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Hedinge
And his writings In surreal soroundings I am great I am beautiful I am great I can go anywhere I want I am blond I am great I can shave me tomorrow if I want I’ve got flat I’ve got money I can eat an oyster if I want I am grey I am dead I am grey I am shred I am a pray Life is shit With me in the pit Haiku and postcard poetry The ice melting. My tongue stuck. On the light pole.She looked Into The wind of spring And thereby Felt Me Wind in my hair Waves on my feet Grey clouds on my eyes Scars on my forehead A parrot on my shoulder A golden coin in my hand Step by step It was taking Up On My Neck Drop s of red wine Cheese on upper lip Bay of sea In front of Me Life in a chair Syllables of life Blessings of time A kiss on my cheek A wind through my hair Je suis un pernod Les hirondelles sont en le ciel Winds of lungs Breath of gale Stirring moments of life Fading flesh of bone Cicatrise of time To be mine Spring Buds in silence Growing spring Within Winds of silence The pike spawns Alders have mouse ears The ice is singing Nature silently awaiting Spring The ice is singing Nature silently awaiting The ice is singing Nature silently awaiting Brush strokes of artists The ice is singing Nature silently awaiting Bursting buds Surrealism Roses growing out Of veins. Urine flowing out Of gender. A mountain growing up on my forehead And on my shoes Or was it just the breasts of a girl Veins of my forehead Growing me together With pieces of dead materia Draining me of blood.Scars growing Together And daffodils In the garden Roses are read And poets are cute You are sweet And soon I get my wages Je suis un fleuve I was sitting there on the toilet, shitting. Looking out through the window. I just say drama. Drama was what happened.I did not expect It to happen but a Wednesday is a Wednesday. Grey the clouds were and my mind too. Even the car we were towing away had the same colour. We got this guy into the car. He was just upon every mountain there was. ‘Cracker jacker baby and baby.’ (We are always working in teams of two) ‘Do you want some weEEeeEEEd?’ Me and my colleague and friend Michel, Michel Ostrich, looked at each other with sleepy eyes. After a while you would have noticed that the whole equipage were going in slalom. That was what the police report said. We were just inhaling smoke from some African parrot shit he was smoking. “This is goOOooOOd parrot shit!’ Even done some bad things when I was younger but this thing. The smoke was stronger then anything I have actually taken. Michael was starting with some kind of confession about that he had done to much gardening when the car crashed into a concrete pillar. My visual experience of the world disappeared and much of my other worldly connected sensations. After a while I could at least hear something. “Damn that was a terrible blow job. What kind of fraulein are you my deEEaaAAr?” Hm is this really the line to return to life with? I opened my Eyes slowly. ‘Cracker Jacker baby, he is awaAAeeEEke!’ Our smoking man was still alive too. Michel was standing in a corner. He was joyfully singing the lines from the new top charter song. ‘Degenerate, Yeah. Degenerate, Yeah!’ I sort of woke up and we were invited to the kitchen were two anorectic-looking girls called Samanthe and Helene were making the table. We sat down. Michel in front of me and Mr maAAaaAAn was changing chairs all the time. While eating the slightly to hard potatoes I could not believe my eyes when about angels were walking up and down on Michael’s arms. Well they were not big but anyway. Some explanations were made and a friend was called to pick us up. Vim van Bohemen was the name of the driver. From the casual talk we had on the way home I only remember this line. ‘Similarities of reality there is.’ When we got back home we met a guy in the staircase. I saw a black line in his face but I thought it was the parrot shit. Michel did not think that far. ‘Sorry, you have a black line there.’ He was pointing towards the man’s face. ‘It is permanent’ he responded.’ With a blushing Michel by my said I realised that we were back in some kind of normality. ‘Similarities of reality there is.’ As Viw van Bohemen said. ‘Well you now, I did to much gardening last week…’ Oh no, not those bulbs and lawns again. Michel started of his garden confessions. But Michel was apparently still effected so I could go to the toilet without he noticing it. With my pants down the phone rang. Thanks to my habit of preferring to talk to people while shitting, I lifted the handle and continued pushing. It was the police. Now I am sitting here on the toilet, shitting. Looking through the window. I just say drama. Drama was what happened.I did not expect It to happen but a Wednesday is a Wednesday.