the corpse-grinders of berlin - episode 25
That night he went to the Kumpelnest 3000, perhaps the only bar left on this desolated planet that he still really liked. He took a couple drinks. He knew the guy behind the bar, a big black transvestite from Amerika. He talked to some one from San Diego about the apocalypse. It was getting grim.
Then his old lover, the one who smashed him, walks in and pretends not to notice him. His shit-German girlfriend. He was happy to see her again in a bittersweet way. He would never stop loving her, he realised. In fact the phenomenon of the disappearance of love or love into hatred was incomprehensible to him. Once love was there in his soul it was there for good, no matter how painful.
I have been watching you as you stand
With wide open eyes, at my door
And a razor in your hand
Washing your heart out
On a rocky shore
Insanely pounding mist out of marble.
Broken pussy of Saint Lucy
Blue eyes disarrayed in the dusk
Too many coins shine of bankruptcy these days
And too many gifts caste shades of theft
Stay by my side, glittering
Ardour of a broken line.
His amie damnée was dancing in the middle of the bar, curving and swaying in the soft red light. He watched her. She was with another guy of course, an endless string of guys. She was able to fuck almost anyone. It didn’t matter what he looked like, or what a shit character he had. The whore of Babylon.
She glowed under exterminating circumstances.
Through this brutal haze he asked her to sing a song.
“You always go too far!” she snapped .
“You‘re right,” he answered, “and that’s what actually makes you Bataille, and makes me Laure.”
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