Critical Theory of Self

/in/ 

Holographic flashbacks. Too familiar. Distant. Something is about to happen. Gain roles depending on day and room temperature. Non compromising praise business. Happiness in game of dependencies based on ratings. I like bad ideas. Follow thought. Reading charts. Feel the base line. Heat. Matching shades. Metamorphosis. Made house into joyride residence. Saved the ring. Inheritance. Facing 4 walls. Challenge your imagination. Dance with little dots in your head. Test lines. Can tell what you had for breakfast. Beat in. Line out. I work well at night. Feed the animals. Project your artistic expression. Scaring the outline remarks. You are chaos they say. No blood sacrifice. Free fall. Take no prisoners. Eyes closed. Tender vibrations. Connected. Suddenly. Stay. 

O/pe/N

Look at fingers. Almost alive. Separate entity. Crawling on their own. See them as they play with air, communicating messages. Wonder how do they feel and what they think while attached to my body. Body as a whole is an interesting and complex paradox. As numeral patters, it all makes sense in the distance. Paints picture in gaps of white between the black. Ink. Haunting entity. Breaks in skin and swirls of markings. Hair and red inflamed patches. What is violence to other if not violence to self. Subconscious is peering through. See images, pictures moving in the distance eyes closed. Critical theory. Of self. Survey being. They say likeable. I pause in the gaps of their air intake. Watching movement. Wondering who and how defines the pleasure of mortality.

. J u S t l E t g O .

L I F e  / L I v E  =  L I V e D

L i V e L i F E 

Touch bones in hidden places. Inside mind that radiates heat and florescent lighting. Some paragraphs no one reads. Show no sings. Occupy mind, keep busy. Stay… Moving. Never surrender. Not a toy. They say they know. Cover up. Trains on tracks inside the veins. Swallow, overpopulate. Make markings known. Pierce billboards. Some things are not for recognition. Taste the rainbow. Has it all. Wondrous idealism. Hate in 3 variations of light. I dance. Never there. Can become poisonous. In case of emergency follow the safety regulations and light strip markings. Light glitter shimmer on the chest. Soft skin. Corner of the lip. Spoiled flesh. 

Slow breathing. Without advertisement. Someone is always buying. Thats how the table is set, with placement mats, swan napkins and variations of forks to knifes. Salt washing it away. Observation mode. Am towards pm conundrum. Low beat. Listening to inner voices while placing invoice. What are you selling off today? Fuck Cinderella. She snorts too much. Dick worshipping fun fest. Ride. No snitching. Tape over your identity. Dry clean yesterday’s stains and walk in slow motion. Hypnosis. Obedience. Violent friction. You excite me. Sometimes the best thing you can do is dislocate your current placement. If I could I would VPN self to oblivion. Watching fire dance. There is a rhythm to it. Each word combusted with motion. Pouring drips of poison. Entertain my astral projection.

Multifunctional pick of the week. Hologram two. There is no shame in addiction to perfection. Wrists hurt. It’s that season of the wicked. Too far, not deep enough. We observe disappointment in attachment theory. Waking on the flattened surfaces. Putting needles thought the skin. Adrenaline rush, ink. Meditate. Cleansing experience. Ritualistic joy. Sitting curled in a perfect circle. Recounting steps, weigh-in last intake. Purity content too high. Adjusting face proportions. Body rejecting itself. 

Maniac smile, deep breath. Step up! My brain connected all possible vibrations. Fire outside the clone zone. Tasty! Shadow play. Little girls in white dresses and baskets filled with diluted glitter juice. Rocking in my chair. Breathing slows down. Feeling like million little particles planning a breakout from veins. Pores screaming. Smile. A balanced monstrosity. Hover over tangled carpet. I am free. Seeing glares of faces. Poisonous Ether. The journey of self is a fascinating fuck up within the digitalised memory board. I require to see the engender on duty, as longs as its not the night guard. Gives too much hope, will lose focus. You need so little to be happy yet so distant is the shapeless glory. . . and then, reality knocks me in each temple.

Open my eyeS,

AdjusT

Table chair headphones hair face armS.

It’s not real. All not reaL

J u s t L e t g O

….

± p0st pr0ducti0n ± 

Playing a role in my own movie. Alive. Milk in the tub reaching edge. Noise from under cement blocks and eggshell tiles. Too many coincidences makes you question authenticity of events. Rubbing freshly soaked flesh. 2 lights in the distance within reach. 02:22 how long you been here..? Scared to get out? White walls. Not insane. Got my father’s heart. Water drops are perfection of same coincidence that makes me question your intentions. Reading between the lines. My intentions have no malice. Hearing conversations on a loop. Never know. Voice merges with inner projection of time and location.

Learning language and confusing self with mathematical pathways. Every aspect of self is co-dependent on self-realisations of today tangled in yesterday anxiety. Should have gotten that certificate. How can I help. Self on line to the blank line. Going offline. Your unique tone is what vibrates inside me. See you on the other side. Covered in haze of stardust and momentum I dislocated DNA. Watching distance. Somehow too far is the voice that talks inside of me. Not lost yet hidden. Have you counted your heartbeat? Swallowing smoke. Making circles out of chalk and charcoal. Know symbolism. Every shadow. I met the other that lives underneath the skin. Its an open invitation. 

Good night and god bless, 

Queen of Distorder 

Sonia Dietrich 

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