A letter to the young Werther
I know you covet me – I’m needed by you
I really wanted to be your friend
see your inner depths
face the outer frontiers
fight your fight
burn your fire
But you won’t let me get that close. Because I’m needed in your life,
not as a friend, not as a lover, but as an object
for your own struggle against that which is dark in you
It’s not me that you love – it’s not him that you hate.
You’re pulled towards the struggle within you
and your hate is your only source of joy.
You’re in love with your own miserable infatuation.
You desperately cling to that pathetic part of you
that you choose to call romance.
I will happily hand you the weapon you desire,
but that doesn’t make me your assassin.
Delilah’s aria for Samson
You feel deceived
Perhaps you saw it coming when you tried to keep me from you
But passion is a dangerous game
It lured you to the brink
of what your inflated power could handle
But you did see that your strength was only a chimera?
Now your tresses are falling
and there’s nothing you can do
but to be forever bound
to the frailty we call life
The jack in the box – not a nursery rhyme
jack in the box – what are you doing?
always popping up
showing your grotesqueness
to my newly washed kitchen rags
your face contorts
in deafening bouts
laughing bitterly
at mine
the flying curtain-rubber-mattress-god’s glittering sob
calm down little girl
relax
not like that
I don’t want it anymore
you have to die
you, who only bring pain
There is a worse fear
grit
trickling from my hand
pebble by pebble
(or are they my tears?)
where are you my child?
where are you?
a cry can be heard in Ramatha
since thousands of years
take me, violence
take me usury and sheathe
but leave the little ones alone
pebble
after
tear
in sand
The hole is darker than night but the light refuses to go out
I
so little rest before the reveille
across naked landscapes
where is the force that carries us to the gates of Eden?
wicked one, whip in hand
piercing achilles heel
keeps the pursuit alive
never stop
always wake
only happiness sleeps
II
happiness bides her time
awaits the eye of the storm to be afflicted
only in battle time stops
only there, for a second
open the gates that our beating fists have smeared with blood
a small eternity as a mocking gift
an aperitif without dinner
wicked one, whip in hand
stabbing achilles heel
keeps the pursuit alive
never stop
always wake
only peace sleeps
III
peace in its serenity
ignorant of the storm outside
always present in its absence
IV
is this our only goal
this
to put out all the lights
and let darkness mount the unfruitful
from her womb give birth to the grotesque
V
caress forehead
rest
eyes closed, savour your voice
opium for my escape will be your name
lord of peace
wonderful
enormous
god
wicked one, whip in hand
scalding achilles heel
keeps the pursuit alive
never stop
always wake
only sin is pleasured
Martyr without a god
For so long we’d been searching for that goodness
dug
turned inside out
served
forgotten
granted
suffocated
head-butted the wall bloody with shame
Always, always stood up
never resignation
sweet surrender
“Goodness” itself sat behind the screen
coldly watching every move
slowly shaking its black curls
reluctantly lifting its organ
towards the throbbing womb
Each moment of ecstasy brings us closer to the final betrayal
where we whisper feebly at each others nakedness
there was
never
an Eden to die for
Always crossed – trying love, like a forged knife against a naked throat
a nightmare
You write the curse on my forehead
and like Cain I have to walk the barren lands
Perhaps it was the force of my wrath
that clad you naked on the cross
and hey, honestly – I enjoy being your executioner, God
There I’m dangerous
You’re pathetic
But when I see your tenderness bleed
from every orifice of your body
my doubt begs the question
How can you call yourself God
when you can’t even see through the cloak of the Pharisee
I’m your Judas, he who throws his brother
into the empty well
not to kill you, no, not that really
but to see if your love is even stronger
the betrayal burns in me
every time
every time you turn your merciful gaze to my womb
and ask
- Do you still want to be loved?
I love
I love the eyes that despise me
I touch the mouth that slanders me
I kiss the hands that strike me
I worship the feet that turn around and walk away
because I believe
that your beating heart carries a longing
that once in a while can make
your eyes glitter
your mouth smile
your hands caress
and your feet run
Soul without footsteps
Feeling each second with intensity
Playing your violin with the tenderness of my lips
hate disappears
contempt becomes powerless
behind every facade
nothing
Weeks of sloth
a mad melody finds its home
alienation grows in our mouths
vomit erupts
years and years
If you leave now
not even a tear will be shed
Jester’s tricks
You black god
dancing your foolery
at the flowerbeds of my weaknesses
Juggling your wrath at my powerlessness
swallowing my flame
when I need it the most
I beg you:
Let the little ones be
I know so well
how your dance is passed on through the generations
but they’re so beautiful
sleeping on the couch
Take me with you
black one, but I beg you:
Let the little ones be
