This dead orchestra
play on instruments
strung with the fibres
of my mind
And
I have everywhere sought,and nowhere foundSo I lift the bleedin'
Poem by Edgar Allan PoeFrom childhood's hour I have not
Time is on trial
Generation and collapse
inside the space of things
Series
Unfortunate the hoaxthat you are not immuneFor if beauty was
Et blekt avdagsleiteFamler hen, til nattvart himmelVandring hjem, til nattsvart
Now there is
my fairytale(s)
of dying flowers
of the earth
and those it
Full of frequency
an unintelligible roar
of everything ever lived
or altogether
Probing a voiceless void
Searching for a closure
Poisoned tentacles
Frozen streams and vapours gray,
cold and waste the landscape lay...
Then
[based on the poem "Tragediens Trone" by John Henrik Svaren]
[is
("No! this face is only a mask, a wicked ornament,illuminated
Naar vinteren tar bitter fart
Og steiner sprekker I frostklar natt
Ved
The subjects of sleep
Their faces once awake
on sodomy and death
and
("I know that without me God cannot live a moment;If
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