Let’s try to see it as layers.
True, that we are lying here, dropped on the routs, in our camouflage cages- but on the blurred sun lines, a row of scorched men is marching now, and their loins are wrapped in damped white towels.
True, that we are lying here, dropped on the routs, in our camouflage cages- but on the blurred sun lines, a row of scorched men is marching now, and their loins are wrapped in damped white towels.
They don’t know anything about us, Säuemütter whom are whispering words of love to terrorists whose strength has weaken. They will never know anything about how we unraveled the buttons of our uniform’s shirt, they would never know that our head was connected to the pedestal by a broken finger who was pointing at us the whole time.
Hereby we are declaring on the formal establishment of the gleichzeitig movement and the holy manifesto of the hole in the script. Now wear your wolf mask and hold tight. On blue and red dance floors, without recognising each other, we will be pushing and pulling each other’s shoulder-belts as if we were dancing. Trapped on a rock, hugged in a tango, lifetime and another, tamed to coherency, tamed to put a point in the end of a sentence, tamed to share a room.
text: Sivan Ben Yishai, 2017
