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Until someone sank a blade into her white throat and spread a crimson apron of cold blood around her hips. Requiem Auf jedem Tische zwei. Nah, nackt, und dennoch ohne Qual. Die Brust entzwei. Ich sah von zweien, die dereinst sich hurten, lag es da, wie aus einem Mutterleib.

Cities in the Pacific Rim

Requiem There are two on each table: men and women criss-crossed. Together, naked, and yet without torment. Their skulls open. Their chests cleaved.

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Their bodies give birth for the very last time. Each one yieldsthree bowls: from brains to scrotum. The remainder into coffins. All newborns:. I saw two, who once fornicated, lying there, as if from the body of their mother. Die Messer dampfen. Der Bauch ist gepinselt. Der erste Schnitt.


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Als schnitte man Brot. Die Muskeln: feucht, funkelend, frisch. Ist das Eiter, was da spritzt? Ist der Darm etwas angeritzt? Narkose, ich kann nicht operieren, der Mann geht mit seinem Bauch spazieren.

Cities in the Pacific Rim

Maske weg! Endlich: erwischt! Das Ding stand kurz vor der Perforation. Haut zu. Guten Morgen, die Herrn. Appendicitis Everything is white and ready for incision. The scalpels glow. On the stomach lines have been drawn. Under the white sheets there is something that whimpers.

The first cut. As if one is cutting bread. Red is spurting from somewhere. The muscles: moist, glowing, fresh. Is this a bunch of roses on the operating table? Is that pus that is now spurting? Have the bowels been slit?

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Bring anesthetic. The man is going walk about with his stomach.

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Heavy, moist. Through the emptiness there rattles a pair of sissors thrown to the flour.

And the nurses with the feeling of angels hold out sterile swabs. Take the mask off! Everything is a mess. You have been lucky again, my son. The thing was about to perforate. Close up the stomach. Close up the skin. The operating theatre empties. Raging, death rattles and grinds its teeth, and slinks into the cancer ward. Bett stinkt bei Bett. Das Fleisch ist weich und schmerzt nicht.

Kein Mensch hat so viel Blut. Tag und Nacht. Du siehst die Fliegen. Fleisch ebnet sich zu Land. Glut gibt sich fort. Saft schickt sich an zu rinnen. Erde ruft. Bed after bed stinks. The nurses change hourly. Come: lift up this blanket gently. Look at this lump of fat and stinking fluid.

That was for some man once something wonderful and also meant passion and his home. Come: look at this scar on this breast. Can you feel the rosary of soft nodules? Just have a feel.

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The flesh is soft and feels no pain. This one here bleeds as if from thirty bodies. No one has so much blood. And here, a baby has just been cut from a cancerous womb. We leave them to sleep. Day and night. Their backs are infected. You can see the flies. Sometimes the sisters wash them. Like one washes benches. Flesh is getting ready for the ground. The glow of life recedes. Sap prepares for its final flow. The earth is calling.

Das Cello trinkt rasch mal. Die Trommel liest den Kriminalroman zu Ende. Junger Kropf ist Sattelnase gut. Bartflechte kauft Nelken, Doppelkinn zu erweichen. H Moll: Die He, Gigi! Kanaanitisch braun. Ein Duft kommt mit.

Kaum Duft. Eine Fettleibigkeit trippelt hinterher. The flute belches throughout three beats: his tasty supper. The drum reads his crime thriller to the end. Green teeth, pimples on his face, waves to infected eye. Greasy hair talks to open mouth with swollen tonsils: Faith Hope Charity around his neck. Young goitre has the hots for saddle nose: he shouts her three beers. B minor: sonata opus Hey, Gigi! Scorched desert.