She Spacehomer (4)

"This is Eloise.
I would love to see one of the monitors again.
Didn´t like them, but they are something other than snow.
We must be far out, and sometimes I´m not too sure about Katy and her skills as a trapper.
Where are we, anyway?
I heard Mel saying that everything we hear, everything we say and think,
is monitored by us all, and I should be the first to believe it, but I can get away from all, at least in my recognition of things as occuring in the very moment, any moment.
Talking about switches, I can get away from the mumbling that takes place all along, may it be the others talking or me, doesn´t matter, or am I repeating myself?
Katy still provides us with these drinks, but says that our state had nothing to do with them, they´d be the only thing to make us survive."

"We were putting on a coat.
I say, we were putting on one coat, all together.
I remember the words being said by somebody.
It was cold
and too much light around, the snow...

This is Mel.
I started making notes about this journey in the beginning,
a few razzles and rags, mostly in my head,
then somebody took over, I was told later,
Or realized it myself, don´t know.
Or one of us said so, or heard it from somewhere,
though nobody else was around.
Not that I find it astounding, I mean, the switch,
or these switches, fades all in one another.
Still thinking I´m talking or making the notes,
Or thinking someone said a word,
but then finding it could have been somebody else.
I know it all, all that´s been said and noted.
And we´re in contact with the originators, us or others.
It´s all been in the movies, you know.
You´ve seen it all, too, didya?

A few days ago some kind of humility took its place in
the way we treat each other.
It´s too cold for quarrelling.
An we don´t know where the giant coat comes from.
It´s saving us all."

"We are beyond trust.
It doesn´t matter anymore if the others trust me or not.
We are here, we are together, and there is no way for any of us, not even for me, who knows this fuckup the best, no way other than with the others, cause outside company there is nothing, admit it or not.
you are sitting I don´t know where, and you are reading this, maybe it reminds you of..., maybe it´s all a laugh from this position, but be sure that there is nothing to live on beyond company, out here.
There are more who have been out here than we imagine, that´s what I believe.
No reason to become heroic or snobby, unlike so may guardians of the archaic are preaching with words and action.
That´s all luxury of people with attitudes, smarting themselves at the edge of the bosom they´re sucking from, though they take only what´s dripping and flowing over.
This is Katy, and we are carrying on.
Not to much strange colours anymore, in our views and visions. To our surprise we are all hearing colours,
but that will pass, I´m sure, heard about it."

They will survive, most of what was them will.
But that´s the same with all time passing.
Only they will note a big bit of it,
unlike another bit, same size, one the other side,
or viewed from another angle.

*
*

Lizzy

Lizzy´s nightmare of what you told
Lizzy´s screenplay of what you hold
Grabs dust to throw it to the eyes
As if the shelter of the brave
was the closed eyes weeping

She´s a hum
A murmuring mermaid
Her tongue
Fishes for a gargling threat
She can exhale
The children´s sweat
From running from...
From running from.....

She spreads a fog by that
And lays it down upon their little selves
A shiny gnome seeks to escape
Is running from...
Is running from.....

Shut lids

Closed lips

Stiff hips

Finger tips

Are trying to point at
That
There
Beyond the fog
The makes-them-shiver fog

If ever you will doubt
The thin white bodies´ fear
I swear
The rear of your self
Turns the bow

She Spacehomer (3)

It´s a lot of fun, running away from home.
Even if you didn´t really choose but followed an uncertain certainty from somewhere unknown before.
In a next moment you find your house in a complete different landscape, with a plank sticking upright into the soil,
and the plank has to be kicked, otherwise something even stranger would happen.

There are a lot of people around.
Gleimbart is only one of them, the one to show up first on their path, and he has the idea of taking care for something he made up only in his head,
but which he sometimes gives a physical appearance, may it be staged or not, may it be an animation in the distance or a
suggestion or hallucination.

The Frigos are somehwere, and nobody fully knows who they are and what they do.
But they are going for them; the Frigos going for Katy, Mel and Eloise or the other way round?

At the point of meeting or none-meeting --- is it of any interest? --- does it even make sense to search for something ---
mindfuck? --- hold something with the mind --- or which are the impulses that drag, push, pull anybody forwards?

*
*

The next frame of the story got lost.
It told about monitors, standing in the landscape and showing something and nothing, standstill pictures,
weird moving creatures, sleeping humans, could be known to you, once it would show Melvin sleeping, as he was passing by with Katy.
Who puts the monitors there, puts the pictures and footage on?
Only once Katy had seen somebody, slipping from one of the monitors into a fold in one of the rocks nearby.
She told Melvin that the picture of him sleeping was not a shot taken before, but that it was happening NOW then.

How is anybody able to take such a message?
Would there also be an awake Melvin, awake on one of the monitors?
Or Katy, or Eloise, or all of them together?

Katy said she´d never seen anybody awake on the monitor.
Just sleeping people, so her imagination concluded they might be awake when the people on this side were
sleeping.
Who would decide then, when to stay wake or sleep?


*
*


"I can´t believe the Frigos are just technicians who are interested in a game to play on people."
"M e l v i n , nobody said so, but you´re free to think for yourself, guess, imagine, whatever."
"I´m asking so many questions, imagining, getting no answers, it´s all helplessness."
"What´s bothering you?
You are here and you´re fine, are you, besides the pill food and your farting.
What do you want?"
"What I want? An explanation maybe. Something strikes me, can´t you guess?"
"It´s not mine to show you how to deal with it.
Why isn´t Eloise worried? Because she is a guruesque entity, which she is not?
And she´s not a happyslappy guy, like who gets protected from worries by being short-minded."

Eloise opened her eyes and looked up to them.

"That´s nicely said, Katy, didn´t expect it from you.
I´m working hard on it, though."
"On being short-minded?"
"Yes."
"Just go for it.
But switch it on again when talking, wouldya?"
"I can´t switch it on a g a i n , but I can switch on and I do, thanks."
"Gone again...
And you, Mel?"
"Listening."
"I don´t know where you are. Drifting away also?
Just take it easy, but take it serious."
"I´m all over it.
It´s just a monitor."
"No, it´s not."
"Who are the Frigos?"
"You wouldn´t like to hear it, but my version is of no higher importance for you, believe me.
Would make it harder to find your own.
I can´t tell you more.
But anybody reading this, can imagine better than you, what is going on here."
"I want to have earlids."

Orphantasies (2)

On weekends the skaters often come from outside the beltway to perform on the squares in the centre. They´re training hard, everyday, most of them for several hours.
Doing their job.

Some maybe even will get some bucks out of it, one day, a few of them, in the wishful thinking of a scene with its stars. A few will slurp the cream.

I´m talking to a guy and ask him what he thinks about Obama.
“He´s o.k.”
“Shouldn´t stard meddlin´ withe wrong guys”, his friend adds.
“He´s been around…”
“He´ll show the stinky money bags and fat cats what it´s at.”

“You followed the campaigns?”

“No way getting round it.”
“Yeah, but… … yeah.”
“Yeah, he´s cool, I mean…”
“Couldn´t make things worse than that shithole Bush.”
“How could anyone?”
“Tell ya they could. The others wanted a wifey for v.p.!"

“And what do think he can do for you?”

“Said he´d stop those wars and everything.”
“Yeah, and more health care.”
“For everyone.”
“I had one arm broken. They´d let me wait for hours, then send me away cause no valid card, and it turned mum´s forgot to pay the monthly. Just once.
So my uncle send me to a friend´s who´d put somethin´ on it.
And it turned out o.k.”
“Ma grandpa died there, cause they wouldn´t give him a treat.”

“You think there´ll be more jobs for you?”

“You know what kinda jobs they got for shmucks like me?
You run away.”
“We´re skatin´”
“They make a big deal of surfin´. I heard it called ´The invention o´the youth´.
How´s that? Main thing about it: they had nun of us niggas round that club.”
“Yeah, and they made hiphop a big thing when the whities started likin´ it.”
“Yeah, and stole it.”
“Like the blues.”
“And jazz, ma dad said, jazz.”
“And now they got that Obama stealin´ from them their game.”
“There´s more spanish people in somothe states. Maybe a latin luver next time.”
“Uh, gettaway!”
“Think it!, why not?”
“My dad´s half white too, we don´t give shit for that. And he said: `The whities are done before long.´ ”
“Stupid shit, they got the power an´the money and th´army an´everything.
Just they got a black clown on top won´t make the circus a wild park.”
“Better be glad, man, you´d be dead, man.”
“Cause some white mothefuckers think yer scum, man.”
“And they´d shoot you in the park just like that, man.”

One of the guys skating has fallen over and keeps laying on the ground.
Three are coming to help him up and get him to the next bench.

“Hey guys, thanks for talkin´!”

“Hey!”

Later some will have a spliff or two, noted it before, and he´ll be on board again soon.


You´re either in the club or you´re not.
*
*

Priester und Terminator

ich werde sterben, ohne irgendwelche heldentaten vollbracht zu haben, um mir in die augen sehen zu können.
es ist erstaunlich, was man alles machen kann mit den techniken, die menschen im lauf der zeit entwickelt haben.
es ist ebenso erstaunlich, wie wenig davon man tatsächlich braucht, um zu leben. damit ist nicht die reduktion auf ein blosses überleben
gemeint, sondern eine stimmige minimalausstattung.
die eigene geschwindigkeit herabzuetzen bringt in der regel gewinn an integrität, an verbindung von allem mit allem.
was bei den stoikern die trugbilder sind, die sich an die oberfläche begeben und wirkung werden, ist beim sog. modernen menschen
der umgekehrte effekt: die masse der wirkungen hält ihn im würgegriff der sich aufeinander beziehenden wirkungen, die er, in wechselnden
annahmen von funktionszusammenhängen, als rollen ausübt, ohne sich der technizität dieser ihn prozessierenden latenten bewusstseinsmottos gewahr zu sein.
Letztere gewahrnis: eine überschauende instanz, die sowohl in der lage wäre, die selbstreferentialität der funktionen aufzudecken, jene zu verlassen, und sich nach erfüllter aufgabe selbst abzuschaffen, wenigstens auf der oberfläche, sich in eine verpackte scanner-matrix zurückziehend, ein schläfer, auf die nächste kennung eines selbstläufers
wartend, den es zu enttarnen gilt.
helden sind etwas für menschen, die nach draussen blicken und helden brauchen. helden sind integritätsmodule.
sie tun, was zu tun übrig blieb in einem kontext des über-sich-hinaus-langens.
menschen bedienen sich technischer funktionen, deren, über die phase des bedienens hinausreichende, wirkung weitestgehend unbelichtet bleibt.
sie werden eingesetzt als extensionen des eigenen organismus. der held sichert die gefahrenzone, ist frontschild und feuerschutz, damit der mensch im guten glauben sich traut, das seine zu tun.
vom zölibat zum terminator ist es nur ein kleiner schritt oder keiner. ausschaltung der gefahrenzone, gefahrlose ausweitung der kampfzone.
der mensch jenseits der sexualität ist, scheinbar von ihr erlöster, vorkämpfer des menschen, der seiner eigenen nicht entkommen kann.
wo die sexualität über ihn kam, über ihn oder sie, war er oder sie schon jemand, nun von ihr hinuntergedrückt und ausgeliefert.
wo sie sich dazumengte in stetig höherer konzentration konnte sie sprache werden oder attribut unausgesprochener anschauung.
wo sie früh, doch von außen in schuldhaft genommen, eigene wege ging, tränkte sie das innenfutter aller räume in ihr öl.
darum ist die sexualität der kinder nicht harmlos, sondern richtig, wichtig.
der zölibatär nimmt nur schuld, die er selbst verkündet, höhnisch von ihnen.
hier wird er zu jesus und ist darüber zufrieden, denn
im zölibat überwindet der priester seine empfundene minderwertigkeit dem erlöser gegenüber.
das macht das zölibat zur wahren häresie.
der terminator erlöst die menschen von ihren leiden des lebenskampfes.
er wird ausgeschickt, den menschen früherer zeit zu töten, um den späteren zu befreien.
die matrix der sexual-selbstverstrickung der menschen liegt ihm als blaupause vor. er erhöht den erniedrigten mann, der ihm bei seinen taten als publikum zuschaut.
sein überlebenskrieg ist asexuell, hauptfeind ist der hunger nach dasein.
intelligenz ist selbstreproduktiv. sie nutzt den freiraum des rastens und ist kompensator und kompensat der triebtilgung.
wie der zölibatare priester es für den sexus ist, so ist der terminator der ersatzerlöser des überlebenskämpfers mensch, dessen werkzeug ´verstand´ ihm seine herkunft leugnet.
der verstand, stratege des überlebens schickt die von ihm geschaffene kreatur aus zur vollendung des eigenen sieges über die vergangenheit, über den menschen, der noch ein set von emotionen als komplexes verhaltensmuster zum überleben brauchte.
der terminator ist kämpfer auf einer frontseite des dissoziativen generationenkampfes, in der filmischen darstellung desjenigen der menschheitsgeshichte, in der assoziation des zuschauers desjenigen seiner individualgeschichte in ihrer schleichenden charakterverschiebung des prozessierenden organismus.
im kontext der sexualschuldverschreibungen übernimmt der terminator die bestrafung des fleisches durch den verstand.
hier liegt der pakt des zölibatären mit dem terminator.
die moralisierende selbstzerfleischung des menschen instrumentalisiert den terminator für den endsieg der desintegration seiner selbst.
nach der erhöhung des zölibatären auf das niveau des erlösers erklimmt derselbe im pakt mit dem terminator den thron gottes, der wesenheiten schafft oder abschafft.
der sich gesellschaftlich auf diese weise texturierende entkommt der selbstzerstörung nur durch wendung des konflikts von sich gegen andere.

so auch die verstrickung angloamerikanischer, gesellschaftlich sanktionierter, gewaltanwendung.
sie ist fehlkompensation einer dissoziativen verstandesentwicklung, die sich als erstes gegen organische intergration der gestalt ihrer eigenen bürger richtet, und den entstehenden sprengstoff in die welt exportiert.

She Spacehomer (2)

„Auuuugh, aaaug, aaaaaaaaaaatchmilaaaaaaa“
„Well, I get used to it. You know, I don´t ask too many questions, but why are you reapeating that howl time and again? Kind of a prayer?”
“Prayers are for people who believe in old men with beards.
Gleimbart would be pleased to be one of the bearded men people believe in.”
“That crap about the City of the Sun?”
“That´s no crap. It does exist.”
“You´re telling me that we´ve been trampling to death masses of tiny tiny people, as we were marching through it?”
“Gleimbart would be pleased to hear that.
No. Gleimbart himself built the City of the Sun. Surely there will be some little creatures wizzing around.
He shows up inbetween days, when you don´t expect it, worrying you about every step you take. And if you want to prove it, he claims that looking over it would already e n d a n g e r the city and its habitants. Could all cave in, like that, you know.
“And the city, it´s everywhere, underneath of everything here?”
“No. It seems, Gleimbart is installing it in changing places, in his head.”
“You said the city would exist.”
“Well, it´s not that easy over here.”
Silence
”So?”
“I´ve seen the city, at least a version of it, for a glimpse.
Could have been a visual illusion too, or an acoustic one.
For a sec I was only hearing it, then could take a look at it.
Gleimbart wrenched at my arm for no reason, just because I wanted to go there straight away.”
“I thought I thought the city is like little and under the snow?”
“I saw it at what you could call Gleimbart´s place. With no snow on top, through an immense objective and a speaker, well, didn´t sound that near, though.
Everything just went fast.
I looked through it, in a direction the eye could not really identify, towards the ground, in a distance. But we were on a hill, and I immediately turned around to him and said:
´Oaah, I gotta go there.´
As I turned over again for a second look, he came from behind, took me by the shoulders, and shouted at me:
´Hello, ma´m, anyone home. All along, you see something, you have to have it have it have it have it. – That´s it for today, out of here, right away!´.
I tell you, he´s crazy as fuck.
Game over with the city of the sun.
I went out in search for, for a while, in that direction, but that´s a vast area, then it started snowing again, and I didn´t want to step on it and destroy it. In the end I said to myself: Fuck that city! Fuck Gleimbart! Fuck all the drivel. Each time a different direction where the city ´claims our attention and regard´, fuck!
I´ll tell you the greatest thing about it:
Gleimbart himself, he doesn´t exist at all.”
“My ass!”
“Kissin´it yourself!
Maybe he is a r e a l l y good actor named Rambozo Hockleweed or he is the drink I gave you, or so or so or so.”
“Katy, that´s too much for me.”
“Never mind. You won´t see him another time.
Where we go people like him are not admitted.
And the drinks, t h e s e drinks, you won´t find´em there either.
They got the real ones.”

“Woe!
So, where´s Eloise?”
“Somewhere meditating, I guess.”

She Spacehomer (1)

Das war nicht weiter ungewöhnlich, doch irgendwann drehte die Phantasie mit ihr durch,
reiste einfach ab, und war weg.
Wir haben sie lange nicht wieder gesehen.
Irgendwannanders stand sie am nachmittag vor der Tür unterm Balkon, vorne, und schaute, zur Seite gebeugt, durchs Fenster.
Die angeblichen Verblendungen anderer schienen vergessen, dachten wir. Die Augen waren klar, so hatte man das noch nicht gesehen.
Es war Kuchenzeit, und wir schauten uns gerade die Geranien an, die noch innen auf dem Fensterbrett standen, die nachher draußen am Plattenweg weiterwachsen würden, da erschien ihr Gesicht.
Ich habe in solchen Fällen keine besondere Reaktion.
Nach einem kleinen Moment schweigen und schauen sagte ich: hi.
Sie zögerte einen Augenblick, setzte leicht zu sprechen an und nickte dann klein, aber mit großen Augen und angefalteter Stirn.
Sie stand unbeweglich da, dann griff ihr Arm in die Umhängetasche und leuchtete mit einer größeren Taschenlampe durchs Fenster.
„Ist noch jemand anders da, oder seid ihr die einzigen?“
„Wir erwarten noch jemand, aber frühestens in einer halben stunde. Die Tür ist auf, oder sollen wir rauskommen?“
„Ja.“
Jeder griff sich einen Blumenkasten und einen –topf, wir sahen uns an, als ich mit dem Rücken die Tür aufdrückte, dann wurde es dunkel und das Haus stand woanders.
Eine Holzlatte steckte neben uns im Boden.
Sie machte einen Sprung und trat das Ding um.
„Wohin gehen wir?“, fragte ich sie.
„Ach ja, Eloise, das ist Katja , kark kark.
Katja, Eloise.
Katja du kommst spät.“

Die Tage vergingen in Richtungen, die Katja angab.
Eloise verstand nach und nach einiges.
Ich stand irgendwo dazwischen.
Wir bemühten uns.

„Aber irgend jemand muß doch alles retten.“
„Es muß gar nichts gerettet werden, das haben sich die Frigos ausgedacht.
Los, weiter.“
„Du bist herzlos.“
„Dann rette mich.“
Sie stapften weiter durch den Schnee. Ab und zu landete ein Tritt auf etwas glitschigem, das zu leben schien, aber alles ging zu schnell.
„Verwüsten sie nicht uns und unsere Sonnenstadt.“
Sie schauten hoch, wie Gleimbart auf Katja zuschwebte.
„Schon wieder dieser Spießer.
Können sie uns nicht in Ruhe lassen.
Welche Sonnenstadt überhaupt?“
„Da sieht man es wieder: keine Ahnung, aber das große Wort schwingen.
Die Stadt ist unter dem Schnee. Hoffentlich war niemand auf den Straßen.
Meistens sind alle sehr gewissenhaft und vorsichtig...“
„Müssen Verwandte von ihnen sein.“
„Wenn man so will, ja.“
„Lass uns weiter gehen, das ist mir zu anstrengend.“
„Meinen sie immer noch, dass Rettung nicht nötig ist.“
„Ja, wen denn retten. Morgen sind andere da.“
„Daran werde ich sie beizeiten erinnern, wenn es um ihren Kopf geht.“
„O.k., nicht schlecht für den Anfang. Hat der Unfug jetzt ein Ende?
„Ich rate ihnen, gehen sie wenigstens die kleinen Umwege, zwischendurch, nur die, die ihnen nicht zu hell scheinen. Sonst bleichen sie aus.“
„Oh mann, das reicht. Kommt.“
„Warum?“
„Kann mir jemand verraten, was hier eigentlich läuft?“
Wir sahen Eloise mit einem Ruck an:
„Schwer zu beschreiben, weiß ich nämlich auch nicht so ganz, oder wie sieht das aus?
Ich würde sagen: einfach zukucken, dabei sein, und ein bißchen Feingefühl.
Dann geht´s ganz gut.“

The world is in your body

“I think the world is very much in your body. It´s a body world. The species really exists in the body. And I think there is a real significance in us attaching our bodies to our heads. That this separation has created a divide that is often separating purpose from intent.
And the connection between body and head often brings us things into union.”
Eve Ensler (Vagina Monologues)
www.youtube.com/watch?v=NQvMQEB0j_A

And a connection always entails either sides of the connected.
Micro - Makro

Orphantasy (1)

You cannot switch on every emotion at any time.
You can resist recognition of an emotion down to the betrayal of its desire that would make you panic,
You the one who made a comfortable life without it.
The disturbance.
“O, that´s really disturbing!”
Yes it is, get along with it,
beyond any recognition.
Until then, as the ravishing passes, a small hole in the fold of your iron(ed) underwear or sweater, and the sweat comes pouring out of pores that never existed before, 
or so you thought,
makes you
Buy POREMASTIC.
POREMASTIC stops your sweating, bye buying. No more staring at evading slime of the forgotten. 
POREMASTIC stops the fear of losing temper and the beloved skin that showed no fatty reflection.
At your focal store: POREMASTIC

The housekeeper in the old appartment building over at whelm street used to chase the rats on sunday early evenings.
We smelled the smoke from his kitchen chimney later on, but he liked it.
He went on staring at the tiny flowers that grew on the wall in the backyard and never had a doubt about how to unfold the cardboard book where he used to dry them.
I am strict with some things so I asked him to leave some for us, for the others.
I was too small to understand, or was that what he said, I don´t know.
The squeaking shutters killed the hush of his early morning watch once forever.
Must have startled down the old stairway, down to the basement
Found what was left of him some days later.
But the nose remained like new, for no reason anybody knew, like new.

I was always sweating a lot, in former times more than these days.
Real sweat.
As my father always got cramps from being touched I was enjoying comics and played soccer.
The sweat changed during the years. The rules at school were far less tensing than the rules of children, or so it seemed. At 13 I started to develop potential for throwing hate against oppressors of any kind, or what felt alike, and a lot felt alike and the hate felt good. Like life.
The sweat had started to diffuse into the distance before I could put on any lotion and I never really felt it, even on the pitch.
Years later, as I was gliding wet on a girlfriends skin in her room in the dorm, this still was no nearness to the sweat of fear, no fear of the sweat of nearness either, but a first step. Drowning in beer and talk, though.
The fear was to come as the pores opened anew.

Some people wonder, some don´t.
Some get hit in slow motion
Then the mouth would take more time to open and you see the face changing its shape to the most unreal distortions.
But the view would not remain in realtime, so they couldn´t see.

The electronic Nazi

Today the internet provider 1&1 shows an advert for a biography of the SS-Leader Heinrich Himmler, titled:

"Tipp: Heinrich Himmler"

Gummo and the president´s last shit

It is as if the continents on your unexplored planet are are not driftin apart, like they do not only do in the books and on this earth, but there´s also the minds and histories of those who observe it happening the other way round.

I´m sitting here, watchin the movie Gummo, and I started writing, setting the “i-n-g”s or “i-n”s like I´m pleased and the cut up half-documentary style goes through me, and something tells me that I will only know by tomorrow or later what this over here does at all and anyway.
You are the most real underdog I ever got to know.
I pity those who are born into this and that, and escape by just joining the next this and that, not more than I pity the rubber band moral of the scene they come from, as I don´t pity any of those informal groups, and on a certain level I don´t suppose you either to do it, although we are both very feeling persons, not only for ourselves.
Just there is the undefined impression that we come up with the same non-scene, in what we do and say, especially with what we don´t say.
On some important fields our selection of what we say and what we leave out is diametricly oppositional though, and that´s o.k., gives potential for cross fades.
It´s 59:40 and the family pic on the wall was just displaced by a little boy sniffing glue with Solomon and the others, and there are insects a lot coming out from underneath.

The boys will definitely leave her when she will only have one breast left, may you be young or old, good looking or anything.
My environment took care a lot to prevent me from getting into contact with people who are boundless in the way the characters in this movie are, though my room didn´t look quite different from sleeping or living rooms I see in this picture.

There is that boy who became a girl.
I did that in performances only, but I got a hunch of the need for essential turn of one´s character. Believe me.
The boys are now in an old woman´s house like burglars with masks, and it is the home of a rival guy who like them kills cats for fun and that guy´s granny is lying in bed, held alive by a lung machine, or is she dead already? The one boy says to the other: shoot her in the foot, see if she´s dead.
Solomon does so, the woman won´t react. “she´s dead”
The other switches off the machine. 
“she´ll be dead now”.

There are many films where they pretend to show some really freakish reality that the characters each have as an incorporated mind, each with themselves and with oneanother, but they are real only from the linear attitude of a male need for violent hierarchies.
This movie feels like the first anarchic sensation.
It enters the bodies like the bullet enters the foot of the old lady.
The girl now shaves her eyebrow and laughs about it, accompaigned by accordeon dilletantisms. It is the boy with the bunny cap, playing a children´s instrument, sitting on the toilet.
We saw lot of empty toilets before but there should be some people sitting on them.

You can compare all this to the characters in the organism that are strangling in a non-order order of and with themselves.
They do as they not please. They just do it cause that´s the way it is.
Your blood cells are your endorsing friends, but they can´t help and let you hanging dying as they are not resistant against that cancer, that´ll switch you off, as you are dead since long from its point of view.
Does it make happier or better, whatever that is, to always know why?
Take that from one who asks so much directly and even more without doing so.
In the end much of it is about forgetting. The same for all kinds of learning:
You wanna have it as a source code, go let it leave the consumer window. The real thing returns anyway.
It´s a freakish generic programme.
Solomon takes a bath, meanwhile gets the spaghetti served by the mother (which is more than many children can say), and she starts washing his hair (which is more than many children can say) while he starts eating.
What do the official anarchists want anybody to think?
That they got the plan of not having a plan and that this makes them be the anti-pic of the official beauty calendar they never had the money to buy?

The tornado is coming.
It tears down the whole city.
Deathmetalpunkcrazedmusic with the credits, after the couple in bed, the fat sisters, sang Jesus loves me.
The president will take his last shit a different day only.
There used to be plasma all over and it was everything in the everyspace in times gone and times to come.
So don´t care too much, it will take care of you anyway.
Don´t stop shooting cats or you will go and kill people.
Don´t miss out in collecting any garbage you like or never learned to hate.