- BRUT -

+ Sonia Dietrich and Terror in Disneyland +

Sonia Dietrich is a performance artist with background in painting. Her work is a collaboration or self made film, sound and blood under the project name BRUT.

She works on subject such as women rights, child labour, justice system, data protection and freedom of information from a feminist perspective.

Though rough physical expression of performances Sonia explores female body as “Body Politics” or “Body Activism” that is described by the artist in more detail through Manifestos.  She also works with film, photography and experimental prose.
 

Filtering by Tag: God

Spoon Of Arsenic



 I can smell my past knocking down on the door. The archway of your back. Fingered. Promising something new. Untouched. WILLINGLY. 
I am not good at this. Small parcels and fireworks. So pretending that it is what should be. Bodies sleeping in tightened circle. With VSR projections of time spent. In between together and apart. This is no sweet melody. Stepping away from want to give. Get. Then perhaps tomorrow flipping on today - we march!

 
Getting hot. Then hotter. Overlooking promised land. Are You Awake? feeling how alcohol concurs blood cells and pulsating dignity in the back of the vesselled up shit spread acute. Cute and demented participation. I am NOT forever. When ever momentum tangles us. I am unsafe. Black coloured perfusion. Inner sanctum spiritus. Dried reproduction. Blood pools and footsteps. Piss on the staircase. Hunted vision and reflection of now NOW. NOW! Want to taste tracked bloodclots and chemically enhanced cum. Land of cantaloupes. 

I am a wrapped in plastic goddess on six rounds of medication. Stitched in the middle firecracker. Licking. Dispensing. Reproducing tragedy triangles vision. My forever is your life long but my today. What side of emancipation are you talking to? This one has no name. In between houses. Daddy will die of skin crawling redemption. Tearing self off. Off bone. In meat faculty. Not ready to let go. Am I? 

 
Drink the approximation. Hooker houses of 13 horses in 13 months on 13th day. I shall not as I can’t to be beheld by preyer and insomnia. Choosing not to be, go. Let go, destroy. Needing a stage of sanctum. Conversing with the holly conjuring. Where is your target group. Your on time vomit passing, finger licking, eye burning pride? This is not a road one takes willingly. What is your perversion? 

 
Don’t promise me anything. My drain bottle is full. I washed my body profuse it’s own remedy and scars heal in 2 weeks and 6.5 hours. Numerological, one is catching-up. I can feel someone standing behind. Close enough not to touch. Silk made and mild washed. Outerbody. With prolonged hands and fingers. Coloured like old TV.  Forever in depth. Saluting government and making self into posters. Organ grinder with burgundy treasure chest. Can I offer you an appetiser? 
 
***
you are milk with a spoon of arsenic
peripheral projection of your won dream upon me
with blue veins and pink swirls
hair scalped off into preservation
watching me complete my dance
observing past contemplation of my scars
your neck line covering the boxed shape reality
i will eat your every word

i am shaped into a translucent vatican
wearing someone else’s flower garden on my sleeve
Painting with words our possibilities
with drops of I T at 02:44
where words are sectioned into brackets
fearing each syllable to escape
daring voices to speak in tongue
i loose momentum

i hide in shadows of your hands
when eyes wonder off into oblivion
finding self pushed into hellway hall-ways
projecting testosterone into common ground
i stand one foot behind you
on the right hand side where cold shiver touches your back
you remind me of old warrior stories
do not dissolve self in perfusion of time

i am the tick in your nerve covered muscles

listen
how slowly fingers reach the never ending crossroads
between how could be and how was
but still
present
is the
the hum of silence off breath
heartbeat and pulsating reflections
i can see tired sick look in your connection
your glance at the letters, words and parallels
you invasion my talent that one dose not know
never meeting non given deadlines
 
i am in time - frames
of 92% battery life and timespan from one swollen stitch to another
i want to shave your body
licking each bleed
consuming the non breathable leftovers of oxygen
I am dramatic
seeing,
how white on white turns blue and still
the pulsating dash takes pity and laughs at my short comings
You inspire me,
for sure
but if, this is other ambition
……….
stagnant
shadow matter with green flashing lights of go ahead
3 dots and a flickering light of 4th
having night vision between two notions
i drift away induced by soft velvet of shadow and gold
a chemical reaction


 in a hidden passage of skin





Good night and God Bless,
Queen of Disorder
Sonia Dietrich 

Ode To 27



 

ONE

Fuck 27, fuck the country, fuck the rules, fuck fake hedonism. Fuck state, fuck perspective, I want raw and rotten. Fuck bitchcraft! Fuck political correctness, fuck your gods and your idols. Fuck positive nihilistic tendencies and crap that comes with it. Just FUCK IT! Fuck your boyfriend and girlfriend. Fuck swollen eyes and torn mouths. Fuck blood and fuck come. Fuck walking home at 6am. 8am. Fuck growing up and fuck the critics. Fuck border control and fuck checkpoints. Fuck too intense and fuck too slow. Fuck hard and fuck blond drama. Fuck pills an fuck powder. Fuck gender and fuck liquids that comes with it. Fuck dormeo and fuck sleepwalking. Fuck godparents and fuck culture. Fuck diplomas and fuck job centres. Fuck angst and fuck drama. Fuck prisons and fuck churches. Fuck evasion and fuck nazi regime. Fuck blood types and fuck ethical post-cultural hatred. Fuck glamour and fuck breastpumps. Fuck pictures, portraits, paintings and landscapes. I want to collect 10000000 pictures of vaginal cavities. Model for me! Fuck composition and fuck sharp focus. Fuck tables and fuck beds. Fuck insanity and fuck prescription. Fuck loneliness and fuck strobelights. Streetlights. Fuck open surgery lines and fuck medication denials. Fuck errors and fuck self-assessment. Diaries. Mood charts. Fuck tainted mirrors and fuck bruises. Fuck scars too deep and not deep enough. Fuck castles and fuck dresscode. Fuck fairy dust and fuck nose bleeds. Fuck knowing and fuck ignorance. Fuck Edison and fuck killer war. Fuck skin bleaching and fuck animal slaughter. Fuck violence and fuck ignorance in voting polls. Fuck bleeding once a month. Fuck pregnancy tests and fuck sperm. Fuck waiting in line for tests and fuck receptions. Fuck ignoring past and fuck not acknowledgement present. Fuck puking on white tiles not knowing who is besides you. Fuck neonazi flags and FUCK homophobes. Fuck right-wing child labourers and fuck abortion clinic bombing fanatics. Fuck pope-mobiles and fuck golden thrones. Fuck segregation and fuck radicals. Fuck surveillance and fuck censorship. Fuck woman hating, child abusing, genocide worshipping idiots and their wives.

 


B R E A T H 





Good Night and God Bless,
Queen Of Disorder
Sonia Dietrich

White Storm


Fitting time frames. This is what all this shit is about. Fitting some fuckers time frame. The undeniably misogynistic, racist fucks and their non erect time frames. Need to put a tape round self – do not cross. Over. In the process of. OFF. ON? Step on the pedal boy. Lets play who can sleep louder and scream slower. Step over. Move across. Not in self. This process of development is kept in hand. A hand print. Black and White. Infra red. Digestible. Time is passing. Floor is making heels itch to step over and under again. No.

Sound of nervous twitch and white sky.  Hair smells of formaldehyde and someone’s rest in peace .  White tablecloth and glasses of wine. Silverware and festive appetizers.  Frames and faces. To – From. Smile. What a surprise. I always wanted!


 Pass through driveways and packed parking lots. Tried. Tires and black cars. On white roads. Hungry passengers and eyes full of. Light. Fire. Works. Lakes and woods. Scared animals. Barefoot on the snow. Hidden bottles and nausea. Water. Feet. Foot. Stones. Do you see? Grey. Lights. Offers and promises. Suggestions. Inflammations. Irritations. Confessions. Now do you please the collarbones. Touching god. Reaching. Self-explanatory surgery. Still.  
 


Peace in moments. In frozen lands. What a line. Oh what a line. Your interface is breaking….  All the hate and all the glorification. The race for happiness and divine intervention. Damn how good it tastes. How soft the apathy and sweet is the storm.  




Good Night and God Bless,
Queen of Disorder,
Sonia Dietrich 

All images are copyright of Sonia Dietrich 

All artwork is created, composed, and envisioned by Sonia Dietrich © / BRUT - 2000 - 2024 all rights reserved