How did you get here? | I was carrying around an egg | for days | and in the egg was a | devil

You don’t have the egg with you? | I lost the egg, now I am looking for it

Devils are also | part of the plan | The egg was so beautiful, I kept it | wrapped in a shawl and so it was | warm

Has the egg hatched? | I’m not sure | Not when I last | held the egg

This city has many places | you might lose | something beautiful | and precious | This happens all the time | Every moment | Visions collapse | It’s like rain | Now I don’t | know | where to go

This city has many signs | and many places | those signs may take you | No, none of the places feel right anymore | I have the knowledge but I don’t believe | in what I know, and | I don’t care for the river or the bridges | it has all | grown insubstantial

It sounds as if the egg has hatched | Do you think it possible?

It happens all the time | An egg hatches, out | slips a | newborn devil, this | changes the axis, brings one’s emotions | into a new alignment, you feel | pensive | ill-at-ease | adrift, the planet | depressurises | semantically | and fills, all of a sudden | with empty streets and crowded | trains | heading to uninviting | destinations | I would like to go back, and find the egg, or at least | find the shell

The remnants of the shell? | Yes, the remnants

All very sad | You are like the remnants of the shell, perhaps | you are the remnants of the shell | This is what happens | when you lose a devil’s | egg and | the city begins to | alter around you | Yes, I feel as if I am broken, that’s true

We are what we feel | We are what we think | But perhaps, after all, the egg is still there, intact, and the gestating devil inside it | is still | not quite | ready to be born? | The egg was so heavy | it felt as if I were carrying | a moon or a | sea | wrapped in that lovely | teal blue shell

And the buds on the linden trees were just beginning to open? | Yes, and the bells on the trams rang so purely and clearly in the evening light | My footsteps | were solid | I | cherished the weight | of the egg | wrapped in the shawl | It seemed to me | I was tied into things | and so the city | was right

Where will you go now? | I’m not sure | I feel as if I’ve | finished with going | finished with | arriving | None of the places | convince me anymore | all the things I loved, all the people so | dear to me | it is as if | they were all eggs | all | intact | with a purpose, but now… | Now none of the raindrops | connect together, each raindrop | has its own agenda, the shower | is without plants, and the plants | without light, without steel, without flowers… | The trams can’t | carry the trees with them | People’s mouths | move, and they make | sense, but their sense | makes no sense, it is | a gabble | it has no | life inside it, that is to say, no | real desire to be or to convince | others that | it is

All the eggs of all the things | have fallen and broken, and the creatures within the eggs | have died or | were stillborn or | have left the scene | of the accident | I need to sleep | to be unconscious | Maybe I’ll go to a bar and | drink and watch | people glance at themselves | in mirrors or in the eyes | of people they wish to seduce or | have already seduced and are growing | bored with

Yes, drug your mind, that’s a good idea | It’s always | a good idea, the mind | is the mistake, the mind | fills you with things you cannot | really bear or understand | at least | that’s my theory | Yes, there’s a bar I know, and there’s a | tram stop nearby | The bar is on that line | I’ll drink until | my footsteps don’t seem | to belong to me, and my thoughts | can’t move another | inch

Who knows, maybe you will | find that egg again? | I’ll find something, oblivion’s a start | In the end | I’ll rid myself of these bones, anyway, it’s a thought

We are what we | think we are | We are what we | feel we are | There is always the moon or the sea, if you can only | crack open the shell | holding them in | It doesn’t matter, the night | will end, the time | will have passed | some habit or | necessity will come | to save me | I will not | care for these | things anymore or | remember them or remember | why I cared for them

So it must be | So it must be

Farewell, then | Farewell

Farewell | Farewell…

from the series bliss point | angels of disorder
(open-ended, 2012–present)