operation underworld
deep pleasure
the stone game,
yea this is a great game, and all you need is stones.
first time played on an island outside the coast of north west africa,
this is how it's played and this is how it goes;
find a stoneish beach and collect 5 to 6 stones,
put them up and place them on other stones,
then try to throw them down and when sucess, you'r entitled to an extra shot.
and this is how it's played and this is how it goes
until all put up stones are thrown down.
each year the mountain on the island kills 3 to 4 people
by letting small pieces of it fall to the ground and in the head of people passing by below
jaja take care that a fallen statue does not strike you
on the road towards a beautiful stroll in the creek,
or to the meditation center where you work to stay,
or to the fruit garden owned by a bitch forbidding you to touch the fruits,
or to the former mansion of the drummer of Phil Collins.
along the promenade from fisherman village to little town
the sea were rolling stones forward and back,
making sound of teeth clapping in cold or gunfire in a valley nearby.
and from safe land to the stoney desert
around Mar Saba,
there was an urge to walk into desert unequipped;
no water, no protection for the sun, no-good shoes.
but no-can-do when accompanied,
with a weak heart
like most things having certain time periods
in which the things are especially good,
Mar Saba is said to be peaking in beauty,
to be in its high-light by the rise of dawn
in town going to rooms for looking at stones from outer space,
small pieces laid in monitors of glass and steel
the meteor which recently crossed the sky and hit a frozen lake in Russia,
came raging down from Universe in 60 times the speed of sound
kabaaaaam it exploded in the atmosphere
releasing 20 to 30 times more energy then the bomb
that was dropped on Hiroshima
voff nah?
walls of stone eating up arguments and bad energies
swallowing shouts and cries and screams
glupp glupp, yumyum gimme more!
no lullabies or pain-killers;
blind-songs and new wounds,
You got the stuff, World:
heaps of stones,
reliable killers,
concentrated effort of innumerable difficult journeys,
rhythmic exertion of many men making beats
hammering on whatever made of steel to be found
to dance,
make a muscle
grow teeth
learn a child a language to put bread on the table,
did not mean to let your kids see a mans mouth
being filled with boiling oil
10 000 meters up in the sky
there is the fear
that future generations will not be able to understand,
information to be lost as language change,
that of certain mountains being radiant
graves of used energy, splendid isolation.
put this in the mouth,
learn the meaning of:
on the sky

published in the catalogue for Sophie Reinholds exhibition SOFTMACHINE, 2014

for reasons tripping on pages

published in General Fine Arts Issue 2 vol 1, 2014


the fear of being touched
yet it has to begin that way;
with an invisible crowd,
the eternal uncreated ones
-and an egg.
touch a tickling sensation on your body
could be a kiss
or a touch by spirit,
a pressure on top of your head
which means the opening of your crown chakra
to receive messages
the chill on the back of the neck or
hair standing upon your body.
a cold breeze passing through the room.
this sound is one of the oldest sounds in the history
it might be as old as 200thousand years,
a woman is screaming
she is black and healthy
and has been brought here from the south.
her baby is ready to be born
but her legs has been tied together
out of curiosity masquerade as science
her baby birth itself to death against her bones
the sound of human behavior
frequenzies stuck over generations in rooms and places
i am sitting in a room different from the one you are in now
whats my name?
never mind
i once moved into a flat where there were hearts all over
stickers of hearts in the corners
hearts penciled into the walls
cut out hearts laying in the window.
i put up skeletons on the front door and it felt good.
feeling good i let the man in
to suck the last love out
know what I'm saying
lip service
learning through the mouth
yeah body wishes
i say it with reason when i wish for flesh
the desire of prey
its a mad hunt
everything living flees in whatever shape offered to avoid being eaten
seeing yourself being eaten, your own mouth turned against you
no thanks know what I'm saying

the power of the dead
the law of attraction
a secret
the attraction of cemetaries and graveyards is so strong that people visit them
even if nobody belonging to them are buried there
the awe we feel going there
and more the awe we exhibit
covers a secret satisfaction
yeah what does someone who finds himself in a graveyard actually do?
how does he move and what occupy his thoughts?
he wander slowly up nd down between the graves
looking at this stone and that
reading the names of them
and feeling drawn to some of them
its experience of time that´s fascinates him
increasingly it stands out from the touching inscriptions
here´s a man who lived to be 32
over there
lived to be 45.
he finds a couple who lived together for a long time
and now lie together for always
the dead is easy game
they can not move but must remain there
side by side under his feet
the unknown dead lays crowded together
they are many and there will be more of them
he alone comes and goes as he wishes
he alone stand up straight
know what I'm saying.
priests in business know what I'm saying
yeah this aint no free cult
they say the sound when blowing a seashell 3000 years ago could mark
an early kind of capitalism
the ability of fleeing annoying tumult has always been a prerogative of the rich
from wealthy romans
running to the hills
to well-to-do Edingburgh;ers flocking to the new Town
during the First world war officers suffering shell-shock would be sent off
for quiet recorporation
while enlisted men were more likely to be classed as neurasthenic
men of the word and a blow
drilling instructors use screaming in anger to foster obedience and expedience
know what i mean
i know how to drive a weapon
and behold fuckers the bomb

lecture via Waves of Direction 2013