brain scan
18.05.2024
K L E X P
a moominous gift
This morning beautiful limpid insight was granted to me in a dream. I was younger, younger than I'd been in a while, and I was surrounded with friends, most of whom have been long headless, and I was so happy to see them again and walk the halls of our supreme high school with them. The occasion was joyous: some mix of Jul and end of school celebrations. The spacious corridors of our school, once a convent for evil nuns, were sided all along by food stands of all kinds and I, in the spirit of the celebrations, forgot myself and my steadfast veganism and ate a "drake mix" dumpling. But it was a theatre play, and everyone laughed comedically. Now, my reason of being there was not merely of pleasure: indeed, business was also on my mind. You see, students of all walks of life had gathered there to sell their most important belongings and I, for the occasion, had put my most beloved non-sentient object into a makeshift frame: the first original Moomin comic strip from 1947. In the faulty logics of the dream, though, this wonderful exemplar of incredible value (both economical and sentimental, me being the first actor to play little Moomintrollet on stage with a modicum of success) had been made larger, ever the large, and in order to carry it I had to use both my hands, sweat profusely, and constantly apologize to the unfortunate walkers-by that I hit in the ribs or the chin. The greater the Moomin comic, the greater the lesson, I see now. But in the dream I was disadvantaged, terribly uneasy. Everyone around me had been enjoying their festival, eating some beetroots with marmalade, maybe a bit of pork, drinking the elixir of life, Julmost, and selling small objects for a small gain. I knew, however, I had far greater a treasure than them, and insisted on finding a suitable client. Bracing myself through the crowd, steadfastly advancing, I kept thinking of this man (for no woman needs to possess a Moomin comic, since they are given them at birth, and collectors are infrequently of this kind) - what he would look like, how would I recognize him. I knew one thing: despite the quite unprofessional packaging, my sweat marring its cardboard exterior, the perfect buyer would need no more than one single look to estimate the value of my product, and gentlemanly refuse any attempt at bargaining. He would look at me, look at my wonderful original 1947 Moomin strip, and immediately call for me to halt and proceed with the deal. This was my client and I would settle for nothing less. A few Scandinavian students approached me with their backs bent, begging for my Moomin strips, but they were rats, really, and I scattered them to the winds.
All the while a good friend of mine, so sadly faceless in the clarity that comes with morning, walked with me. They never tried to convince me to give up my quest, and renounced a great deal of celebrating to be with me, to support me when my knees became weak, and carry the original Moomin comic for me when I faltered. But I knew they did not agree with it, not deep down, and wanted for the both of us to lose the comic and ourselves in the crowd of jubilant teenagers. But they stayed at my side, the most loyal of friends. It was a Finn, stark naked as they often are, and with handsome eyes of glass. We kept walking and walking, the two of us, and I, losing my faith by the minute, kept looking with preoccupation at the signs indicating the toilets. Me and my friend then came to a rare place of rest, where the celebrants were more sparse, and we decided to catch our breath there. It had come to that, I realized - catching a breath where everyone was busy having fun, enjoying themselves, the last light before the true entity of the dark. My friend looked at me and smiled. In that moment it became clear to me that the darkness was all mine, that I had been refusing the light, that I was holding on to quite a treasure, sure, but that it had been hindering my faculty for happiness, for levity. The friend, medically aware of my thoughts, asked the maieutic question: who amongst us would treasure an original 1947 Moomin comic strip? And I was released. Through the sweat dripping from my brow I could finally see that I was the buyer I had been looking for. The treasure was mine to keep and enjoy. I had been the custodian and the enjoyer of the Moomin comic all along. By the light in my eyes, reflected in theirs, my friend understood my illumination and we sprung to embrace each other. I caressed their hair, looking at them from the vantage of my height, and promised we'd spend the night turning the comic's pages at candlelight together. I entrusted the package - suddenly so light - to them and decided to lose myself in the celebrations, too. I walked towards the closest male bathroom and, as I most often do in my dreams, I started looking for quick and dirty gay sex, of which there is always plenty, for those with eyes to look. I was greeted by pissing jubilants, standing and flowing by the urinals, which turned their gaze at me and welcomed me into their fun.
17.05.2024
Brain
The corrupt medical establishment would have you believe this is a perfectly healthy brain. What do you think, truth-warrior?
16.05.2024
I used to wonder
I used to wonder
when still a boy
and from The Book
dripped stories
onto parched children's lips
What they drank
when sweetest dew
fell from stars or else
condensed on desert stone
to nourish weary Israel
But now I know
for when I was at the great Library
from ancient tomes
trickled forth instruction
into my cupped and seeking hands
It was devotion
when I, for forty years,
distilled in my laboratory
not wine but purest Manna
to quench the searching of my heart
15.05.2024
I went down to the river
12.05.2024
Gorillotype
I had been recalled to Town on an urgent errand. One of the enhanced Gorillotypes, which, for their surprising wit, had been causing such a stir in London society as of late, had, it seemed, escaped from the enclosures of Her Majesty's personal menagerie.
"By Jove!," I'd exclaimed upon receiving the telegram, dressed on that inexplicably hot April day in my favourite gingham robe, which, I must confess, could hardly contain the many and glistening voluptuities of my corpus patricium, and "by Jove!" I exclaimed again, when, upon leaving Paddington Station, an obscure, slender fellow approached me, opened his overcoat, and revealed to me certain voluptuities (or rather semi-voluptuities) of his own.
He scurried away, and I was left so disturbed by the vulgar and unrefined execution of the act (I myself being a chartered, dues-paying member of the League of Perverts), that, despite the very urgent nature of the hyperprimate extermination, which, as Duke of Sommerset, I was patrinilineally duty-bound to perform, I changed course, and was soon before a local office of the jolly old LOP.
I entered to find a rather bored looking cockney at the front desk:
— 'Ello Guvnah! 'Ow can I be of assistance?
— I say, good man! Not ten minutes hence, I was witness to a truly miserable showing by one of our comrades in arms! I am here to report it.
— Blimey! 'At won't do! Where did you see the fellow?
— Right outside Paddington station.
— In what 'ardinal 'irection were you 'eaded?
— To the west, I believe.
The Cockney took a large logbook out from beneath his desk, flipped to an index in the back and muttered to himself "Quadrant BG." He then leafed to the middle and made his inspection, his index finger descending row after row of cramped handwriting. He did the same for the two or three surrounding pages, then sighed, looked up at me and said:
— Sorry, Sir, we 'on't 'eem to 'ave any'ody in that 'uadran'.
— But that can't be! He was one ours for sure...
— I 'on' 'ow 'a' 'o' 'ell 'ou 'ir, 'erha' 'eck 'i' 'e 'egion' 'o 'erver'.
— Sorry, my good man, I couldn't quite catch that.
— I 'e' 'y' 'o' 'u' 'e' 'i' 'e' 'o' 'p'.
— By Jove! — my consternation getting the better of me — speak clearly, man!
— ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' '!
I grabbed him by his collar, and I am sure even now that I would have done some violence to him, had I not, at that very moment, perceived the even and inexorable rhythm of a pant hoot behind me. I attempted to beat a hasty retreat. It was too late. The doorway darkened. The Gorillotype was upon us.
07.05.2024
Mischief Night
The oak tree, with its fried chicken trunk
Has been here every Mischief Night of our lives
Standing with stern grace
Dodging eggs as they float towards houses on nights like these
With wooden fences in our peripheries
We consider the grass
And the fallen leaves that are delicately propped up
On its needly points
And we wonder
Why on earth our fathers would want to plant more grass in the summertime
They stood in the kitchen
Screaming their guts out about leaky pipes in the basement
And the brand of cereal we picked and our little brothers who were in school that July
In the empty gym that reeked of paper
And then they’d slam the sliding door to plant the little shards of grass in the bald spots of our backyards
There were always itchy bags of grass seed on our bookshelves
There was so much grass, although it dies in the apple cold air
Halloween is amazing here
We walk on every lawn
23.04.2024
Vase
Today, proceeding on my usual route, I found a vase of white marble, streaked with lurid jade. I say vase, but it was only shaped like a vase. It had no cavity -- it was completely solid. I tried to pick it up but it was too heavy.
17.04.2024
Wie es dazu kam, dass Bernds Lippen willentlich auseinandergenommen und mit Parmesan bestreut wurden
Ein Traum der ihn schwindelte und es ihm so schummrig wurde, dass er nach 26 Stunden Schlaf wieder das Licht der Welt erblickte, blieb so lange mit ihm, dass er erst nach 43 Stunden wieder zum Schlaf fand. Er rutschte dann in das Schwarze Nichts hinein, dass ihn wie einen alten Freund begrüßte, doch da er nicht bei Besinnung war bekam er nur ein zittriges „Hallo“ heraus und war im nächsten Moment schon so panisch, dass er seinen Zustand am liebsten zerkratzt und zerstört hätte. Doch das ging nicht und vielleicht fing bald auch wieder ein Traum an, denn am nächsten Mittag, als er aufwachte, hatte er nie zuvor dagewesene Lust auf Maultaschen. Gekochte Maultaschen, die er so auseinandernehmen wollte, dass er zu seiner Linken die Fleischfüllung auf einem Haufen hatte und zu seiner Rechten die Nudelhaut. Dann würde er Butter und Salz über das Fleisch verteilen und Parmesan über den Nudeln. Was als nächstes kam wusste er noch nicht und das war ihm auch ziemlich egal. Im Geschäft blieb er zehnmal vor Verwunderung stehen, denn die Leute grüßten ihn mit „Bonjour“, „Bongiorno“, „01001000 01000101 01001100 01001100 01001111”, „Howdy“, „Cześć“, „Olá“, „Bună ziua“ und ein paar anderen Wörtern, die er gar nicht verstand. Die Maultaschen-Abteilung sah heute so mickrig aus und seine Lust verschwand als er sah, dass jemand eine halb ausgelaufene Packung Kondensmilch vor die Schwäbischen geklatscht hatte. Was eine Scheiße. Schnell verließ er das Geschäft und schwor sich nie wiederzukommen. Vielleicht war es das Beste wieder nachhause zu gehen und sich hinzulegen. Er musste Fuß vor Fuß setzen und die Straßen schleiften sich ein und aus, Schilder schienen sich zu wiederholen und das taten sie auch. Und am liebsten hätte er einfach aufgehört und sich auf die Straße gelegt, wie der dort drüben. Das Auge wanderte und schon bald hielt er ein Gorgonzola-Eis in der Hand, schleckte daran und hatte ganz vergessen wieso schlafen gehen eigentlich die beste Idee wäre. In einer Wohnung weit über ihm hörte ein in die Jahre gekommener Juwelendieb Rio Reiser und zählte dabei die Scheine – er hatte soeben einen vergoldeten Smaradgring verkauft (oder war das ein Malachit? fragte er sich jetzt – es war ziemlich egal, der Deal war vorbei und Verstehen musste er das Ganze sicher nicht) – Geld hatte er bekommen, genug, um sich etwas Schönes zu leisten. Er gönnte sich so selten etwas. Vielleicht einen neuen Mund, das könnte gut kommen – ihm und dann auch zur Freude seiner Mitmenschen. Erst gestern hatte er im Fernseher einen wunderschönen grün strahlenden Mann mit wohlgeformten Lippen, die ein zartes, einladendes Lächeln trugen, gesehen, und jetzt dachte er, das könnte gut kommen. Niemand widersprach einer Augenweide. So in Gedanken vernahm er plötzlich aus den herumschwabernden Worten, die aus der unmittelbaren Umgebung und von weiter weg stetig zu ihm wollten, ganz eindringlich gedacht die Fetzen „Maul“, „Füllung“, „glänzend“, „gleichmäßig verteilen“, „Haut“ und weiter brauchte er wirklich nicht zu lauschen, denn was hier passierte war so klar wie Kloßbrühe. Da hatte ihm von ganz weit oben jemand dieses Geschenk gemacht: die Fähigkeit Gedanken aufzuschnappen, wann immer er wollte, denn sie kamen auch zu ihm wenn er nicht wollte. Und jetzt sah er auch den Grund: sein Wunsch, der nun zum Lebenstraum geworden war, konnte er so erfüllen: der Mann, der ihm den Mund verschönern würde war in nächster Nähe und er sprang vor Freude los.
09.04.2024
Archaische Büste Gay Hulks
Wir kannten nicht sein unerhörtes Cock,
darin die Veins reiften. Aber
sein Kopf glüht noch wie ein Kandelaber,
in dem sein Schauen, nur zurückgecockt,
08.04.2024
eye
I think it's possible: that time and space are always there, static. A colossal edifice of everything that ever was is and will be. And I am an eye at the end of a silver rod, moved through the labyrinth at a more-or-less even rate. An eye -- of course not just an eye: lips and ears and nose and skin -- the homunculus's swollen features.
04.04.2024
Festbiss
Gebissen habe ich schon immer.
Ich fühle immer noch das leicht fleischdurchtriefte Fett vor meinen Zähnen, das Aroma wiegt sich auf meinem Atem, die Luft entkommt sich selbst nicht. Eine Abfolge an Bissgefühlen, im Farbenreichtum. Der Biss ist vorbei, aber das Bissgewissen haucht einem eklig-warm auf den Nacken mit der Überzeugungskraft eines von fremden Freunden vorgewärmten Toilettensitzes.
Der Mund hat sich schließlich bewegt. Alles andere stand ja still.
Da kommt etwas Schuld auf. Etwas Scham für die Gewalt sogar, etwas Zufriedenheit und Dankbarkeit sogar, für den Dienst der Gebissenen, so gar. Leicht geatmet ist der Biss auszulassen, das habe ich bereits in der Schule lernen müssen. Davon zu erzählen hat sich damals nicht gehört. Aber heut ist ja alles erlaubt, aber dafür auch bissfester. Die Abformmasse beim Zahnarzt erlaubt auch alles, durchbeißen lässt sie sich dafür nicht. Die Masseschwädchen wallen sanft, legen sich um Knochen zuerst, um Fleisch danach, dringen in jeden Spalt ein und lassen sich fühlen. Es schmeckt nach Amalgam. Gefüllt ist man ja gern, geleert nur unter Zwang. Unter blendendem Licht sowieso, mit fachkundig latexüberzogenen Fingern umso mehr. Nur eine kleine Übung steht bevor, dann rührt man mit den Dritten knirschend das Tamtam, nur eins bleibt übrig, den Kiefer ausrenken, kurz schreien, das Gelenk weiter treiben, bis man sich selbst droht, sich selbst zu verschlucken droht, von der eigenen Drohung überwältigt wird und Opfer wird, sich selbst an sich selbst verfüttert.
03.04.2024
A word on Gargantua
The author of this short piece has not yet finished Bakhtins full analysis of Rabelais and she has also not read any other such analysis of Rabelais, that is Gargantua, the text to which this entry will be dedicated. Maybe later. This is just to say: It’s very enjoyable (Gargantua) that is and I am almost inclined to say that I wish I was a giant. Yes, to ride on a horse that could stomp out Steglitzer Stadtpark in a second. To piss all over Paris and have citizens drown, I mean float around in a liquid much less questionable than that of any “normal” sized citizen since all Gargantua drinks is wine and doesn’t that purify and demystify for ever and all? It’s probably (maybe!) the funniest thing I’ve read that was written in or before the 16th century. The German translation is (in my humble opinion) very agreeably, very lovely. Done by Engelbert Hegaur and Dr. Owlglass. There is illustrations in the edition I own and if copyright allows you might be marveling at some right now or in a second. What else does a review need? It is “late” and I am hungry so I would prefer not to analyze right now (maybe in a second part). If you’re easily disgusted, then maybe this book isn’t for you (or if your imagination is simply too colorful, too ripe). Take this chapter title as a warning that’s not really a warning: Wie Grandgosier die Geisteskraft Gargantuas bei Erfindung eines Arschwisches kennenlernte. New word constructions are not sparse and I now wish that I had noted some down. Simply read it and you will know. I wonder how the French, the original compares. If there’s any Frenchperson reading, please do tell!
01.04.2024
Scriptio continua
Or otherwise boustrophedon, the bull moving back and forth, left and right.
Anyways, I would like to say hello to my dear friends. How are all of you doing? It is a balmy april fools day. A strange song is playing outside, I'd guess from a car stopped at a red light. Behold, an image:
What do you think about this? What about some Yiddish?
װאָס הערט זיך? איז אַלץ קשר מיט דעם?
It seems that Yiddish isn't working yet. I'll have to see what's wrong...
addendum: maybe yiddish is working after all...
01.04.2024