The stage is empty, white and clean
I hear you breathe through centuries
Sweat, labour and accelerating beat
time comes back into the shell
Shells like shell bombs like shell shock
Yes, the coat of arms will be on the façade
Always always waiting, waiting for you
condemned to power persisting
a monument as a witness of time passing
time distilled as everything repeats
Concealed inside the relentless continuation
The rattling sound of the metronomic machine
A rhythm becoming a prison
Calling us back to our perpetrator
Which we have created
out of our own body
(the horse) “They´ve made me into a monument!
They´ve wrongfully folded me!
They´ve stolen my body!”
We are already whispering
We are already barely breathing
Yet we sing: one day I´ll fetch you horses, white horses in the sky
One day we will fly
One day we will, we will one day
a skin so soft it would lift itself
an iron dome for love
Those are pretty words you said
Some pretty lines of poetry
Ignoring the devices of restraint so thoroughly it became intuitive
we are witnessing to understand our own position
facets of this field separation
you are carrying the stone
no interruption
no consequence
no response
perpetual gaze and silence
perpetual violence
An accumulation of quantitative information
A momentary satisfaction of a moral desire
I am still looking at you letting it happen
Ethical speculation
Voyeurist pleasure
The rhythm of innocence
The rhythm of ignorance