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Contemporary Fiction Speculative

 Oh such misunderstanding over and over. It went over our heads. Or above our heads, the misunderstanding I mean. Clashes of several cultures. I tried to figure out what they had in mind, as they soared on top of each issue. A sore went deep within me, as they tried to keep me outside the whole situation. They soared their issues by passing the ideas by. Not letting me in. I figured out I had to get in touch with them, getting them to understand. Sore at heart I tried to tell them about the misunderstanding. They soared higher, bringing the debate to beconme more and more complex. Like I had, they assumed, complex of not getting things. I get it! Get in touch – not at all. Get over to our side? No side of the angle makes you aware ofthe high geometry. We are high level people, like they meant it to be that way. Way beyond the street-smart me.

They refused to see that I had a psychosis. Words of pun began playing on a chord of my mind. Words became figures and facts, that´s a fact, although hard to understand. Hard heart was my role. I rolled my brain in a complex psychotic system just to try to get things back in place. They continued on the same route. Rot it was to me. Routed in mud and soil, perhaps?

How could I get into the gang, being part of their discussion. Disgusted discussion… Half eaten words, half outspoken meaning, meaning I had no clue of how to intermingle. It meant nothing to them that I had a psychosis. Their deliberately pointing out things made me come aware of it, slowly and bit for bit. The issue stood apart, a part of something, still off the record. I reckon I was the odd one. Anyhow...

I can always mean that your character was mean, with means and methods out of my own plot. I find a well so well inside my mind, if you don´t mind! Alas! My rehearsal prove I dig what you dig, whenever issues goes deep. A digit word today I presume! And I dig it, for sure.

I lie in your dreams along when my bed takes my comfort off to serve yet another lie – in bed with you! Such a lie! Anyhow, to lie in Oxford means that men strive high – but hi there! Who is he? When you said to that both was for two – or me too, two for tea, to and fro...? Another lie, lalala! I got the gut feeling when I think of you. My burning throat ...see? You see what I see, on sea with my Viking crew, how cruel we were. A warehouse they had. But a Jew for you instead. Better jokes than Viking´s kin´ da joke! You joking with me? Jews joking are for you? I cannot get it, it is a severe matter to have such sense of humour. Self irony, must be of best sort. Can´t sort the sense of humour out if it is so double-minded. I mind! I must go mining with a spade, to go black with soot. It suits me well today. Kin´ a joke for some...some time ago I heard it. And now? Now the killing is no fashion any longer. A long time ago it was awful. Today it is worst, no kidding. Some kids know nothing. To Know or say no to things within culture? No? I know it now...

Because of my big bust you think the policeforce need to bust me, as you are pure, Victorian dame. Dam´n it! You come to the dark matter as a matter of fact, because a Swede like me gotta have a Swede´s vegetable brain. Suits your purposes, follow suit all autumn with your hints and insinuation. My mind go blank as I went into your blank-verse drama of the highest sort.

So much of your prose that rose to a poetic rose, something symbolic, I dare say. I dare say it. It rose and went erected. Too high for me. Too much of insinuations I say. Hey, all mud turns hay! All things go round and round, cause balls are round when played with. No, not a ball for a dancing queen, no certainly not. So your way to talk has ways not yet described. It slip off my tongue as I talk...But a schizofrenia girl must see signs, symbols and such. Whenever my Surrealistic dream paint me checked, blooming and striped; I feel you striped me off with another hint. I go bare, bear with me yet another minute. Or the next hour. Like the clock made of pure ore. Yes you checked me up, striped me, checked me until my blank mind felt checked and striped. Words turned into words. Symbols stretched for symbols. As a kind a Modernism proved words to be all over the place. Please please put back things in correct place, please please me! Pleased to be in place of your classroom. Your class in school had to discuss class. Like I was a working-class. You class me out with mean words that go slow and low. Lo! The poor girl high up North. Nordic feeling of snow. White stuff powdering the ground. Your ground issues go deeper – not to the earth, but grounded in a high syllable. A meter of my verse proves no measurement. But a meter-system you had not. Perhaps Fahrenheit work better within the hot debates? Perhaps a hot issue is like a bone to fight on when human beings. Bone of contention! Bastard me! Sicilian, Polish, Swede: I do not dig up other people´s bone, for no reason. But chew on it I must. A hot debate as the weather forecast salute the morning with its information of bits. Bits of information comes bit by bit from the news, all over the place. Place baby in the corner then! I am the former student. I know my form. My body got shapes and you wanted to brush and shape me up! For the sake of your land where I landed on the coast, like lost berserk Viking. I shout out aloud when discussing! I shout when it´s time to debate. Fine to go to your mine and looking at mining boys? They are not mine. Not my sons, but the sun did not shine on them as they went low beyond the ground. To touch the pit means you pity them with your swollen tear. Tear that tear me apart with hints of class for the mass. The massmedia had no mass in your priest´s church. But your mass is a pulp Industry of paper gossip. You have to understand the low – well lo me! A mass meeting can try to change the course of history, but some attend a course at the university instead. Class structures now divide and flow in several directions. To pick up the stick of the issue means you can´t ne mean no more. Not at your moor of northern England. NO more a haunting spirit from the lofty attic. High up it was. You served me a speech that tempted my language. Speak up for Christ sake! Illusive peace gathering moss in forgotten places of unknown. I was un-known. Uninterested to learn. I earn no money on your red tape methods. I earn money of the state pension I got. How did you figure out in what state I was in? State pension, hu? Odd money ! I state this with my queer statement! I am sort of homogenetic – but no! Then again! Being of three kind´a stock I must rock my ancestry out of my head, and head down the lane of folkelore. I score thee, I score thee high if you scorn me now. Now, figure it out! Now and then you meet your worst enemy. She cursed me with hints and insinuations. In print I print down all and everything she did and say. Say, is it odd?

Least I can think of is – you have to lease me out. You have to save me from this – from everything! I save my knowledge from being dirty by your ladyship´s high-born hand. As she hand me over to the policeforce of Britain – and yes! A chess of board! I go on board of my ancestors ship. Cargo from another bay, another coast. When I see the coast is clear than I follow the waves to each and any land. I land with a book in print. I land in your language with different kind of hints. But hints are seldom kind. You notice, don´t you? A Jew was your best friend. You have to take his sword and mingle in Jeruslamem where brothers fight worse. You are you as I am I – ay ay captain of the crew! All heritages have to meet with thinking how different we eat the meat, and that folkelore of kitchen make us strive for our own good. But goods from seven continents has come to have another meaning. Perhaps we have to figure out mean means and methods of different traditions – just to survive...uh? Hu? Nai? But yeap and yepp! A small step for me, and steeped in everyone´s ancestry where it all began. With debates back in Olduvai about how to follow the rules of the Mankind. Check up the animals! Get youself a totem! Live by Nature´s laws! And laws of lore must be important stuff. Lore at the core of it all. Hit the road for us all, but never hit the stupidity with mean words. As stupidity, it is proved very well now, she can hit back. Trying not to be mean, but mean she has means and methods within a foreign talk. Small talk she has none, as means go wide and by wealth and worthy of speech. Wide outlook means broadminded. How broad is the poetic measurement if it comes from the sea? Well, the sea is a well of sorcery, to get to know Vikings, by a pond or by the waves, and it weave the continent with water of the past. An element that soar not high, but touch upon the pit, the abyss, the depth of the unsconsciosness. Water your soul and it is refreshed each morning. If the sea press back land, you better land deeper inside the country...but if the well loose its water – then you see no more, as the sea drowned your issues on the bank of the coast. The coast had that bank of worth. Fishermen and sailors sold the treasures of the ocean. See? On sea? Seven seas? Rich! Gold of the water or very well then, silver from the pond work very well. But the well has lost its water today. Better begin to train your thoughts on trains instead of aeroplanes. A long journey it has to be. To go around the world to become a poet.

Forgive my mean hints about you...forgive my means and methods that met a toad...Met-oad? Met the odd toad? Well it lived in the well...Just found it there…

Several years later I have bits left of my psychosis. And can recall voices from the past, like it is passed down the historical lines. Lines of text within me, lines that has to search for theories…

When I got those rare moments when I understand I figure out that at least I have learnt something.

And thinking about August Strindberg, as he also had psyhosis, as had Gustaf Fröding…

At once the drama got it katharsis, its moment when things net together, bound to be understood, by a bounded book I presume. Net and a web, things tie to things, objects to object, matter to matter, all inclusive! My mind do mind a lot, it is my lot...And now I get things into one source, my own drama of life, my own stage, my own screen, my own sheets, sheets, sheets. Of shit! A dot of a letter hints down my paper. To you my ladyship! I am a lady of a ship! On tour all around the world. Gotta serve somebody. Some body got bust to be busted. Hope he finds me there! A frog? No, a toad this time. Better gonna kiss him. Or? His kisses go to my ore of a score! And he is to understand my wit: a psychotic kin á wit. It´s writ today!

July 03, 2021 15:39

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