#polaroids

#12

// Demonica

¶ Giue not that which is holy vnto the dogs,
neither cast ye your pearles before swine:
lest they trample them vnder their feete,
and turne againe and rent you.
} Mt76 KJV1611

#11

// compromised

it should have been different. the job. the wife. the location. ice cubes make the most tingling sound, he thought, looking. looking deeply. at his drink. the most perfect ice cubes. the perfect glass. and this tiny delicate slice of a lemon. the perfect time is now. eternityenlightened. perfect, yes indeed. a serene scenery, yes. his son playing silently with colorful legos. his daughter eating her dinner under the table. she isnt perfect. but special. special and no trouble. at least. he made himself comfortable in his continuously adjustable garden chair. so, this is the life, he figured. drinking gin with way too much tonic. watching dryly another unexpected lego rain coming down hard. it should have been different. there. the past. again. the couldwouldshoulds. the purpose. the passion. their plans. correcting himself: it can be different. the choice. the connection. the inner compass. the problem, however, is the fifty-minute shrinking each monday morning, his subconscious mind protested. how bad can it be? in4 hold7 out8. aight. alright. he tiptoed skillfully on legos and eggshells while sneaking back to the shiny white karenclean kitchen in need of another razor-thin slice of a lime. make lemonade, they said. yeah, but im fine. shaking his head.

#10

f//ache

emptiness. on the inside. inside. inside. covering it all with make-up. make-up. make-up. made of every single color of her pretty peoplepleasepalette. no pal. no pal. no pal. how is she supposed to make up for it. and what exactly are her lies made up of? no answer. no answer. no answer. i swear. you dare? we believe your reality makes up most of your insane care. actually. actually. actually. no ally. but an aching belly (hungry, not really). every day she is making herself up just to let her guard down as soon as nobodys watching. watching. watching. her? ka-ching! new order! coming in. coming in. coming in. never taking the make-up exam: unlearning everything. especially: shame. shame. shame. making a down payment to mend her fate of sin. sin. sin? damn. damn. damn. she just can make nothing of it! at all. at all. at all. neither does a kid. what a mess. what a mess. what a mess.

#9

// SLIPPERY SLUT

she is testrunning round in cubicles. privateposting publicpixxx of her flat ashy ass. peakab( . )( . )bs. and an instafiltered frozen face without the weepingwrinkles. shes running her fingers through her hair. a mere barbiebordeauxblonde with a touch of blackwidowflair. unmarvelous and unwow (#to say the least) still pretending shes on fairyfire when in fact shell never be. so while shes heeling for her head through lielac lint :: the truth is slowly putting his gloomboots on. knowing the lie may win the daily displacesprint. but he would mastermarchaton. not until the end of next doomsday will she realies her maniasizedmistake. ruining it over and over (#again) in her malevolent minionmind of course without her shamescape on crows cripplefeet (#every single selfiedamned time) and most notably with nothing left to cringecorrectalign. for fakes fakin vegan shape shake!

#8

// Testbed

it was a warm september night. raindrops and tears covered her tortured soul in clean white sheets of deafening despair. 3 am. again. the same questions. demanding prayers. guideless thoughts and a racing heart. perhaps it was the other way round. emotions or feelings. the difference dislocated inside her body. unprocessed. and numb. dancing about the bush while beating herself up. relentlessly. into this mess of becoming. cord cutting. holding on. to a deceptive safety called loathing loyalty. and she wouldnt understand until much later. when faces would fall and masks would rise. that blood makes you merely related. and their fckd up testimoneys likepennywise.

#7

// small print

karen is a compulsive competitive carer
constantly cravin for the conflict shes sharin
always comparin often c-c-omplainin yet never changin
her mind a censor of compassion in case of converse conviction
convinced of her divine mission creative condemnation is her thing
the holy ghost a mere hall of mirrors reflectin her blackndried opinion
on and on and on c-on-tinue on and cop-y on and on and o-o-o-o-n
and o-o-o-o-o-n-n-n and oops mouth out of control omnomnom
creepin closer shes a momster a nother of n-oh purpose
constantly correcting and humiliating others
entitled to the prison she is comin from

#6

// Unseen

he loved the warmth and the fresh air that smelled like old trees, lavender and approaching autumn. /but the empty eyes* he sat down on a nearby bench and watched the dogs running into the water. loved the kids laughter and hated the parents. devildamned phone addicts. /the empty eyes* on his way home he took pictures of clouds and little things. he was standing in somebodys way all of the time. a biker complained. and some jogging fool almost ran into him. /empty eyes* finally he entered the apartment building. relieved that he made it. waiting for the lift. when the doors opened two neighbors headed straight for the exit. they didnt see him :: his greeting gone missing in the void. /eyes* yet, he searches for them. always. despite.

#5

// direct

/they were sitting in the garden. lilac lavender bushes in full bloom. he didnt care. how could he. another lit cigarette. blue fog disguising a somewhat orange sky. :: wanna talk about it? /she asked into the silence. she heard about the drama. but then — did it still matter? at the end of the day. sure, it is his life. his breath. his death. then. a whisper. :: i feel dead inside. thats why. and nobody gets it. /she listened. :: i was dying in that chair that day. talking about past crap. and that shrink just nodded. /kicking air. :: why? am i that stupid? /he lit another cigarette. in vain. tossing the lighter into the lavender. :: are you insane? /she complained angrily. :: guess what! /he laughed. :: you are not crazy. of course not! /her protest. :: your illness is just a healthy reaction to this sick world. /cars hooting approvingly in the distance. :: im sorry. /changing the topic. :: you are leaving tomorrow. i should be happy for you. /head shaking. :: i will be released into this madhouse called life. this isnt something to look forward to. i dont even know if i will make it this time. /he placed her hand in his. :: well, if you dont, i will still be sitting here, watching the evening sky and choosing cigarette smoke over lavender scent. for i have given up. and you wont. like ever. promise? :: promise. /she answered. and thought :: never say never.

#4

// ignorance

laptop. notes. pen. again. laptop. notes. pen. and again. laptop. notes. pen. okay. all will be well. one last time. laptop. notes. pen. again. no. put yourself together! as if. laptop. no. not. no. not. brace up! without an embrace this morning? laptop. no. no. no. notes! ffs! where is my pen? she wondered. where the f is my pen? there. in the bag. okay. breathe. breathe again. and again. laptop. notes. pen. alright. we got this. well, they got this. for sure. i feel like. oh no. no. no. no. notes. wrong! that was utterly wrong! start again. la. lap. lapt. op. op. op. p. p. op. lop. flop. not. not. not good. flip. flip. flip. flop. fuck. again. laptop. notes. pen. again. lapflop. no. no. no. no notes! what. where are they? in the bag, ofc. the notes are in the bag. together with the pen. again. lapflop. lapflip. fliplap. flipflop. no. no. no. note. noted. no end. end. end. ffs! laptop! notes!! pen!!! i got this. she told herself in the waiting room. doom. no, i got this. and yet, ignorance could never be bliss.

#3

// the hallway

its never too late to be what you might have been. a quote he both loved and hated at the same time. on the one hand it radiated hope and possibility. on the other hand he knew he had no options. his room was dark. dishes clattering in the distance. people strolling down the hallway of anxiety. the same as every morning. its never too late. but well, what if it was? whats the point in getting up? dishes shattering. no chance of sleep at all. but what if it is true? what could he possibly do? except for: getting dressed. joining the others at breakfast. drinking black hot coffee. hesitating before heading for another hour of group therapy. and drowning. to be what you might have been. listening to their sorrow. comparing himself. holding himself. shattering options this time. bending not breaking. to be what. on the outside. on the brink. in a padded room? he laughed. you might have been. right. about him. nobody was looking up. the burden weighing so heavy. when walking back down the hallway of insanity.

#2

// ashtray

he was probably in his forties. same clothes everyday. a reminder. and a shower once a week. they were sitting next to each other at a wide wooden table. countless colored paper bird mobiles above them. silk paintings in frames. and some unfinished wicker baskets stacked in a corner. in the middle of the table, right in front of their tired faces, emerged a huge pile of grey fire clay. all soft and moist. this looks like my life, she said into the void, like a piece of shit. then lets give everybody in here some of their shit, so all of you can turn it into something new, the arts therapist countered with a smile. she hated her for it. and so did he. but she could tell from his face that he was looking forward to the task. so she decided to watch him shape. within two hours he would turn his clay pile into a lively litte farm house. tiny pigs. a tree. a fence even. he once used to be a master confectioner. before he lost his business. long before he decided to leave society for the street. eventually, both were looking at her semi-finished coffee mug and decided to call it an ashtray for the day. what a piece of shit! they laughed and went their separate ways.

#1

// a rope & a suit

he was standing in front of her. tailor-made suit. shiny leather shoes. a new samsung galaxy in his right hand. both were waiting in line for a coffee to go. then something went wrong with the coffee machine and they had to wait some more. he shifted. trying to loosen his tie. in vain. he cleared his throat before he spoke. out of insecurity. out of the blue. into the silence. he nervously turned around. sweating and pressed for time. she wondered why he wouldnt just leave and get himself a coffee around the corner instead. /its the best in town, isnt it? he said as if he had read her thoughts. /an italian original, the machine and the beans. i love it, too. she agreed. /its so warm today, dont you think? he asked and tried to loosen his tie again. thats when she started to tell him the story about the rope and a suit. not a tie. a rope. a relict of long-forgotten slavery.