Published on Issuu.

As of today, the Masspoem III is published on Issuu and can be read here or here. Comments will not be deleted. There will be no birthday-party and no funeral; democrazy is a process and is its own reward. Thanx for sharing.

Letter to an unknown author.

Kim

It is me, the reader. I have read everything you have written. Even that which did not belong to you. Everything you did not know existed between the lines I have devoured under your discerning eyes. I can nothing but read you. When I read you, you change, your profanities, your pussy-like language, it grows under my fingernails as I press my fingers against your texts. The finger-nails. Your lines itches under my skin.

I am the reader, you know I am. However you try to shock or disgust or offend me I will stay here with my eyes all tangled up in your lines. I keep you here always. Here. And here. The field is open to interpretation, but I just skim over the text as if I were quivering mirage. A heat-shiver in the air above your worn diary pages.

Eight wounded but surviving sheets from a stellar medical journal. A star sick diary.

Six months later I read that you have finally learned to think in black. It is July 12, 2010, I am in Malaysia when you suffer from dark insights. Does it make sense that I am on the other side of the world, when you write to me? Through your body of text full of saliva and mint-kisses I fall to the bottom as a stone or an angel. You know I can not stop. You just enjoy.

You were wrong about one thing, it was not Mahler who played as we fell, it was Shostakovitch. I even molested a poor street-musician because I thought he played Mahler, he just shook his head and looked embarrassed. I want you to go now, he said. I want you to take your wrenched sheets of a sick star diary and disappear so I can earn some honest money here. Off!

I have stopped reading. You disappear if I do not read. It is you who is Maha-Kali, you summon yourself in your sleep. Kim is just a pseudonym, you know that huh? You dream of me and in your dreams you are dancing on my sleeping body, kicking me with your black heels so that I will wake up and keep reading you. Only when I read, you can rest again.

Four days later. July 16.

Happiness is a trash word for me.

Happiness, you say, is too few a word to sum up all of your defeats and victories, all your fears, your stars and moons. You may think that I am just repeating everything you have taught me, but that is what I do. That is why I am the reader. I read aloud to you what you have written in black so you can hear how it sounds in white.

July 17.

You wish you could read me the same way as I read you.

July 18.

Love
Kim.

Words by: Pontus Joakim Olofsson, translation: ibid and ed.

Edit One.

I´m doing the editing as we speak.
The two longer prose-pieces will frame the text.

I will do a first edit, then I will mail you the trial
for your consideration;

all input is valued, and all opinions, lest they will be considered
will be included in a Answer All-mail.

The need for transparency is important.

The conversations could be published here
without seeking your approval.

Get it?

Your Communist dictator, F.