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The structure of thought in relation to the structure of power.

Participants in order of chronological contribution: Freke Räihä. (ed.) Joel Arvidsson.

Simon Hedman Jonsson. Gökhan Turhan. Nina Ahlzén.

El Habib Louai. Kim Larsson.

JEOl Adnersson Hej hej! Hans Krøjer.

Cecilia Persson. Lars Palm.

Teresa Elvén.

Jonas Svensson.

Tomas Klas Ekström. Pål Hedberg.

Karin Poppius.

The structure of thought in relation to the structure of power. Masspoem III

(ed. Freke R채ih채)

A flower can grow through concrete without a single thought


Boiling structures over the torso where a wretched crow takes atria and ventricle to new heights without a thought of farewell The Three golden birds at the bottom of each pupil in an almighty light mirrors casts searchlights on a dirt road the wanderers forgotten long ago to direct the solar panels inside a declining mental tango where Calle Schewen picks of the dirt under his nails and smiles when Miss Hopeless loses pace in the memory of the sound of the once breathing chest in the once forgotten beginning of the story that this celebrity wrote in the once ragtag bookbinder´s wildest dreams became ashes when the village burned down or up and nothing was left for no spectators to see the archetypal truths inscribed in an Aryan people with awkward woven values that excesses four percent of the minds of the children who starved to death for fame and glory and a grandslam Anthem traveling with a crow over the plains so far The Three wants to see with a telescope and on the moon’s trailing edge is not at all Neil Armstrong but Buzz Aldrin sitting waving for King and Country in the amniotic fluid stream gushing down on a naked torso of a man who wanted to be a woman who is a rose is a rose is a rose and the buds are never to blossom the light has descended a tad and the optician is sadly madly unskilled and left by his wife in her high heels in a wobbly staircase leads up to the Godfather himself who is not Marlon Brando now an angel among many with a harp and humanity´s light never escapes from the hole in his pocket with seven big glassballs plucked from a playground strewn with thin papers from the history books so we can see the image of the girl desperately flees the landscape of napalm.

100711 Just before The Lord finally gave up on me, he told me to write a diary. ”I’ll fucking try, Bitch”, I said, and gave him a golden blowjob. I was so fucking bored with timespace. I said: ”I’ll fucking try, midget” Now, let’s start with meat and potatoes, ordinary, painfully ordinary bleak stuff. My parents didn’t love me. I’ve got an addictive personality. Now you know, asshole, fucking reader, smartass. Yes, I’m an addict, but nowdays, I’m just a work-aholic. How cute. What about relatives, friends? I have no friends. Friend is nice word for a boring person. Relatives? I’ve got a few. I have erased their names, though. I’m currently working on their so called faces. Ancestor tree? Some kind of painting inside a bottle, a pain-thing perpetually falling through a rusty crown. Anything else, that can stimulate your imagination, reader? Maybe perversions, clean in the shade of an almond-tree. All eyes, eyes at the bottom of constant deathwhishes. An eternal ring-cycle of blood and extacy. What am I talking about? You tell me, smartassreader, now that this misshapen micro-diary has been made public. Incense just below or just above the surface, burning leaves

Indivisible m


Thought process winding road flying the kite a line drawn in the sand warming your skin with my lighter dreaming glass houses along a winding road we are dressed in white glass houses dressed in sand YOU ARE NOT HERE finger

man as I am

Power a tattoo of strength gleaming in the moonlight a tin on a hot cat roof cockroaches warming your lighter with my skin terrorized grammar taking in water the process as a weapon YOU ARE NOT HERE numbers (digits) ice

The patient is a diagnosed paranoid schizophrenic afflicted with a military-industrial complex. The patient was admitted to the psychiatric ward after implementing neoliberal economic policies in his cell and nearly starving to death. The patient is under 24hour police state surveillance. The patient is being hydrated intravenously and means of production are being withheld. The patient upon waking asked for a pen and a corporate media establishment to issue a formal statement.

for suresince you are notreading like one of thoseis my boring jazzbands.superpower.

Indivisible man as I am / One dimensional man as I am / I may just sit alon or memories? Nevermind now. Mother dies and dies again. That toxic pig. Are you offended? Well fuck of home then, you sensitive loser. This is diary isn´t written for children. But you must know, that this text has magic, occult (2) RELATIONSHIP possibilities. Be sure to read it all through - otherwise I can’t transDot my sky with stars form, that is: travel into my new Paint the ceiling in deep amber life properly, and I will forever haunt you. I’m dead, or almost dead, you see. What else? Ongoing poetry: sketches of an impossible love story. What love? The one between us, reader. It’s dead. This diary: sketches of a fucked-up love. there´s a woman in her own abyss see her shudder and shy enough, she clasps in time sees the walls come tumbling down across the chest a pecking heart

I got it all wrong, but it didn´t really matter any more. The less we knew about the war the bigger the fruits in the supermarket seemed to be. I really hate it when they do that to innocent tomatoes When I was a kid, I didn’t know that only the powerless have the ability to change the world

ne / In a semi-dark room / Holding my soft hot balls / On such a suffocating Here it is in its entirety:

I’ll dot your soul fly you to a higher ground Have you talked to the hyacinths lately Are they early or late or just boringly on time Do they look the same as last year Do they collect in your arms hindering the tide The tide of wars, of wondrous, glorious wars Wars where life is at its prime

I planted bulbs in your garden last spring You should take good care of them Throw that red rock away to give them light It is not more than fair

i am not into organizing power distribution is another jamsession

night / Thinking of you / somewhere / As a scene from Medium Cool passes 100712 At last, I’ve learned to think in black and white only. I think noir. I Always remember everything I like, the fuel I’m most ashamed of. I have a rare talent, being able to do that. I’m not shy at all. I’m vio- (3) CLIMAX lent when I want to, subtile when I want to. I take my time. Now I This is not my tongue. These are not fall, and you fall with me, all the tear/with your judgement bolt/bolt ju way down to the very bottom of sion. Crimes of passion. Crimes of des this fucking text. Now, think ro- fice me at the altar of your hate/Love m mance, or horror or thriller, but Hate me/YOU ARE please just don´t think sensible, YOU ARE understandable as in a marriage, YOU ARE a social structure. Join me now on YOU ARE a deep voyage to an impossible YOU ARE love-chaos, the worst scenery of numbers digits letters words nominal all. A meeting between you and nmbrs dgts lttrs wrds nmnl phrss me, and picture this: a psychotic Look at me morning-bird with completely Look at my hands original ideas about pleasure, that Look at me putting my hands in your p bird fondly grabs you by the neck Look at my power putting your hands & we plunge through joy efter joy. My power The bird is me, precious. One hand my hands around your neck & then stars your look begin to grow like mars-plants. putting me A golden time-drop explodes be- in tween our temporary overlit faces. Great! I can feel you reading. That time-drop tastes violently of pure saliva & mint-kisses. We silently rape black roses while Mahler sighs in the background. It’s fun reading, don’t you think? You’re already as demented as me.

s / Children´s talk is heard as it sasses / I sweat inside, so melancholic / My “You always save the uncomfortable truths for last. I grew up in an asbestos-free environment. My nourishment was provided seemingly as if from out of nowhere. Wherever I made a mess, someone else cleaned it up. I remember always waking up to the sound t my words/Tear me apart/apart me of the vacuum cleaner. It made udgement/judgement. Crimes of pasme angry every time. I had been spicable acts. Bring in the kings. Sacrisleeping, and that was important. me at the altar of your hate/Hate me/ Everyone says so. Sleeping is very important. Cleanliness was to me an innate ability, something you were born with.

l phrases

power s in me

fire in the throat like cramps, singing tongue sweat pores evaporates and rises moss hum against her arch pines leaning their heads, doze in the night

(while power waits) (I) smiled slyly (I) took a sip (I) gave up

you are much say Esbjörn rests in better grooving peace in this thought than that you draw upon a jazz-trio. persistence

own self smells of garlic / Do you ever think of me? / Or am I only rotting in 100713 Another time, even heavier. We kiss. You, the reader, and me, the occult child. A hand holding your neck again. You’re weightless as you fall towards some kind of basin filled with sandy tears, tears that catch fire when wind makes them all shake. Time, carefully When she gave up on thought encapsulated in a smoky studio, I thought for an eternity sheltered behind a non-baptized it is suburban temple, yes, time has four wings while we build coffins of frozen love. I know what I need to not see you count them. Love is good for some, but for some it´s just impossible, subtile, hopeless, temporary. Sublime. These late days squeak like predators from you I it outer space, and owls give us oral re-turning sex and high-tech narcotics. Skies (to) the wheel of fortune empty dogs. Empty buses of authe pointer is still a phallus tumn weightlessly vanish, but the fortune is still clouds are papered with bright a wheel spinning eye-colors, anorexic letter-torn it is you finger-nails or just plain scandinayou are me vian dirt, dirt that’s brown black I am it as night. Yes, I know you love me. iYou The more bizarre & psychotic I iIt get, the more you love me. No, you iI don’t have to tell me that you’re iLife engulfed. I know, you Can’t, just introducing iUs Can’t stop reading. You’re doomed. while iIt is spinning the wheel Want more? the while of fortune twisting bending you from us

nside this can? / Should it ever matter? / Under a desolate sheltering sky / Dirty people, I always figured, were doing dirty things. Maybe they rolled in garbage heaps, walked around on their knees in winter, ate with their fingers and wiped them off on their shirts. It scarcely occurred to me that everything devolves into dirtiness unless you clean it. But that should’ve been obvious. Nature lost is filthy. Forests? Full of dirt. Mud but when power is lost puddles, worms, mushy dead leafs. Other people protected me from these devastating truths, until I was so irrevocably indoctrinated it didn’t matter anymore when they changed their minds. When they wanted me to help out with the house work, I would refuse out of hand, as if I didn’t believe it really needed doing. It was more important that I sleep. That I study.

I lose poweryou make me thus in thinkingsmoke more of youthan Blixa Bargeld does me

100714 Pregnant shadows collide with people. I wonder why the shadows are pregnant. Sunspots lick my ears clean. Faces, faces without bodies explain life´s inerta to my spine. I’m sunken into early snow of thoughts, thoughts of burning dog entrails. Different public pornographic blessings explode just in between spontaneously combusting siliconedildos. I’m not turned on. Only you can reach me these fucking days. African children explode & explode in slow motion without splashing blood that can stain somebody’s new clothes. Where have the children’s shadows been before they got here, to our perfekt western asshole? Probably nobody knows. The thing is that you can hide among them. There are heavy holes in the dog-heaven of autumn. Now it starts to rain. I’m writing in present time, even if this is supposed to be a diary. Gifted, me? To smart? Yes, I know.

To call even for a reliever / Is i

(4) epilogue

Once upon a time there was a great storm and in that storm I saw a great crime

Whenever I feel like being a grown up I´ll be a grown up I am still working on my doctors degree as an excuse to keep me from causing any serious harm You know what they say: every system has it´s potential breaking point It´s the inner beauty of everything

handc and fo down cold s for se hours decemb struct power structu can’t h smile you we pants a struct power patien your u to freez your bl to smash smithe with a blow f black

it not better just to surrender?

cuffed orced n on a street everal in late ber the ture of r is the ure that hide its when et your and the ture of r waits ntly for urine ze and ladder be hed to ereens single from a kjack

Time is our friend we bend it to our will time is not the end but ”it” is time to kill

All they had previously demanded in return for this bombardment of corrosive kindness, was that I grow up to be an engineer. Or a lawyer. An upstanding citizen. Every act they performed as a service to me would further obscure truths about the world. But food doesn’t magically spring into being.

she was afraid of his being, disgusted by the human tank foxes´ fun in the grove corner of her mouth, demanding the throbbing Colossus piles and tear she encounters in the ground, splits, openwithin frost owls suckle their snakes

I told youwe have sensibilities that complement each other.

100715 Where is that street? I need to know. If only snow would fall now, fall & scratch away the gray film from all those rushing, flying shadows of magenta. Cut right down to neo-critical crater-lakes. All is shadow, purple shadow, but antique paper-saucers tries to seduce me. Please, Maha Kali, open the pathway to Nothingness. Now angels lie still on a concrete ledge.

Begin to finish these pages. Find a word that reoccurs (recurs) in our private lives. Realize that tomorrow may never come.

another of her buries itself, see black and earth fall into the open face

the pointer passing the iPlaces gaza, ithaka, gran canaria, san fransisc spinning while iRecall a few seconds in the sun when it was you

(but in the end, I win)

I guess I knew that. It stands to reason. But my knowledge of these things was either very superficial, or set so very deep it was impossible to relate it to anything more immediate. The brainwashing had left me almost beyond repair, and ironically it prevented me from ever serving the functions they had set out for me, such as paying taxes and generating prosperity. Or keeping clean, or cooking food. When they started to demand these services from me, and expect that I serve myself, my insurrection was inevitable.

co, darfur, srebrenica, venice, congo river, chernobyl, berlin ostbanhof we need a bag of tobacconicotine featuring so that a new movement incaffeine adds much poetrymore than you do would networking associations you are subject of herein

100716 Let us pupate like heroin-loaded swans, waiting for the next nervetree, thought-pattern, fucking solar system, or hell, I don’t know. It doesn´t fucking matter what I mean. No one invites me to sexy trash any more. Darkness just happens to like me. I can’t understand how I manage to burn so much time. Time is just sour milk. But when strangers ejaculate blood and acid on my lotusfeet, I feel slightly happy, relieved. Released? No. Catharsis = bullshit. Crap to tell children, shit to stuff them with, so they shut the fuck up. And yes, sometimes people ask: ”Well, are You happy?”, and I answer slowly, careful not to hurt the person asking: ”Happiness is a trash-word for me. People like me can be more or less unhappy, but happy, no. It’s to simple a word to describe the sum of all my defeats and victories, my fears, all my stars, suns and moons. And furthermore, I think that any selfrespecting person should answer like me.” And afterwards, I push myself into everything I hate until I get tired of dark poisons, whips, chains, well tired of talking, tired of fucking, fed up with fucking everything. I puke on everything except love. Love. Love. Love.

A Summer Mem

Bohemian waxwing is a member of th prefer to eat the berries of the rowan mented berries, get intoxicated and tr I wish I was a waxwing.

mory Revisited

he waxwing family of passerines. They tree. Sometimes, they eat slightly ferry to fly into windows.

Insurrection is easy. You start with deconstructing the concepts that are the easiest to discard. Repeat with me: I am not a ‘good’ person. My people is not a ‘good’ people. Democracy doesn’t currently exist. The world is controlled by the very wealthy, and managed in a fashion designed to maintain or exacerbate the injustice of their immense privilege. Progress is an illusion. People do not get what they deserve, whether you base it on effort or moral worth.

Power I saylet´s leave the rather We wouldjazz to the sayscientists complementsthat I forsake two of us

/ The feeling of arriving suddenly surprised / To a dear far place you once 100717 I’m sick of this shit. Let this starsick diary burn. Fuck the reader. Fuck your interpretations, mankind. Long live the abyss of the hungry diamond-heart. Fuck this diahreea.

Bring me the king bring me the waxwing king bring me the king of the waxwing thin bring me the waxwingkingthing and le bring me the singing king of the waxw thing sing sing sing thing a ling ring who put the king in the waxwing a rin who put the bling in the king king ring

We stand on the roof of the university h sun will never reach zenith. We are enl erything. And all we know we have lea said: you are just like us. And while I try dried out body and words are falling do

Did you all know there´s a small hole in the world Big as a raindrop caught in a spiderweb At some time in life, I think we all do the mistake of trying to fix it Until someone realize it´s just another form of reflection

e missed / With a heart so lonely distanced / Am I certainly here? / Are you None of these statements are necessary truths, signed into natural law and conveyed in fiery letters at the start of creation. These are facts about the world that can be changed through human action. (5) Where A deep understanding of these conditions is made near impos 1. is sible to attain because of institu 2. Hammond? tionalized propaganda so deeply ng integrated into the very fabric of et me sing our thoughts that the propaganda wing fling itself becomes a self-generating, snowballing parasitic meme-species of abstracted power consoling ding? dation. g wing?

hospital. The raining season is somewhere else. You are about to dry out. The lightened. There will always be shadows falling from our bodies. We know evarned from the apes. We asked them about ourselves and they answered. They y to understand you according to the truth of the apes my shadow falls on your own the vast void. And you will follow. I will stay. While they still sell and murmurings alain ”amazon kindle: a perde botton´s a week at the fect gift for dad.” my dad airport in a book-”shop” doesn´t read books, he is at a working-class-poetry the who rhymes 14 hours of air hardworking per day. port. his poetry is husbandest of all.

certainly there? / Just as if we never met / Somewhere on a day so wet / Y 100718 there Love. room anger struct power people peripheral to the regime cold ca tions regime peripheral to the people binde alpha water peripheral to the regime orde they kn regime peripheral to the water which c lock y water very relevant to the people so they which ber to from w riotgea met... fuck i Are you quite done yet? know a

you kn story robbe dimin time an again have a place f anger pocket with b fury I how c you

You, sitting in a lounge / Me, in my own empty loge / A smile crossed your They catch you early. It is the e’s no concepts that are planted before m for you’ve ever had an introspective in the thought that are hard to escape ture of from. That’s built into the system. r only It is a feature that allows for easy alculainsurrection identification and s and prevention. From an elitist, power ers in conserving perspective, all you a male and now, lets take a moment to breathe need to do is tell the chief of police er so to go for the dirty ones.” now in o cage to you up o y know h numo o erase which o ar hel...bah, o it, you all this

now the being ed and nished nd time n you secret for the r and ts filled boiling mean could not

I am still in mythey still need roomtobacco of a good ponderingfortune so that a new movement in poetry would set itself out.

lips / A memory crossed my / mind / And we both met in a picture / We ha

Chapter Two - ”When we’ve found the

Power/Thought Ice in my veins ice in your veins I mus Ice tattoo fire (blood) I must do somet Eyes spying through a frosted glass watching the waxwings whirling I’m so happy I’m so glad that I’ve got y [Good] With legs drily dangling beneath an empty jacket. I scare myself. Feel how loose the head sits on my shoulders. You’re all happy now. We are gathered here today. All of us. All of us.

the will of fortune is spinning is passing himalaya, hiroshima, mesopotamia, gu there is something behind iIt. a choir singing what you gonna tell your dad it’s like a and iI don’t want to end up anywhere

appened to share together / Back in a bohemian Moorish summer / Maybe

e components”

st do something ON THE PAPER thing ON THE PAPER

you. [Bad] I’m new here. You haven’t seen me before. This alone is enough to make you never want to see me again.

uantanamo, yakutsk, cape horn, auschwitz, tranås, ground zero.

a wheel of fortune what you gonna tell your dad if this wheel let you down? insisting on the fact I don´t have awe had room thoughthe ability to make love while grooving a vinyl-compilation of various artists playing drone drone drone

an overnight spent apart / Do we occur to each other? / Or is it just a simpl


I have never (?)… that the hands would have the strength to scrub the curses of white paintings now I see the ghost-ships blast their way and kraken cries demon-bloody waters blue lily, lily white, folly November, freezing rain, the cold velcro throws a handful of lead-dust a futile gesture, a relic of faith, I have never believed in purity, the purity, pure Chronos, worn, weary, wrathful, wasted time-knots, cross-knots, bones the kingdom of mermaids, swimming with rotting seaweed around their necks I travel safely on the sea-monsters slimy body “L’eternité C’est la mer mêlée Au soleil” shooting the fragile prey of life beyond death within me tomorrow does not stand pure and opened I´ve never believed in the white, whiteness, white the servants of light, the princes of darkness clam-words, moon-jarring, mouth-captive if a now before existed before Crescere, Decrescere copies that become originals in the quiet hours of defeats

le surrender / To things as they move adrift / Uncontrolled by some stream

the Word, the words longs away deathwish, letters that testify about longing. The trees said: the fields does not want your dead clothing. approach it is against our will against my will, the will-less will Crucify her, kill the will to live, kill Senecio groundsel, rock, mountain groundsel Where are you? The wind, the winds, wind breathe, the breaths, your breath I have never been able to breathe other than the winds, wind, the wind

andsure you are a woman of jazzband.

/ As boats in a Melbournian dream / Sensations, sensibility and sufferanc

when d are u grabs they p all on s to be b at bar prices could not be when... fuck it know a

you k the s hands from w on this dream sore walkin shoppin aven abc eyes wa from a adver mum jumbo pepper they’ve throw your

if you s

ce / Things I hardly could bear since / I wish I could be there / Just some-

dreams up for s and put us shelves bought rgain s how there e anger . ...bah, t, you all this

know story s worn workin’ s daym feet after n’ every ngmall nue d etc atering all the rtising mbo o and r spray e been wing in r face


I am not about tomerely cannot appoint regulate it allstructural associations not losing powerto daily deeds eitherso that I´d kiss you on bruises that designates me upon your spine

where a bit near / To hold your hand aga in com fury energ poetr have a glow weap rotating (sucks expl ing in mind w promi beaut grote the po structu holes be ab foll

when the re sion th no nee struc of tho no n to con with lo hexam iambi bullshit of diso is contrad

ain dear / And kiss your fresh lips so fair mbine and gy and ry you a most wing pon a g disco s!) ball lodn your with a ise so tifully esque owerureasswon´t ble to low

facing epreshere’s ed for cture ought need nnect ogic or meter ic feet t ”rules order” a diction

writing is out of controlas I see what´s in me, is not thereinwe need the power You are obliging meeither to hold the nation to lose controlback take Joy Division outor to get together of all such

very si to �fea reaper� you nothin not ev bad po the fac I could my ow as eas I break lin

That is why iI am using iIt, the will the whil In the end, in the in nothing remains but the idea of no one, once so

imilar ar the ” cause fear ng at all ven a oem or Outro: ct that d break Ernst-Hugo once said: wn arm ”We´re always going to live! We´re never going to die!” siliy as k these nes

le the wheel of fortune, to wheel break you. nnovation moment, omeone who could have been anyone anywhere.

Note: Ernst-Hugo died 6th of September 1998. God rest his soul. love is glyphic, ain´t it? 2011

Masspoem III  

A commune of poem, like the vings of anarchy.

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