maandag 18 augustus 2014


No body would dare to move in these parts
fear and clamps, apathy and fire
slaves arm in arm with the queen of flowers of last season's closing show 
Here the clock turns to gossip
No amusement without shy spectators the gesticulating arms spell;
as if every day a new messiah steps down from the platform
Yes here chastity belts are bartered away for a polaroid picture
on which one still hopeful and one already arrogant
and on which the background is pushed out of sight 

No, no body would dare to move in these parts
pleasure looking too sharp for its direction
leaving behind bruises and shivering bodies and sweaty heads
No stove here, only a primus; who is minding the smoke
when blood pulls lips to an orgasm 
and the light no longer is the same for any two eyes 
Here penis holsters do not remain closed
And the one individual who still dares to show up is hissed at get away you, get away
But this one will not listen, whereupon it roars
a warning, a command, only once get out!

And you too get out!

No not Palladina
Palladina with her morals of a nurse and her fly firmly zipped
Though a good girl, she may stay, do her penance and do the dishes
Though a good girl, she has to come, to also look like a corpse, gratis
Oh that one song, I could have heard it all evening, she was an angel!
Yes Palladina will stay
Palladina with her suppurating brains and her snake skin gun holsters 
She can run as fast as her waterheart and her bag full of forms will allow it
But not until later she will sign with the signature
that will finally release her

                                                                 I want from Tiàma that I am being inspired by her
                                                                 That she consciously gives much of her self to this Tear Jerker 
                                                                 On a day to day basis there rarely is anything else than inspiration from friction;
                                                                 I wrangle it out of her
                                                                 And because of my love for her, what I sort of steal I can use in a positive way
                                                                 But that is how you stay on your own

                                                                 Although my love for her is not devoid of selfishness
                                                                 and in fits bleeds empty by the running in the treadmill
                                                                 and so in fits makes use of worn-out expressions
                                                                 I time and again have the power to try to bridge the distances
                                                                 When there are distances 
                                                                 And there can be, some real, some imagined

                                                                 But eventually I come across the fact
                                                                 that she rarely lifts this Fern Grower above the occurrence
                                                                 that through her I rarely get a taste of the unfamiliar 
                                                                 rarely see colors
                                                                 Pleasure, yes
                                                                 Sometimes inventive. Sometimes polished. Always bold

                                                                 And calm moments
                                                                 A wordless mutual understanding
                                                                 An unconscious sense of belonging is what I call it
                                                                 that from the conscious can count on much opposition 

One morning Palladina woke
There is light she would say
say on my hand
And of course there was music
On the headphones
Perhaps like a cry, who knows
There was no one in sight
There will be someone in sight, who knows

                                                                 I often find myself in environments that I thought I had left behind me
                                                                 Among people to whom I time and again accredit an irrefutable necessity
                                                                 Maybe because by identifying I am hoping to be able to forget who I am

                                                                 If I let it get through to me how many individuals I know by name, I start to get dizzy
                                                                 Sometimes I do not understand why I still keep seeing people
                                                                 Somehow I do understand it, but yet I do not understand

                                                                 Every encounter with another person can be like a frontal clash
                                                                 Just when I almost solved the puzzle, a passerby passes by to point at a leftover
                                                                 Although I like to believe that I am an individual who is aware of what her interests are

                                                                 And certainly, as long as my eyes remain dry, happiness is assured
                                                                 Until calm becomes tired and smiling becomes the actuation of the mouth muscles
                                                                 Lately I have received a few compliments

                                                                 in a casual way and with a sidelong glance;
                                                                 that I was turning into a human who is one with the humans
                                                                 Which means I come across as less aggressive, because of the right smile at the right moment 

                                                                 And this is how friction is created, because I smile and take a step, I smile and take
                                                                 another step, I shut my mouth and take another, and another and another
                                                                 until it flashes where do all these steps lead to anyway?

                                                                 I go wrong when the absolute beauty of an occurrence is involved. I mean
                                                                 I immediatly want to be able to establish a link to a science. I mean a system of knowledge
                                                                 So that what occurs ties in with a big meaningful whole

                                                                 And this is also true for the people who I am seeing
                                                                 Because I do not deny that these individuals all have an absolute beauty
                                                                 And that is why they continue to attract this Fluff, even though I want to say goodbye to them

Nothing is taboo suggested the cuckoo
Provided it is playish suggested the fish
And what is playish? asked the tart
Do not ask me answered slowheart

                                                                 I can merge with them, this I have experienced
                                                                 And because I have experienced this
                                                                 I can admit that it does not please this Toe Licker

                                                                 I wanted to go all the way with them, to be them, that is what I wanted, to be them all the way
                                                                 And now that I have experienced that I can be them
                                                                 I must admit that I find it an uninspired mess

                                                                 Belonging did not bring what I had expected. I am allowed to join
                                                                 the big binge, that occasionally tastes, yes sometimes a click of the tongue
                                                                 but if this is all, you can count this Fly Collector out

                                                                 Their existence unrolls in a world
                                                                 where images have to stay two-dimensional
                                                                 And when I am with the clan this is also true for this Smooth Frog

                                                                 That when another dimension is added I have to move a mountain
                                                                 to pull the disgust out of my head
                                                                 When I am with them, it is also true for this Spin Top that above all the spectator counts

                                                                 And not sex. Let alone love
                                                                 Their existence unrolls in a world
                                                                 where it is more important what role you choose than how big your own contribution is

                                                                 When I am with myself, it is true that nothing can stop my compulsion to go below the surface
                                                                 But what do I care for all the tears of others
                                                                 when they flood my own tears?

                                                                 I mean the urge to open doors to you or you —
                                                                 what if I would say that I no longer feel like it?
                                                                 Are they not they, and am I not I? So who am I?

                                                                 Probably someone who I imagine
                                                                 Someone who I imagine with my limited imagination
                                                                 Let me say a mystification. Or an idealization. More likely a fixed idea

                                                                 A fixed idea to which I do not show the remotest resemblance
                                                                 So I depend on the unexpected
                                                                 I mean the unexpected creates surprises

                                                                 Surprises create confusion
                                                                 Confusion causes anxiety
                                                                 Fear has a direct connection to the delicate

                                                                 Everything that does not tolerate the light 
                                                                 Or let me say: everything that you — me that is
                                                                 cannot show in the light of the day. Or dare not show

                                                                 Everything that leaves an invisible trail
                                                                 A trail that is only identifiable at night
                                                                 So night work fits this Afraid Snake;

                                                                 a proper hour and a proper place for the invisible trace
                                                                 That becomes a stinking shit trace
                                                                 if it does not get an occasional boost of fresh air

The next time
when she looks over her shoulder
I want a smile on my face

I have to practice
Actually tonight

Too bad the sun already is emerging
because, naturally, I do need artificial light

                                                                 Countless times the packaging blinded this Restocker
                                                                 But a beautiful flag does not necessarily cover a nice cargo
                                                                 How often was I not confronted with the most unbearable silence?
                                                                 I mean the silence with pretensions

                                                                 When a coming together really has an incontrovertible necessity 
                                                                 dialogue should have the result of creating clarity in one's own mess
                                                                 The unspoken assumptions
                                                                 Possibly also in the ever changing opinions

                                                                 Take any opinion of this Footboard Acrobat. Which comes rolling out of my mouth
                                                                 and I do not have a clue where it originates
                                                                 And because I pronounce it, perhaps I should be the slave of it
                                                                 While most of the time I cannot identify with it at all 

                                                                 I make a distinction between
                                                                 knowing something and having an opinion about something
                                                                 And to know if you know anything, appears to be a lot harder
                                                                 than stating an acceptable opinion

                                                                 In a coming together I am either bored or fascinated
                                                                 Unless there is a tense boredom;
                                                                 this is the treacherous snake in the grass
                                                                 I mean the treacherous snake under the mattress

                                                                 And when this snake stirs its treacherous tail
                                                                 I am completely compulsively confused, disrupted
                                                                 and finally paralyzed
                                                                 And that is what Tiàma does to this Desert Rat

                                                                 She is the snake under my mattress
                                                                 because she is the only one with whom I go so far
                                                                 that I will have an individual memory
                                                                 And when there is an unbridgeable distance

                                                                 these are the memories that seduce this Pepper Nut to stretch my limits
                                                                 Even though I try my best to draw my boundary, my aggression will subside
                                                                 I will again be full of the vague but irrefutable presumption
                                                                 that I am the one who goes wrong wrong wrong, she and the clan those who go good good good

                                                                 I will again be full of the vague but unshakable conviction
                                                                 that no one but she can save this Cucumber Clown 
                                                                 This same Tiàma who gave this Yoyo sleepless nights
                                                                 and cry-parts whose score is yet to be written

                                                                 yes she who is the eddy in an otherwise calm ocean
                                                                 in which I will end up, no matter how I navigate
                                                                 hopelessly trying all swimming strokes that I have at my disposal
                                                                 helplessly shouting with a tear-choked voice

                                                                 this same Tiàma remains the only one who can save this Trio Tripper
                                                                 Although almost never being understood by her
                                                                 she remains in the possession of the hot ear that I want to be heard by
                                                                 the only ear that brings this Coupon Cutter to formulate 

                                                                 So when disgust and understanding eventually break even, during candled evenings 
                                                                 you can see us lying back lazily again in mumbling, giggling, 
                                                                 whispering pillows. And maybe she does again
                                                                 what only Tiàma can: letting my time fly by 

A thirty year old blonde in a stolen chevrolet
The landlord asks politely may I share your bed?
The trees rustle gently, the brook ripples sweetly
The bride shudders secretly at the sight of the crowded cortège

The contract curls in the morning sun
Pearls shimmer, teeth sparkle, blades flash
Me too calls softly a voice. Not you blares shrilly the megaphone
Not you, not you, thàt yes

Calm down you hazy parasite
I do no longer care to show
the flawlessness of my nails

Bury the flowers under the dancefloor
Pairs form merriment. Pairs curse merriment
Bill me and constrain

Pain Pain Pain Pain Pain

On her birthday a blonde in a transatlantic plane
Good bravado, good surprise
Soothing movement to old acquaintances
A lustrum is being celebrated

A chevrolet stands unattended
A gentleman slowly crumbles
A dinner jacket triumphs. What splendor. What glamor
A manteau d'amour with on the corsage a splash of mud

And the hands of the claqueur are turning red, with pain 
Pain Pain Pain Pain

                                                                 You guessed it
                                                                 This Mountain Scratcher has already surrendered
                                                                 Together we party party party again
                                                                 And I am back to hi sugar how are you?
                                                                 and hello sweetie long time no see
                                                                 And kiss kiss kiss and wave wave wave

                                                                 to the other side of the dance floor
                                                                 where no one knows this Pill Pooper
                                                                 but who cares on this side 
                                                                 Everyone is acting the same way
                                                                 because the whole clan is partying and
                                                                 we are going wild wild wild

                                                                 Two weeks I can deliver this
                                                                 Then I go flat like a burst balloon, whereupon she just goes on partying without me
                                                                 whereupon she disappears behind the door that slams behind this Extra
                                                                 in the tone of the play that got so many curtain calls that the stars
                                                                 never came to removing their make-up. Rave reviews set the paper on fire
                                                                 and the flowers wilt before they have been placed in the vase 

                                                                 Of the drama that time and again is staged here 
                                                                 in an ever paling form
                                                                 the script has turned to law, while the casting never is a problem;
                                                                 always a fresh set of players is impatiently waiting
                                                                 Nobody recognizes my desire that the margin for improvisation could be a little wider
                                                                 and so this desire becomes a reason for expulsion

                                                                 In quarantine I recuperate 
                                                                 from the lying mouths that spout
                                                                 from the traitor greetings that blow beside the cheek 
                                                                 from the eyes that swerve to the left and to the right 
                                                                 from the smiles that wear fake jewelry 
                                                                 from the applause that overwhelms without caressing, without fostering

                                                                 And she goes on partying by herself. What I experience as painful 
                                                                 But I also experience it as painful that I experience this as painful 
                                                                 So when I try to formulate this experience 
                                                                 My sentences are knotted before I have said even one word 
                                                                 Because ultimately it is about the experience that I hardly have any knowing left
                                                                 Because I am ignored by Tiàma

                                                                 That I, because I am ignored by her
                                                                 barely exist
                                                                 And this is painful
                                                                 Because even in the circumstance of hardly having any knowing left this Snot Snob, 
                                                                 somehow somewhere still can distinguish that being ignored by her
                                                                 is not the same as being dead

                                                                 And then, when with the extremest effort
                                                                 I have broken loose from this canned state,
                                                                 I cry even harder
                                                                 I have to finally quit that clan, I know now, it is over
                                                                 Also I cry to her I am going to quit you
                                                                 Or I will say it very quietly

                                                                 or exorcise it convincingly, or beg, or whatever tone you can come up with;
                                                                 I have tried it and I will try it again
                                                                 Also I make notes. And plant them
                                                                 in the most diverse places:
                                                                 on the table, between the toothbrushes, with the dirty laundry
                                                                 And never with the desired result 

Just one step away from the paper ideal 
Palladina turns away from the drama,
by now petrified into a tableau vivant 
Smiling tiredly. Anxious
Sneak thoughts make her brows frown
Nothing is revealed

No voodoo recounts of the inconveniences, caused
by the automaton switched to manual mode

                                                                 My infatuation is associated with some list of facts, that I compose in my imagination
                                                                 A list of facts to prove that I am being affected by Tiàma at all levels
                                                                 I make all kinds of things up,
                                                                 exactly what I cannot exactly say

                                                                 And when I find myself in such a completely destructive chaos
                                                                 this list can be a help, as a reference
                                                                 But this list cannot prevent that time and again
                                                                 I vanish in a complete emptiness

                                                                 Two people are connected in an unexplained way 
                                                                 Opposition to this unexplained bond I call the breeding place of emotion
                                                                 Friction arises when she does something that clashes with this connectedness
                                                                 It may as well be something I do

                                                                 So my conclusion is that there is harmony when she-pure communicates with me-pure 
                                                                 And therefore I define emotion as
                                                                 a guiding force that sweeps away acquired certainties
                                                                 and replaces them with a complete emptiness

Palladina is consumed by a harshness
that stands for unfamiliar deep stirrings
the result of which determines the position of the eyelids 

This harshness leads to arrogance
and stems from the good-better-best school

So, born from an all-consuming urge for selfprotection
that generally coincides with overconfidence

                                                                 What holds this clan together is that these are all individuals
                                                                 who have the illusion that they stand on their own
                                                                 That they stand apart
                                                                 They found each other, because each one of them stands apart
                                                                 And now together they stand apart 

                                                                 They have the illusion that they stand apart, because these are all individuals
                                                                 who each have the illusion that they are anti
                                                                 If I do not deny that once I wanted to belong to this clan
                                                                 I must conclude that standing apart attracts this Wack Whirl
                                                                 Or the conclusion is that I have imagined that I wanted to belong

                                                                 Rather it is the clan who chose this Curl Sheep and not I who chose the clan
                                                                 These being individuals on whom I exert an attraction 
                                                                 I could have imagined that I wanted to belong
                                                                 Because I cannot identify with apart or anti
                                                                 So what these individuals see in this Water Tank is a mystery. I do not know

                                                                 What I do know is that this clan works on this Cotton Stick 
                                                                 as an endlessly ingenious network of indirectly mounted mirrors
                                                                 I turn in the glow of those mirrors
                                                                 gazing with a look that is clouded by words. Their incantatory words
                                                                 About my appearance

                                                                 The affirmative comments I do not trust
                                                                 while of the disapproving remarks the echo doubles and doubles
                                                                 As if life is a big test
                                                                 Everything you do bring and everything you do not bring is calculated
                                                                 Over time, the average is calculated

                                                                 Sufficient? Insufficient? Satisfactory?
                                                                 While it is always embarrassing
                                                                 I mean what are the benchmarks against which these calculations are made?
                                                                 Is what is true for many opinions not equally true for many standards —
                                                                 that they are past as soon as they are formulated?

A world full of demons
in the appearance of words
that drill without morality
Bless the lady
who forgot what she heard

Crowds who applaud
scream for more
Mass hysteria on installment
– for board and lodging –
But laughing, always

Monotony by the crackling fire
Delayed visitors trained in the gutter 
Tame sheep. Mope-eyed
but freshly cropped style next year
– measured and miraculously in tune –

Menstruation secrets bulge the white of the eye

Orphans read gothic novels 
Massi massi massi yeah
Spiritual width now!

                                                                 Not being able to grab
                                                                 not being able to grab the words
                                                                 not being able to grab the intention 
                                                                 not realizing what you hear but you hear it
                                                                 A word can linger
                                                                 or a break can linger
                                                                 and the thinking ability gives it a twist

                                                                 A word can evoke a feeling. The sentence around the word
                                                                 should bring that feeling in contact with the thinking ability
                                                                 When it is the sentence that evokes a feeling, the story around that sentence
                                                                 should bring that feeling into contact with the thinking ability
                                                                 When the story no longer functions, ultimately another person is needed
                                                                 to break away from an overwhelming impasse
                                                                 And this is the case with this Ice Lolly, I need another person

                                                                 There are no fairy tales that I do not already know
                                                                 There are no parables left that I have not heard of yet
                                                                 No myth can be digged up that can offer relief
                                                                 No saga. No fable
                                                                 Even famous examples —
                                                                 those medicines of the self-made
                                                                 have no effect on this Idle Star 

                                                                 To bring gained experiences into contact with the thinking ability
                                                                 I need another person, here very close
                                                                 Otherwise they knock this Balloon Blower out; impressions accumulate
                                                                 many impressions that neither touch here nor there
                                                                 No direction sign out of the maze and the ships are burning
                                                                 And then the obvious is not far fetched, that you imagine something complete
                                                                 that no longer can be checked against a breathing occurence

                                                                 You imagine something complete
                                                                 that is absolute in reason and result
                                                                 so that certainty and truth
                                                                 come to lie within the system itself

The silence of Palladina
is not under all circumstances proof of full innerworld

And while the funeral march borrows its last tones from a stranger
sun and moon continue to adhere to a prescribed trajectory

                                                                 How is the interaction between an event
                                                                 and the individual control?

                                                                 When too many impressions have accumulated
                                                                 there will be little individual control

                                                                 Does an individual have an autopilot
                                                                 when there are too many emotional experiences and the thinking ability is defect?

                                                                 Is there an autopilot embedded in every individual
                                                                 who takes control when a major decision has to be made?

                                                                 Or does the occurence make the decision
                                                                 when the labyrinth has become too complete?

                                                                 But what about the individual? Or later, when the individual
                                                                 later is confronted with an action that was taken earlier?

                                                                 What did she undergo then? What does she think now?
                                                                 What is the measure of influence in the present of an experience

                                                                 with which the thinking ability was not able to make contact in the past?
                                                                 And so my questions pile up and up

Under the broken eyes of Palladina the ruin slowly drifts away 
Palladina, the only remaining tourist
The camera at the ready
Her lips a little apart, as to indicate that her nose is blocked —
the dust of a thousand unborn entities slumbers

Should she not be mistaken then she smells – in this here and now – the embryo
Where is it?
Her lips tremble – willing to make a confession
The camera goes off, trigger-happy

The air is heavy, how could it be otherwise? A thunderstorm is brewing. The insects fall silent
Her lips protrude when – as if to drown the approaching footsteps –
the goats utter a plaintive sound
Where do they come from? Where are they going? The road sign has faded;
silent evidence that she is in an old country, with lots of sun —
Palladina recognized herself on the postcard, with a light tan, naturally

As soon as she hears the chuckle she shakes her head. Imperceptibly gradually more violent
Who was here first?
No no. It was over. The letter was clear about that

Amused Tiàma takes off her short sleeved shirt
The drops of sweat catch the last rays of the day and they turn into perishable pearls,
adornments of the purest kind
The way she is standing there — without a doubt a loveable person

The action that follows is short; feathers fly around
The message of the survivors is sent by polaroid
Wireless. No odor and no traces

                                                                 Sometimes when I wake up an image emerges
                                                                 Like this afternoon when I woke up there was this image in my head that my head —
                                                                 the contents of my head —
                                                                 of which I naturally know that it is not flat
                                                                 is flat

                                                                 Sometimes such an image calls to this Slide Dancer, to start making associations
                                                                 And so this afternoon I came to compare the contents of my head to a clock
                                                                 More specifically to the areas between the numbers
                                                                 That my brain lobes can be compared to
                                                                 those interspaces

                                                                 As time passes an invisible hand glides over the lobes
                                                                 In this way, at twelve o'clock noon one lobe is being tapped
                                                                 making it say active
                                                                 From twelve to one, for example. And in the next hour
                                                                 the next lobe

                                                                 When I continued I came across the assumption that —
                                                                 whether I go to sleep early or late 
                                                                 I always sleep through the mornings, because in the lobes that belong to the morning
                                                                 memories are stored corresponding
                                                                 with a certain period of experience

                                                                 Because my thinking ability was defect
                                                                 I have left those experiences to themselves
                                                                 And I anticipated — as my thinking ability is still defect
                                                                 that were I to get in touch with these accumulated impressions now
                                                                 I would die

                                                                 When I continued to make associations came to the assumption
                                                                 that the lobes that are glided over at night are not stained
                                                                 but calm, but mine
                                                                 Making it understandable for this Glitter Talker, why for years now
                                                                 my whole time schedule is shifted

                                                                 These days I would definitely want to turn this around —
                                                                 since I suspect that the twelve o'clock lobe will be active differently
                                                                 when first the eleven o'clock lobe has been active
                                                                 But I anticipated
                                                                 I will not be able to manage this on my own

                                                                 Then I came across the idea that if I had had children
                                                                 maybe it would have gone very differently
                                                                 with the time schedule of this Model Designer
                                                                 But I have no children —

                                                                 Had I had children they would now be six seven
                                                                 Of what importance could I have been to my children?
                                                                 What would I have been able to give my children?
                                                                 I mean was not six seven years ago the period in which I
                                                                 literally and figuratively flew from one occurrence to another?

                                                                 Higher and higher
                                                                 and higher and higher
                                                                 And then —
                                                                 I crashed

Palladina seems a musician,
one who draws his scores with felt tips
The blues he plays staccato
and the photograph of his queen he carries with him in his throat 

Palladina seems an alcoholic with a fat wallet,
one who was born too old
She knows where fashion is being made
and the blues is her trophy too

                                                                 The way I live has been milked to the last drop
                                                                 As a puppet I am being moved from one waste of time to another 
                                                                 I follow the puppet. I register: see I behave funny,
                                                                 see I behave originally, see I behave intelligently, see
                                                                 see I behave sensually, see I behave wisely, see I behave
                                                                 sensitively, see I behave talkative, see I behave insecure,
                                                                 see I behave as if there is no place in this world for this Syrup Dispenser

                                                                 What is my place?
                                                                 Where is my place?

                                                                 I am in a space where I have no space
                                                                 I am, as it were, walled in by a past that leaves me no room for myself
                                                                 I should construct a new past from my old past
                                                                 Let the building that is my past collapse, wall after wall
                                                                 Make a clean sweep
                                                                 Reassess the whole thing 
                                                                 I should come to new conclusions from the debris

                                                                 I should be able to like images
                                                                 without a need for words

Do not do it
that is what Palladina hears
She sighs
She tries
She is shy
she knows
But cry?
eyes do whisper
dear o my

                                                                 Also every so often I have thoughts
                                                                 about how there are always these expectations 
                                                                 that I am productive;
                                                                 transform my actions into products
                                                                 that represent this Steam Tube

                                                                 Time and again this suffocates this Poetess
                                                                 I always have wanted to do things naturally
                                                                 and when you start to make plans
                                                                 the result is that you no longer
                                                                 can jump with what occurs

                                                                 In itself, I have no objection to products
                                                                 I am just suspicious of many intentions 
                                                                 out of which products come into existance
                                                                 When I follow my temperament
                                                                 I do some undirected things

                                                                 The only thing I really want
                                                                 is to acquire experiences
                                                                 that is for this Cabriolet the most tangible form of time
                                                                 To acquire experiences
                                                                 and process those

                                                                 Therefore I need Tiàma
                                                                 because she is the only one
                                                                 with whom I have the experience
                                                                 that I acquire experiences
                                                                 If I define working as

                                                                 being productive by way of forces
                                                                 that are being released when you try to fathom an occurrence
                                                                 then it is not hard to understand
                                                                 that for this Ravine Grinder Tiàma
                                                                 is cutting deep, deep 

                                                                 Hence I cannot be in love with her 
                                                                 without laying on a scale everything she says and everything she does 
                                                                 Hence I cannot be in love with her just because she is who she is
                                                                 and let the connection within a moment
                                                                 determine the form of the communication

                                                                 Or perhaps I cannot be in love like this
                                                                 because it is ingrained in this Question Bank 
                                                                 to put my every grain of trust into someone
                                                                 and if she then throws this trust away
                                                                 my whole existence flies away

                                                                 Possibly this is also the attraction I exert on the clan
                                                                 It would not surprise this Mannequin Decorater if this is ingrained in the whole clan 
                                                                 Not that any of these individuals will ever acknowledge it
                                                                 but I suspect all of them
                                                                 It would explain a lot

Palladina has no hands
Palladina has no teeth
Palladina has no song

Palladina practices linear love
Squared in a mental arithmetic exercise
A trifle with curve fetching effects

Provide a mirror and an eraser
Rub the shadow yellow
Leave the Janus head smoldering

Spin the spin
And mute the volume
Ssssh ssssh ssssh ssssh

Here only a rope ballerina is able to change the interval sign
And then only if she has at least two minutes at her disposal

                                                                 My discontent with the clan is that —
                                                                 if I do what I do
                                                                 there is too much that the others do that I do not do
                                                                 What I do not do what the others do
                                                                 always concerns the rush
                                                                 What distinguishes this Watercolor Brush from the clan is
                                                                 that I cannot get out of my head convincingly

                                                                 The intoxication is what can blur the loss 
                                                                 The lack of a Tiàma
                                                                 If you do not have one
                                                                 or when you have been sold out by one
                                                                 it is the intoxication that can blur
                                                                 that you have no longer any knowing left

                                                                 But it does not work for this Banana Peel
                                                                 And it is not that I have not tried
                                                                 but for this Fun Paria it simply does not work
                                                                 Whatever intoxicant available
                                                                 So sex or music just as well 

                                                                 When I call love happy 
                                                                 are you in love and together
                                                                 When you are in love and are together
                                                                 you do not need to have sex
                                                                 then you love one another
                                                                 When you are in love and are together
                                                                 You do not need to listen to music
                                                                 then you listen to each other
                                                                 When you are in love and on your own
                                                                 I call that love unhappy
                                                                 And then you have sex
                                                                 and listen to music

Palladina cries for tears
Lovely shadow she smiles
In the night she tells Tiàma
Mommy tells me, 'I love you'
she uses no lips in her embrace, no arms
her skin is dark

Palladina cries for tears
She keeps smiling
And she tells Tiàma about her daddy this time
She uses no words,
just a look in her eyes
She wrings her hand in her pocket
and shows Tiàma a coin 
She cannot touch it
And she knows never twice
Oh but it never rings twice
Palladina cries
For tears
Never twice

Painful sorrow she smiles
In the morning she tells Tiàma
My Love tells me
'I'd love you to vomit
on my new carpet,
No signature is expected,
that is a guarantee that you have '

Palladina is sad
She cries

                                                                 About certain things I write easier than I talk
                                                                 A writing tone seems more diffuse than a talking tone
                                                                 A writing tone is equally desperate but is often perceived as less desperate
                                                                 Because there are no eyes, laughing or crying
                                                                 Because there are no blushing cheeks, casting red shadows
                                                                 Because there is no throbbing lust, squeezing the muscles together
                                                                 It is all there, naturally, but often less confusing

Palladina closes the nightbook 
filled with missed opportunities

                                                                 Since all times we walk through deserted streets
                                                                 hand in hand we walk, looking for a bed no one ever slept in
                                                                 Fast we walk, as if we know where to find this bed

                                                                 Pulling her along behind this Power Cork
                                                                 I do not allow her to say anything
                                                                 because I know who she is, better than she knows the self who she is

                                                                 Since all times we walk through deserted streets
                                                                 Outside she and I, there is no one
                                                                 Outside she and I nothing occurs

© mc 1975-2014

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