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och lyssnar på jättemycket Earth Crisis
och läxar upp mig
och tuggar på en rot
så har du rätt
men jag hatar dig så mycket ändå
alla som inte är nazister
får väl jubla över det
och alla som inte är bohemer
får starta ett medvetet trasigt
café
skjut mig med ett gevär laddat med veganska köttbullar
jagorkarinte
Honey, my sweet cream pie, the sun is shining this morning, faraway as you are. Last time I saw you you were awfully drunk, a lizard awkwardly hanging between your fingers. Baby, my heart, if I could commit it all to memory, if I could commit the memories to the windy face of the day, I would, but every time I try to write it down it all flees. How clumsily do we touch everything. You said to me every morning you came to this shore to touch the water. It was June. We took off our shoes and watched the yellow boats drifting through the bay, the people walking on the banks, looking through the glass… Darling, I’m leaving. I’m leaving because I can’t take it anymore. On the phone (were you in your room, were you alone, have you been alone all this time?) I heard the roar of an airplane and thought that soon I would have said goodbye. And when I’m gone, slowly your fingers, too, will forget me. Your fingers would have remembered me in any darkness.