Spring suffocates me, with pollen, yes yes yes, but more than that with the crowds overeagerly lounging at every tiny green neoncolored plantbased spot or asphalt, Spring suffocates me with joy, with sunshine, with the cultural demand to suddenly be fantastically euphoric, our eyes turn from a grey shade evident of our numb naive cold scepticism, to a warmer shade with restless ecstacy pill pupils, on the go, A to B, You’re supposed to be there, why are you here? You’re supposed to be here, why are are you there? Why aren’t you everywhere, omnipresent, on the run? WHY AREN’T YOU TAKING THE TRAM?? A TAXI? you’re WALKING? WHYYY??? Spring suffocates me with with my constant visualisation of and insatiable need for delicious lubricated pink aroused penises, sex on my brain, sex on my computer, sex in my drawings, in my texts, sex, sex, sex, Spring suffocates me with the first incident of curry-smelling armpits right next to me on the tram in April, Spring suffocates me with its schizophrenic weather, immersing us in icy winds at one moment, and hugging warm breeze the next, with all the dogs, with all the bikes, the creepy crawlers lurking out from eggs hidden in the ground, all the babies, oh, all the strollers, all the flowers, and all the men and women exchanginig saliva on the parkbenches before they sneak away behind bushes to include genitalia into the mix, Spring suffocates me with its rapid change, the nature awakening, growing, expanding, blooming, a shallowness flows in the air, in us, in the flowers, if they had cellphones they would’ve snapped selfies constantly, Fidgeting, Sprinting, I throw a can of spraypaint in my bag as I leave home, and tag on the street, on the walls, on the stem of the trees, on the signs and on the busstops I pass by, trying to say something, trying to send an SOS signal to whomever’s out there feeling the same as I, Trying to stop time, slow time down, unwind, Cigarettes, in the ashtray and everywhere it shouldn’t be, chainsmoke, packets and packets and packets, buds, cough, cough, empty lighters I desperately try to wake up, wake up, wake up, Run, say, be, do, do it now, do me, do me, do me, the world is spinning faster and faster it seems, tempo tempo tempo, rotate your fingers on your clit in the same tempo, faster, faster, harder, harder, HARDER. Do you feel good now? better now? slooooooower? Is the hot mashed potato feeling being cascaded through your body and you heart rumbling with satisfaction in your chest after you come, slowing you down??? Are the smell of the lilacs outside your window, sooooothing. The Mac Demarco song … listen to the vibe, the lyrics… how he loves his guitar.. how his voice is smooth, gentle…»Let my baby stay….»… You’ve been out all day…. maybe you should….NO! GO GO GO. ENOUGH OF THIS. HAVE A CHILL EVENING YOU SAY? Get the fuck out of here, you pathetic loser. CHILL DOWN?!!! You’ve got shit to do!!!!!!!!!
(From a slam poetry I wrote spring 2015)