p r i n t f o r m a t |
May 2013
2013-05-12 2013-05-04 2013-05-12 A dumb soldier is sitting on a steep slope of boulders where he was ordered to stand guard. He is looking at his thigh while I observe my slender fingers examine the incredible rifts in his breadlike thigh. A regular landscape of brown bread that seems to have grown uncontrolledly. One could lose oneself in it. I see his captain at the foot of the hill, he calls up to not fall asleep. The soldier, servile and stupid, responds: "No, no, no". The soldier stands up facing the slope, his buttocks are naked and lighter in colour, I worry that the captain might see them. I'm facing the slope, his behind is behind me. Then the soldier must have fallen asleep since he suddenly wakes up lying on the boulders while he feels a sharp prick in the back of his neck. A white shape is doing this to him. Jerking his arm he throws it off, it's an evil medic: thrown on his back and stunned by the arm jerk. The soldier himself swoons. Coming to he discovers a syringe sticking in his neck. I pull it out, it's beautiful - shocking but even beautiful: filled with a blood red liquid. The soldier turns around, the medic is stirring, clearly an assassin who tried to kill him with red poison in a syringe. The assailant has the cheek to issue an order for the soldier to hand over the needle. To obey would be suicide. Instead the soldier tries to prick his enemy who wards him off but the solder with a mighty shove sends the medic flying down the slope: headlong like a missile, he doesn't even touch the rocks. His head is heading straight for the ground, it will break, he will die if he doesn't curl up. I want this to happen.
2013-05-04 Zu schwach für meinen blutroten Schuh zu sorgen Es geht um meinen wertvollen Sportschuh in der Farbe getrockneten Bluts. Soetwas gibt es heutzutage nicht mehr zu kaufen. Ich beuge mich tief darüber: Von einer waagerechten Naht hängen vier lange Fäden: zwei unweit der Ferse, zwei weiter vorn. Ich sollte sie paarweise verknoten um die Naht zu schützen. Ich fühle mich schwach. Ich ergreife die hinteren Fäden. Als ich unbeabsichtigt nur ein wenig daran ziehe, öffnet sich die Naht schon weiter. Ich mache den ersten Knoten. Meine Kraft ist auf Null gesunken.
© Anthony Thwaites |