Street Notes To Your Dirtiest Dreams

or an Invitation

you might

con-

sit

here

[you might consider]

to better decline …

I’m all tears of need hidden

with

out

need

behind men-of black

hole

sun

glasses

but with all

drunken song bird

Rickies

:

all the criminals are

(insane, says me)

saints“.

Where we’re gonna

burn*

today – and night?

Fires

that ain’t eat ya heart

are burnin a-

way in vain.

My

– amuse me –

muse, my

stoned harlot

show this

dog

hiss

sway

‘     way

scholarly

nota(:)

ben’assai

es

:

😉

leˀ miɛ

scus’

dia

bol

lllliting

here(:)

(Kiss) this:

*Sicut déficit fumus defíciant; sicut fluit cera a fácie ígnis, sic péreant peccatóres a fácie …

I

listen to it

The devil in me Don’t come closer Because I promise danger if you do. You ask me why I smile? Because I knew you’d give a shit on my warning. So sit down, sip wine and listen And now know this: I used to be a peaceful man Before I came to this place But what attracts you now so fatally Is just a mask, That the demon has put on my face. That demon’s name ‘s Dionysus, The king of elegance and terror, And I am his sparkling bait. Help yourself with wine, please, And while you’re at it, Why don’t you take a cigarette from me.

It will somewhat ease your pain On our fun ride…

She asked for the bathroom, And while she was wasting The last free minutes of her life, I stood up and walked over to One of the wonderful windows Made of Butzenglas , And watched the landscape (Through a Bull’s eye pane that is,) Beyond the castle freeze in agony. And suddenly the floating in of memories: Bohemian Krumlov on a cold February day In 1608… Gore at the castle…

But she returned And I smiled her into comfort So that she might find Delight in the stories I was to trap her with Which went like this one, Which was the first: “One day past or future – it matters hardly -when Dionysus tightens his grip on me once more- He leads me in paths so wrongfully dark Off the Bourgeois track And through the snowy sideways of A pretty city close to the Alps. For you are with me in that valley of death And I surely will dwell… In that house of booze. Amidst those present -Gamblers not boozers btw Except this one Grayed-in-the-wool guy Who’d stomp his left hoof With annoying loudness on the floor- Stood ostentatiously Our landlady ,our barkeeperette Body yummy, nose crooked though (Though this being no obstacle) But a plenitude of blond hair Enough –to cut it short – to distract me from keeping strict attention to my glass. She would not take a drink But as I applied this technique: Pretend to be fascinated by whatever She seems to find worthwhile to share And be assured: her sweet little Subconsciousness will tenderly start to vibrate for you… Alas, she kept me from drinking seriously, Which alone would have saved me From committing what Evades me now. Because the rest of the night Faded into a blur –a mere smear of time- Sentiment-free At least Retrospectively. And while taking the cab Next noon to the next exhibition Of … grandeur And equipped most orderly with Emotional painkillers I – with earned concern – could not help to notify Numerous police cars heading at A place I could only Faintly remember.

II

listen to it

We pass the gate …. our path  emerges for a while (Ernest Dowson)

One summer night in 1989 You will find me spread out All over the marble-floored, Ample parlor of my parents’ house Who are spending their holidays On an arbitrary Mediterranean shore. The moon is not yet out when I take a step outside on the patio Smoking my cheap strong tobacco And not the heavy Cubans Oh so presentably resting In the teakwood humidor But at least sipping (no: drinking) An unbelievingly expensive red wine With grimly anarchistic delight, While I let a most majestic massacre Of some Straussian waltzes Namely: Ravel’s La Valse Burst out into the extended neighborhood And let it beat a couple of horny tomcats Deep into the dark bushes On the brink of les jardins de mes parents. Nice people by the way When off. And finally when bored enough Of the splendid view, evening breeze, smell of flowers In short: the luxury I take a cab downtown To get dirty…

I only don’t spare you the smelly fact That I molest the cab-driver by farting So much that as soon as we hit the city limits He stands on his brakes and tries to throw me out And only decides otherwise After I have stuffed a big note Between his bad excuse for teeth Because you, my sweet lady, Might be inclined to think that I am Bragging with my huge knowledge Of cultural history when I blether That when I hit the second or third bar This night I happen to meet An ugly Frenchman And very relaxedly get into Discussing the most important 400 years of French literature Starting with Villon, ending with Rivarol, And a short outlook, even On the Renouveau Catholique Which I will try to acquaint you with much later. I end up here with confirming To this funny frog  in heavily broken Creole That I don’t like Le Breton But mean Le Pen, what an ugly mistake! Anyway, I don’t find anything resembling a bathroom here. So when I move myself further complete with full bladder To the next nicely decorated filling station I hint out to my new friend Who just happened to squat along my path Most innocently The wonderful cream-colored old-timer Waiting opposite an Irish bar With – because it is summer- Open windows. I smell the fine leather while peeing on the seats And I don’t become aware early enough Of the owner both of bar and car And it costs me a lot – including money – To appease him.”

It is most appetizing to watch you chuckle over this, My sweet guest, Let me serve you another glass, bottle, gallon if you please, of Шампанское  (Crimean Champaign) And take some oysters if it helps. How soft your cheeks feel! I’m not a vampire, you must know, I prefer things to end When they end.

And now and i know you won’t mind this Let’s get into a slightly dreamier, bluer state of mind. How lovely your head rests on the purple cushion While your lips and tongue and lungs make love to the shisha!

“ Nowadays I prefer Miles Davis But back then  exploding in this discotheque is Jeff Healey RIP With “See the light” The guy was blind And quite the groover. So I dance along and fall over A stout G I’s feet. This Joe or whatever  is a bit aggressive tonight Or maybe the rest of us is, hard to decide in hindsight. And so we fight back to back Not sure why but we win And earn us a taxi back home. And it feels good to ride home, The 2 of us sweating musketeers On the back seat of the cab. I confess that we two don’t look too polished on this early pre-morn And black eye staring into black eye I all of a sudden have this absurd idea To show him, show his ears , make him listen to Ravel’s La Valse And while I force the neighbors to listen again I will admit to you That he didn’t care, Well, how depraved can you get in one single summer night! I hand him I don’t remember what it was – some filled glass And our Joe, he thinks he is at his shrink’s And makes this confession: “Buddy, didya know that Ah Am a murderer…” Grins the bastard.  “Of coazze not, but it’s true… Ya know: I cut off someone’s head.” I just nod and switch records, Put some relaxing BB King on the stereo And blow some reefer smoke into his, this Dangerous bull’s, nostrils. He takes it all in I am so glad when Joe relaxes Well, his time is up soon anyway So I listen:  She (he hands me a photo) Was my girlfriend back then. When I had just returned  from the battlefield. And that bitch, ya know had been cheatin on me all the time While I was earning our living by risking my life any second out there.. And I come home and call her and around The corner I see them And my baby has his dick in her mouth And I guess it was then that I kind of lost control And drew out my machete and…” But I will spare you the details of that somewhat Some may say inappropriately gruesome slaughter my new friend had committed back then. I cleverly refrain from inquiring of him, My sweaty stony Jim, We are bro’s in arms, mind you What had happened to his girlfriend. And it is not yet dawn And I excuse myself for a pee And when I return I am full to the brim With holy anger some evil angel of the old bible must have blown into me And do you see that knife, where did it come from? And in the Lord’s own name I slaughter the sinner And cry over his bones As any decent Christian would do. But over a decade later When I happen to stroll into Strassburg’s murky Cathedral Our Lord speaks to me thusly: My son you err. It was Dionysus back then. And I am so filled with joy Because I had only been possessed By that filthy, outlandish Thracian demon When I did the abominable.”

I end there And as I have foreseen You have fallen into a warm somber slumber.

III

listen to it

Markéta Annapúrna A pretty sentimental interlude

It is long past midnight, It is that wee hour of 3 am and the fat blue moon Is firmly nailed above the winter forest’s silhouette I supply our lungs with some chilly December breeze Then close the man-high windows and I cry. You rest and sway Within a satin dream. I nervously watch over us. The demon has left me for tonight. But Zágreus will return on New Year’s Eve And will as surely penetrate your soul As he has once pierced mine.

You don’t even know where we are right now: Inside these walls a princely madman once has raged And killed a daughter of the town And slaughtered her so cruelly that even His father,  Mad Rudolf II from Habsburg , The Holy Roman Emperor himself, Henceforth completely neglected His despicable bastard.

As candles melt in front of goblins I sigh a bit. I light my cigarette Then turn towards your face And to your soul within your dream propose Let’s fly, let’s float away… Did you know That your red fair hair That close to me Whips my mind Into arousal And your lips which I Hardly dare to touch Are of a crimson darkness that Devours the shiver that is me? And so we fly. You are so soft inside And outside and everywhere. All of a sudden I see red-eyed hares chasing foxes and Roebucks hunt their hunters And we ever so slowly Flip and flop and Float upside down Over this little Bohemian town And I press your head against my chest Because I don’t want you to see Madman Don Julius d’Austria Stumble across main street Spilling his rabid terror Into the faces of terrified passers-by And so we fly to the East and far we fly. And we come down hard Inmidst the 天山 tiān shān, the heavenly mountains Next to the little green Buddha’s hidden grotto. Who will heed, feed and save us Or so say the folks.

IV /1

listen to it

Two arts

You awake from a whirlwind Of enticing emotions I can see that you suffer. Let me offer you help. You need, I think, to be taught Two arts urgently In order to stay alive somehow After Dionysos has taken Possession of you: The first one is how to Get over your hangover In such a way as To keep you craving For his venom and Always craving for more. The second will then enable you To make your mind Hover loftily above The hard depression That sure would hit you Had you stayed With your heart At the ground. Take this smoke first And then a pill Before you down Your breakfast glass To hail our master Still – as of yet Unknowingly. Oh, you do feel sick? I promise not to watch. See, you even already cackled! Turning around now. Sir? – Yes, the lady wants Tea … with rum, 2 shots of it Wait: make this Rum, tea-flavored. My sweet, I love it When you smile. You are not hungry I suppose? Ok, I’d like to show you a photograph now. Yes, she is, should rather say: was beautiful. This is her story, her and mine:

IV/2

listen to it

How Petra died

You see me entering the town On a slow train bound to the West I’m definitely suffering from A kind of drug-induced amnesia But I sure know Where I’m going to Got his address penciled down On cigarette paper Plus some money and dope And even entertain an Admittedly queer kind of hope. There was this friend of mine Old-timer junkie Quite clearly already Very much over All edges and me Conquering this incredibly Tiny city apartment. Our friend, who never showed up Had left us with his keys. We did some qualified boozing, My junking friend got us needle stuff, But was not used to the smoke anymore, Gave quite his very peculiar Hamlet one night At the downstairs of a station And earned his place Most valiantly in The town’s loony bin. Holy loneliness. It was time To fall in love: For once Mr.  Mushroom, the friend with the keys, Had reappeared from his psychedelic woods And on my leave he asked me If I’d join him for a party And it was there where I fell in love with His friend’s girlfriend So deeply I almost did not feel The joy of liquid morphine Rushing through My veins anymore. Her emerald eyes sucked me Into the very core of her being. We crash, unite, the world And all its pain is gone It is just us beyond all misery, The bitter stench of death And  sweet decay. But after all this carnival We start to leave each other Slowly, smoothly Disappearing more and more And there’s no way To hold her back: Her soul is bound to die And mine is forced to watch. 5 years later I find you dead You’re curled up closely On your bed. You are so tiny, My love, as you hug all this messed-up linen. I see drops of dark blood Staring at my unbelieving eyes. How only could you go that way? Later your mom and me, We’re cleaning your room I’m wondering about The color of those latex gloves That I find in your dust-bin Pink, green, yellow Kinky stuff?  But no: It’s just forensics. The crime scene unit Did their job.

V

listen to it

Hope

4 minutes ‘till the shops will open. I had almost fallen asleep. Cigarette?  Sure take one Your body is so warm. Loud Sun!  Even the sun is showing up today! Birds! There may be land in sight! I dream of you besides me. It’s a crucial day. Hope is always what it could be like. Will we ever set sails to cross this dismal drunken sea Against those waves of joy and horror? And both of us, we watch that glass of booze, That’s still half full, we will not die right now. It’s either risky life or some kind of comfortable death. We’re circulating round our headaches But know of ways to fix this. Your eyes glitter warmly at my crotch But that’s long-past luxury Only blood and heroin will flow Through our wounds once bodies. After the fix I lose myself In your weak bleak arms And we stare for hours Into our long-lost future: And we stare into death Suddenly  after 5000 light years You bend your face to me: Wait! And I applaud you trying to make it to the bathroom Only  a couple o’ hours later You reappear somewhat fresher Citrus  in the air You snuggle up at The curious skeleton That used to be me. You want grass. You talk: Baby……………… We’re not gonna make it over the weekend And long before I catch the meaning  of your song I am into purple dreams again; Birds twittering Love into my ears. So we have just 4 grams for 2 fucking nights left now, you fucking asshole! I show her the “reserve”…  the beyond– h- stuff Fist-big eyes of hers: Great Church Choir plus Organ Relieve Toccata All in her eyes. And we smoke gruntingly Like Vietnamese water buffaloes There is no escape

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