I noise. you noise. he/she/it noise-s. we noise. you noise. they noise. 

Nutrition but no electricity. 

A breath but not outspoken. 

A breathtaking word, worth being heard. 

Here, words I hear. 

Can I come out to say? 

You can come over to my place and I can show you my voice. 

You can come over to my place and we can make some noise. 

A beard of words. A barbers comb brushing voices out my mouth. 

Voices are braided into a brides choir, a knotted set of words that plan to be a sense. 

Ears touching the wind, then: starting to fly. 

A fly that is shy. Its just pretending and mending her hands in order to steal all volume from me. 

„How can you talk if you haven´t got a brain. 

Some people without brains do an awful lot of talking.“ 


A flea in the hair goes on air and told me to tell you 

„Rubber instead of blood in your head!“

A lipstick is not a cable that is able to connect what is said.  

A fountain of bed ideas, bad and better, bad time for stories. 

Better to stay in bed and jump through the slut frame. 

It hurts to bad, this bed, to be a joke, so make an end and—

—Bedroom dancing, dance where you beg to dance, dance where it is forbidden to dance. 

Twinkle twinkle little eye how I wish to wear a tie. 

A day that wants to say something and say that again and again, and wants that to be written down, and wants that to be rewritten in a play and wants to say that this play should be played all day and again and again. 

Words falling down like sweet drops of milk,Daytripping, Dripping from the dead - ripped milk box, Rising from the puddle and coming up against the walls. 

They are puzzled. 

Another bricolage in the wall. 

A hole in another, a catching caché. 

A perfect romantic turn. 

A turntable tunnel. 

I am turning in. 

Another tune is turned on. 

A female spot in the male storm, a whirl twirl, waves tickle. whirlygiggles make me laugh. 

Deep - o - suction, I sing I swim. 

A stream of coincidences, a scream of confidence. 

surfing on the third wave. Sonics waving at me, 

I waver on the noise of my own voice, nauseaus, diving, arriving, deciding to drown.


You must sing a-down-down and down you go, sing a down down and be a downer. 

It´s the final cuntdown. 

Heavy rotation rewinded, re-evolution, a real revolution. 

Clouds fall from the sky and disgorge their rain into a gorgeous artistic sea. 

Sure you see that the sea needs a break, the breaking of waves, pulsing tide is tired of silence. 

A bore makes me dive in the ocean of generosity. 

A riot starting from boredom. 

Siamese twinsets, yelly fishs, twisting their eight arms, spreading their ink, no space to think. 

Siamese Twinsets wrap you in their agora tenderness and hold you tight until you see no light. 

A monstrous crow is flying by and says bye to the sky and dives into the crown of the mael strom. 

It turns the wheels of the whirl, that Krähus ex Machina, 

a broken bird that broke its neck. 

Its bill drills another hole far away from the poles so the world starts to wobble: off axis is our access. 

Midstream, undersound on the ground, dancefloor sand, dry as wet can be. 

Bounce, kittens are the bouncers, they nibble on tales of tails. 

Broken eggshells of raw roe shine right back at you, just cracking up. 

No chance for eavesdropping. 

A travesty of a majesty, a sperm whale, red lips in deep blue sea. A body that is a sunken space ship, 

a grace trace to a trip through the two chambers of a one bedroom flat. 

Unseen halls of decomposed air, that will be there to sing a hole opera in one breath. 

A reversed horn, a u-nicorn, an upside down cone, as a microphone, the screaming megaphone:

will flood the reversed universe. 

Blow blow blow your scream gently up the stream, 

warily, warily, warily… spit it out.


What do I have to say, have to. Say it, have to say something. If I have to say nothing, if I have to, I stop saying something. 

Maybe I say it. 

Maybe I have nothing to say. 

Maybe I don´t want to spray my words to you. 

Maybe I am shy and don´t want to share. Maybe I don´t dare to 

care if I ought to say something-. 

Maybe I want to waste all the words I have 

I want to waste them and after that shall never speak again. 

Scream, scream so much and loud and much louder until you loose your voice. 

After that talk about something that is very important. 

Are you tacid are you tacid are you tacid?


- putting a spell on reality by reclaiming otherness in actu.


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Antje Prust