Thursday, September 17, 2009


(dream 1 August 2008)

The rest of life consists of two long days
In the end we all gather on the great beach
But the road there is a long slope down through the nocturnal landscape
Pine groves and lawns but nowhere water
A young black man walks beside me and he kisses me
Then unfortunately I have to ask myself about my own gender
I look like a bad girl in page hairstyle with a handbag and large earrings
But I am assembled of several layers, several linings
They are all of foam rubber with a fruit for the journey in each
Like thin slices of meat dusty from flour
I am full of extra pockets look I open my particular zipper
Pulling forth a sandwich package a banana an eggwatch

The rest of life consists of two ridiculously long days which one might get through
First one has to pave way through the crowd on this square
The overcrowded square in this medieval city
A fleamarket where everybody is selling out their last belongings
Poor old people each with a heart-rending story to tell
I will not find my way through all these people
The night comes and now it is only the guards who keep bumping into me
They who walk around and shout out the time to keep the ghosts away
No one keeps me away barefoot in the dirt
For when I will awake the first day
I will ask myself what lies on my chest between rustling layers
Between one and the other layer of plastic film and danish pastry dough
It is not a heart it is elliptical stonehard fruit-tasting
But also such a bloodstone may surprise when it unfolds antennae and legs
It is a cockroach in this overall which is the only thing that keeps me alive
I am rustling as dry leaves as bark as cave paintings

When I finally will reach the beach
It lies in the middle of the village and no water is in sight
I will lay down and friendly hands will take off my clothes
Almost a whole crowd of diggers, bathing ladies and children
Amused by my sex and my hairy chest and they cover me with sand
Around the contours of my body they put down trees and watchtowers
Giraffes wander there grazing, martens hunt in the trees
Is this what our grand business idea has come to
When all the prostitutes of the city were to be hired as winter hiking guides
Fooling people along on extremely dangerous polar walks along the rocks
But we knew nothing about their regular prices
Why had we made these vain plans for reforming the city in the first place
There seems to be no way of even getting from the square to the beach

Exhausted I lay down in a sleeping alcove around the corner from the square spring
Seeing this little cockroach come alive
Rise from the street dust whip with its antennae and take to the wings
Straight towards me and I see it so clearly and I can wave it away with my hand
And it returns towards me in exactly the same trajectory and I can smash it away
And it returns towards me in exactly the same trajectory and it becomes an endless pingpong game
I am upset how mechanically it is determined by key stimuli
That it can neither give up nor vary its onslaught
If the source of smell remains still and the light remains the same the road should remain the same
And the sun has not moved in the sky
We can play this absurd pingpong for the rest of the day
I get fed up and quit and see the cockroach coming ever closer
It cannot be seen and it cannot be felt
It must have landed in my face why is it so light
I dig in my eyes and in all corners of my face it cannot be felt
I do not dare rise up anymore not unfold my wings

In the beginning of these two days I awake and everything is silent
At the edge of the amphitheater stand two female shapes of light
Glowing outlines of white, no surface, no structure
They look like fencers and they are not my siblings
They do not have red hair and they do not carry weapons
When asked they say they are the two scraps from the hearth
Now what do they mean the core melt has it all gone under
No no they giggle they are just carrying the last glowing embers from the old world
Which will be embedded in sand will be told a goodnight story and then devoured as icecream

Mattias Forshage

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