(arbejde mod en engelskskrevet udgave af Tidens Kælven 2)


I tell you the stars are memories, nothing but memories, and they are not yours. And you don’t own your memories and you don’t own you. You arenot even you, you are being born all the time – from the womb of memories, no less, pray look right and left and right again, as you cross the street. And such is the way of the human world.

Passing time is like passing water: With infrequent regularity it happens, meaning the pattern surpasses me due to lack of interest.

I couldn’t belong here, even if I tried. Do you belong anywhere? He is not from around here. We are just passing by. You look as if you are seaching for something. They should be banned, just look at them! All is here, all a part, and then not. Quires otre cerveza tambien?

She lives nearby. You pass by her house on occasion. Taking the long way round is soly for days, when she talks inside you, even before you know you will take this road today. You look up, ever so often, you squint, minding the traffic as you should, but you glance, to see … if anything – her. At the window. Light, darkness. Presence. Ever so often you do not. Look. Up.

The tray, please. And the salt.

Suddenly there is movement under the hedge. A tiny shimmer obscuring pinpricks of near-but-not-quite-dark between the branches. You think this must be the first sign of spring. And to you it is. If you are right, you will not forget. The snow will not melt, if you are wrong, not until much later. But keeping time… you almost always think of time as a kind of swarm of individual movements… keeps you sane, right, you! you want procedure! But today it is like an elastic band that snaps back in position, when you let go. Slap. The moving image of a wakening hedgehog keeps you sane and trusting in your world.

You must burn and let go.

Often fodder is put to no good use. The concentration of protein or carbohydrates is too high for the weight and position in the growth process, making the animals either pass more liquid stool, or grow more fat than sustainable by biology, a vital informtion in forced growth neglected by more than you would think, subsequently causing a more than unnecessary delay in upgrade to the next fodder group so as to try to adjust their mistakes – animals dehydrated or malnutrisioned with swollen livers and calcified veins. If you really want this shit industrial world of killing, the least you could do was do it properly. Admit that even you attend seminars for those sharing your interest in the buried art.

Admiration is okay.

Author: krabat

digter, forlægger, oversætter, admin på kunstnerhotellet menneske.dk

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