Good Contact - Text
When I see a crow, I know that evil slumbers and fumbles, striking a thousandfold in all directions.
In the galleries, in the shop windows,
Turning on something that should have stayed off.
We’re allowed to: fuck, bang, scream, scratch, spit, and insult everyone.
And if we need to, we can pull the curtains tighter.
But why is it possible to endure so much suffering and initiate so little healing?
She doesn’t intervene any further—masculine energy flung into empty space.
Being queer is not an aesthetic, and its anarchism sadly does not disrupt society if it’s thought of as a pear.
Germany and Austria—cultural playgrounds of nightmares and lovelessness.
Perversion turned into political consideration.
The duality must die. But how?
By pressing a mass through aluminum equipment? Spaghetti.
In all this evil comes a naive, cheeky little light in the chalice.
“I dab gently on your eyes,” she says,
My beautiful muse with panties that smell like roses and holidays.
Like a little fairy, I paint with poems.
Even if they jump, nothing touches the ground.
They should know about his death,
But everything is still suspended, up in the air.
So have pity—it inserts itself between a mother.
Alice Schwarzer gets a picture on the wall and abdicates.
The woman, as she was once understood, no longer exists.
Change your gender and make yourself vulnerable and proud.
Beauty and regret written large on a poster.
I was absolutely amazed by the power of titanium.
Everyone hums along to the songs—dancing, wiggling,
But all the while knowing the fear of being attacked.
Rest, in a warmer night, comes very slowly.
Tiredness drives me insane.
Dying on the highway. Backseat girl rationalizes the world.
All in all, I’m just a slice away for you.
Catch fish. Fishy kisses. Let go.
Down with the pants.
Lick: Uschi, rosette, pee hole.
My niece brings a new unrest—the second migrant generation.
Ready to upgrade with hair trends. Lie. Lie.
The pilot in the dream flew into the sky, climbing higher.
Then the entire plane crashed, falling again and again to the ground.
Meanwhile, there was a toilet where you could pee quietly in the closet,
While men had a “normal” toilet. Unfair.
Milky juice—take it easy.
There are always people without spines.
Only the ego shines in nature.
Sun, moon, and summer
Map out a city with no culture.
Drinking, writing. Clear shelves.
No trust in the little person with the anger.
Spineless People:
I’ve been told I’m a coward, a migrant, a missionary.
A white-passing whore. A cancel-culture conglomerate.
A little asshole who leaves no room for the “really important voices” (the minority representatives).
But I swear I’d always make room—whenever it’s not about me.
Please, speak into my ear:
NO. I take ART seriously.
I WILL NOT SELL MYSELF TO THE SYSTEM,
AND I WILL NOT PARTICIPATE IN YOUR SHIT.
WHO IS VIOLENT MUST EXPECT VIOLENCE—NO!
Love. Nonsense. Courage. Opportunists are Hades.
Gentleness and courage. Love and hugs.
Neutrality is cowardly. Neutrality is openness?
I’m caught in a loop, but in reality, everything is as it seems.
CIS BOMB BOOOOOOM.
Just like that. Never otherwise. Everything is stiff. Stiff. Stiff.
PUSSY STEEP STEEP. INFO AND ATM.
BACKREST. CAR CRASH. SMALL BATHROOM. SMELLY WATER.
Dog is pregnant. Bachmann lyrics.
Dying alone instead of getting pregnant with the queers.
Smoking. Soothe the child.
I’m pregnant by my gay friend.
This is very good news.
Good shelves for getting together/living.
Don’t let anyone tell you anything.
Egoslut. Esoslut.
Round belly.
Misspellings are on purpose, you donkey!
Evil Tiger and Donald Duck brought great vibes to the group.
Playing golf under the covers.
Texts without regard. Writing is freedom.
Blah blah blah. WhatsApp.
Cool girl on the internet.
Always looks at the camera but has depression.
Rich countries, sad girls.
I’m not from here. I’m not FROM here.
Where are your ancestors, colleagues?
How many multidimensional things do you need to clean before you’re happy?
Only intuition can be right.
The theory must be unsympathetic—otherwise, it wouldn’t be rational.
Yes, there are many arguments. Against it.
I want to handle things like puke.
That’s how reading should feel.
But I only mention guys when I talk about my heroes.
This is so wrong, but I’m just now realizing it.
There are people who make it believable that gender discourse works like Catholicism.
CIS YAS QUEEN SIS RUPAUL.
White girl (dissociation).
Promote the Vogue moment. Stop instrumentalizing.
Are you a heteronormative woman, or still a little boy?
If you’re FLINTA, jump out the window—a massive leap into the unknown.
Turning on something that should have stayed off.
We’re allowed to: fuck, bang, scream, scratch, spit, and insult everyone.
And if we need to, we can pull the curtains tighter.
But why is it possible to endure so much suffering and initiate so little healing?
She doesn’t intervene any further—masculine energy flung into empty space.
Being queer is not an aesthetic, and its anarchism sadly does not disrupt society if it’s thought of as a pear.
Germany and Austria—cultural playgrounds of nightmares and lovelessness.
Perversion turned into political consideration.
The duality must die. But how?
By pressing a mass through aluminum equipment? Spaghetti.
In all this evil comes a naive, cheeky little light in the chalice.
“I dab gently on your eyes,” she says,
My beautiful muse with panties that smell like roses and holidays.
Like a little fairy, I paint with poems.
Even if they jump, nothing touches the ground.
They should know about his death,
But everything is still suspended, up in the air.
So have pity—it inserts itself between a mother.
Alice Schwarzer gets a picture on the wall and abdicates.
The woman, as she was once understood, no longer exists.
Change your gender and make yourself vulnerable and proud.
Beauty and regret written large on a poster.
I was absolutely amazed by the power of titanium.
Everyone hums along to the songs—dancing, wiggling,
But all the while knowing the fear of being attacked.
Rest, in a warmer night, comes very slowly.
Tiredness drives me insane.
Dying on the highway. Backseat girl rationalizes the world.
All in all, I’m just a slice away for you.
Catch fish. Fishy kisses. Let go.
Down with the pants.
Lick: Uschi, rosette, pee hole.
My niece brings a new unrest—the second migrant generation.
Ready to upgrade with hair trends. Lie. Lie.
The pilot in the dream flew into the sky, climbing higher.
Then the entire plane crashed, falling again and again to the ground.
Meanwhile, there was a toilet where you could pee quietly in the closet,
While men had a “normal” toilet. Unfair.
Milky juice—take it easy.
There are always people without spines.
Only the ego shines in nature.
Sun, moon, and summer
Map out a city with no culture.
Drinking, writing. Clear shelves.
No trust in the little person with the anger.
Spineless People:
I’ve been told I’m a coward, a migrant, a missionary.
A white-passing whore. A cancel-culture conglomerate.
A little asshole who leaves no room for the “really important voices” (the minority representatives).
But I swear I’d always make room—whenever it’s not about me.
Please, speak into my ear:
NO. I take ART seriously.
I WILL NOT SELL MYSELF TO THE SYSTEM,
AND I WILL NOT PARTICIPATE IN YOUR SHIT.
WHO IS VIOLENT MUST EXPECT VIOLENCE—NO!
Love. Nonsense. Courage. Opportunists are Hades.
Gentleness and courage. Love and hugs.
Neutrality is cowardly. Neutrality is openness?
I’m caught in a loop, but in reality, everything is as it seems.
CIS BOMB BOOOOOOM.
Just like that. Never otherwise. Everything is stiff. Stiff. Stiff.
PUSSY STEEP STEEP. INFO AND ATM.
BACKREST. CAR CRASH. SMALL BATHROOM. SMELLY WATER.
Dog is pregnant. Bachmann lyrics.
Dying alone instead of getting pregnant with the queers.
Smoking. Soothe the child.
I’m pregnant by my gay friend.
This is very good news.
Good shelves for getting together/living.
Don’t let anyone tell you anything.
Egoslut. Esoslut.
Round belly.
Misspellings are on purpose, you donkey!
Evil Tiger and Donald Duck brought great vibes to the group.
Playing golf under the covers.
Texts without regard. Writing is freedom.
Blah blah blah. WhatsApp.
Cool girl on the internet.
Always looks at the camera but has depression.
Rich countries, sad girls.
I’m not from here. I’m not FROM here.
Where are your ancestors, colleagues?
How many multidimensional things do you need to clean before you’re happy?
Only intuition can be right.
The theory must be unsympathetic—otherwise, it wouldn’t be rational.
Yes, there are many arguments. Against it.
I want to handle things like puke.
That’s how reading should feel.
But I only mention guys when I talk about my heroes.
This is so wrong, but I’m just now realizing it.
There are people who make it believable that gender discourse works like Catholicism.
CIS YAS QUEEN SIS RUPAUL.
White girl (dissociation).
Promote the Vogue moment. Stop instrumentalizing.
Are you a heteronormative woman, or still a little boy?
If you’re FLINTA, jump out the window—a massive leap into the unknown.
