CLAUDIO WILLER

NOTES FOR AN APOCALYPSE

The Beast will come back, with her face and silver plaits, naked on the world. The Beast will come back, metallic amuck with storm and convulsion, mucky like the night of the blood vessels, cold like the panic of menstruating sands and the paralytic blindness against an ancient clock. An Assyrian dream, here’s our dimension. A bitter skull, powered by the inconstancy of sarcasm, bushwhacking through hell amidst insects, a furrowed blue skull, by the window in waiting times, a fixed black skull, cut off from the hands that keep it on feeding tubes and smashing the bronchi

* translated by Henrik Aeshna