son of

– Gastbeitrag von Fynh. Vielen Dank an Joël, dem dieser Text auch gewidmet ist.

Sometimes i wish you would come home, lay your exhausted self down in the spare half of the bed, and instant sleep would fall over you. I would watch over your insecurity until you get up running again. I‘ll watch your breath, I swear. I‘ll watch your heartbeat, I swear. I won‘t ever touch you. You should only come home to me so I‘d be given the chance to care for you.

Eddie‘s coming over every once in a while. We drive up to the hills, sit down on the front lid of the car, watch the airport‘s quiet nightiness. We roll some papers, he‘s telling me his worries, i get caught by the smoke we blow. The Head is the only one I can loose my head with. He goes home with the dawn. I think about M. We‘re coming to get you Barbara. I broke your circle of death before dishonor. Did you break the promise to yourself? When will you break it to me? My olfactive taste resembles your mother‘s so much. I have a strange feeling. I wasn‘t horny tonight, I‘m really sorry. For days I‘ve been having pyromaniac desires. I want to see burns, flames slapping the air, ever higher, while laid back, worshipping the universal selfdestructiveness to the bone.

Mando Diao are riding like the Walkyries on short waves, invading my brain with their sticky whatsoever songs for the ipod nation, and i‘m ashamed for the times I cried about the news. I hate the mere idea of imperialism, but the strength and vigor, the discipline and consistency They were showing builds up the remedium to my depression.

So crowded are these nights, lonely inside. Hold me without taking hold of me. Afraid of being alone because of all the accumulated sins. Typing the oh so beloved night away, waiting for invading moments of shared love, but recurrently sensing the voracious creeping in of the counterpart awareness.

I don‘t know when I last felt a devotion so devouring I was torn through inside only by looking at its centre. I want a life so blastingly bright that it makes me Semele in front of Zeus eventually. Instead I feel like I‘m Antigone‘s repressed doubt.
I am
Antigone‘s
repressed
doubt.
I am
Semele‘s
hidden
regret.
I am
Kronos‘
broken
will.
And all the Aconitum of the East won‘t make those thoughts vanish.
And all the success that‘s nurturing my splintered ego won‘t make it redundant at last.
Let go of yourself, only then will you be able to fuse with the universe.
Most of the time I‘d be perfectly satisfied with fusing with the background.
Life as a struggle with my self. A struggle between the difficulty of moving on and the reluctance to give up. I already said that once before, except for one fine detail.
It‘s the love for you that determines the outcome of each and every fight.

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