Hi – ho, friends and then it finally starts and we will hear from each other again. Today I want to say, I drink a little water and that’s my tact One, two three, one two three I drink a little water
and sing a foreign song I mean I know it even barely wind changes
Wind changes and a thousand and one million flags go up from not even despicable fear.
Wind change and I still do not have a flag maybe out of fear that I’ll hang it one day in the wind Now everybody wants to see you, now everybody wants to meet you, he’s just kid Now everybody wants to see you, now everybody wants to meet you,
he’s just kind child of evil kid of sophisticated HATE A gray river. Sluggish. The sky is gray, with smoke in it. I had a harpoon, a long black metal with a sharp barb. With that I pushed into the water and pierced dead, cold fish, which I ate immediately. I was old, my hair was dirty gray with white streaks, and my ruffled hairstyle was as ridiculous as the bacon captain’s cap I wore. The fish I ate had no taste. I only felt his coldness. I was on a barge, a barge with peeling paint. Speaking of color, it was all black and white anyway. On this fucked up, small, shabby wooden thing I drove with the flow under a concrete bridge. The bridge was old and brittle.
Under the bridge came a dead whale. The huge, bloated body swam quickly against the current. The whale was lying on its back in the water. On his stomach was a shiny black seal. She moved, but I knew that she too was dead. When I looked closely at her, she raised her head and waved tired at the fin. Then the dream was over. Men, sea urchins, wheels, she says. Men, sea urchins, wheels, again, sobbing; wet, as if she had just wiped tears from her eyes Absurd series, no logic, I’m not saying it. I also do not shove my cock between the pitying pouty lips I let it get stuck words and cock Drin Closed mouth and pants I understand again not a word. Abraded moderately cynical Vomit puked spit on the shoes of your buddies No Flemish farmers no Swahili and no hallucinations Only truth memories 1: 1 hectic
recurring fast Repeatedly abraded moderately cynical vomited puked spit
foreign shoes always foreign stranger foreign abraded foreign moderately foreign cynical alien vomited
I run up the stairs to where do I want what I want now something you your ass your tits your pussy your mouth and your thoughts what you mean what you think you feel with you dissolve I keep getting in honey forever
Do it as well as I, casually more than we expect!
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!