1 ‘P.S. Pussy Song‘ 2013/14 (Twenty six poems) 5. Delete smile delete song delete pussy write vagina vaginal virginal vulgar virtual possible violence 10. pussy face weeps on face book tickets sold out out sold hall empty ‘Crows‘ 2012 (Part of work including visual art and performance) 3. Crows crawl into my sleep alert awake cleaning their wings waiting picking at the crumbs of scattered day dreams building a nest with veins from my brain fools! bloody fools! 11. Crows do not like to be projected on independently they fly to their doom relieved sometimes as mark of contempt and gratitude they leave droppings on crumbs ‘Twelve‘ 2010 (Twelve poems & twelve drawings, with performance and music) 4. force fed like a goose go! ooze! 5. ‘stägeli uf stägeli ab’ go home angels go nome my anus is sky blue ‘Walls of Paradise‘ 2006 (Part three of Trilogy) 5,757 words (from page 3) Lo and behold on the shores of paradise waves wear bulldozers and dig at the sand and dig and dig and dig the Stillness Lie in the barren earth of paradise that is fertile with bones and details. Lie deep and fly. Legs touch the missing, arms a scarecrow salute, shirt-flapping against your limbs, making them innocent. Try flying over the valley, over the ancient sites, your feet an irrigation net with promised water, never enough. (from page 4) Pardon me for being: a snake, a traitor, a criminal, a pervert. Pardon me for invading your space. Pardon me for having designs on the dove. Pardon me for smearing saliva on your grass and wiping my anus with your fruit. Pardon me for loving beyond hate, for hating love, for loving love, for hating. Pardon me for penetrating your holiness with empty sockets and for letting my hair fall over your face. Pardon me. ‘Victory’ 2005 4,169 words (from page 1) Was soll das? She died. Victory. Alone, without tenants, hostile tenants. Victory. No plan. Victory has no plan. Wrong. Only planned victories are victory. Not to mention “Sieg”, “Sieg” can only be planned. Victories are not supposed to be failures, unless they are unplanned Victories. These were not supposed to be successful Victories, but failed Victories. A failed Victory is a plan for Victory, which failed. (from page 3) ‘Five Stones‘ Each child has five stones. You throw one upwards. Before you catch it you must collect the others in groups of one two three and four. You throw one upwards and push the others through a gate made of two fingers on your second hand. You have to throw one upwards and take two and then the other two. You have to throw one upwards and collect the remaining four with the same hand and the stone thrown upwards too. When you do all this, without dropping a stone, you won. You are the winner. ’Proems’ 2005 9,515 words (from page 2) Babies should not be allowed into cinemas or schools; babies belong where they belong if they belong. Babies are taboo and even snakes are not allowed to get anywhere near them, even trains must stop for babies and the sun should not shine in the conductors eyes. Please release all hostages, or you shall not be given ice cream for dinner. (from Page 15) If you examine carefully the state of the world, you will realize there are less and less chairs. This is worrying. (from Page 17) Tremendous earth shakes are rolling in the country and make a nuisance of themselves. “Shake and twist” is my policy, no mater what. Shake and twist. Beer is not a solution, because the nearest pub is too near and the exits are blocked with other exits... Tulips are everywhere. Everywhere you gaze, there is a tulip in a vase and outside, a lot of out side in the outside, in the sides of the out and the sides of the sides, every where tulips with lips and without. Some have two lips and more. I do not trust tulips at all. Most of the time they lie and tell lies and tell only tulip news, which mean nothing to skyscrapers and dinosaurs, for instance, for example. That is why I don’t trust tulips, with lips and without. (from page 18) Roses are sort of foreign, refusing to merge, behaving in a most egocentric, neurotic, border line linear pacifism, evoking the notion that roses do not really belong to the human race and should consider themselves some kind of plant or insect. We should never go to a reading of a rose, or a concert of a rose. Roses are unreasonable, which may sound trivial and it is. Roses should be taken seriously wrong.

‘P.S. Pussy Song‘ 2013/14 (Twenty six poems)

Delete

smile

delete

song

delete

pussy

write

vagina

vaginal

virginal

vulgar

virtual

possible

violence

10.

pussy face

weeps

face book

tickets

sold out

out sold

hall

empty

‘Crows‘ 2012 (Part of work including visual art and performance)

Crows

crawl

into

sleep

alert

awake

cleaning their

wings

waiting

picking

at the

crumbs

of scattered

day

dreams

building a

nest

with

veins

from

brain

fools!

bloody

fools!

11.

Crows

do not

to be

projected

independently

they

fly

their

doom

relieved

sometimes

as mark

of contempt

and gratitude

they leave

droppings

crumbs

‘Twelve‘ 2010 (Twelve poems & twelve drawings, with performance and music)

force fed

goose

go!

ooze!

‘stägeli uf

stägeli ab’

go home

angels

go nome

my anus

sky blue

‘Walls of Paradise‘ 2006 (Part three of Trilogy) 5,757 words

(from page 3)

Lo and behold

on the shores of

paradise waves

wear bulldozers

and dig at the

sand

and dig and dig

and dig the

Stillness

Lie in the barren earth of paradise that is fertile with bones and details. Lie deep and fly. Legs touch the missing, arms a scarecrow salute, shirt-flapping against your limbs, making them innocent. Try flying over the valley, over the ancient sites, your feet an irrigation net with promised water, never enough.

(from page 4)

Pardon me for being: a snake, a traitor, a criminal, a pervert.

Pardon me for invading your space.

Pardon me for having designs on the dove.

Pardon me for smearing saliva on your grass and wiping my anus with your fruit.

Pardon me for loving beyond hate, for hating love, for loving love, for hating.

Pardon me for penetrating your holiness with empty sockets and for letting my hair fall over your face.

Pardon me.

‘Victory’ 2005 4,169 words

(from page 1)

Was soll das? She died. Victory. Alone, without tenants, hostile tenants. Victory. No plan. Victory has no plan. Wrong. Only planned victories are victory. Not to mention “Sieg”, “Sieg” can only be planned. Victories are not supposed to be failures, unless they are unplanned Victories. These were not supposed to be successful Victories, but failed Victories. A failed Victory is a plan for Victory, which failed.

(from page 3)

‘Five Stones‘

Each child has five stones.

You throw one upwards.

Before you catch it

you must collect

the others in groups of

one

two

three and

four.

You throw one upwards

and push the others

through a gate

made of two fingers

on your second hand.

You have to throw one upwards

and take two

and then the other two.

You have to throw one upwards

and collect the remaining four

with the same hand

and the stone thrown upwards too.

When you do all this, without dropping a stone, you won. You are the winner.

’Proems’ 2005 9,515 words

(from page 2)

Babies should not be allowed into cinemas or schools; babies belong where they belong if they belong. Babies are taboo and even snakes are not allowed to get anywhere near them, even trains must stop for babies and the sun should not shine in the conductors eyes. Please release all hostages, or you shall not be given ice cream for dinner.

(from Page 15)

If you examine carefully the state of the world, you will realize there are less and less chairs. This is worrying.

(from Page 17)

Tremendous earth shakes are rolling in the country and make a nuisance of themselves. “Shake and twist” is my policy, no mater what. Shake and twist. Beer is not a solution, because the nearest pub is too near and the exits are blocked with other exits...

Tulips are everywhere. Everywhere you gaze, there is a tulip in a vase and outside, a lot of out side in the outside, in the sides of the out and the sides of the sides, every where tulips with lips and without. Some have two lips and more. I do not trust tulips at all. Most of the time they lie and tell lies and tell only tulip news, which mean nothing to skyscrapers and dinosaurs, for instance, for example. That is why I don’t trust tulips, with lips and without.

(from page 18)

Roses are sort of foreign, refusing to merge, behaving in a most egocentric, neurotic, border line linear pacifism, evoking the notion that roses do not really belong to the human race and should consider themselves some kind of plant or insect. We should never go to a reading of a rose, or a concert of a rose. Roses are unreasonable, which may sound trivial and it is. Roses should be taken seriously wrong.

writing

‘Result of a Journey‘ 2004 (Part two of Trilogy) 4,681 words

(from page 1)

“And the river is high ...

If I drift down the stream they will collect, stop, restrain me at the dam. A deep rift in the concrete catches it all; dead wood, bottles, dirt, dead birds, sweet children, torn bits of angels. There you are stuck. Not allowed to flow, not allowed to fall, kept away from clean guts of citizens.

“ich sitz am Strande

der rauschenden See

und suche dort nach Ruh” ...

“Fish are jumping

And the water is high” ..

(from page 16)

Comb your wet hair

pull it over your eyes

in long wet strands

turned black

turned marble

green and black.

Your comb

a boat,

stuck across

your

marble hair.

Be just half alone, half alive, be just half hungry, half a bird, half a glass of water - the empty, the full, be just half a Jew, half a Christian, be just half kind, half cruel, be just half a talent, half a shoe, be just half a song, half dead, half alive. Alive.

Ten years younger. Ten years older . Ten - der

Tender the time that flows from your eyelashes. Tender the time that circles your (very small male) nipple. Tender the time that crouches, hiding in the tiny hole of your penis. Tender the time in your painful smile. Tender the time in your anger and despair. Tender the time in your dry, determined thirst. Tender the time in your unabashed hardness. Tender your hard look at me, flowing on my face, rain on window glass, open, unprotected. Tender is Time, becoming a puddle at your feet, a trickle, a river, and then a sea.

Tender, my face in your water.

from ‘Songs from Ligallureja’ (a cycle of poems).

I was

made

of rubbish

and some

socks.

Did

you

hear

of the

dog

who was tied

to the back

of a running car

in Milan

and had

to run

and to run?

He lost his paws.

I lost

my socks.

‘Schauder‘ (für Paul Klee)

schwarze Perle

weissdampfende

Schlacht

Sieg-si-mund

ist

eingeschlfen.

Heute, Nacht,

sind die Fische

“hopping mad”.

Fädendünn

fliesst die Perle

weiss ins

Wasser.

Rot wird es,

ein Zahn beim

Seelen Artzt

ausgerissen.

‘Death Wall‘ 2001 (Part one of Trilogy) 2,968 words

(from page 8)

The wall in our garden is a death wall. Enemies can be placed against it and shot.

Slowly they sink to their knees blood trailing carefully from neck to crevice. It will become a historic wall.

Deep under two stones dug from the sea, lies my dog in a pot. Plucked cows from his collar moo to the moon and graze his feet. He sleeps contented.

What’s the point of it all (banal).

close her tongue

arrest her breathing

untie her hair

put her on an electric chair

string her cells

a string of pearls

tie her up

my finger nails

speak many tongues

‘Remarques‘ 2000 Short story, 2,585 words

(from page 1)

It was ironic. I mean, “Petite Monaco”, Café “Petite Monaco”. Monaco was by the sea, tough buildings pressing side of hills like rape. But this was Paris, rue Piccardie, in the vicinity of the important vernissage she was invited to attend. Time was a heavy beast. Looking for refuge, this Café was what she “swung into”. One man, stared, another, the bar tender, replied to the question “What have you got to drink” with what seemed to her, mocking politeness. It was not like a French Café. The décor, the music, the two faces.

Whether to take a pill in the toilet or, in front of the two staring faces, she will have to take one. Clear? First, though, she took the mock leather agenda out of her bag, where she stored the photographs and started, what seemed to her impressively, to scribble drafts, transferring instantaneously to a writer who outlines sketches to become an important work of genius. The trick proved effective. She became calm, shall we say, more self possessed.

Dressed in black, these were the same clothes she wore to the premiere of her work: “Look at me Mr. Elephant”. She criticized her choice. Clothes were the part she played. it was no good wearing the clothes for one part, in a different part.

The music was “Algerienne” the bar tender told her guardedly, being, perhaps, aware of her secret.

She was a big fleshy strawberry. Sand hidden under her crown of hard leaves.

‘The Diary of the Wetzikoner Hausfrau‘ 1995 One from 23 poems published in ‘die Affenschaukel 18’

(from page 20)

Sin

derella

uglier

than her

sisters

nipples

flying

a dance

with intestines

in the dark

noprince

waiting.

Short story published in the above.

(page 5)

‘The Sale‘

The psychologist and the girl friend were trying to chose a drawing and she tried to help. Before they arrived she cleaned the flat bought an unusual cake and decidedly wore something sensuous artistic subtle to fit with the circumstances. In fact she was disappointed he did not come alone. Like the ducks which refused to be fed at night, he gave her a clear signal. She tried to make the best of it. She planned to play the “double game” - charming intelligent seductive world wise little girl. That same evening she played yet another game: “Pretending to be”. She denied through polenta and spat lies with her little pieces of meat. She fought to be somebodyanybody - and she lost.

At any rate she had the sensation of self disgust at managing to cheat someone into buying one of her drawings. At night she dreamt that her husband betrays her and felt sure that the psychologist will find a vomiting monster when he arrives home and has another look at what he bought. She loved the psychologist and the girl friend. She laid all the drawings on the white pubic carpet, she held a small lamp to give them extra light, at their request she told them what she thinks, she offered them a free drawing, she folded her legs in her short skirt in such a way that both would be enchanted. She wanted them in different ways and she wanted them to save her.

Sometimes at what seemed to her critical moments she stepped out of the room to give them room to hesitate, she decidedly went to the loo and did not mind if they heard her peeing. This was an achievement. Normally she would let the water run to hide the noise. This time she only did that briefly. All in all she made very few mistakes.

Then he wrote the check on the glass table.

She was happy, for a while. She collected their cups and carefully avoided the window in case they still stood outside and watched her in the dark. She started to prepare a complex fruit salad. She missed them. Then she changed the position of the check and placed it on top of her computer.

Ducks & Swans 1994 Instantaneous texts at the piano, 11 tracks on first of numerous recorded tapes to be digtalised (extract from Track 3)

“Good bye Meidele

good bye Ketzele

good bye.

I am waiting till

you come back.”

What shall I do now?

Shall I go to the church-no

shall I read Freud-no-no-no...

Decide now

Decide

I’ll write sometthing

quickly down

so that it is done

so that it is clear

so that I know

so that it stays

and I can read it again

and make sure

it really happened.

“Good Bye good bye

Meidele”

to make sure

it really happened

I live with an open window

and therefore I am susceptible

to all sorts of weather conditions

and insects

and pushing

and no real place

of my own

“Good bye Meidele

Good Bye Meidele

Meidele.