DEATH HAS EYES? IS DYING SOMEONE WITH HEART DISEASE? TO DIE IS HAPPENING WITHOUT LOOKING EVERYDAY.
Pulsating vein, political. Regulating capitalism by democratic institutions, complex configurations of power relations, growing hair, emphasis, aspirations in finding sense what hypocrites say, it’s bad anyway, flight of stairs. Death has eyes, as it can walk.
I must be afraid, I must. I’m taught in fright. Phobias that we have keep us in place, intact,
in panic, oh your god and things that cannot be discussed over cup of coffee nor ever
Yes, I have fears. They are always with me. To use them against me; they have worked long before you. They are as touchable as someone with eyes, someone’s eyes in me or on. It is a constant state of insecurity that is part of me. It is an organ. next to me, watching me, touching me, insecurity of living, fragility and the fear is of dashed, broken loose, lose and lost
in the end useless
it does not keep me safe
ethereal substance, harmonic illusion, seeking to revive symmetry, incredible, colourfully dressed, bending, bent.
Ideas involved in walking back and forth leaning against the car window, not wearing much
is that how you pictured it, death, for me.
We will see, won’t we, who sells one’s body, who sells one’s soul, who sells organs
who sells qualities and who has them
being looked at always like that, like a thing, like something to want and melt
That is insecurity, you never know and don’t want to be looked at like that, who would.
something worth while, what is? Integrity, sincerity, or was it in history books someone who was brutally murdered.