1
The interior is rooms within rooms. The outside world vanishes; every move takes place inside a box. We are forced to think right on top of one another. We fly into a rage and start biting; it is stifling. When your own flesh begins to pull you back, a cough is coming on. Black spots of dampness appear above the ceiling of the cage. Stripped bare—naked to one another—we whisper. What is this? All that remains is the bitterness of a friend. The steamroller comes first from the core—to crush; you are not alone. With sleeves in tatters, wretched creatures go to the cinema. Leaving the cinema, releasing films, switching off the television—the cage.
Cotton heads gathered and torn apart in the sky. A field of starry eyes intertwining, twisting their seed within themselves. Only the heads fly, like fallen giant warriors. Helmets that are buildings—crumbling ruins with gushing water. Mineral blood spurts and glimmers in the darkness. A cave-fish; tears fill it. White woolen threads stitch together a cloth covering the earth; we crawl beneath it. It caresses us and tucks us in for the night. A mandala in the dark; bad thoughts pursue me. Afterward, I cannot show it. I can't again, I can't again, I can't again. I can do nothing. A naked failure; I will fall apart before others even notice whether I am there or not. Only I can see myself; the eyes on my back are asleep. Wounds bleed—unintentionally—on one of the many trolleybuses. Do you remember the prickling needles? It is bursting at the seams.