RE(pro)DUCTION

dive into the blue light

borrow my dreams

let's get stuck together

and chuckle

at our human upholstery

pointless poem to a retarded alien entity

we are born aliens

we share an alien humanity

a potential to circumvent our alien nature

in honour of the very few that manage this transitional grace/we call upon them for their leadership

the woman who tends her child on a garbage heap/and sells her body for scrap iron/to later trade it for food

the man who disperses a pack of starved wolves/by sitting down in their midst/putting his skinny bones up for offer

the little girl/who stares out of the sickness she is condemned for/with only compassion for those who seek her demise

the boy who leaps into the volcano to save the village he comes from

we are born onto a virgin mothership

in our alien mirrors we write nothing/we hold feathers/but can not draw ink

in our alien passports/we collect alien stamps

in our alien baths/we leave alien rings

in our alien banks/we trust our alien money

in our alien lives/we suffer an alien sorrow.

the true alien we find/when we know we are aliens too/is a human alien

[adhering to one sentence only/written on the wall of a cave/ in the south of france/ 32000 years ago:]

"I told you so"

What a celebrity showcasing his bedroom on national television might as well be saying instead of «this is where the magic happens».

«This is where I sleep. Alone.»

«This is where suppression begins.»

«This is where I bring prostitutes.»

«This is where maintaining a heterosexual poster boy image to sell millions of [insert commodity here] to millions of people, while I secretly fraternise with men in parks, at night, is really put to the test. I call this room Narnia.»

«This is where the magic happens. The full three minutes of it.»

«This is where the maid cleans three times a week, while I sleep in generic hotel rooms. In fact, this is the first time I've been in here.»

«This is where I cry.»

«This is where I eat the majority of my dinners.»