I'm sat in the slow waiting hour until the distant 02:30 digitally appears; it's not for myself I linger, Piekna is set to fly and the alarm is set within me, a buzzing and a ringing held tight until the time to awake arrives.
The time is not my time, someone else’s time I inhabit and live with like shrapnel lodged in my inner realm; the hour is wheezing, laborious, but I endure it for her.
Last week I was in Berlin, another melancholy spectre, full of it’s own trauma; a place struggling with a guilty ego hiding it’s crimes in full view of the tourist in the hope they will disappear. We all hope ‘it’s different now’ but there is still a bitter frisson that follows down the throat. People wherever they are will torment and destroy each other and Berlin is the airbrushed representative, bikini clad but with impenetrable sorrow etched on it’s old man face. Berlin cannot escape its distress and thus I loved it purely.
My whole experience was crystallised in a statue in one of the museums; it changed me somewhat, creating a subtle divergence in my consciousness; it was a sow, looking up morosely, clutching pathetically at her belly. My only thought was: yes, it’s true, the misery lives, beautifully, terribly. Then I stared and stared with a blankness that only a touch beyond our imagined reality can feel...
I still feel it somehow in my bones as they breathe in it’s menthol glow.
Pig Woman is my Goddess
She gazes into that night where inspiration lives and my life as an Office Manager is shattered and consumed by a million hysterical lips, my lips.
There is still 3 waiting hours to live until the time, I will sit with the silence and learn from it’s face the way to exist without words, without noise, without people. I dread my return...
MG
