~ < < < t i m e s w a p s > > > ~

^ ^ ^

game of repetition known as _A Loop_ or _Digitalised Delay_

Room with in a room, looking through lenses of time spent between staircases glaring into buildings that do not belong to me. Nor you. Beds in which one seeks the like|ness of self. Creative. Non linear yet questionably relevant. Reality. Somewhat tangled non identifiable section of innards where buzz of friction lives. Have wished for time to be gentle. When one sinks in brightly lit room with echo of voices. Pushing keys covered in blood sacrifice of self. sTill. Too present. You. By accident. Or chance. Somehow. In yet another bed. This time with mattress too hard. Reminds me of gaps filled and those that failed to do so. All that this body has occupied by accident.

< Moments Before > 

Washing feet levitating on the balance point in an oddly stretched position. Catch glimpse of self in the mirror. Body twisted. Fingers trapped. Blood and charcoal in swirls like jam dripping on concrete floor. Hugging porcelain. Heavy. Ruining towels as a feedback loop that my voice projected just 15min ago.

She. Stood in the middle of that room, not realising / recording / registering / the cold. Temperature changes coinciding with frame ration. It. Felt. Nothing.

< while. thinking of <...> / nothing >

Grinding teeth. Clenching jaw. Evaluating gag reflexes and propositions. Paradigm. Parallel version of Id. Perhaps somewhere between anima and animus. Lost pendulum swing. Between time-zones, time switches, time saving in unholy collision. We are infected with time. Injected into shift of noise that word projections transformed into voices. Proposed. In backrooms reaching goal. Through shallow concrete corridors with wristbands and Id / Iq / Queue / checkins and lineup sheets printed in "Times New Roman” 16. Barefoot over broken glass. Flower rot. Bottles and corkscrews. Migraine cured with light opioids and forceful handshakes. Itineraries, taxi coupons and sound-check callouts. Bread-rolls in tinted vision of AM hours. Press repeat. Backing self into walls and crawling behind coatracks. GPS trackers with pins dropped where cotton fabric left body parts. Rooms scattered between locations mapped out by store fronts. Thought flashbacks. Doses of integrity merging from one platform to another. They pay - you obey. Baby!

Men in suits. Man in a suit. Man. Suit. Wearables. Whereabouts.

< imagine >
> > > And now, we watch < < <
One another. From distance in images and words. Non expecting to see what time will become. While passing, old factory staircases trying to see life in windows of others. Catching smell of food cooked in walls that been alive longer then us. Stepping onto tiles that supported feet of many as they crawled out of baths clumsily fighting with gravity. In colour swatches of ceramic tile cracks one occupant to another. Cold weather in heated moments of passion, kneeling on same floor in pain. Ending life or waiting for new life to be born. Breaking away. Corners that chip away while preyers where given and expectations not met.

 

Corridors where lightbulbs and fuses blew failing to support our need for constant gratification. Through illuminated concrete blocks. Wooden handrails that where later replaced with metal versions softened by rubber and plastic covers. Replicating one another we became rooms injected into each-others faith. As birth and existence that twists into joy, possession, happening, loss, and eventually last breath. In a heartbeat. Exasperation. It is all in a heartbeat my love. Just one step away. From a blowout. Fire, ultimate ignition of sound and speed. From a window to a door. From a spoon hitting the table and a blanket that covers our cold feet that where washed in a sink, somewhere, middle of Hamburg. In cold water where pipes are tilted to coincide with planetary levitation battling betrayal of gravity.

 

Collecting leftover lilies and burned wood. Covered in warm red liquid, half naked, balancing on one foot while I think of <…>.

My misanthropic agile trophy of sorrows trapped between 17 postcodes and 47 connection attempts. Burning rubber of the handrails swiping cards between 3 lands. 3 time-zones. 8 towards 9 identities. Dreaming of concrete playgrounds and tasting forest smoke. Simmering in shifts.

Good Night and god Bless,

Queen of Disorder,

Sonia Dietrich