Without a big preface:
From coffee, coffee, cigarettes and shit and scared and pain
and lust I insist, said the poet. There is not much left
path; just scared and scared and in pain. And maybe the
Anger, I almost forgot. But only because I think
that the anger is only there because of shit and scare and pain.
Then I’m perfect. Perfect enough for me and this world anyway.
The singing frogs are among the few that Aaron has not yet killed enough. He is not lacking in practice.
Burning produces smoke that does not smell like tobacco and thus risk.
So he takes the poet’s torso, his guts and extremities, the head, the poem and all the leftovers, crushing them into pulps and then carefully handing them into the loo.
Because you can shit. That is allowed. They know that.
There is something in the ear with “Merry Christmas!” Christmas Eve, then, with a dead poet in the pipe.
Aaron knew it was the spider’s voice, out of the hexagonal glass case of her body, glowing, full of brightly flickering monitors and green demons. To which one can reach only over bridges, whose entrance is very dangerous.
Indiscriminately using the voice of a little demon in green the spider wished Merry Christmas.
And the poet had no voice today.
Actually a tough guy. Totally disengaged and self-pitying. Pathetic?
No, honestly. He can not help it if he can not do it better.
And Aaron could not help it, WHERE the poet did it again and again.
Because he did that in his last space, Aaron had to kill the poet again and again.
He was friendly and easy to dispose of. As far as his body was concerned.
These cursed, sweaty shreds of thought, but all too often stuck in Aaron for days. Like rising fever.
One more reason to kill the poet faster next time. Even before he came to open his mouth.
With this intent Aaron got down one.
Christmas mix and better than nothing.
Ladies and gentleman, after this little advertising insert follows now
Continuation of the incredibly witty and interesting conversations between a dumb asshole and the Dalai, who out of sheer philanthropy is nothing too bad!
Sponsored by Mager-Schmalz, the vital drink for every morning without worries!
OK? Alright, good hearts? I thought so. Then clean, but very casual!
We, good hearts, all know what we have to do over and over, and if we forget, we’ll read it here
And then … we do it – do it – do it!