it is as dictionary, or my word for it ….I think in images without words all day; I am a broken wagon wheel. and rip van Winkle. and so glad of the wind to disguise when, without warning, I start to cry and as I walk trying to stop the sudden gush of it, I desperately hope that nobody comes along and sees
where do memories go when you die?
….they must go somewhere
As I start to hear the music Jörn composes, how it has begun to come to me in soprano like seagulls wailing and tenors of vocalized lines from Norse mythological sagas
when suddenly I get an urge and I want to hurl myself off a bridge
this place of the celf ….do I forfeit ….so it comes to my awareness and so…. you see, it has always been a part of me; this dictionary …. this fortress….
even as I know the answer I ask —so do I move forward?
….I get sick with fear and vertigo
it is not for them to take apart
so what am I doing —what am I doing? there will be no where to go if ….I share the dictionary; no where to go, no other place to run for cover, no where left within —and no one….no one, at all
but what was it for, anyway?
but
—whose terms? The double edged sword,
only but no, nothing is worth my soul; it is not a product ….is a nom de plume enough, I wonder, and my identity, my face? give them electra?and for someone else ….perhaps it is too much
Je suis sûr que tu étais brillant. & je penserai à toi demain à 13h30. naturellement! comment supporter cette injustice ? il ne doit pas en être ainsi !
celui avec les yeux de vampire ; avec leur beauté féroce et sauvage
