a box

when you wake up too long or too early you might get stuck inside maps that lack the discrete expression of scale, distance and direction of the landscape. my eyes despise them because they are not derived from dreams. they represent the worst trick the reality can play upon you. i stumble and watch the zeros side by side. maybe i will never be able to return. i do not know. but, all in all, what is so knew about that?

::: the flames that kiss :::

nerf de la guerre

run: the war has just began. the air hates the water. days go by. you get used to it. this is the real war, not the rush you feel in the beginning. they still march, they still sing their songs about death. the streets are metal with propaganda. day by day i drink their poison. my hands want to kill, my brain is a radio. there are no days anymore, just a long monotonous night full of fear. the tower will fall. i know it, i believe the cold sweat on my back.

::: c'est accablant troublant ce ne sont pas des balles a blanc :::

dreams never end

tell me, tell me about the toxic blood ... an adventure history will never recognize. tell me about the screams behind shadows, the night when they attacked ... we know we should be united for that unique death of time called revolution. what else to do when fear is just another name for day? what else to fear when the day rhymes coldness, rust and agony? there must be some escape from these cold, angry, dead days. there must be some kind of unity beyond stereo sounds, some constantly vanisihing idea. some kind of tower in bolingen. there must be a place where angels descend to humans. we will find our revolution there. but will it be a fortress or a prison?

::: there’s no escape so few in fear give in a changing value :::

reiteration of the landscape

the cowboy is the shadow cast on the horizon. the hand is weak, oh so weak. yet another painting, yet another night. the land is cruel, it will take your life: an eternal rewind of time. what you said, what she said. it's just the conformity of landscape that brings me down, she sighed. i wish i was a flux of some kind that would break its marble lethargy. you are hostile and fragile like a crystal palace. drums in the background. you have to live through all this once again ---- it understands your inner evil and repeats it. -----the beauty of being a nomad without a landscape. --------ich bin unschuldig.

::: attendance :::

future passive

let's erase the dead. what the fuck do you think you are doing? thanks but no! exclamation mark and you are finished; torn apart. but i understand. you are a woman of wealth and taste. you stole many a man’s soul and faith. you never go too far, you perhaps do not move at all. you are an unfinished winter. a knife in progress. a would-be sinner. a perfect emptiness. /// a man walks past his shadow. the question is obvious. no one asks it though. some consider it wise. however, the others think that there will never be free tibet without free china. /// god, put down your gun, can't you see we're dead god, put down your hand we're not listening god, put down your gun, can't you see we're dead i said, god put down your hand we're not listening

::: this nightmare of electricity :::

next evil

heat/blasts - the town dissipates. they no longer live there. they no longer live anywhere. their life is a work of constant separation. we watch their fall with the same distance in our eyes. incapable to see their horizon. drum guitar drum drum. the same old story. /// my nation moves in a circle. we do not speak any language and our culture is dying away. the villages are full of fallen men and unborn sons. the pockets of time are empty. /// its heart is an empty house no one will ever visit again. /// so raise the torch and create the last pattern.

::: stores you in life :::

unity

the day is full of pain; notoriously. but you, you drink the white blood of the night. one eye will never catch the other. this wild atmosphere of vanishing coolness. bite my heart, steal my soul. unify my west with your east. because this is the last escape, the days are counted and the road slowly dies away. the end is big and hungry ...

::: if i don’t get some shelter ... i’m gonna fade away :::