Writing

Autumn 2019. Work in logistics is tiring, tedious. It needs just enough brains and body to drain focus and physical reserves alike. Especially in the shifts, early or late or night. Especially stuck in first waves of year long pandemics. Where a curfew makes you only see boxes and inventories 9 hrs. a day and there is still the way back home, where empty apartments are waiting. There is no writing material but what can be scavenged from etiquette printers and crappy plastic ballpoint pens writing in the crevices hidden fromsupervisors or passersby.

Cuttingcartonscuttingcornerscuttingedgescutting [wā /

Cutcartonscuttingcartoncuttingfingers

way too deeply.

Fingers so
rough and cracked.
Have they always felt like that!?

Blind hands not like new born cats.
That once had a sight that now lacked.
Blind like eye-sight that wasn’t blind but was made gone.
Attached to stillborn hands coarse as ground corn under millstone,
Grains in a sandstorm.

Staring down the clock

the clock
staring
till it stops
Eyes interlocked on screens touching time
Getting blocked
Blocked by glass,
glass that can cut.

Cut tapping fingers,
cut till they bleed
Bleeding all five

1

2

3

4

All five typing numbers

2391221

Hitting keys

And for the thousandth time yes for god’s sake:
“A team 6 member to the reception please”
The speakers demand.
I walk to plead
Plead with that clock
Five minutes more
Ten minutes less

Was that half the day!?

How much has passed
What is still left

Me Me Me

Multiplying me
Multiplier on a dividend
Residue in revenue

Where are

are are ar R

Other word same letter

Where R they?

Reign, regium, rex, reign

Reproachment of reconstituted constitutions

Return, Return,

Recycling reform a retour rendering rubbish to revenue

Rent, renting.

R/
R-
R.
R
10,50

21

31,50

42

52,5

63

73,50

84

Call it a day

Call it

a day

A day an eternity away
Call it an hour
Call it dinner
Call yourself loser

They call themselves …

Call themselves …

At those games…

Those games of guessing words beginning with R

Ratespiele, Ratenspiele Rattenfänger

Rating games, gambling gains.

R/
R-
R.
R

You R

FAILURE

Fail-U-ARE
Rescue please

Other R

Gasping clasping open armed waiting R-dently

R

Ai-R filling lungs

R…

something with R
on the tongue

R!

Remembering
Reassessing
Reassembling resemblance at the reassembling resembli-line

R.

Not of bad volition.
Volition.

Volition.

Volition.

Shaking frozen on spot, thundered by thousands of volts.

R.

Re.

R.

Volition.

Volition.

Volition!

Waiting.

Waiting for?

Revelation, Reparation.

R.

Re-

R.

Yearning.

Yearning for…

Solution,
Resolution

R.

Re-

Spring 2021. I’ve come to learn that the experience of parents that are dead before they are lead to their graves, is common among many kids as myself who have to watch them daily die slowly in their living rooms.

Rationed sleep
Eyes half closed in commute
Snap awake spotting a reflection
In pulsating window glass
Conjuring the origins of this gesture
A fathers assumed position of auto-digestion
Cancerous alcoholic corpse on couch cushions
Head in neck
Mouth wide open
Between unhealthy teeth
A widened gap
Where souls could crawl through
Breath heaving weighted
Organic stinking air
Making its escape from
That pneumatic lung
On clawing spider legs
Leaving where they touch his lips
A tapestry of dried out cracks
A corpse burnt out by double shifts
Lying prematurely dead and sprawled
Jaw ajar
Defanged by empty glasses
Carrying echoes of wine
That tried to swallow
The life that had swallowed it
Coarse and broken bodied skin
Has been cast aside
Reincarnated as reek frosting the glass-ceiling
From bowels that have started to rot with the shit they had bottled up.

After decades wasting his hours the reproduction of his own capacities remained an unsolved mystery
Has become machinic appendage as late adolescent the only output to be expected
Was a quantity of abstracted time eating away at the rest of his life
Alternately starving it out and filling it with toxic waste
Always just enough to upkeep the caloric potential for yet another working day
Ultimately cultivating a paranoia on relieving ones own metabolic waste on the job
In fear of being caught
At an act for which one is not technically paid at the factory floor
Walking junkyard of the employment market
Has quite literally become more proficient in producing external surplus than in replenishing selfhood
To a point where doctors have to cut out parts of digestive tract incapable of properly dissembling the wreckage he continues to swallow
He haunts the warehouse storage with a bag attached to his stomach
The only output he remains capable of is machine mediated
Even his own sewage sucks his soul through a catheter
Can be packaged in carton and sent as replacement part for automobile manufacturing

His children, we, were made an acid bath for dreams
A proxywar battlefield of failure to sterilise himself from his past
Yet simultaneously  deny the accidental sterilisation performed by doctors when they tore him open
He keeps pointing and shouting
„I made you“
So to hide in it the scream
silent truths of omitted side sentences
„…From my wreckage“
They say
And
„…Miserable“
„…broken“
As to prove to himself
In an absolution of unequivocal acquittal
Which will never come
That he had not ever been unalienated from potency

The fastest sugar cane cutters they say have entered into mephistophelian bargain making more profit but rendering whatever comes from their hands barren.

My workday half over I haven’t eaten but the barest minimum my eyes are heavy my life is oneiric I feel my bowels rumbling and know I have not yet escaped the corpse in the living room morgue that has fathered me.

Autumn 2021. On a Friday night I stumbled into a dinner invitation of acquaintances from the professional, upwardly mobile types one encounters at University and in middle-management positions, all settled in modest wealth.  When traversing in the landscapes of academic families it is unsurprising to find vapid opinions. These are products of a restaurant visit.

 

Look at them
Robber-Baron-Bastards
All heads in the air
Have you seen the offspring of theirs
Of People once at least adequately cunning
As to tread over corpses for fortune
With outsourced heroisms
Borrowed from Rome
Colloquially called Fascist
Prefigured on the throne in the Tuileries
It’s today’s children have disavowed it as import
Behold the objectimpermanency of infantilized second spawns
Trained in marketing psychology

From childhood on
Uneasy around their daddy’s Rottweiler
Who has just once bitten the wrong kid
But only after mauling longstanding rivals at the playground
Demanding a share of the sandbox
A Rottweiler at whose backyard grave they still weep
With embarrassing nostalgia for those organic better days
“T’was a bad boy indeed” they will say
“But putting it down like that
It’s just a shame!”
Oh how readily they will ditch well groomed poodles
For frontier trained Rhodesian Ridgebacks
Bred by the distant memories of the enslaved
As soon as the tides show slight signs of change
How rightfully reluctant
Even to as little
As putting on muzzles
For who knows when the jaws are needed
In logical reaction to the question
Just how the goods got gotten

Today those children
Uneasy ’round Roman salutes
Are accustomed to throwing hands up happily
With the rest of the upper-middle-class elite
All learnt their Latin
All from the same alma mater
Now sit at well decked dinner tables
Watch their geese hatch golden eggs
Talking history
With stakeholder affect

Toddlers
All and total
At least above them
The first borns have no shame
To skip washing their hands
Past the slaughter
Yes!
Keep your spare change
And your hands washed in holy water
But don’t expect us then to sympathize
With petty complaints and marketing campaigns
The places are aplenty
Where ten year old adults
Learn again and again daily
Their hungers significance
Looking up at their reflection
In the bottom of your silver plates.