perverse repetition

I dream of smells, bright colors. banging noises, bits of music, body parts, chunks of time, borrowed past lives, overlapped. So disgustingly overlapped. I wake up and the saddest bits of them all are real.

SEWN IN AN ANIMAL’S BELLY

‘We must discover some sort of death, whereby this maiden may be endure long-term and bitter torment; so let us kill this ass and afterwards cut open its belly, and after removing the inwards, shut up the girls inside in such a way that only the head be left outside (this to prevent her being entirely suffocated) while the rest of her body be hid within the carcass.

Then, when this has been sewn up, let us expose them both to the vultures – a strange meal prepared in a new and strange manner. Now just consider the nature of this torture, I beg you. To begin with, a living woman will be shut in a dead ass; then by reason of the heat of the sun will she be roasted within its belly; further, she will be tormented with mortal hunger, yet entirely unable to destroy herself . Yet other features of her agony, both from the stench of the dead body as it rots, and the swarm of writhing worms, I say of. Lastly, the vultures that feed on the carcass will rend in pieces the living woman at the same time.’

come back,
and tell me who you are

I used to visit you in dreams, at will. We would make love under the sun. And then we would slit each others throats at once when awake.  Now i dream of both. Dig and bury. Semen and Blood. 

life is too short to try to become someone else.

And I just am what ever I am at the time.

Nothing about this dead could be measured by a common standard, and the contradictory impulses overtaking me in this circumstance neutralized one another, leaving me blind and, as it were, very remote from anything I touched, in a world where gestures have no carrying power, like voices in a space that is absolutely soundless.

what ever went away..

"you have been dead for so long...

wonder what keeps you standing.

still now. standing.

proudly. arrogant.

ever so empty."

                                31 March 2009

.. when I met you, you were all broken, not many could tell
it wasn't easy to see,

you tried breaking the walls I had built around myself,
perhaps testing if you could in the end come out from the ones you were then building...

I remember having thought that you had been so hurt that you had to build yourself an actual armor...
is kinda funny it was me the one helping making it..
at it was so tiring and in a way painful

it was in a time when there was nothing left of my own walls,
and I was so exposed to my pain it was difficult to stay standing..

but everybody looked just like their reflections..

"and so here I am
talking in a empty room
listening to my own voices
their echoes

inside this nothingness, the silence

many lifes have been left behind
and I've been left modeling the shape of my memories

you were always a better person
...before you got lost in darkness

in any case. I'm this container. of you. and all your faces.
let me dig a little deeper. i almost find you.

and sometimes i wonder if I'm digging to rescue or to bury you inside my many journeys
the real and the remembered ones

what will be left of me if you dissapear?
if there is no memory, emotions is what will be left.. perhaps
is that how I ended up being so full of them?

how did i get here, this empty room
will I be able to understand?
no-one to ask ... only this voices, the echos

and when it all will be finally gone

I will make you with my bare hands

out side
I guess I will always be a stranger"

                                           28 March 2009

Visible-Invisible

Screen-print on magazine

Remember when we used to play?

Bang Bang, screen-print on magazine


I hit the ground, (detail) screen-print on magazine


Horses made of stick, screen-print on magazine


that awful sound, Bang Bang... after Richter

visible and invisible

“Absolutely visible body, in one sense, I know very well what it is to be looked over by someone else from head to toe. I know what it is to be spied from behind, watched over the shoulder, caught off guard when I least expect it. I know what it is to be naked. And yet this same body, which is so visible, is also withdrawn, captured by a kind of invisibility from which I can never really detach it. This skull, the back of my skull, I can feel it, with my finger. But see it? Never. This back, which I can feel leaning, against the pressures of the matters, against the couch when I am lying down, and which I might catch but only by the ruse of the mirror. And what is this shoulder, whose movements and positions I know nothing with precision, but that I will never be able to see without dreadfully contorting myself? The body-phantom that only appears in the mirage of the mirror, and then only in fragmentary fashion- do I really need genies and fairies, and death and the soul, in order to be, at the same time both visible and invisible? ”


‘Le corps utopique’ translated by Lucia Allais in consultation with Caroline A. Jones and Arnold Davidson from Michel Foucault, Utopies and Heterotopies, a CD release of two 1966 radio broadcasts published in 2004 by the Institut National d’Audiovisuel, Paris.

one, two, three ... press the button and is over

dog love

"At times at the end of the season, when the tourist leave Calella, howls could be heard coming from the woods. They were the outcries of the dogs fastened to the trees.

The tourist used the dogs to cure solitude, during vacations; and then, when the time to leave came, they would tie them up inside the woods, so they can't follow them." EG

thanks katja, for the pictures and the love

hell is other people

Self consciousness needs "the Other" to prove (display) its own existence. It has a "masochistic desire" to be limited by the reflective consciousness of another subject.


and that is what you see in me. your echoes, your reflections.

there was nothing left of her but her voice.

victim and tyrant.

bilder lügen bis sich die balken biegen vor lauter schutt und asche. ein guter fotograf ein bisschen bearbeitet ein bisschen von der seite gucken den mund leicht nach vorn verziehen und fertig ist was man gern sehen will. hier ist die ungeschminkte unbearbeitete und vollkommen ungestellte wahrheit....man ist was man ist, oder so?

American Romantic Movement

Yet, mad am I not -- and very surely do I not dream. But tomorrow I die, and today I would burden my soul.

somethings last a long time..

..somethings last for ever

sanity