Nuns On Speed

[nunsonspeed-blog]

Epiphany

Whatever I had and may still have to go through, I don‘t expect ever to be redeemed. I‘m going to be left with the things I didn‘t take into account. If I‘m lucky they may tell me a few things about who or what might have become of me. Nobody else will ...

The less we talk the more we shall perceive. To hear what isn’t mentioned, to see what isn’t shown. It’s not about claims on reality, it’s about tracking those whispers in the backyard of my dreams. I shall be the echo of your unknown possibilities coming alive …

There is no truth beyond myself. That‘s what freedom is about: not to owe nothing to nobody. So I better face it: To be free means utter loneliness. Listening to my scars whispering: »What never came about, that alone won‘t succumb to age.« (Friedrich Schiller: Ode an die Freude) Seems to be the only way to make sure not to grow old. My scars shall be my eternal youth ...

I‘m the pause in between words, I‘m the cursor blinking in the night. I used to be your echo, waiting for the voice that‘s been calling me. You don‘t seem to recall. Fare thee well, I‘m moving on. Moving at the speed of thought ... 

[nunsonspeed-blog]

Do It Again, Please?

Myself betrayed by 4-letter words, reality was the defeat of my possibilities. But it was my defeat which made me aware of what might have been. The pain and the despair have taught me more about the scope of my possibilities than kisses and caresses could do. The pain goes way deeper, carving my soul …

Other people have cats and dogs for pets, I have my rage straining on the leash. Raped in the backyard of my dreams, a scream held back between my grinding teeth, tears crystallizing on my soot covered eyelashes, I been taunting madness like the torero taunts the bull, waiting for it to come at me ...

Never occured to me there might be other options. A smile with no price tag attached. Could you do it again, please? And again, and again, and again ...

[nunsonspeed-blog]

Toxic Prayers

All those years spent in front of mirrors, looking for truth, waiting for an answer. Life is porn. Bored out of my mind I didn‘t notice how its routines have turned into prayers ...

Bored with the routines of surviving my brain‘s become my particle accelerator. Let my voice crawl in under your skin and lure you on toward the secrets whispering in the backyard of your dreams. There‘s no escaping your demon. To get rid of him and to be able to move on, the curse of your destiny has to be met with ...

You won‘t find me in those words I string. Just trying to hypnotize myself, to be able to bear the pain of being alive. May your fingers read the scripture of my scars for you to follow their luminescent path into the heart of darkness ...

[nunsonspeed-blog]

Afterglow

»We ourselves are nothing; what we strive for is everything.« (Hoelderlin - Hyperion, Thalia Fragment)

Yearning for life I been looking for adventures and discoveries but all I ever met with again and again was myself. Seems I been chasing my own shadow. Here I am, Baby ... 

The pain has kept me going. Choking on my rage I‘m staggering down Desolation Avenue in the afterglow of my favorite stars exploding. Raped again and again in the backyard of my dreams. May your breath on my lips blow away what‘s been left as we both go down over my snow-covered shoulder ...

[nunsonspeed-blog]

Toxic Paradise

Babes like us, we don‘t need no rules to go by. That‘s what‘s driving people out of their constipated minds. Trying to control everybody. Going blind with rage when they realize they can‘t. Watching us move on out, riding our mind‘s cutting edge. We‘re dancers, Baby, born to burn, lighting up the horizon of their mentholated nightmare of boredom ...

Babes like us can even afford a bit of bad taste every now and then. If it's done right bad taste can be sexy. As a backdrop to set off our grace and style bad taste actually is a prerequisite the same way a perfect perfume contains some pretty evil smelling substances. They add daring and danger to its exquisiteness ...

So long as things don’t become a habit. That’s what real bad taste is about, habit. Whatever you do, if it becomes a habit it turns sour on you. The key to everything awesome is style ...

[nunsonspeed-blog]

Grace

Drunk with the Phosporescent Angels‘ toxic lull-a-bye-byes. Promises that sound like curses and curses that sound like promises. The more viciously I fought the more I longed to go down in defeat. It‘s you who‘s taught me defeat through grace and gentleness. Could it be that going beyond doesn‘t necessarily mean going down, after all?

My smile used to be my farewell note. Betrayed again and again, with nothing to look forward to and no one to look at in adoration, I made sure it was me who walked away. Now my face hurts from smiling. Seems to be a different kind of a smile. How strange to be humbled ...

You‘re the first person who doesn‘t make me feel like making excuses. It doesn‘t seem to matter anymore where I been, who I may be and what’s going to happen next. Never before have I felt the need to pray. I‘m down on my knees …

[nunsonspeed-blog]

Glamour

I've never believed to be anything special. Just trying to entertain myself. Hiccupping my way through life. But the power farts feel threatened. Too awesome to be true, too sexy, too flashy, too much glitter and glamour. Trying to cut me down to their own size. What do power farts know about glamour? Mine‘s the glitter and glamour of pain ...

I never wanted to be tough, never cared to be a fighter. And I tried so hard, looking good. Yet the meaner my adverseries, the tougher I myself became. Hurting myself in the process, often beyond necessity. Just to prove myself I can take it ...

My worst enemy being myself. That‘s why I had to develop such a brilliant mind. Always in danger of getting wise to the tricks I was playing on myself. No choice but to keep running to stay ahead of myself ...

[nunsonspeed-blog]

Scripture Of My Scars

People dishing 4-letter words as if they were some kind of currency. Dropping the word and expecting me to hand over whatever it is they may want. Making me feel as if I were somebody‘s mistake. I probably am ...

Raped in the backyard of my dreams and people waiting for me to explain. You never asked for anything, not even with those eyes of yours I feel like getting lost in. Your fingers reading the scripture of my scars. No need for translating or explaining ...

[nunsonspeed-blog]

Hello

A smile was all it took to trip me up. Could it be this is just a different way of dancing? Mind tripping, soul stripping, body ripping, going down in a sigh of hello instead of farewell ...

I shall be the deer you been hunting through the woods, the swamps and the deserts of your desire. Entering the caves where the subterranean voices are hissing you‘re closing in on me. I can hear you breathe. Breathing hard. I‘m scared. Scared out of my mind ...

[nunsonspeed-blog]

Jaded

Small-talk is an art. Pretending we’re like oh so relaxed, trying for a smile every now and then, yet each time we look at each other our eyes shy away, go into hiding, looking elsewhere. Quivering and shaking inside ...

How nice to be alive again. You’re welcome to make me shake and quake some more, like forever if you don‘t mind. Been dying every morning upon waking up, sucked in by the gravity of some dark matter undetected. Walking through life with that shrug of mine, nothing to look forward to, nobody to look at in adoraion. Slinking down Desolation Avenue, a rumor in rags, my wounds dressed in jaded second-hand vocabulary ...

Hiccupping my way through life, my body the cathedral to celebrate my loneliness, the mirror my altar, and no religion to go by. My mind doing the twist so fast no one dares approach me ...

[nunsonspeed-blog]

My Arrogance

I tried to make do with small-talk instead of just reaching out with my trembling fingers. The wound of my yearning has long since become my home. My body my armor. Adding scar upon scar by trying to survive for the sheer arrogance of it, with no tears to wash my wound ...

Those tears have crystallized in the Arctic winds and cling to my soot covered eyelashes. They are my jewelry and my wound is my mirror where you may find me … one of these days … or maybe never ...

Defeated by your grace and charm I became aware of the terror and fear hiding at the core of my joyless laughter. Taught nothing but to fight, with no idea what for. Surviving as somebody else’s fake edition by killing off the child hiding somewhere in the dark of my primal wound. Been on the run ever since. Should you ever find that child she‘s likely to dissolve in a sigh upon your lips …

[nunsonspeed-blog]

GemCrack Dawn

My employer, Mr. AdMan's successor had asked me to be present at another mind screwing public event, saying people needed something to look at so as to divert their mind from what‘s really going down ...

So here I was, standing around with nothing but a glass of water to back me up under those stares oscillating between hostility and despair. All that hopeless yearning, yet no one dared address me ...

Hearing your voice I turned around and our eyes meet as if we both been waiting for each other. Now I‘m on a spin. I don’t mind, really, I like to be spinning …

Moving with the grace of a dancer, your gestures highlighted by the ease of your laughter. You seemed to have everything I felt I was lacking. When's been the last time I laughed? Protected by the adoration of those around you, I'm sure you've never known doubt. What would I have to offer? How to cope?

How I longed to go blind myself. Not by the adoration of the others but by your smile. Intoxicated with your voice. Never to come to again …

[nunsonspeed-blog]

Taunt

Cats like us, we’re an endangered species. People feel threatened by awesomeness, they don’t dig beauty. Makes them feel inferior which they probably are. They're not up to any challenges. Why else would they treat us with such hostility?

They’re likely to shoot at us. Look at what happened to Leopard Lady. Life must be hell for people who can‘t enjoy beauty, with no other idea of fun but to kill us off. Let’s taunt them some more and flaunt our assets. Make them choke on their constipation ...

Just watch me doing the Cadillac Walk, wearing my baby blue silk dress, its folds getting caught in the crack of my ass. I can feel your eyes on that ass of mine, clinging, delving into the darkness, oh-oh ...

[nunsonspeed-blog]

Machine Dreams

Incubated by a machine designed by SHIVA I’m gonna come to in a heap of rubble and ashes, aglow with the radiation from SHIVA’s meltdown. Disgusted with himself and convinced he’d mess things up even worse if he tried to mend the product of his creation, he’ll have machines set up to do the job of incubation and education …

Fine with me. Machines don’t cheat and lie, they don’t try to manipulate you by dishing 4-letter words, they just f***ing do their f***ing job. So if you’d just hold your breath for a minute, I’m gonna be back with you as your one and only Leopard Lady, product of SHIVA’s despair …

[nunsonspeed-blog]

SHIVA'S Despair

SHIVA could have prevented the leopard's death but he refuses to interfere since there’s nothing left on the planet for that beautiful animal to hunt. Instead SHIVA decides to download the dying leopard’s DNA, the idea being to integrate the data stored in the chain of molecules into the matrix of his own mind frames he’s playing on ...

The result being SHIVA gets so madly infatuated with himself he actually tries to screw himself. When he realizes he’s impregnated himself he goes out of his mind, aware that there’s no bigger crime than to give birth to another creature trapped inside a body bogged down by gravity, condemned to deal with the mess people have made of themselves and of this planet …

[nunsonspeed-blog]

Last Of The Leopards

Once again it’s me providing one of those surprises which matter. Pulled in by the gravity of some dark matter at the core of my own vertigo I may have overdosed on myself, about to implode, but that’s okay, I‘m ready to leave. You may watch me come down in a streak, lighting up the horizon of your own mentholated nightmare of boredom for a minute or two …

I’ll be back before long. The first quantum computer, called SHIVA and designed and set up by a consortium of the latest of the digital computers, is going to screw things up by trying to screw himself after he’s downloaded the DNA of the last leopard about to die after he's been shot down by one Hemingway edition of a macho jerk who’s been hunting him down in his f***-machine Hummer vehicle, creaming in his pants as he pulls the trigger on the last beautiful animal stalking the plains …

[nunsonspeed-blog]

Beauty

Beauty is born from pain, by outgrowing the terror and fear of your primal wound. Without the pain there’d be no beauty. Innocence is a state you won’t know about until you’ve lost it. Innocence means not to be aware. Without awareness there’s no beauty ...

Like Shakespeare said: Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. The beholder is aware of what he’s looking at, he's someone who’s lost his own innocence. Otherwise he’d have no idea of neither beauty nor innocence. He’d be blind …

That’s why I indulge in my pain, celebrating the glory of my misery to be reborn again and again, becoming more and more beautiful. »Only a lost cause can arouse a gentleman‘s curiosity.« (Jorge Luis Borges) So are you a gentleman?