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Purple Murmur september 27, 2007

Posted by herraheri in Herra the Heri.
1 comment so far

It was the first Monday of Optember. The clouds were singing greyish and the schist was being moistened by sulphur-smirking rain. Khurt was anything but happy. His horse had died just a few minutes ago. A heart attack. How was he supposed to satisfy his equation without his calculating-horse? Khurt couldn’t concentrate. A delicious sanguine salami raised as a glistening red-white sparkeled sun on his mental horizon and sent rays of lustful disgussst into every right-angled corner of his body. Khurt couldn’t focus. He oscillated in the darkening. He’d loved his horse. He’d love the salami too. But the equation ran into aqueous depths and was about to get lost. Zoom in, Khurt. Zoom in. Was there any point in drawing periods between periods? Would it help?

. .  .   .    .    .      .       .        .         .          .           .

Interrupted interferrence. The maximum vanishes in every colour. No point. Damn the black matter!

Refocus. On the oven. The Heisenberg 380XT- one magnificent cunt of an oven. A New York Original! Kurt shuttered. Khurt had some buns just waiting to get roasted. 200 degrees. Khurt had been hunting some rabbits in the Central Park the day before. Khurt dispossessed and rebaptized them and cut off their N.Y. identity. Holy bun. Our Bun, who art in heaven. Brauð vor, þú sem ert á himnum. Fuck equality, Khurt was hungry as a steel-painted fox. Burn in Heisenberg’s Hell, bun-bitches!

Now the Salami. Well, dear Casio, we had a great time together. But after all these weeks, you failed. Failed calculating, failed living. Even horses stop living at a certain point. Then they become professional Salami. Excellent Salami, in fact.

Khurt took his slaughter-knife and opened up Casio with a suave swing of the blade. Its inwards were shaking in a mellow tone. Warm blood scrambeled over Khurts hands. He took a nip. He went for a tacker. He climbed into the welcoming cave of Casio’s pulsating stomach. He closed the door after him. He nestled to the horse’s organs – still warm – touched everything with the tenderness of a famished lover and degustated the spicy blood. He focused on living. In the moment of his suffocation, periods turned into points. Khurt was blessedly fraught with his own interference pattern.

Outside, the schist dissolved and joined the water to commence a new life-cycle.

In the kitchen, Heisenberg did his best to turn the buns into a delicious snack.

On the radio, Jon Bon Jovi’s „Have a nice day“ was airplayed.

Khurt had seized his first and last opportunity to fade away.

Auglýsingar

Yeah, Herraheri september 13, 2007

Posted by herraheri in Herra the Heri.
6 comments

Struck by brilliancy
Rain is pouring down
No Hope
Despair and inevitable crying

Candles burning, while
Caspar David is painting on of his pictures
Maggots nagging his toes giggling as if they are on crack

Deer, Fox and Bird are laughing
Woods are bending
Wind, where are you, smash it
break the unbreakable

Stale
Orange in Rain
on a wet pavement
tears.