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seismic energy

Nikola Lutz - electronics, composition
sampled voices - Hede Beck, Robert Atzlinger

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Seismic Energy


1
Greedy. Gulping. Now you must swallow it. It’s coming down close to me. Now you must look at me. Listen to me. My body devours you. I want to cover you. Cover you with me. It is our secret. You’ll never give it away. Do you want to have a new bike? I love you. No, it is much more:  I’m the only one who’ll ever really love you. Eat now. I am so aroused. Fluid comes out of all of his pores. Swallow it now. Faster. I swallow. I don’t stop. I’m going to devour you, skin and bones and all. That is my weapon. I sink my pearly whites into you. Now you are mine. That is my secret. Again you come over me. This game has long since gotten out of control.  Your eyes are empty. I devour you – manically - the greed has returned.  I took away your control before you ever even had it...


2
Jolts. Ruptures running through the landscape of our collective body. Someone decides to open it. What do we come across – words. In all their precision. The milling machine shapes the sound. Yet it cannot be transported. Language strikes back. The camp has been set up right in the middle of us. We rest upon it. Like children, we don’t even think about it, the parasites of the books of warders from days past, books of words on our shelves. We open the body, void of emotion, hammer, cut, file our results, outputs, omissions. Not that the camp would have to sneak into us and set up, no, it’s simply back, as if it were never gone. We have truly recovered. The tremor has opened our eyes. Homeland security: we couldn’t have put it better. We can finally relax again. The tremor made our mock battle come tumbling down, stammering is our adequacy. The operations take their course…

3
Obsessions. Our passion for collecting. We hunt. Our passion displaces our selves. Your fragmented body, your tongue, your dick. Tongue. Dick. Lick. No longer a person, just a nose. Somebody wants it, wildly, somebody wants it, somebody wants. Will. You are like a machine. A slingshot. David against Goliath. Yet we remove ourselves, the distance is increasing, the space narrows, and the gaze, the desirous gaze. You reiterate your obsessions, and make pleasing loops for yourself. The words are pounding inside your head, they force you down. You love it. Like a downpour on your body, or maybe just on your box. Everything is close to you, you are enveloped in the storm, you no longer need a space of your own…


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