Lullaby. (or: Tension)

the black spreads out like water circles when you drop little stones in a smooth lake.
'remember, quiet waters run deep and dirty' a quote from a book, maybe G.G. Marquez, echoing in her mind, hollow, dark, empty, memories shattered in the bottomless swiss cheese; her mind, - damp and raven black, rotting in the mist of self pittiance.
all those conclusions, illusions, delusions, allusions and other usions have lead to the finale of a great 'usions' parade: CONFUSION. the letters flaunting flawlessly with taunt and scorn, mocking the eternal attempts of manhood to decipher just about everything.
'ah' she sighs, 'to be or not to be? for me, today, on this sunny afternoon with Californian Palmtrees blinking and winking in the soft breeze that reminds me of soft ice, so different from the good old Italian ice cream but still good enough for a womans body drenched with bad mood hormones...so for me, today, the question would rather be: to be born or unborn. I'd rather be unborn. and what a cheesy procreation induced idea to follow the whole of humanity into the same trap by lending my womb to a person unborn. I will never do that. It is a crim against free spirit, binding it to matter, dragging it down...'

she lets the word dwindle down the washed out lines of repeated phrases, falls silent, hush, do you hear the lullaby.


as she looks out of the window, far up somewhere in the middle of the skyscraper that pets the clouds and tickles them occasionally, without any sexual intentions though, she sees black ravens drift by, somewhat lost, lurking with their little pale eyes that promise wisdom but always bring death. ultimately, the orgasm, the culmination of wisdom and many useless facts penetrated by sudden clairvoyance is the moment when with the last breath you escape the body, wiping off the soul on the way, mingeling with the winds to reach beyond the walls of our hollow rotten confused minds. And as you free yourself in those mystical ways that people only dared to speak in whispers of in the earlier days when there were still ways, as you free yourself you look back, probably, deciding to never let anybody know of the absolute gorgeousness you find there, because otherwise everybody would choose: unborn. and the heavenly grounds would be crowded....
she closes the window, sits down and draws.

A big black, quiet lake. with a dead raven, floating, belly and beak turned towards the skies.

A piercing shriek. A raven, looking directly into her eye.
A wind, a shudder.

Lullaby