11 poems from 'Red days' (poorly translated by me)

a smile on the lips

I saw Bring It On yesterday and it was so beautiful

I enjoyed it when the one school’s plagiarizing practice was revealed

the team became cheerleaders at the edge of the apocalypse

and the evil ones always won

exposed electricity caught red-handed

try to imagine

blood, sweet and tears –

a nerve without mercy

when the accounts are settled

I enjoy it when art ages badly

the atrophied that shimmers in the tiny jeans pocket of time

everything that cracked in front of Kirsten Dunst

everything that could have been honest in a car

now just became good

Hello Kitty has no mouth but speaks from her heart

in the beginning Hello Kitty had no name

Hello Kitty was just called the white kitten

without a name

in the dawn of time

I know nothing about the Situationist International

despite this I had the courage to write a novel

a poet goes on so lovely on Facebook

she writes that Hello Kitty is (in fact) a girl

she writes that Hello Kitty is (in fact) not a cat

I have just copied

I have pain and eyes

I thought it was beautiful and

easy and

I have to apologize now

I must take this chance

(I must insist)

a man in the city library knew, however

that Nelly Sachs never felt ashamed

and therefore no one else had permission to feel this way

ever

another man sits in the very front right now

he advertises amorism

– a new word for love

home party

it was pretty usual that you and me

went to the bathroom together

maybe I did my makeup

eager and focused

because I mostly wanted to look even more tired

you sat down and peed

singing Mariah Carey

asking if you developed

since the last time

you were neither scared nor nervous

if it was around Christmas

you might have been singing that Christmas song

and when we came back someone had smashed

a mother’s glass table

I love that Heidi Klum dressed up as herself with help from others

I saw a nice cancer hat with a crayfish on it

it made me happy, that it was extremely tight

”protect the cranial hood at all costs

consider fibres intensely”

I became sad when I thought about it

my own head is so huge

I can only express trustworthy opinions about my own head

but I love that Heidi Klum dressed up as herself

with help from others

her action was beaming

she wanted to be herself – multiplied

just like everybody else

with help from others

apparently she dresses up once a year

and makes it a big thing

I get that

the others were paid

steal better (that means worse)

listen now when the guy in the middle

opens the mouth’s lips

like a bicycle helmet

nothing is ambivalent

but what a beautiful voice he has 

a rock song about catholic action

my airplane sized Coca-Cola Zero can

had really copied

PJ Harvey’s somewhat nice medieval style  

ambitious

”Coca-Cola Life

you hade me at life”

I once wrote in the air

with a sparkler and/or a pretzel stick

dipped in sugar and/or gasoline

Isis said or wrote another time

”a lonely pretzel stick”

a companion piece to socialism

one must imagine the pretzel stick happy

but fun to have as an interest to like facts

I almost start to cry because we are doing this

somebody employed by The Sushi Roll  

believe that marriage is the scariest thing that exists 

we are getting married for that reason

scare the life out of a worker

that we do not know

that the heart remains a muscle

extinguish the fire tenderly

radiate a cinema weekend in the head

the stick went quite greyish

and that was not the point

symbols are made for using

I love the pedagogic circle of the subtitle

a precise arbitrary hip

from hell on earth, cropped

grey holes and titles that do not tell more

than how you relate to litter

I always hold the ice-cream like a regular stick

take a queue ticket before anyone notices

his shadow gets so disgusting tall

when we look down in the asphalt

everything I’m writing now is a relatively big bonus for anyone who identifies themselves as parents

a stranger asks me about inspiration

I’m happy when thieves get away

when it’s never been exciting

but did you know

there are phone cases in shape of parasites

it feels tender and modern

the love of your life can call and when you speak chicken-hearted

about life, that it feels like a predictable gala performance

that criticism is whining and other interests

it looks like there is a kind of monstrous insect

eating, distracted, on your face

it sucks and/or chews on the side of your face

its gums capsules the ear

you are a Madonna

or like Madonna, with over explicit Lyme disease

you are Kathleen Hanna!

but you have bought your illness and it is not subtle

it is not even real

only visible and manifested in a hungry thing

you are a mutation exposed to another greed that never ends

you are not even speaking to the love of your life

what kind of broad brush umbrella term is that

you are not speaking to anyone

you are recording your own voice

you improvise a kind of runic inscription

alone, between Axelsberg and Skärholmen

you whisper a lullaby, dopamine’s jittery omen 

it is all about cheerleaders at the edge of the apocalypse

there are 200 cowboy hats in this subway

lime fruits in a bowl, hard as tumours

obvious things

you have not made it up yourself

I want to start working as a hairdresser at Love is in the Hair in Jakobsberg and very slowly dilute the entire profession (the ones occupied by hair) from within

do you remember that Lucia parade

with provocatively competent children

proceeding trough Burger King

about a year ago

they felt as sick as a fist

that they had chosen the right day

that they sang the right songs

that they related so sophisticated

to the poetics of contradiction

manicured children are both the future and the root

to quite a few evil things, but

heaven is a place on earth

mental flowers to anyone who can appreciate a skew mood

I have used group pressure

I confess

I have taken advantage of group pressure mechanisms

the classic ones!

twice

and I did it all by myself

I describe one occasion now

I truly take the blame

I am the first to confess

I speak the truth

I am a describer!

I put a lit cigarette in a red rose

my lungs had created a two-edged glow

my fire was the biggest and worst in the city

I got several, (of each other) independent

innocent flowers

to start smoking

they never suffered from hypochondria

rather subsolid personality disorder

(Jenny Tunedal baptizes

”THE ROSE HAVE TEETH IN THE MOUTH OF THE BEAST”)

a tiny flowerbed

subsolid flowers

a dead and decorative

collective

I want to charge your phone (sincerely)

I got the cigarette from a Korean poet

because I threw paper on the stage floor

when I finish a sheet of poems I will throw it

almost always on the stage floor

the poem can look like this when it floats

it was actually a whole pack

when I’m done I’ll pick up all the paper

Harmony Korine is not very tall, then again… he is not that short either, but he's really not that tall if one compares with you   

it’s embarrassing if there is a story here

that goes against everything I believe in

I believe in a meaningless confusion

– I BELIEVE IN A SURFACE AND A THRILL –

haven’t you heard, that I usually succeed

but how interesting is this conflict

the dogmatism, ”here and there”

I nurtured a dream a long time ago

of a society in which dogmatism was mixed up with rheumatism

for no particular reason

a theme becomes Harmony Korine’s three talk show scenes

with the pig David Letterman

I will transcribe the interviews

it will be slack, it will be fun, it will be sad!

this was just presented by the “brain”

and it will be performed very soon

beware

in London I read a description of an artwork

the gist: I wanted to measure Harmony Korine

kidnap and measure

in that order

I said I needed grants

for a gun and a measuring tape

I said I needed you

the whole could be documented with my phone

”the camera of the future”

I really said that

I was a little in love with my little brother’s friend Joel

this was maybe four years ago

it is not possible to be a little in love

he got a weak short story