Flies are the Cameras of God. Invisibly connected to the eternal
Frequence of their collective Data-Memory they are watching from
every Corner since Millions of Years, dragging all Seen within
them, and if we dare to listen they buzz their Films into our
Dreams...
A 'Bowl with gleamfresh Milk
and Bread from Worker's Hand' - Taste
accompanies blurred Views of Movement,
curved in a Point with Wings and Eyes.
It buzzes a Wave like in dump Fever-Memories
and wobbles sweet Circles around the Child's Eyes.
Dusk in young Senses, to warm Realms they drown,
bewiched by the Voice of the Flyman
and Sleepman comes - Echoworld Caravan
Dreamsandhead synapsed to Diamonds,
back to the Bottom where it all began,
the Mirrors of Echoworld.
Sheep keep on counting into the warm Whoolfuneral Whirls
Sleep deep down falling into dead Angle's shining Worlds
...and loose all ClingMarks.
"Folge mir in den Sonnenschein
durch Zauberfelder und Stadte aus Eins.
Bald wurd' Dein Leben ein glaserner Sarg,
hier bleibst Du Licht, alle Freunde sind da,
Komm!"
When will I see Mum and Daddy again?
Sie kommen bald nach!
Will Peter join us, and Mary and Dave?
Wann immer er schlaft!
High down so heavy we fly Timecream-Skies.
Children are playing and sing by our Side,
