. Rumble rumble. Just don't tell the hungry there is water. Turkey games. Space odyssey of oddities on crack. Forgot to take a picture. I love public leftovers. Dancing in circles from five feet to twenty eight. Change the station. I don't know how to denounce myself. In filled cavities of teeth in shrinking rooms. Eyes full of smoke. Light a cigaret and put it your eyeball. Watchers. Watch dogs. Jesus worship with knife in vagina - my trade mark. I solute heresy. Perspective of castes wasted. Interface. Beat of youth and misery so sweet when backwards is forwards and you twist my being around. Land of bulimic joy and Virgin Mary pictures fuck Satanic girls. Touching vaginal wounds - so different from one another - like fingerprint. That one leaves inside. Your inner body is as soft as vomit after a good trip.

Coming from my Mouth. 





Glitter

Words are burning names into flesh. How are you living on. White lines. Fruit and poison. Boredom. Physical loneliness. I wish body would be endless. 
In repetitions - this shit comes and covers the come. New comers and SHIT comers. Comers in shit in comers on pathways where shit should be spread. This is a rotting piano made to of teeth.

Inside the head there is a line up of ten thousand funerals. Vicious. Visceral visualisation of bodies. Make finest express the emptiness of frustration neglected. Two chess peaces sit in corners with open arms in unison - you are totally fucked up - are you? If you put, consider that all the surroundings can be portrayed in one step by a simple chess pack chaos. The game does not exist, it’s the match played without a board in a wooden box. Where black and white exported to the surface - the box is plain inside. 

Burned organs, I am on penicillin  Soon cut inside out. Perhaps, then this will reach desired proportion. I am on HOLD. Adjust your expectation. Press redial. Childlabor and pink leaflets. Cars and flat screens. Closed door community and governmental MENTAL positions with hatred for like minded organs sharing gold stars. This is detention centre with safe doors and bills send to one with a bigger bling. Highest bidder glory holes.
Finding the holy.
 
+++

While driving at back seat of a red light car. The devils cab service, talking about slaughtered 18year olds and flashing red numbers on a dashboard. I consider the options of woods and spirits, surgeries and witchcraft. 
Rain covers rods and landing strips. The light of red and green towards white, where time stops. 
We meet, silently, slowly. Shivering skin and hands. 
Sitting by tables with diluted Jesus blood. Through black suits we
P E A K.
I never knew this language





Good Night and God Bless,
Queen of Disorder
Sonia Dietrich

Thursday, October 9, 2014

Forgotten Fingerprints



I am in a box. A box one asked me not to leave or move. Non verbally. Then. Carpet underneath my knees burning bright. Coloured, red. Blue grey hair swirls that scattered them-self over the body and my hands. Today, this day, only bruises are left. Alive.


When through goes back, it's warm. Soft. With underwater sounds and vibrations. Nothing looks the same now. Nothing. Skin is different. Can feel fingertips on my ears. DNA codes. I observed you through pauses and pitch shifts. And so it goes. Fire and Water. 
I walk around the house like an artefacts. Not moving a single item, cleaning around. Collecting dust on my feet. To keep the moment. The vague but powerful memories. To keep you, present. From far Cerberus. Distance. Hands moving rapidly on the fabrics, skin, furniture. Hands freezing. 


Just One Breath 
Dry moth. Sky dark. Closed blinds. Bright sky. You remind me of myself. Sometimes I wish my memory would not destroy most potent moments. As if forbidding me to enjoy. Self. Perhaps it's Jungian. 
***
And then - the universe appears. Scattered. Uncomprehending. Unapproachable. Literal. Impossible. Giving. Possessive. All consuming. The universe has no bias. No degree of self nihilistic tendencies. No time. No morals. No boundaries. No light. No darkness. Pure nothing that creates eternal sum of everything.
 

Then there is a first step. Uncertain. Undertaking. Self controlled. Centred. Exhausting. Impulsive. Searching. Ego focused. Narcissistic. Animalistic. Procreativitly enthusiastic. Hungry. Loving yet destructive. Pure ID. 

Then we bright the last step. Forgiving. Eye opening. Obliterating. Final and concluding. Earth wrecking. Defeating. Violently exhausting. E N D. 
 

And then JUST RUN! Fall and pick self up again. Escape and move on. Continuum. Venomous. Food of the gods. Unbearable undetectable. Comprehensible. All consuming. Expanding and explosive. Fear!!!!!! ...and then there is Y O U and M E …


I stop. 
...
look around
nothing

...







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

Sunday, September 14, 2014

Ode To 27



 

ONE

Fuck 27, fuck the country, fuck the rules, fuck fake hedonism. Fuck state, fuck perspective, I want raw and rotten. Fuck bitchcraft! Fuck political correctness, fuck your gods and your idols. Fuck positive nihilistic tendencies and crap that comes with it. Just FUCK IT! Fuck your boyfriend and girlfriend. Fuck swollen eyes and torn mouths. Fuck blood and fuck come. Fuck walking home at 6am. 8am. Fuck growing up and fuck the critics. Fuck border control and fuck checkpoints. Fuck too intense and fuck too slow. Fuck hard and fuck blond drama. Fuck pills an fuck powder. Fuck gender and fuck liquids that comes with it. Fuck dormeo and fuck sleepwalking. Fuck godparents and fuck culture. Fuck diplomas and fuck job centres. Fuck angst and fuck drama. Fuck prisons and fuck churches. Fuck evasion and fuck nazi regime. Fuck blood types and fuck ethical post-cultural hatred. Fuck glamour and fuck breastpumps. Fuck pictures, portraits, paintings and landscapes. I want to collect 10000000 pictures of vaginal cavities. Model for me! Fuck composition and fuck sharp focus. Fuck tables and fuck beds. Fuck insanity and fuck prescription. Fuck loneliness and fuck strobelights. Streetlights. Fuck open surgery lines and fuck medication denials. Fuck errors and fuck self-assessment. Diaries. Mood charts. Fuck tainted mirrors and fuck bruises. Fuck scars too deep and not deep enough. Fuck castles and fuck dresscode. Fuck fairy dust and fuck nose bleeds. Fuck knowing and fuck ignorance. Fuck Edison and fuck killer war. Fuck skin bleaching and fuck animal slaughter. Fuck violence and fuck ignorance in voting polls. Fuck bleeding once a month. Fuck pregnancy tests and fuck sperm. Fuck waiting in line for tests and fuck receptions. Fuck ignoring past and fuck not acknowledgement present. Fuck puking on white tiles not knowing who is besides you. Fuck neonazi flags and FUCK homophobes. Fuck right-wing child labourers and fuck abortion clinic bombing fanatics. Fuck pope-mobiles and fuck golden thrones. Fuck segregation and fuck radicals. Fuck surveillance and fuck censorship. Fuck woman hating, child abusing, genocide worshipping idiots and their wives.

 


B R E A T H 





Good Night and God Bless,
Queen Of Disorder
Sonia Dietrich

Friday, July 11, 2014

Queen Of Bad Influence

 


My carpet says - happy hour. I think it's a sarcastic remark towards Viktor Pelevin, how grim can we get. All is so posh and polished the anticipation towards the real world keeps all talking in resonance. Cover legs - there is a whore policy. Depending on the moment of voice and buyer/payers rights. All is great! We smile. Shaped in jigsaw puzzle. There is no shame in that, just don't mix pepper with salt. Putting toothpicks under nails and coffin lids. Just to have a peek. Whether the other one is still breathing.


 
Wine and cigarette buts. More possibilities for the fragile and wasted. Oh the game the game the game. Remembering hunt the hunter, kill the killing and consume the unwanted. The taste of tomorrow. We gain the grade like kids in high school who learn where the toilets are. And how to pick chewing gum from the wall so the peepholes would be exposed and exposing. The gentle view. The crucial state. The elimination. We all know how it's done. Twist the bottle, chew the cork.



The mathematical proportion is simple. Talk when you are talked to. Geometrically we are all from the same cloth. Licking the white lines - we are all gods! Unbecoming creatures covers is sweat. Bright and big eyed. Going towards the sparkling pearly gates of Disneyland. Kids and Kings. Speaking hunger and licking thirst. Believing into something that appears from time spent combining cells into organs.


The factors and visions. Safe space under camouflage serpentine. Rather then. Just in case. It's an emergency. Too far off. Wondering in songs and motions. Too communicatively forward brings idealistic tendencies. The slightly twitchy ladies and their pills. Dosed to oblivion. In the leopard coats with no eye movement. I am the Queen Of Bad Influence! Hopeful. Metamorphic resurrections and theme songs. Remastered tendencies. Air is burning, woods have many voices. Perhaps there is a danger tag on the coat I am wearing. But all is good. It shines and sparkles. 


Wooden boxes. Never knew the language.



I Solute You 





Good Night and God Bless,
Queen Of Disorder
Sonia Dietrich