Not under my bed

beitrag von: NESTAnylonhetz

In the snowey landscape of „Tradui“, Beyond river and village, where seldomly the skiers swim in ocean of wide white two persons landed. Landed is a interesting way to put it, they appeared, managed to exist. To call them Person is already a bit much, these are entities and as we will learn have more treads than what we could call person. Formally this two come with the names Maydess Loyed and Frank nancy obrey.

After a small debate about if contemporary aesthetics must be flat as a mirror or ugly as hell they went on discussing something else. (At least parts of them did so, other parts where hiding under picassos bed, making small drawings an notes, like: „I found a sausage“ or „with this candle I can barley see anything“)
(F- Frank, M- Maydess)
F „The heat death of the universe looms might up till now“
M:“Frank why are you always so ominous?“
F:“Im not Frank“
M:“so I am Frank?“
F:“yess. I’m Maydess“
M:“i am the Vivian?“
F:“yeah, you can be many“
M:“And you are an Umbrella?“
F:“..“

review von: Sophia Süßmilch

they must not run out of words
let them speak 
in those days of too much noise 
but I would let them into my bed 
not only to discuss about the endless sucjectiveness of aesthetics 
but also the brokeness of irony 
and the hiding 
behind beauty 
and what shelter 
our bunk beds once were.