paint the walls
paint the walls
paint the walls
i stand my back against
paint the walls

i point
i move
this is persevering in spite of absurdity
pointing
i move to another wall

this is a painting for some meaning some feeling
fell against a wall
back against a wall

i am a human machine
paint the walls
let me not hear the white walls no more
i am a human machine

excuse me there is a hole in your
face through which i peaked every day
that things were always as they are now
and i wasn't even blind
i was peaking through a transparant sheet
maybe i never even saw you

Eliot remarked do you know that humankind
cannot bear very much reality. that even he was aware
a whole century ago that the one to come
would still have all of this *******
makes me think of a non-existing century
could be my new apartment
and i'll paint the walls

i'll crash into life however
childish that may sound and i'll
break my skull split
myself in half and we have
a puddle of red to practise with
i'm unsatisfied over everything

and i'll jump there's a bottle of red
in the kitchen and i poured it away and now
i regret though might have been for the best
must've turned sour by then
amongst other things i try not to think about

"oh, stop talking" said Red "i can't
understand how you catch anything, if you
talk eternally late evening to early
morning"
i will stop. i talk now because i need it. how can i think
without talking
famous
name
i would like to know

in this challenge red was Readiness; memory streamed
over giant volumes of Lately
looked for a famous
occasion
to go on "and i don't think you can explain
an entire ****** on the back of an envelope"
you need something bigger
not that it matters, if you had a
sea of paper, your pen would only make a few stains
on it

solution: self-conscious
gesture

still

that is much better
something about it, if the others don't
need as much. one should suffice. in fact it is not
needed

the remainders only listen. then
we shall persevere now

And he knows poor old Scrag is dead and
buried in his bed of roses. now let us
speak
to hear nothing anymore
the owner had
enough

first time:
wrong
explanation

"upstairs, hurry!" the old man
opened up to a leader
to a small bedroom
opened a small crack his ear
tacit then whispering hoarsely
"i will tell you
something. i believe that he too is after
Scrag and dressed up like him
to cause no suspicion. That's what i think in the
Mystery. exactly a man like that. There"

red in Whispers: "come here
in his garden; he's spraying
refusal again on his bed of roses"
hanging frontally forwards

poison surely
death He...
giant
fear; suddenly locked up and
turned upside down. after that the sound
drifting tried the door

we have to find a way to
to come, while he, you, You
writes down everything he says when he sees. i bet
he'll let everything go, out of fear, just like
that man in the mystery
"how shall we go inside?" completely Red
the small fence
followed

happily; undisturbed Did anyone notice
the strange apparition
could be a reason

"i bet i
can go in. I believe it is not locked yet."
it is not locked yet
hike, bare and wig
downstairs watching he managed
it to Open

Then he went,
tied again around his neck
brushed off again he went
downstairs careful
into small being and returned properties
again
the right spot euphoric and excited
looking forward to the next adventure
"Now we almost have found him." there is not much he possesses

started out totally
occupied
"there should be some refreshments"

wrong; against
"only when it's done quickly
it doesn't matter"
The first difficulty was finding out
how to love
-an open space in a Forest, close to the owner's home
"we'll let them go at this tree"
businesslike face, "and then we'll let them go"
That is the finish and red should be coded
in writing who
Is

"what if they disappear even before they
exist?"
coldness, "that won't happen"
we'll make sure
that won't happen

i've never done this before. how do I
exist?
powerless, lack
irritating
"very ordinary
with some paper" i bet that
i bet that the other one
against everyone, if they can handle it, write down
their names

old shed
beard bare
head old pants
overcoat tie and dark
glasses he must attach them with a rope
to his neck
strict
precise
red being Solidarity

you try to look like Him but your face is too much
yours, your hair hovering above your pants
looking a little strange
it is a good kind of
resentment
a whole kind of
new. anyway others will not see my neck because of
myself: that i thought about that

"i think you might be special
if you meet him in the gloom of the night and he can't
even see you well"
"well" red being Impatience "let us look when he
gets

both sides
his own way through the fields
curiously enough
Himself"

"why not?" a murderer must ****
someone, otherwise he wouldn't be a murderer
there are those who are crazy like you or anyone
crazy about collecting. there might
be a good reason for it though. he might
know that one of us
knows
nothing

because we all
drowned when our ship sank
that's how it went with the Mystery
not one of us has a
shipwreck to show
for everything i say

tired

there is not at all
pressure to tell us
wat happened
tonight i'll ask if maybe she
drowned

and probably they will say
they've forgotten about him long ago but i bet one of you
wanted to ****** him

unmentionable
don't even bother
for some time there was no reason to be suspicious
maybe it wouldn't even have come up, but then
on a certain day they found the two
completely empty

you can find anyone and
emigrate
an essay and put
your hands deep in your pockets; do you remember in the
Mystery he dressed up
as the killed one, went to the killer what I mean
is if you can hide yourself
Mask; write everything down You
will be well

"but who could dress up like Scrag?"

i have a home and a  
head actually i lost them
wish i had them to make mental notes of everything
full of doubt, even
difficult
to see anyone else
became used to

"very well" red Plans "we should go to tomorrow
right now
if he saw me he'd bring out his syringe!" like Lightning

they got together again

he just blurted out some things of course that
Scrag is alive and must be in a room somewhere. no one cherishes
being on vacation eternally, They
just stay for a while
so that they cannot be
caught

"he looked different"
doubter "new suit or new
curtains maybe"

some time ago
do you remember
well, being red just like in the Mystery
i bet you, right now he can't find Scrag
within. he buried Scrag in his garden and now he strolls about

in the middle of the road
to go back and be able to see what (s)he is doing
new adventures

very carefully two young people
by accident
the owner outside her door of Plants
eating, as promised

unfamiliar through the same Fence
just a moment in Their garden
with His bed of roses in her mind
that wasn't great. that was very sad.

myself completely in doubt

getting a shock, his eyes (possibly) on me "if he'd see
his victim came to life again"
it went the same way in the Mystery
humble
again braiding over his ears "i would't have
come up with it myself. it is very cleverly invented". All these stories
clever writers. i will write these kind of stories
when i don't have anything to catch anymore

yes in Red "but what will we do now?"
we almost Are

both of the gardens empty
farther afield
greenhouse
walk over to the other side
it would not be
the Good. it might be better to
wait until he works in the garden:
Scrag probably
one with the door

Tell me! do you even have

no clue cheerless
"i had one when i started but it
broke"

writing: the big subjects
the remainders
scales of wood marble nutshell candy strings
remainders of paint i look for. no result

sticking, impossible to write anything
strike, speaking: "i'll learn it by heart"
talk to me

"you must learn it by heart, when he speaks" red being
Insecurity and Crinkled
an envelope; looked at it
the way a general would "if i look
at you" i think the general in you
ends the moment you
start telling about the ******

"i don't think so" Red being grave
"he is full of ink. at least
at least he was when i started with him"

he doesn't seem to know the purpose of
his Ink, that's it, that's wrong about your pen
more severe: he seems to not know about
writing at all. he seems to think ink is
only meant to make a few stains. ending

"it's a nice pen" red in disbelief
"a great pen"
Yes, it is a nice pen to make a few stains with

tomorrow i should go
inside
dive in the ditch
"there it is"
the absolute evidence all the way from Scrag's
fortress

and he could
not keep his eyes from the bed of roses, did
you see that? just like the man in the Mystery
Scrag must have been buried
in there like a policeman

like it says in the
books: firm "They will never go to the
books" they will first discover and then send away

"haven't we already discovered everything that is red?"
"we haven't found enough"
honest, it is not enough
and will still somehow escape. We're going to have
to talk
so much

"how then shall we get what we already have?"

we have to Be
no pistols
"then what shall we do?" red being increasingly anxious

aware; he thought he looked exactly like the Inhabitant

you don't like me, the people
stung. if they see me, they'll only
think that Scrag returned. now
that I think about it, i believe it would be nice

just so they would think i am real
this Plan
what happened
too far
like this
mustered a deep hate
regularly, illegitimate

better a pity
because his proud nature did not allow him to slip
"i'm not sure whether those pants still fit
me" Do you remember, the last time
after us
so now we must be a little more careful

those two houses

aside. their doubts about the
authenticity grew by the minute
dissimilar, irrefutable meant
to frame a larger face
oblique. Moreover
much too young

even Camus is at a loss:
"what i'm getting at is that the emptiness
should be happy i am so
sorry life is absurd in all
sorts of airplane crashes
and twin towers you'd
expect both of you to go down but
here you are i see you
shrinking without him"
and when i see you in the train cabinet my
heart knocks politely on my ribcage: Are You Okay?
No
and then i realise it wasn't you someone
had the same effect of me latching my eyes onto you wanting
to talk to you wanting to talk to you wanting to
talk to you not wanting to talk to you using
this train for other purposes, example:
How To Disappear Completely
Thom Yorke even apologised for the similarities dear
i know this makes you think of him just listen one more minute it will
hurt just enough the whole world hurts just enough doesn't everything remind you of him? even the others's lips are rough insofar as they scratch memory's fragility oh god
it comes in waves and i push my tail deeper into
the water
du bonheur et rien d'autre
write me another piece of ******* you closed
the door in my face then i put a lock on it and now
i plead i keep on standing in tall grass, tiny horses
and thumbs might **** me

to those who said he
wouldn't win

"in giving?"
in doing
"what if he loses?"

a couple of minutes of silence
then:
"i'll do something else"
coldness, it is dead-easy

"and who'll come watch?"
red in ardour
"everyone. but they must pay
for it"
then no one'll come. simple.
that it was true
only people
let's not admit others
or those others

in between
a Deep Enmity,
a True War
"oh no! not That one!" satisfaction
all over his face "But
we must let them know we Love. they
will be furious they can't reach up to us"
a couple of days more
to tell the truth