he was a small town boy, he said and she was sitting on a train.
now, who was running and who was a tunnel?
Sing now, cause if you ain’t, everything will turn away and the love won’t.
Hi, I’m Paul and shut up now, letter boy, cause I feel like a storm in april, coming from the snorer’s wakefulness.
don’t get angry with yourself,
she can’t heal you, but she will try. I will too.
you will go away, yes, but we are all razorblades, we are.
razorblades. we are.
go now. hide yourself, letter boy. go to all the million places that you are, you are,
you are a coward and I’m the priest, no change, get the sign first, angina pectoris boy.
I am the caster, yes I am.
I can get you, I can get you, everything that you want:
an irish with swedish decent?
a man from the swedish exodus days? an ex boxer, born in 1941? –31? Or why not a red headed girl who knows it all about bob dylan. she is born in 1988 and well, fuck me, she is cute too.
listen, bob hund’s 115th dream
is all about Gällivare, just listen, pass by domus, the central school café, the social service center, the church, ah, you see it, the mountain of suffocation, dundret, the fast food, the taxi station, the six feet under of gällivare, the voices from the end of the 80’s when one of the true slum dogs said that some guys in a car bleached his pants with their car front lights, and this woman demanded a cheese burger with cheese, and this guy philosophized that you should call it hand burger, because you hold in your hand, and some other locals smashed two guys from Stockholm because when of them looked like a faggot, and I whispered “Appojaure” to a man everybody thought was the true Appojaure murderer.
now I’m going there again and bob hund was never there, were they?
and how could I forget the man who calmly watches photos of his since long lost wife. he is 34. two years younger than I am.
and how could I forget the man from mulholland drive? the song is dead too and the mulholland drive man is knocking on your door.
and how could I forget the couple, where the man is beyond being the master. he is ugly too and he is scratching his beard, probably some funghi or parasites from not washing it during the entire summer on a train. his woman has higher education, more money, longer life expectancy. but so what, he decides it all, like she was made in a puppy market in berlin in the late sixties.
now she vomited. not because she had to, or wanted to. he just felt like it. i will kill him tonight. one good night does mean so much.
finally, they said that ignorance was a bliss. they were laughing like hell, but what they forgot was that ignorance also can make your ass burn like the man who put two chili’s and one big habanero in the lamb casserole while he complained on his daughter’s for using to much pepper on the food.
© 2010- Jens Nilsson (originally written in 2006, but modified as per today)