GT23 - Lieven Baert - Goose Bump

Goose Bump

Our lips just trespassed on those inner labyrinths hidden deep within our ears, filled them with the private music of wicked words, hers in many languages, mine in the off color of my own tongue, un�l as our tones shi�ed, and our consonants spun and squealed, ra�led faster, hesitated, raced harder, syllables soon mel�ng with groans, or moans finding purchase in new words, or old words, or made-up words, un�l we gathered up our heat and refused to release it, enjoying too much the dark language we had suddenly stumbled upon, craved to, carved to, not a communica�on really but a channeling of our rumored desires, hers for all I know gone to Black Forests and wolves, mine banging back to a familiar form, that great revenant mystery I s�ll could only hear the shape of, which in spite of our separate lusts and individual cries s�ll con�nued to drive us deeper into stranger tones, our mutual desire to keep gripping the burn fueled by sound, hers screeching, mine – I didn’t hear mine –only hears, probably counter-poin�ng mine, a high-pitched cry, then a whisper dropping unexpectedly to prac�cally a bark, a grunt, whatever, no sense any more, and suddenly no more curves either, just the straight away, some line crossed, where every fractured sound already spoken finally compacts into one long agonizing word, easily exceeding a hundred le�ers, even thunder, an�cipa�ng the inevitable le�ng go, when the heat is ul�mately too much to bear, threatening to burn, scar, tear it all apart, yet temp�ng enough to hold onto for even one second more, to extend it all, if we can, as if by ge�ng that much closer to the heat, that much more enveloped, would prove …

Our lips just trespassed on those inner labyrinths hidden deep within our ears, filled them with the private music of wicked words, hers in many languages, mine in the off color of my own tongue, un�l as our tones shi�ed, and our consonants spun and squealed, ra�led faster, hesitated, raced harder, syllables soon mel�ng with groans, or moans finding purchase in new words, or old words, or made-up words, un�l we gathered up our heat and refused to release it, enjoying too much the dark language we had suddenly stumbled upon, craved to, carved to, not a communica�on really but a channeling of our rumored desires, hers for all I know gone to Black Forests and wolves, mine banging back to a familiar form, that great revenant mystery I s�ll could only hear the shape of, which in spite of our separate lusts and individual cries s�ll con�nued to drive us deeper into stranger tones, our mutual desire to keep gripping the burn fueled by sound, hers screeching, mine – I didn’t hear mine –only hears, probably counter-poin�ng mine, a high-pitched cry, then a whisper dropping unexpectedly to prac�cally a bark, a grunt, whatever, no sense any more, and suddenly no more curves either, just the straight away, some line crossed, where every fractured sound already spoken finally compacts into one long agonizing word, easily exceeding a hundred le�ers, even thunder, an�cipa�ng the inevitable le�ng go, when the heat is ul�mately too much to bear, threatening to burn, scar, tear it all apart, yet temp�ng enough to hold onto for even one second more, to extend it all, if we can, as if by ge�ng that much closer to the heat, that much more enveloped, would prove …

KOJIMA PRODUCTIONS

Don't touch that dial now, we're just ge�ng started. You can't trust the tap water. 204863. Look behind you. I said, look behind you.

Close your eyes. Let your ears listen to the radio. Do you hear my voice? Can you hear your own soul's scream? Let us choose. My voice that tells the future. Or your tortured mind. Well, what do you choose? You can choose. Your life, your future. Wise as you are you might already have discovered it. Yes, the radio drama from 75 years ago was true. They are here on our earth and they monitor and see all. Don't trust anyone. Don't trust the police. They are already controlled by them. That's the way it has been for 75 years now. Only our best will prevail. You have a right. A right to become one of us. So, welcome to our world. Very soon the gates to a new dimension will open. 204863. 204863

Don't touch that dial now, we're just ge�ng started. You can't trust the tap water. 204863. Look behind you. I said, look behind you.

KOJIMA PRODUCTIONS

As the Congressional Debate over gun control flares up yet again, we regret to report the murder of the wife and her two children by their husband and father. The father purchased the rifle used in the crime at his local gunstore two days earlier. This brutal killing took place while the family was gathered at home on a Sunday a�ernoon. The day of the crime, the father went to the trunk of his car, retrieved the rifle, and shot his wife as she was cleaning up the kitchen a�er lunch. When his ten-year-old son came to inves�gate the commo�on, the father shot him, too. His six-year-old daughter had the good sense to hide in the bathroom, but reports suggest he lured her out by telling her it was just a game. The girl was found shot once in the chest from point-blank range. The mother, who he shot in the stomach, was pregnant at the �me. Police arriving on-scene a�er neighbors called 911 found the father in his car, listening to the radio. Several days before the murders, neighbors say they heard the father repea�ng a sequence of numbers in a loud voice. They said it was like he was chan�ng some strange spell. There was another family shot to death in the same state last month, and in December last year, a man used a rifle and meat cleaver to murder his en�re family. In each case, the perpretrators were fathers. State police say the string of domes�c homicides appears unrelated, though it could be part of a larger trend, such as employment, childcare, and other social issues facing the average family. As the Congressional Debate over gun control flares up yet again, we regret to report the murder of the wife and her two children by their husband and father. The father purchased the rifle used in the crime at his local gunstore two days earlier. This brutal killing took place while the family was gathered at home on a Sunday a�ernoon. The day of the crime, the father went to the trunk of his car, retrieved the rifle, and shot his wife as she was cleaning up the kitchen a�er lunch. When his ten-year-old son came to inves�gate the commo�on, the father shot him, too. His six-year-old daughter had the good sense to hide in the bathroom, but reports suggest he lured her out by telling her it was just a game. The girl was found shot once in the chest from point-blank range. The mother, who he shot in the stomach, was pregnant at the �me. Police arriving on-scene a�er neighbors called 911 found the father in his car, listening to the radio. Several days before the murders, neighbors say they heard the father repea�ng a sequence of numbers in a loud voice. They said it was like he was chan�ng some strange spell. There was another family shot to death in the same state last month, and in December last year, a man used a rifle and meat cleaver to murder his en�re family. In each case, the perpretrators were fathers. State police say the string of domes�c homicides appears unrelated, though it could be part of a larger trend, such as employment, childcare, and other social issues facing the average family.