Death Rock doesn’t suck anyway…discovering some inner black emotions. Nargaroth?
July 26, 2008
July 23, 2008
July 21, 2008
Prototypes
of thoughts. In the desert, you’ll find the tossing water of my thoughts trembling. She’s there, she puts her ankles in my mouth, my dog looks so scared that it might have been hurt by the heart of her palms. My dog says it’s so easy to dive into someone’s mouth and extract all his words from there. Outside my teeth…upon the radio there’s only dust and plenty of voices.
July 14, 2008
B(EA)u-reau, Cracy
EA..means SHE (of course, in Romanian).
Bureaucracy…or the dwarf’s hunger. Could you understand it, my child? Dwarf’s hunger is bureaucracy. What do I mean by that? It is the feeling I have when I want to get married with the image of a landscape…the feeling of bureaucracy. A portion of routine is equal to the dwarf’s hunger. I didn’t specify “hobbit”, for hobbits have different means of being small and they attract children more than dwarfs do. Aesthetics? Maybe. Not quite. Dwarf’s fingers suggest his hunger. My fingers filled with marriage gold rings suggest my hunger. And I’m a dwarf, not because I’m small. Because I’m not a hobbit, I’m not Michael Jackson. My hunger is bureaucracy. I would like to be a part of it. I wish I were bureaucracy, looks like all my knees are angry and upset…for I am not bureaucracy, I’m a dwarf who’s hungry. I’m the HUNGER. Am I fine with this? My teacher should answer this question and leave me in the mist of myself, where the windows are small and there’s only one bed.
Goodbye, Vietnam!
July 13, 2008
Why..writing?
Dunno…thers no rizon. Somethings there. What? Dunno. Just wright. Wright until you dy. Heppie or not. Gled or in disdein. Your luck, your ydeia(spelling …”idea”). Rest is West. Oestlicher Reich.
July 4, 2008
A possible text
$ My mother used to interrogate me all the time. She wanted to know the truth when I was a child, she didn’t accept that I was a lier, as most of the children were. Now I am obsessed with truth. My struggle is to know the single Truth, the Absolute one, the One that cannot be discovered unless people tell me what they think. I became a Surreal Poet without any purpose. I love myself as much as I love this obsession. Girls lie to me and I feel upset because I cannot convince them to tell me the Truth. As long as I try to find it, I cannot discover it. That’s a difficult task for me, it’s also the effect of my mother’s unconscious messages! I am obsessed, I don’t know why…my mother! Mother! $
