Ashes

She stumbles her words, they riot in her mouth, fighting her tongue, scattering her breath. She remembers the tall grass, the high wind, the storm fast approaching. Thunderbolts, the forest is shining silver, the water thick and warm drowns her senses. 

  A foreigner dreaming of absence

 (a goodbye at midnight, a forgotten whisper)

an exercise in absurdity.

an exercise in absurdity.

Out of nowhere a circle appears. Uncle C. is drawing.

connecting

a place on the ground

turning around, tangle of people.

over in a flash

what am I here for.

synthetic voices

fill the void, fill the void.

The cars rush around her, she cannot see anymore. They took away her sight in a corner of the abandoned Park. She wanders selling roses, a young girl trotting behind. When she appears in the cafe, Mother point at her and tells us that see what happen when you do not take care of yourself. We know better, we like her.

Today we feel generous. We take them to the beach, point at the birds and say how lucky they are to be here. They look at us bemused. On the beach, we are alone and for that we are grateful. We do not understand them. After a while, Mother arrives in disarray and ask what do we think we are doing. She drags us away by our hair. The beach has never feel so vast and away.

Sometimes

• Ghostly winds whirl around her, she is looking into the distance.
• Horses gallop (sound)
• Battles take place
• Ships are foundering
• She sees blood in the sky
• Cries and whispers.

of pillows

Bite, bite slow, bite hard, bite once and once more. Food comes slowly-slimy. The burnt meat crumbs laced with reddish sauce and yellow-phlegmed noodles. Bite, we’ll never surrender. She swallows her pills and high as a kite wants to feed us. I’ll bite her finger to the bone. Behind the cupboard rests her stash of bottles. In the afternoon she shouts about the whores of the Universe. Her world drown in fucking-machines. Under her pillow the kitchen knife guards against them. We lock our doors and pray for fire

The winter never lasts more than a few days. The coats, the duvets, the jumper all come out at once. All the windows are closed. The house is a summer house. The South Wind makes us cry: we prefer the hot, weighty blow of the North Wind.