"‘jumentous’ means resembling the urine of a horse, especially in odor ", "childhood dreams of a kid who fell on his head one too many times", & others by Tobias Seim
- roifaineantarchive
- 5 days ago
- 4 min read
‘jumentous’ means resembling the urine of a horse, especially in odor
lately I have been having too much
fun
throwing stuff
away.
way too much
fun
disregarding anything
that might prove useful
in the near future. (maybe because
there won’t be one?)
blank picture frames
on white walls.
every room a wide space
filled
with nothing. some rectangular
plain
to get
lost in.
spending all my money
on lottery tickets and sex
chats with bored
college students.
deleting photographs.
terminating keepsakes
like dirty little pests
found at the back of my drawer.
overriding memories with
useless information, words,
definitions.
‘nudicaudate’ means
having a hairless tail.
there. another one gone. maybe
from a nice summer day, fifteen
years ago,
where everything was quite alright.
in those lukewarm hours of unspecific
delight
filled with terabytes of
brain-rotting entertainment, energy
drinks and this youthful apathy
towards life’s virginity, where
the urge to eradicate the
self
was still somewhat underdeveloped,
still in its larval state.
but since then, it has grown into this
elephantine creature.
and even now it keeps on growing.
so I have to make room for it.
I have to. otherwise
I’m done for.
at least that’s what I
tell
myself
as I think about
cutting off
one of my little fingers.
because who needs
one of those anyway.
am I right?
by the way, ‘fabiform’ means
shaped like a bean.
childhood dreams of a kid who fell on his head one too many times
when I was young, I always wanted
to become
one of those old farts
I had seen
so many times
strolling through my hometown.
I’m speaking of those scruffy, ugly,
depraved
motherfuckers
wearing nothing
but
checkered boxer shorts
and those gray, washed-out undershirts
that always show off their bulbous belly
in such an elegant way.
those exiled warriors of a war never fought
who have already downed five beers and
finished their first pack of cigarettes
by 8 a.m.
forever leaning, hunched over
on the balustrade of their
withered first-floor balconies.
sometimes belching, other times scratching
their asses
but
always
observing everyone
who dares to pass by. staring at them
with nothing
but
godlike disgust
on their smoke-veiled, wrinkled faces.
if you color the bars of a bar chart gray and make them all identical in length, you got yourself a nice digital prison door
and some of us only grow up
to slightly alternate
some random digits
in a statistic about suicide
created by an overworked
social worker
who has to use a pirated
word processor
because one cannot
simply make ends meet
by being overtly compassionate.
crunching numbers in the face of despair.
speaking of senseless acts:
for years now I’ve thought about
a fitting death poem
for my crooked existence.
there were kitsch drafts about
burnt flowers
destined to dissipate
with the next morning breeze, similes
about dead pit ponies
decaying
in abandoned mine
shafts, the usual
raunchy bullshit
about porn, sluttishness, and the
glory of the premature
ERUPTION.
but all in all,
nothing
substantial came
to mind. I guess,
my fate truly is to
just become one
with certain numeric
undulations.
we will dance with the devil until mushroom clouds darken the horizon and even then we won’t have enough of this sweet waltz
they’re speaking of brownouts
in Japan, cows with wooden tongues,
massacres in Myanmar,
child-raping priests in the U.S.,
the possibility of a NUCLEAR WAR,
shortages, bankruptcies, famines,
vaccines,
some pretentious artist
and his latest ground-breaking vernissage,
the health issues of too much sleep,
of too little sleep, of no sleep at all.
they’re speaking about the ATOMIC BOMB.
they also like to gossip
about red meat. and that
it causes CANCER. about poisonous chemicals
in the water, in the rain, in your spit
and how all of them cause
CANCER too. about oral sex,
cell phone radiation, multivitamin pills,
sugar drinks, avocado shampoo...
and, you guessed it,
sooner
or later
they all cause
CANCER.
everything
seems to cause
CANCER
nowadays
and we can’t do shit.
it’s the age of information, baby. there is
simply no escape.
they will tell you that you simply
NEED
this new spectacular high-class blender
in your phony kitchen set-up
because otherwise
why bother being alive?
oh wait, too poor for that?
no problem. they tell you how to save
money preparing your instant ramen
with your used bathwater.
they also inform you in which intervals
you should eat, shit and fuck,
even give you advice
on how to potty train
your child, dog or husband.
whatever you do, they know what’s best.
kind of like God.
and though you might
outgrow
the Almighty
you can’t get away
from being informed. ever.
they are so omnipresent
you can’t even rub one out
without feeling like
they know exactly
what made you do it.
the feet pictures
of the teenage actress,
the man in the supermarket
holding
a cucumber, your co-worker
stretching his back
and letting loose
an all too suggestive moan.
extra! extra! dirty little freak
on page one!
the only good thing is
most of us
are too insignificant
for them to notice.
but no need to be
down in the dumps.
because watch! they are talking
about dehorned elephants
in Botswana, a new carrot detox, the climate,
the right way to say “he fucking offed himself”,
mass stabbings on trains and buses,
a new disease
that will KILL US ALL, revolutionary
room fresheners, the positive
aspects of a NUCLEAR WAR,
the negative aspects of a
NUCLEAR WAR, the new autumn collection
and how this ultra-thin chick
fell on her bony ass presenting it.
look! they’re even speaking about the...
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