Strange knocking sounds from the basement storage room Sunday morning and he remembered nothing. It ran a river through him. Dark and deep. In the mirror, he got his nod of recognition and acceptance, but something wasn't quite in sync - something he couldn't grasp, yet somehow sense.
ENCRYPTING YOU
Tidal thoughts. Cloacal kisses, bombs, cannons and bells. A rude exit and a warning. A half-eaten genitalia rots in the sun. Ants, worms, ticks and lice. Tidal mind absorbs everything. A coating of unavailability colours sanity pale and washed out. Unreal, but effective. Encrypted. You distorted. I tear and drag your antenna and you murmur. You buy time with tears and patience. And it takes a lifetime to get to know oneself. Uncertainty, joy and excitement is monotone major hiccups with the outbreak of carnival sounds. Implication, clarification and confusion. Expectations and complications. A relationship with a bouncing ball with eyelashes and a crack. Tried to steal the spark of sun I seek, said it belonged to a stowaway.
BEEP BEEP BEEP
Destination. Association. Inspiration. Disorientation - scouting inwards. Distance and distraction. Life is dedication and the immense desire for a busy London of your hollow skull. They believe I spend all day sunbathing my hairy holes, but the truth is that I'm sitting in the basement with my legs crossed. Sharpen my knives and polish my guns, oh well symbolically, indeed. Waiting for signals to the GPS of my mind's snow-melting sorrow. Dreaming of menstruating hearts and falling skies, because without the clichés, I have nothing to live for.
PASSIONATE ZOMBIE-LIKE AND HUNGRY
Our quest for meaning and a sense of community connected by something deeper than sarcasms, superficial imagination and permanent boundaries. The flickering light in my eyes as I run through a forest alone. Viewing glimpses of owls flapping noiselessly and passing me by in the moonlight, like flickering ghost of a lost past of terror-like trauma and tranquillity. My breath, my heart, filling the silent forest. Ooooh, this is not an exercise, but desperation. Escape from myself, it's still working. It is time for the duel in the dust. Sunrise in a series of stars. All these unborn revelations. The force of my thoughts, a part of nature, dazzling adjustments on the run. I should never have given myself passionately to someone other than my inner owl. Orgasm. God. Lizard-face. Navaho. Alter grind. Everything is everything and we are all part of everything. Frog, frog. The dreams are all true. And life is a dream. Passionate zombie-like. I close my eyes and I close my ears, confine myself with lies about perfection. Unconditional love is just nice words on paper. Leather Holy and error-free from birth with a fictional life. Passionate zombie-like. How do I get my inner owl out hunting rodents?
I REMEMBER THE SMILING WORLD'S WOMB
I remember everything, all the sensations, evolutionary emotions, the wet, blonde hair, acrobatics from the ceiling, gasping windows, fragrances inside / outside, thoughts that floated and swam around in its own right, immediacy of the moment, the feeling of giving hell and bet all - magic, and sensitivity, as it was the first time it happened, the realization that there may be something new, something deeper, like I was a novice of another dimension, a new life, level two, violets in mind, disappearing, a playground for adults, a borderland between the two sexes, a universe of details, the slow and gentle, she said, the smiling world's womb, I remembered everything.
WHEN YOU TAKE YOURSELF FOR GRANTED
Croak, croak, nodding to life itself like a Teal,
croak, croak, all the bad memories go away,
when you take yourself out on the fan. Charmingly mad. Adders Eyes.
I took myself as poison and a garden-fairy brought me,
the foxglove, we lay illuminating in silence and saw ourselves,
disappear like an eternal memory, and time, the rotating spiralling pin within - of the very odyssey of life, curtsied to me. For the beauty of this country is that people who are nothing at all think they are.
A GREAT BIG BURGLAR ALARM INSIDE
I heard the painful sound of her shoes through the telephone and I felt like asphalt covered by tiny, effective nerves. I thought of hail on a window pane in a universe of intense, loud and empty echo. Unbearable crescendo of nothing at all. The suspicion that everything repeats itself and happiness, mating peculiarities and content persecute me.
I skip a burning hole of bitterness, then run zigzag between the rolling stones and blazing, red lightning bolts that rotates around my lemon-like life. Shivering grief of what comes next. It's been a thousand burglar alarms gone off inside me. And it never ends.
I heard the horrible click-clack of her shoes, but could no longer see her in my mind. It was as if she were a ghost now.
NEVER GOING BACK TO SPILDERHAUGVIGÅ
A strangling maelstrom of never-ending kisses, circular saw, meat grinder, safety fences. I can deal with multiple crises at once, but happiness is not one of them. The harvester of thoughts, waving to us all. It's with love like honesty, when it hits, it's so much that you become dizzy, nauseous, wanna take a shit in a bed of flowers. Waving besserwisser, baby, a straw of fascinating and troublesome desire, all or nothing, I'll never go back to Spilderhaugvigå, alive. Alive!
WHAT ABOUT SKELETONS
Wherever you are, you can get up. A dream for the future frog, every morning. Wherever you are, you can look up, and hope that someone looks down. Go for a stroll with your brand new turtle. There is something beautiful whatever meets your eyes and something really horrible to even it out. A dream of a stranger's future, every moment, it's after a full day and a whole night without people, apart from yourself, floating in mirrors, as fully as through a sea of fog. When the light goes out, you are at rest. No past, no guilt or skeletons in the septic tank. Can you see your thoughts? See them like diving Killer Whales in a swimming pool between the future and the past. Outside of yourself just go by. Far away from yourself under the pink clouds. Umbrellas disgust me - because I must be in love with raindrops (on my tongue). And the one who has both feet on the ground is the fencepost of oblivion. A yoga position from hell. It's the same where you are, I have no patience for anything other than inspiration.
EVIL MANKIND FROM OUTER SPACE
I've gone astray in Pride & Prejudice, as well as dreaming that I was Dorian Gray. Suppress or extend me. An evolution between us. I can stand everything in my secret place, as long as I am your hub. The art of black painting us all is forgotten long ago. Long may you run with the herds of Mayhem. The value of the minor's so clear to me. I am astray without daring everything I see. Blood on the teeth and under the nails. A detour to the abyss. People can not just die each time I entrust myself to them? Or whatever, spokesman of the suppressed turned to me, gave me the finger. I've gone astray..
AN ALLEGED EXORCISM
The dying angel and the body's useless fluid that seeps out, life itself seems immaterial, as the evil language endorsing the Blue Cross under the skin, hoping to crack, crater of death, the devil in a rotten stove linked to a soulless spiral of poor experiences and enormous loss, when you live in the memories of slag and drowning of folly and useless, bad conscience. Between inspiration and ambition, it makes my human weeping shell crack, but our strength is still our tremendous doubts. And our ammunition towards the dark past. The loved ones who never made it. How you wish you could've died instead of him or her. In the long run all is good, in some way, determined by the value of your actions. Life itself just is. Sebastian could have been everything he wanted to be, yet he vanished just like a stranger, became the martyr of my dreams.
WAKE UP AND DANCE!
Woke up without direction and a view across.
In vain, attempts at transformation - of indifference
which is actually disguised despair, keeps me alive and kicking,
and what does it mean, to host a ghost, I do not know any more, it is
nothing to strive for, without it, I walk two steps behind myself:
Breathe the man I that I call myself in the neck and cry kitty, kitty. No where to be found.
PERSPECTIVE, PERSPECTIVE
Hideous hindsight. All the good times I used up on
something I thought was worthless. Sing to me.
But that's what was most important. Sing me to sleep.
And I can never undo the pain that made me whole,
built me up again when I was in bits. Every morning now,
every wakening second.
I ENCOURAGE FUCKING FANTASTIC BREAKFASTS IN THE PARK
I went into a store and out on the street. A blue flower in her hair. Botanical machinery in the air. Flickering on a screen. They should fry him at the stake as a pig, she said, the angry lady. Oh, Sarajevo, Sarajevo, you have so much to answer for. Every damned dead person is still alive!
I went into an eternally empty park. Listened to Rick James even though my ipod was turned off. It felt so good to be on a romantic picnic with the Field fares and all my body-electronic lifelines spread out like molecules into the very air. I can deal with multiple crises at once, and happiness is certainly one of them. I may cry, but deep inside there's an ever-glowing core of wild euphoria.
A DRESS FOR ALL OCCASIONS
Blue-grey, pale, an inner meadow of carnations
fight with each other, cutting up clothes, is grey, withered and pale. I cheer for the dead.
Her boyfriend is dead. I cheer for the dead.
Winy flower petals, death, flirtatious glances,
beyond, below, where we live, make your life colourful
and valuable. I don't need proof any more. We must all hold hands.
EXPLODE THE ROCKS AND STONES UNDER WATER
Poet and prostitute. Jellyfish. Turn the rocks and stones under water into sand. We can change - if we want to, but we do not know to what. Chameleon Woman. Lizard. Alien. Emotive. It's a lie. Everything is closed to you. Cancer Woman. People are so quick to forgive. A hate-thing. We are all cursed, and blessed – the minute we were born. The human lobster. I can not enter to. Chameleon Woman. Lizard-Lady. Alien-Babe. Emotions. Captured. Stolen. Starfish. Break-in. Jellyfish. And the worst thing about being raped, is the guy out there in the living room fumbling with the guitar-intro to Nothing Else Matters ...
A PLACE WHERE ONLY WE EXIST – AT NIGHT - OUT OF TIME
I can memorize your topography in the dark, we soar over the waves in the sun that melts the morning dew on your blazing rocks, I look straight into you, absorbed like an insect in the flash light of the devil. Yet an explosion of enthusiasm and optimism, shared by the chocolate pieces of an eternal beginning of the erotic whirlwind-girl, finally, when everything begins again. A universe between us, an extra-terrestrial dimension to the meaning of life. A perpetual holiday where only we exists and nothing ever really happens, just is. What is what, the perfect? This is it. I wish. This is it. Do you think that consciousness has a crust that is woven in with these fossilized memories? As we sailed through the wave valleys and the over the wave tops like Storm Petrels through the night - around the world in half a year. But everything is so true and untrue at the same time with you.
TRUSTWORTHY
A life on the run / from the first impression / of myself. Disappeared into the moment and was born again / and new / and new / anew / ever anew. It is more difficult than one would think, to be rich and pretend you are poor. It's like carrying around a head of lead when you do not dare to trust anyone and doubt yourself / and all the editions of yourself. Completely / Blurred / Beautiful.
YOU ARE THE RIVER
The authorities should not put a stop to us. You are the river and I am the river into forever now, ever-lasting. There are mountains under the sea. Wild and kind. Wisdom in a drop of water. Everything in a new light. Clarity's path's threshold. The road is a river of rainbows. The days are river of orchids when you are here, but I wish I was less like a ghost and more like a man. Anyway, we'll make it, if only we could settle behind the same doors of our ocean shores, our melting selves. No more small-talk with the authorities.
INTERNAL HINDS
A touch, a string, a thought. Average
that does not exist. A pen, a friend, a guitar, a kick.
A brush, a stroke, one vote. The walls of my mind
and the head that no one can relieve. Halfway here, halfway there. Hope and faith - evaporate, to disappear. The heavy boots of a bent posture, everything and everyone live through me with a new garment of life. Average is not an option any more.
SO SLOWLY THE SLIME OF YOUR EYES BECOMES GALVANIZED STARDUST
Gaze into the darkness and see an invisible sun staring back. Come meet me.
Gaze into the darkness and catch a glimpse of yourself sitting on a chair. Release me.
How does it feel to paste the obituary in the diary. I look past them, they are almost as glossy pictures of me.
ENTHUSIASTIC FIREWORKS OF YET ANOTHER EVERLASTING EMBRACE
A thousand faces in a face. Molecules spin around in ecstasy seemingly aimlessly. Something is about to happen. A notice sensed somewhere in the air as the sensation of some invisible droplets far up there finds its heavenly target. I'm waiting for the earth to open up a smile and send out my tongue to say; howdy, you midnight cowboy. Empathy goes through the express-way of an embrace. But there must be something we do not know. A thread that keeps us close regardless of distance – perhaps we've all been here before.
WE ACTUALLY LIVE IN A SOCIETY
The truth is not always so spectacular. The heart is a cow. Change history. A creative deluge. Do we need disasters? Face to face with the options. A thousand points of views like waves under the invisible gridlock. Life-Changing fuss. Passion and madness. Glimpses of your real self, always hiding behind the dream of a breakthrough, reach out and get yourself hooked on reality. But we lie down, stretch out towards the light and fall asleep alone, morally retarded.
A LIFE-TIME SENTENCE IN THE K-HOLE
There was a man walking through the streets, and it looked like an invisible and elusive wind took hold of him from all sides, as if he were a bundle of twigs and leaves. The whirlwind inside of him increased as we stared at him.
Hanging priests in the big maple trees. Dangling like a pendulum wall clock. Twelve candles in a circle, flying upside down, created out of pure self-gratification and high opinions. Angels revenge. To be somebody's home, a cork when life is a chore. Snore. Snore. The human butterfly effect. Flap, flap behind your eyes. All revelations start with yourself and a bad idea. Be confident to whatever you mind. Cutting explosive revelation of unbridled enthusiasm and transparency.
