THROWING THE CURRENT ONE FURTHER THAN YOU CAN COPE WASN'T POLUTION BACK THEN (IIE, MULTIPLE WIEDERKEHR DES ZURÜCKGEBLIEBENEN, 2014)
Such a long time it hasn't been about the longing for a better
of salt and the taste of old and you so young from moving to
yours to ever indifferent centres not jumping in but sitting at
shores dreaming about the last one .. ever observation returned
to a plan and staying beside the only thing that allways
promised to fill your days with a new one .. when did you fail
to explore the fresh and redundant .. when was it that you
decided you got up often enough – this chance to leave behind
what you didn't want to know as yours and the games of painting
theirs .. his arms beside you and those eyes in deepest fear
below you becoming as quiet as the view left to your vanishing
strength .. focusing on his to find words you could never
believe giving him another round to see yet another sitting
high up on a breathless smile again – sunburned skin and
brightes hair scared to the bones but more thand home trusting
you – disconnected from the touch and youngest eyes you'll again
not be able to do it for yourself .. did you ever get close to
the ones hey found in you? Now that you are getting closer and
closer to putting your feet first tenthousand times .. how many
times can you plan the same thing – coming back to the feeling
of fingertips, hands, arms, your head, shoulders and the rest is
silent while you float within pressure no blanket could
replace .. taking one step back, trying to take a look at
yourself .. throwing the current one further than you can cope
wasn't polution back then .. so fuck the finding and the search
never feeling familliar to your rare moments of perspective –
evenings of a single one and let it happen in actions of clearer
to cyrcle .. stuck between the eye and the look there ain't much
left to do but your brief re-orientations within the shit you've
collected .. back on the shore being the spectator no memory of
a journey past or infront of you .. turning your head to see
their misinterpretations of what seems to scare you nowadays you
forgot the towel .. yet another blanket giving comfort when you
leave what used to take you from any world to your possibilities
in just one move – never did you need to share it – never did
feel like anything but only yours touching toes, feet and up to
your knees until you get free again .. to mornings raping the
lans you keep to forgett where you couldn't go .. in wooden
chairs you won't reach today .. walking the same streets again –
turning around pushing yourself deeper into matrasses staying
behind when you decide to try again – standing between what they
felt as necessary only keeping you rom what has been so for
you .. from blank spaces you take your unwashed way further
until the nest one reminds you of his and hers to find your
missing will to talk again.. building up what is puddle to them
and pain to you .. shivering on the next field taking the pillwo
you imagine the chronologie of last years choreographies in
nights of good things gone – never felt seen not heared by you
or others overcoming your bodies singularity in endless stories
of what you never asked your realities to be – short films
hanging from your sealing while you went back to hour after hour
how many do you have to take from your not yet ten thousand ..
her not being here doesn't change your few facts from sobrieties
you've never lost .. as green as hers have been in yours – she
still could not wipe up the wet and possible salt of what you've
sen your head so deep in your body's fight against every single
thing you love .. so embraced by nothing real you reached
lonleyness so far from isolation, from sad or romantic,
connected to a form of thought and falling physical image that
you would call cosmic if this word wouldn't make you laugh so
hard ..
And even though it does seem wise, all this quiet and yesterday
in darker curtans and yet another cup, there has been a golden
one before from all their stairs to a top filled with so much
more than even you expected, disconnected from traveling for
ever just one day finding a minute passing your decissions like
those plastic parts never meant to fit .. if this isn't running
what is? And never running but swet and freedom to stay this way
if you could run forever you would never start but back into
those evenings of it ain't that simple, carrying all of
them and deeper into figurines of hard and fastest beat,
slowing down on landscapes loosing their perspective oh
so quickly .. “
“How about now – now that you've stopped most of them lies from
expanding into your every move – stopped standing there in their
frames of closing doors – pushing down your foot where you tell
yourself about importance and still a page to come .. always on
the run cause time has left you outside of blanket and smoke
into smoke – looking back on white floors and a blurry speech
from third grade, on a window still not closing and leaves over
glasses filled red like every moment just before you remember
her and all these life's she's missed - looking back on last
night lost in swallowing all morning leaving you in grey and all
these lifes you've missed, dancing in calm shadow of fields
grown to be burned and this playing child you want in hectic and
sun, in salt and no air left to breath, so you remembered
misssing her but still so safe in salted fists and warm sof body
ever pushing and turning everything you managed to became ..
realising how again you've picked up the pen, story after story
and next summer will be different, while she is sitting there
waiting for the world to rule out them possibilities of action
in order to safe our fredom from all consequences – leaving
behind only the reature we built without a single touch
understanding how she felt with him drinking and waiting not
able to leave twothousand years ago – so you accept their
presence for a night or two only to find again this is all there
is outside of her, stuck in the priests picture of not being
able to care after this is what you have seen .. If only they
wouldn't talk, wouldn't act but see instead how they have never
known a word, never known single gesture from the monkey passing
by .. create yourselfs until you have to sit down in the four
walls you have built from all the shit that left your never
green eyes still filed with this world you've chosen for your
souls to live in, wandering around from proud copy to youhave
achieved nothing but a bleeding ass for your dids to lick in
affirmation of another idiot screaming .. leaving lonleyness for it is unable to forgett the red and their failing words you
adore – remembering her face from next years five o'clock and
all these menkeys not being what she could write – far from
green you've chosen the violent act but being on the streets
only in dark and standing at the next corner of watching you it
has always been reduced to mastrubatio and their hopes of
thoughts beeing glued to their heroic actions as constant part
of the others rubbing in hectic far from leaving russia, happily
misreading your intensions for you have ever been good enough to
do the same .. up from another bench and watching their calm
ways of picking rocks never to bleed themselves, protecting what
they fail to do in hard or words isolated from everything they
forget to be the image for a second hoping somebody will see it
in a filled train unable to feel but disgust hammering one more
vague letter of romantic rescue onto glassalls behind lakes from
long ago .. being back in one more month to pay you still try to
hide from every mirror but the one so close for many years
nothing left to show knowing it all did never help you in these
moments making your life seperated from this voice and it's
words so often like the waters on every layer of your skin, your
head in nothing but green to grey and black until the cold
starts to push again and the deep and green , wet,, touching a
hand in hopes of tomorrows dream bringing back just one of these
waves taking alll white from what you have always felt as yours
leaving you in this endless day of of nights not necessary to
put your feet into a face never mattered which one never these
ten, leaving a world filled with smiling, faces never becoming
necessary stuck in the noise of the same all over .. now there
is the end of yet another talk of circleing words coming back to
them packed with the fear of never seen before – feeling relief
in moving lips not realising, this is the creature we are
forcing into a world we know as the wrong one – or is it just
you being scared again? Running from what you have lost hearing
their voices of don't walk down that read or you'll never get up
again while again is the only word you understand – how can you
be so calm, believing words lost from all those dreams – how can
you dance araound these mements of hurting and hating every
sound – yeah you wanna find something but is it your search,
your truth that is created or are you simply to impressed to
move or have you dropped the act or did the last book do the
trick? How many times can you lok over your shoulder before you
see you've been gone for along time coming .. and you're sitting
here again as you notice every month not yet hurting enough
putting the gun to your chest again creating next weeks honesty
when there is so much more you want .. jumping into your dark
corner still waiting for the hand you thought you knew – just to
remember your choice seeing again through the hand you thought
why with no connection to asingle how – this aggressive wave
this force you are longing to feel on your side again – how can
it hurt so much on paper when it sounded so smart – how can you
want it so much while it slowly takes you down – how the fuck
did you get here from strong and hunger – from oh so sure, to no
way back – how an you loose these directions if the point you
started from is passing you by while you fight different
realities your perfamative thinking to talking with yourself –
if you wanted this why can't you want it still – yout know you
said so in a tounge that seemed familiar yesterday – when will
you find out the rest is moving too .. returning from quickly
and light and the strangers decission suddenly being human you
have asked why so many times that you forgot about the how not
know if it's still laying by the side of the road covered by the
lost fouthousand buses stoping for you and go disconnected from
your plan or maybe still to be collected in words you are
writing without knowing them from yesterdays walk .. how many of
these lines can you take before you listen to it .. what
happened that day in snow and loud lips safed by earpluggs –
where does your how come from when you're without orientation
being sure of this weight and the stain that always belles you
rolling over bagging you to remember the quiet you once knew
never forgetting it's force, it's place and right and truth ..”
“If they do it anyway – can I try it anyway? - they are talking
about it as if it was a good thing – stories of bravery of
freedom disconnected from space and time and every unnecassary
word – it is ment to sve, free and escape but those words have
allways lost their meaning oh so fast – instead you find
yourself coming back to it again and again always arriving in
mornings full of afternoon again .. maybe they talked about a
bigger one but does it matter with all these waters around? Who
cares about the size when clashes into cliffes of hope and
expectations anyways – why run if you know the place your gonna
end up from the start- following their ways of abstraction you
watch yourself turning arounduntil you found a place to hide
again – so what is this but every move you know so well if not
the right one so atleast a slow one taking you through braking
waves of your violent part in a play you have to see because
someone you know is in it – off course, and you can stay here
being the spectator but can you stand to stay here in the open?
You start thinking about the old man, about eighty days and
eighty worlds, about the box and the confusion on deck, the old
buisnessman and the rooms you aren't allowed to enter these
islands from fictionous pasts still and again braking in hectic
present never leaving but sweat and cold shower, coffee bowl and
touching yourself continuing in so many days wondering how time
became the burden still remembering it as your best friend what
kind of prize is this .. black hollow with your eyes on
reflecting neon becoming what it never should have not yet are
you in it still siting watching a nother zigarette hoping it
will be the piece that's missing, knowing it could never be with
sourounded by these stupid fukcs acting their ways into nights
of this is the end again – this impossibility of watching them
without yourself – thoughts of not being any better, of their
lifes's as single scared physical tired in slowmotion ino your
silent perfomative thinking of watching yourself wathcing
yourself – feeling your lips moving but not one around – knowing
about all them laughing generations yet to come looking back on
a time like all the others – incapabilities of acceptance
throughing you back into waters of strict and single picture not
remembering the force of days to come repeating what weÄll never
learn – into lectures of walking by it's family's rhythm –
language to language word for word bone for bone with no
instructions wanted – I only knew it yesterday now i'll have to
wait again while they really think they are the ones doing it in
movements of being chosen .. so How does it go hand? I'll eat
some more for you. Realising it's not about the Insides of what
they have built .. will there be a day of you sitting on this
chair asking when it was that you got so convinced of ever been
a single decission in their noise – dream after dream – sitll
you are watching the black and quiet unable to reach your don't
know what – still waiting for wanting for you to stop pretending
.. wanting to keep your thaousand doors all them never ending
maps and lists of forgetting any plan, still running through
nights far from any opportunity for you to act – playing a new
role in every day you can accept as a new one .. there is
nothing you have to do but this right here since leaving for
good has never satisfied – when in early afternoons of this is
what we wanted you find yourself infront of windows filled with
last years solutions missing – all these little steps of feeling
nothing but soft, swet memory of never phisical proper touched
and grass of green and a tounge talking in words they never knew
around here – forcing your ears to hear the gun fire again in
every sound like kises you try to remember when the hallway got
to clear again .. a thousand exits before you entered into what
is yours since the fist step has brought you here you can only
hope you won't take a second one .. slowly seeing their faces
disappear, these waters run by, the story that reminds me of
you've lived it all – so don't walk along this bright light of
you know how – just continue this – they either stopped
listening, never started or simply didn't get the joke that is
their life infront of yours .. never caring but wild and which
ever one is downhill to spit uppon after you take a turn and
leave what you used in deepest regret and fucked up guilt trips
while you've jumped the train, smiling into the next hoping
version of you and always atleast two and never the same ..
you'll find these thoughts of their plays and the scenery wil
still come back through dark and blue woods of not able to but
you right here you are again standing here and back in your
stories copying their hurt into spaces of different – all their
plans forgetting how you ignore your own .. so what are these
words but an attempt kept in a form that's a different for you –
so again you are lost from what you have found in what you think
of as crisis standing in your life always in the middle but it
was you calling it a mistake each sunday becomes a Reference to
a former self and so many people she encounters, that she wants
to talk to, when there are things she wants to say, they kind of
say it for her” and If it ain't about this, this is what it will
be about because of you and knowing what words you chose that
day returning to their going east to leave what has never been
darkness but always running to the light .. the peacefull part
is over and if that is birth than there won't be no use for I am
sorry before you start to walk – still all there is, three words
making every action possible – freeing from regret, clapping
shoes and them taking eyes reminding of words you've read trying
to show a different path onto grounds of lost discrimination but
ever being dead and missunderstood in chosen theories from to
many words killed for a structure some sorry bloke needed to
feel his and her and all them funny freedoms never beatyfull
enough to be wanted or be spoken in passion disconnected from
this single sound so jump in this water and pray that it works”
cause I think I call it morning from now on ..