“Gott ist todt! Gott bleibt todt! Und wir haben ihn getödtet! Wie trösten wir uns, die Mörder aller Mörder?”
“Wer geboren werden will, muss eine Welt zerströren.”
I long for the things that will break me in the end. Everyday I collect the pieces, only for them to be blown away by the wind. I so want to feel whole, so that I can break myself all over again, every single day of the week, the months changing slowly until I see the moon’s new face again.
I was born on a Monday.
And every Monday I am reborn into collecting little stones and shards of eggshells and glueing them together, only to smash the egg’s shell again and again in my little hands.
Break the egg’s shell! Let the bird fly free into the unknown, then shoot it down and watch it fall back into its shell.
They say life is a never-ending cycle of different lives, different times, all woven together into a lovely carpet for the Gods to dance on, barefoot.
Under the Gods’ bare feet we live our lives on rewind. The tape recorder keeps winding back and forth the tracks of our lives, recorded in a blue cassette, playing a song of a thousand voices screaming in agony for the things we long for and which we will keep on longing for until we no longer remember that life, my friends, is but a blue cassette, winding back and worth in the tape player.
So in this loop of time moving forth, only to be wound back again, we get closer to each other, hoping for a sense of comfort in the tides of the icy sea of broken eggshells.
So won’t you take my hand, and lead me, to dance as the Gods on their graves.
Because, after all, there will be no Gods left after we kill them.
- Gloria Who?
Tämä artikkeli kirjoitettiin Keskiviikkona, Marraskuun 21. 2012 klo 17:13