b y J o h n   W a t e r m a n n

1

Starved by a bad forehand under a self imposed formula to keepmy weight down, Auschwitz dripping from gold plated armatures,dead polaroids with traces of dandruff presented as alibi to the shouting Hitler in neighbour's garden granular grinding  hush hush with the watchmaker's golden rectum locked.Nothing could be more convenient than to lie still and in essence. Every square splint takes about 2 at full stress. Hobbling and limping into the first frame, which is perceived by the tribunal as abrasive provoking, but forgive me, bang: 6 inches long my large wound ripped open once more, frayed at the edges to mimic withdrawing on all four. The catastrophe of being trapped like don't put it off any longer. Having been nailed by authorities  in front of the cameras and forced to retract like an animal in a red hot square. Just a reminder: Can you feel it? The sensation of some unexpected shudder?Slit open in front of a wide overhang, cracked up deliciously under the strain of splash, a filthy pair of nailed braces intended to give pleasure cold on my stretcher now twitching: Finally they have fixed it! Under the blanket limp dangling tacked to some loose wrapping down the drain and burdened like a beast with my hands tied up with wire behind my back,documented meticulously while I am still in motion, captured with an open aperture the Leica unstable on monopod luggaged alongshore by willing helpers distracted on primitive ballet steps bogged down in fine beach sand in the time slot of splash.Synchronised to the mechanics of the network, a junction between the unstable and unrelated, slipping and sliding from page to page, vibrating and oscillating, intimidated by massive parallel processing while being fumbled and examined for enlarged glands under the armpits andin the crotch. I am forced to laugh in the direction of the wall cameras. The staff is bored and expresses it by drawing arctic circles on my skin. My body finally clamped to a crude device and stunned with electric shocks, while slides of bare breasted women are projected from the inner liningsof their icecold eyes. With the arrogant attitude of treating every victim eventually as a whoopee cushion, they start making snide remarks andthen shift into full massage. This is a moment when my rage is growing,because I can sense the danger of obliteration.In bright yellow overalls lowered down quickly to the trembling parts, a privilege for the onlookers with their knees flexed for a more suitable position, splash splash splashing the brain subjected to the alarming first slicing noises over the loudspeakers. Their kind of inner logic: attrition by intimidation and traces of genuine insanity pumped through catheters as requirement to lift and contort! You'll need it! My feet suddenly unshackled with their wooden faces right above me, slowly consuming the steel belt of anger.From the monitor stretching relaxed to check deeply-driven splinters, twenty five lashes as 'light refreshment' in principle it has to be splash, so that it cannot slip. Their curtailed tease with the bottle of stagnant water dragged up in a sly manner and quickly withdrawn from my cracked lips. First polaroid excreted under moaning and begging: Mother Theresa's marvellous crash site!Sporting a cheap tourist camera, splash splash splash, now at their mercy with the cruel motor on idle, gleeful and parallel to my first wound being stitched up. This is the best time for experimental looping, a substitute for the prayer at six in the morning while another church goes up in flames in the distance dadadadadadadadadadadadadadada.On a neighbouring stretcher far more entangled with the wretched business of the concealed and the padded somebody has been strapped in a marshmallow Mills & Boon outfit. Brain blisters of splash brought quickly to the boil, dissected clusters of random babble in a superb shift towards his unblemished affront: You are a fuckin' asshole! Where to draw the line? My squeal as a cute seal puppy being clubbed to death! Quite muddy for repetition, yet alarming enough to incite his rage against my preference for splash contrasting his kind of story telling in particular fastidiousstrict accurate regarding lean yellow supporting over and out. Our tormentors know what they are doing, they are tearing out the neutral parts! They are licking the sign of the swastika on our forehead. An overloaded truck with prostheses is falling off the screen and explodes in a sparkling shower of oldfashioned spectacles, so sudden so soon. Zyklon B shower caps, hurry hurry, bring your money with you! Bundles of human skin has been mapped for quick processing, and a fine human head splashed on the embankments of torture. One of them is testing the strength of the bloodsoaked hair wrapped around his index finger: "For U-boat stuffings, simply the best..."How long can one survive in the wrong zone? Traumatized by yesterday my hydraulics embedded in an unsound sleep whining and washing wild in the stench of fear. Every brotherly shaft has been wrecked by atrocities in the centre of a cold flame cutter. Happenings beyond comprehension are taking place, I'm telling you, but you won't listen...
2Bodybronced surfers on their backs in fine beach sand with faces clamped to the blue empty sky and responding to the challenges of our times with the blank stare: their semen freezes in mid air! Crossfaded into the darkness of history disabled by a smart solo on alto sax, something unwanted has been left in the name of their fathers, an inheritance of some quirky plot, a rudimentary giggle about modern literature and having to live with toilet ducks and progressive prostrate cancer. Molested by a long facial crush on love, pushed towards the droll and the amusing, the perplexed reaction of the clever country lapping up the spell of splash, a fabrication of the sordid stuff, stiff legged audio-video filth merged with greased broom sticks and forced up their arses splash splash splash. Elevated on pedestals chiselled from proper language and driven into mindless exercises of up yours and fuck you! Close cloned in a mixture of the excessive and totally unnatural body positions the green signal for free expression finally given: the lord's prayer in the claws of a lie detector to admit bankruptcy, ah, that's better, just what I always thought. Lean yellow supporting. But what is it really? You are having me on,no, I'm not kidding, come on, I'm telling you.Some subdued looped noise for the newly interned, who are masticating long strips torn from the early departed. To stare holes in the wall in the same manner as a wound heals. Nothing is actually revealed, nobody will be around to remember: Rousseau abandoned his own children, Jefferson owned 2OO slaves when he died. What is it ultimately, when it isn't anymore what it was before? Her naked body touched gladly with incest fingers,forbidden, tabus, motherff... flinch, while examining and fumbling for the swollen glands of splash, soiled so conveniently and warped by implications through modern literature. What then is it really? Swelling and a boil on the verge of explosion as a last attempt towards the subtle, to become part of the inverse and support the challenging image of splash and of splash. Venerated by two to Toulouse or displaying the long dangler at a funeral when it is most inappropriate. There we have it! The carbon copy of yesterday's assault on meaning, to empty everybody's damn bladder on literature, because the computer is brilliant and the forest remains hungry.3Splash for the sake of audacity and therefore justified. Some cheap Parisian accordion smashed to pieces, only faster. The fun part? Getting circumcised in a shredder! Congruity of creed quickly dismantled and fixed side by side with a sexual squeal of surprise: perplexity of gender, while being left in an embarrassing position with torn trouser legs right over splash and out. Splash to entangle! It is all in the mixture, bereft of any significance, a banal share with the notion of feeling funky felt fine fucking damn good like the locals in any kind of limitation rejected as being hooked on the fantastic climate and traumatized by the greatest in the Southern hemisphere. Public servants and bureaucrats being the real culprits. Indoor cowboyswith stillborn idiots in their arms. Particularly after it has been switched off again. To comprehend the grand vision of splash and the fact that words are open to abuse and language will easily slot into drivel, means being blessed with the few steps towards the likes of lest we forget the list of lust we've lost at last.Tidy it up then! The so-called inner suffering! Somebody has to have the courage to claim to be the one. You could insist tobe one as well! When the cinema roof explodes! Your finger is pointing at the frightened albino in the act of mimicry!It's called Hollywood processing! To act solemn in regards to language, splash has to be taken boldas metaphor for whatever and as salvation for the fate of the ensnared. The only road towards quality and hence towards a fucked up as much as a loved description in spite of the best efforts made so far. It means to eradicate it. To expose the merebox-like impression of splash left on the skin after the whimper in a broken down car, the muffled resemblance of a restrained dialogue between an old fascist and a sow's ear glued to a public phone: "I love you, I love your incredible tenderness...".Splash then to those who fit the privilege of having been chosenthe minutes to go. Splash to those, who built upon Mills & Boon and got busted. Eventually everybody will come close to the sensation of caressing his own, both machines at full speed. Only then onewill! Will what? Is it possible to go on indefinitely? Longer than all at once? Every deliberate attempt to eliminate splash as a strong reminder of man's inflexibility, driving home the need for an ever higher pain threshold. To ultimately change our rigid position towards mental stiffness and thereby resemblingsplash, not that it could ever resemble what it resembles on its own.