Sunday, August 23, 2009

Dried blood

I wake up in the morning with the familiar sweet stench itching in my nose. It’s a hot, dark summer’s day where no birds are singing and everything is quiet. I rise from the bed and cross the floor nude. Semen is dropping from my half erected cock. I look out the window, at the yard, and see a lot of bloody bodies hanging form thick ropes, swinging back and forth in an endless movement. They hang in a long row. Birds with bloody beaks are happily feeding off the set and tasty table. I glance back at the table. The cunt still sleeps and dreams her sweet dreams. She’s a cold bitch. Nothing can rouse her from her sleep. I stumble out in the hallway. There is lot of dirt on the floor, dried blood and a lot of other stuff generally ruining any chance of a decent walk, forcing me to navigate instead of walking, really. Feet are constantly bumping into something. Several cut-off heads have been left in a corner. I ignore their reproachful, dull eyes.

The kitchen is, generally speaking very dirty and unclean. Yes, it can certainly be said that it is downright filthy. There is a lot of hair and pieces of skin everywhere. I finally find a somewhat clean table. The kettle is still there, and the food is still hot. It was hot yesterday and is still hot now. I sit down and start wolfing heartily. It tastes great. The eggs, the sandwiches and ham are all marvelous. The warm juice drenches my thirst in a way I didn’t believe was possible. The hotel is silent. I can’t hear a single sound anywhere. Both the guests and employees seem to have left the place. Or they might still be sleeping. Some people sleep way too much.

I return to my room and fetch my jacket and things in the tiny suitcase, and resume my wanderings. Blood is still flowing from the bodies hanging upside down from branches on trees on both sides of the alley, swinging back and forth in an endless cycle. The branches move slightly up and down, making the blood jump a little further than it usually would. The birds stare at me with their cold eyes, and I get delightful trickles down my spine. I pull my SLR-camera from my jacket and start documenting my art, snapping many pictures. There are fabulous possibilities for great composition here, and I exploit each and every one. I imagine how everything will look after a turn or two in the electronic darkroom, in Photoshop and other programs, and almost get an orgasm on the spot. I have used a pirated copy of Photoshop for ten years, by now, and am very pleased with it.

The photos are practically snapping themselves, like they did during my first excursion last night. I have many Gigabytes of storage capacity available, and use a lot of it, but all good things come to an end, and I put the camera away, and take a final look at the many works of art surrounding me, before resuming my eternal walk.

The sun is rising in the sky. It will be yet another fine day.

No comments: