Tuesday, June 27, 2017
In Fear of Memory (after Pasolini)
I can’t tell what it means. I’m out with friends, I think, and also some kind of apparition, something I can’t quite remember. There is no smile, no frown either. And certainly no disdain. But something is bothering me, and I don’t know what. So hard to believe that once we said we were happy. It's much later now. The night shows no light whatsoever. And no gods to tell such stupid lies.
It was around five in the morning. The wind was blowing through Kottbusser Tor, as if it was a kind of church. No garbage anywhere, which is usually the only thing about by that time. I was talking to a couple of guys. All they wanted was my cash, and though I knew they had no dicks, I was trying too hard to touch their hearts. Then it happened again, someone I vaguely remembered showed up in a car, with a guy holding some kind of knife. I don’t know why I got in, can’t remember, but I guess I must have. I was found in the morning. Recognised by my teeth, what was left of my fingerprints.
There was, deep inside this so-called world, something that had no price. No gold could buy it, no church could sing it, no-one could understand it. It appeared directly in the middle of life, and it meant nothing but itself. For a while I hated it, like everybody else, then all of a sudden it filled my entire reality. I still don’t understand it. What it was. Why it mattered so much, and what is the nature of the hole that is left now that it has gone. But most of all I can’t understand the rage with which we would tear it apart, such hatred against a love so impossible, and so beautifully broken.