It's all becoming more and more like a fever dream...
Politicians are drinking tea, laughing maniacally with their shredded top hats, the rabbit; and Alice.
The true face of it all is getting clearer and clearer.

How long has it been like this?

And why now—as though desperately clinging onto the last seconds of history—give up the act and blatantly share what we thought could indeed be true before? Or do they know what you and I both know: that people have become so numb that you don't have to hire great actors. No, you hire a clown because spanning attention is as hard as it gets;
In a world where our phones flash us popups and death
Everyday
And every hour
Every hour every second
Every second is too long
Because my attention span can't... ugh
There's something wrong I...
Just wanted to watch this video of a cat
And now I'm shoved against a fence by a robot with a bat
Who silences violence with the law on his shoe
Roses are red

Frostrøyken satte rim i det iskalde glasset da han endelig tillot sin skjelvende hånd å gripe fatt om flasken –
og skjenke seg den sødmefylte ilden han så iherdig lengtet etter, denne iskalde desembernatten.

Spriten brant i strupen da han hevet glasset med det lille han hadde igjen av –
det man kunne anse som – hansker.
Fra den lune roen kom et herdet sukk da han bredte det fillete ullpleddet over seg,
slik ilden brant og bredte seg ut i fingre, tær og bein – så trette bein.

Atter bar mørket en barmhjertig byrde.

Med enda et sukk satte han seg ned, øm og bedøvet av verdens kulde,
atter en gang besudlet i intet.

«Nå kan mørket lede an.»

In the vinyl, I see Saturn’s rings.
I see them scattered with snowballs, glowing in the oh-so-distant sunlight—
peacefully floating in their orbits,
occasionally saying hello to one another
with a little bump from time to time.

The music blends as the snowballs form;
bigger, greater snowballs that—
once having consumed all around them—
stay frozen in the pitch-dark nothing…
They remain, mute and humble—observing.
And they never melt away.

I snap back—

—back to the vinyl.
How beautiful it sounds.
Not a single scratch really hurts your ear;
it rather tingles the senses.
The scratch of the needle turns the etches into flowers.
Each note is a cloud, and I am floating on one,
drinking the melody deep into my body,
letting it melt me away into water.
I rain down into my chair, and—

—I snap back.

My body tickles as the speaker shakes the air around me.
It liquefies, turns upside down.
The violin is playing…
Oh no.

I forgot about this part.

I see the mirror in your room,
and in the mirror, I see you.
And next to you, I see me.
I am still inside the drop.
And I know that in a minute, it will burst.
It will run down your cheek.
Any moment now.

I snap back.

I snap.

Men plunge and ****** their spears into
Pointless flesh
You've let it in through your ribben cage, and so drunkenly judged this poor exchange
Of a branch's strength to a wrench's

More wood
More wood for the fiery eyes of the younger
Isn't it good
There's new flesh for the trenches
Whom with an unquenched thirst
And a gray wolf's hunger
Ignore the flesh, rot and stenches.