get your freak on, get the freak out
sidewalks are crawling with words spoken
in the coded language of longing and lust
modern life welcomes us to lend an ear
to those mumblings, whispers and shouts
so why not crack open a window
and leave your headphones home for once
there surely is hope
(but not that one with mandatory bedside prayers,
ashamed confessions and golden crosses)
some sort of ancient wisdom to suck out
of those confusing and scattered phrases
word is on the street, people
so let’s get out of the house
punish yourself
when the cold november breeze finally drives all the mosquitoes away
when kids like to pretend that they’re smoking
blowing their winter breath in each other’s noses
i will kneel down every morning on the pavement in front my house
dive my hands under a pile of snow and count to ten
and think so strongly of you that my skull will feel too small for my head
this will serve as my self-punishment for not answering your late-night call
months ago...years ago...centuries ago
accidents happen
the bloody feathers stuck to the kitchen window all afternoon
everyone in the family noticed the mess
but no one dared to make a move to wash it off
around dinnertime, the mother got pressured by the disgusted kids :
”ok, ok, i’ll do it soon”, she promised.
when she finally came to it, water wasn’t enough . . .
“death is a tough thing to erase”
she said in the lowest tone of voice they ever heard from her
something was serious from the look of her face
her body was here but her eyes lost in space
“death came to us”, she said in a whisper
“i cooked the bird for dinner, who now will say grace ?”
who nose
i wiped my muddy feet on your welcome mat
your nose was so long that i could hang my hat
was it from all the lies you told as a child ?
was it from some kind of genetic issue,
do long noses go way back in your family ?
...then your family tree must have noses for branches : monkeys can play on it, sloths can sleep on their
soft skin, businessmen can hang themselves on it,
squirrels can hide their little nuts in the comfy hairy nostrils for the winter.
what a convenient and peculiar tree that must be !
but enough about your big nose, it's good to see you again!
same old, same new
if work reveals the best of yourself
how do you explain that i stare uninspired
at the concrete world from my office window for half the time
us cubicled people take life so seriously
i get especially frightened by those who are only young on the outside
who cold-bloodedly decided in all consciousness not to use the advantage of their age
i polish my shoes with my spit and aim my sneeze at my white-collar
the snot then dries up and rubs against my two-day beard
(i would do well without self-inflicted nostalgia)
it’s easy to come up with your own scaling tools:
space can be measured by the distance to the closest wall
time can be gauged by the hours left until the beginning of the next work shift
love can be assessed by the amount of more than 3-second glances i get from my female co-workers
boredom can be quantified by the number of times i checked my e-mail in the last hour
if work is decisive in the affirmation of my identity
how do you explain that i stare unsurprised
at the definite world from my office window for half the life
whatever sells
special offer, only this month : when you buy a hummer, you get a box of 125 condoms
with an assortment of exotic and government-approved flavours
such as cherry & pecan, banana plantain, peanut butter, bacon & cheddar...
because we know that you know that you’ll be needing a lot of them now. big time.
chocolate lab rat
the merry dingling of your keys at the front door must sound like the dingling of the chicken nuggets hitting the dog-food bowl to a hungry drooling dog. your presence is my food, nourishing me with your mere existence in the same room as mine. i’m your chocolate lab rat obsessed with being fed. i’m your puppy peeing from excitement. i’m your messed-up doggy shitting his pants from stress of abandonment.
come clean me up and take me for a walk.
or i’ll go through the garbage again.
we’re all countries dependent on foreign oil
we’re all countries dependent on foreign oil
begging for caring and regular looks
from our beloved, ex-loved, soon-to-be-loved, hope-to-be-loved
as much as we want to be able to isolate ourselves, we have to get out there,
shake hands with the unfriendly and the ungrateful
shave for non-kissers and put make-up on for the blind
as consistent tenderness constitutes the fuel of our routine,
this cherished gasoline helps us reach the required amount of energy
to get through the expected ups and downs of a regular agenda
we pray to avoid the crowds but still have to pick some random person
to get acquainted, exchange life stories, share a meal, a movie, a bed, even a life if the sex turns out to be good.
then comes the time to buy cookbooks to host dinner parties. socializing is expensive. but solitude can be dangerous.
we could all clearly see that
there was a ketchup stain on the wedding gown
(the only remaining proof of an earlier hot-dog tragedy)
but the bride could care less, crying (of joy?)
in the midst of the brutally cheerful crowd
i felt like spectators were mainly happy not to be the ones getting maried
the house band only played covers for the show
my friends told the same jokes they told years ago
i had an awful seat at second row
there was a lipstick stain on the bride’s collar
(the only remaining proof of an earlier unreligious sexual intercourse)
but his lovers could care less, crying (of joy?)
in the thick of the suspiciously enthusiastic crowd
i felt like spectators were mainly happy
that those two were getting maried at last
i long for the creature
i long for the creature
who bites off my skin
to make a turkish rug
you can spit on
