Axolotl Roadkill (21 page)

The reverse of faith, which isn’t doubt but ignorance and neglect.

She isn’t addressing me. She isn’t actually addressing anyone; I’ve come that far now. She doesn’t talk to herself and she has no listener. The vaster and yet more singular existence of a changeable nucleus listens to her, almost too general, as though what a moment ago was ‘I’, confronting her, awakened into a ‘we’, presence and united force of a common spirit. I am a little more, a little less than myself. More, in any case, than all people.

In this ‘we’ there is the earth, the power of the elements, a sky that is not this sky, there is a feeling of loftiness and calm, there is also the bitterness of an obscure constraint.

All this is ‘I’ before her, and she seems almost nothing at all.

I stare at her mouth, at the mattress, at the sunrise, at the forty-two missed calls. If I ever die maybe something of me will be left over. And then the whole dirty lot will rot away. Or maybe not. To be honest I don’t think about it. I have enough problems already, and if I start thinking about life after death – come on. It’s all too complicated and esoteric for me.

‘Why esoteric? Death is death, what’s esoteric about that?’

‘True.’

And that’s the last thing we share. I cry when you bleed. And I bleed when you cry. I don’t lie to you. I love what you are. I’ll do all I can to give you all I can. And I can always tell by your eyes where you’ve been. Your eyes. Your eyes. Your eyes. Your eyes. And you say, ‘Your family was right. You’re scum that we could only get rid of through silence.’

Dear Mifti,

I see the sin in your grin. In the shape of your mouth. All I want is to see you in terrible pain. Though we won’t ever meet again I’ll remember your name.

I can’t believe you were once like everybody else. You’re not a child any more, you’re like the devil himself. You’re scum that we can only get rid of through silence. I pray to God I can think of a nice thing to say about you. But I don’t think I can any more.

You’re scum, darling, you’re like scabies, and I hope you know that the cracks in your smile are starting to show. Now the world needs to see that it’s time for you to go. There’s no light in your eyes and your brain is so slow. I bet you sleep like a baby with your thumb in your mouth. I could melt at the idea of putting a gun in there. It makes me sick when I hear all the shit that you talk. There’s a space kept for you in hell. A seat with your name on it. When you look in the mirror do you see what I see? And if you do, why the fuck, WHY ARE YOU STILL LOOKING AT ME?

Your mother

Thanks to:

Coco, Jonas Weber Herrera, Tjorven Vahldieck, Annika Pinske, Kathrin Krottenthaler, Jule Böwe, Christian Fenske, Juri, Christiane Voss, Laura Tonke, René Pollesch, Leo and Jan, Maurice Blanchot, Ulrike Oster-meyer, Petra Eggers, Sophie Rois, Gabriel, Leisha, Maren Ade, Maria, Pascal Laugier, Airen and, above all, Carl Hegemann.

Particular thanks to Kathy Acker.

The following sources (books, songs, films, blogs etc.) have been flowed into the text as verbatim quotes, modified quotes or inspiration:

Airen,
Strobo
, with an epilogue by BOMÉC, © 2009 SuKulTur, Berlin.

Further sources (in part modified and dispersed over longer passages):

Kathy Acker,
My Mother: Demonology
(Grove Press, 1994), © 1993 Kathy Acker;
Blood and Guts in High School Plus Two
(Macmillan, 1984);
Great Expectations
(Grove Press, 1993), © 1992 Kathy Acker; Paul Arden,
Whatever You Think, Think the Opposite
(Penguin Books, 2006), © 2006 Paul Arden; Maurice Blanchot,
Le dernier homme
(Editions Gallimard, 1957), © Maurice Blanchot; Leonard Cohen,
Death of a Ladies’ Man
(1977), © 1977 Sony Music Entertainment UK; Rainald Goetz,
Rave
(Suhrkamp Verlag, 1998), © 1998 Rainald Goetz; Jonas Weber Hererra, private correspondence, © Jonas Weber Herrera; Jim Jarmusch, ‘The Golden Rules of Filmmaking’,
Moviemaker Magazine
, #53 – Winter (January 22, 2004), © 2004 Jim Jarmusch; Malcolm Lowry,
Under the Volcano
(Jonathan Cape, 1947), © 1947 the Estate of Malcolm Lowry; Roy Orbison,
Cry Softly Lonely One
(1967);
Long Come a Viper
(Amazing Charlatans, 1996); The Standells,
Dirty Water
(1966); The Zombies,
She’s Not There
(composer: Rod Argent), © Marquis Music Co Ltd 1964, 1 Wyndham Yard, London W1H 2QF; Valérie Valère,
Le pavillon des enfants fous
(Le Livre De Poche, 1978) © 1978 Valérie Valère; David Foster Wallace,
Girl With Curious Hair
(Abacus, 1997), © 1989 David Foster Wallace, reprinted by permission of Little, Brown Book Group.