Monday, December 12, 2011




I can’t experience you except as something I want

As real flesh to be kissed, touched, caressed, licked, fucked, absorbed, needed

You are me in terrible desperation
looking at a clock ticking toward impossibility

existence with her clothes ripped off
naked, crying and wanting to be raped

You are me in a horrible state of lust and need that almost splits the fragile carcass

and drains the life force like a vampire or a black hole or a crazy chick with a razor blade

I can’t say your name without feeling like I have to lie to everybody.

I can’t be in the same country as you without looking into some awful hate and love.

I can’t be anything that isn’t you or think of you without thinking everything

We have already died together and my flesh won’t allow me to tell the lies that keep me sane.

I can’t be on this earth casually with you and I can’t live with what we really are and aren’t.

I can’t be anything without pressing my mouth to yours and breathing you until neither of us exists

There is no more room for pretending

We have already died together

Thursday, December 8, 2011

Abwärts wend ich mich zu der heiligen, unaussprechlichen, geheimnißvollen Nacht. Fernab liegt die Welt - in eine tiefe Gruft versenkt - wüst und einsam ist ihre Stelle. In den Sayten der Brust weht tiefe Wehmuth. In Thautropfen will ich hinuntersinken und mit der Asche mich vermischen. - Fernen der Erinnerung, Wünsche der Jugend, der Kindheit Träume, des ganzen langen Lebens kurze Freuden und vergebliche Hoffnungen kommen in grauen Kleidern, wie Abendnebel nach der Sonne Untergang. In andern Räumen schlug die lustigen Gezelte das Licht auf. Sollte es nie zu seinen Kindern wiederkommen, die mit der Unschuld Glauben seiner harren?

Aside I turn to the holy, unspeakable, mysterious Night. Afar lies the world -- sunk in a deep grave -- waste and lonely is its place. In the chords of the bosom blows a deep sadness. I am ready to sink away in drops of dew, and mingle with the ashes. -- The distances of memory, the wishes of youth, the dreams of childhood, the brief joys and vain hopes of a whole long life, arise in gray garments, like an evening vapor after the sunset. In other regions the light has pitched its joyous tents. What if it should never return to its children, who wait for it with the faith of innocence?