A piece of prose, made with cut up technique.
Three different genres of literature had been used.
Traditional, sentimental (childrensbook) / adult literature / a manual.
My literature was:
A Clockwork Orange – Anthony Burgess
Lolita – Vladimir Nabokov
The Magic Faraway Tree – Enid Blyton
The Yellow Pages
Flux Magazine, December
... own words had been added when necessary
A very weird text was the outcome.
But it wasn't me. I just put it together.
When I arranged the poster I was thinking about a report in a newspaper, because unfortunately you can read or you hear stories like this way too often, but from a different point of view.
I used the Times because it was made for being a newspaper font and I wanted my picture looking as if it is from a newspaper as well.
I choose the picture of the fence, because it communicates constriction, but you can't know on which side of the fence you stand. Are you the prisoner or not?
And of course the is the connection of being in jail because of commiting crime.
The view from here
It seems such a quiet place that I shouldn‘t have thought there was even a small adventure to be found.
It had been different.
It had not been like edifying, indeed it had not.
Being in this dirty hellhole and like human zoo for twenty years, being kicked and beaten by brutal bully warders and meeting smelly leering like criminals, some of them real perverts and ready to dribble all over a luscious young man as I have been.
Fisting me in the balls and the face and the belly and dealing out kicks, and then at last I has to sick up on the floor like some real mad fellow.
I should have learned my lesson.
But why does the way she walks excite me so abdorminably?
Their voices I hear still:
Let us help. Let us take the weight of your shoulders.
And desire even stronger than before began to afflict me again.
Is it some devil that crawls inside me?
The intention to act violently is accompanied by strong feelings of physical distress.
I should have learned my lesson.
There are shows for all occasions.
We have been to the Rocking Land, and the Birthday Land. And the Land of Take-What-You-Want and the land of the Snowman.
Yum Yum!
Sweet intoxication.
It‘s lovely to be with you all again.
Very infantile, infinitely specious.
Hiding form my covetous eyes, the juvenile breasts I had fondled one immortal day.
Their voices I hear still:
Please don‘t fight the debt alone, we take care of your excess.
The status of outsider can be quite useful. You can poke around much easier and see from a position of greater clarity.
You just never know, but it is all very exciting.
Abracadabra voices! I don‘t think I believe you!
