onsdag den 22. april 2020
I am drowning in too much. Too much time, silence, trips to the fridge) . I miss beauty and rarity and those things you only got once, but that you did at least get. Like, holding someone's hand nervously, softly as the light is dimming and tomorrow will leave it mostly forgotten, but it will have fed your skin
our skin has many gaping little mouths, like naked baby birds, hungry
and pushed you forward just a bit, among the changing.
our skin has many gaping little mouths, like naked baby birds, hungry
and pushed you forward just a bit, among the changing.
torsdag den 2. april 2020
søndag den 29. marts 2020
lørdag den 28. marts 2020
Death - Who Art Thou?
 |
| Gustav Klimt, Tod und Leben, 1910/1915 |
My hollow-eyed love, grinning eagerly, bony, not-beautiful.
Mememto Mori
At All Costs: Bring me his Head on a Platter
He summoned to his presence a thousand hale and light-hearted friends
...an Allegory for Destructive Relationships
-> Monet
The Necrophiliac
"The most beautiful book I ever read."
"The most beautiful book I ever read."
...as Active Contemporary Force in Late Capitalism
-> Ophelia
The Journey with no Return.
fredag den 6. marts 2020
Wet Fur
Friendship wears a wolfish grin, exclaiming loudly that you're worthy, pretty, tasty morsel of feels-like-family. Friendship offers you a close embrace and draws you all the way inside itself, stroking, brushing, pulling, prodding, smelling your scent of the sea, mouth running wet with comfort. "You have a space here, little nest, good place to rest." Friendship is stronger than it looks, and it gives and takes of secrets shared like currency, expected to perish soon anyway - butterflies and pixiegold, shimmering, almost-painful. Don't you give your gold away, little girl. Shouldn't you be careful?
But friendship is domestic. It licks itself clean at least once a day. So you scratch it behind its ears while it talks for hours on end about its exploits, all its affairs of the heart and hard-ons, its thoughts and dreams. Warm and furry and full of love, friendship feels, lying at your feet, snoring by its own fire.
And it is only later friendship eats you, seasoned with all types of salt (sweat, sperm and tears), that you feel silly because you thought yourself anything other than flesh.
But friendship is domestic. It licks itself clean at least once a day. So you scratch it behind its ears while it talks for hours on end about its exploits, all its affairs of the heart and hard-ons, its thoughts and dreams. Warm and furry and full of love, friendship feels, lying at your feet, snoring by its own fire.
And it is only later friendship eats you, seasoned with all types of salt (sweat, sperm and tears), that you feel silly because you thought yourself anything other than flesh.
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