David Lynch, Oh My Thoughts They Are So Mixed Up And Funny (2013)
Exhibition: Joseph Beuys: A Journey Through the Lower Rhine // Gerd Ludwig
David Bowie with his 1976 painting of Iggy Pop, Portrait of J.O.
The Death King
to build my coffin
and last night I lay in it,
braced by a pillow,
sniffing the wood,
letting the old king
breathe on me,
thinking of my poor murdered body,
murdered by time,
waiting to turn stiff as a field marshal,
letting the silence dishonor me,
remembering that I’ll never cough again.
Death will be the end of fear
and the fear of dying,
fear like a dog stuffed in my mouth,
feal like dung stuffed up my nose,
fear where water turns into steel,
fear as my breast flies into the Disposall,
fear as flies tremble in my ear,
fear as the sun ignites in my lap,
fear as night can’t be shut off,
and the dawn, my habitual dawn,
is locked up forever.
Fear and a coffin to lie in
like a dead potato.
Even then I will dance in my dire clothes,
a crematory flight,
blinding my hair and my fingers,
wounding God with his blue face,
his tyranny, his absolute kingdom,
with my aphrodisiac.
This is Lui. Asked me for help with a little coo today i was walking aimlessly on the street. Took him home and became freinds so quick. Let me whistle him good night and took a nap on my lap.
This is becoming a rituel.