YOU - kimok - ographers:
KARTOONISTS without occupation and
ARTISTS without occupation, flustered INKERS
and writers scattered the world over,

YOU - the patient readers of the comik book with the tolerance of mules under the load of severed emotions,


YOU - the impatient owners of the not-yet-bankrupt publishing houses, greedily snapping up the scraps off the European table, and to a lesser extent the American table

YOU wait, debilitated by memories,

you day-dream and pine for the
MOON of the new graffik novelle…
(nervous persons are asked not to close their eyes),

You wait for what will not happen and what you should not expect.

My
friendly
warning: Don't bury your heads like ostriches.
Raise your eyes, Look around - There!

Seen by me and by every childs eye:
Insides falling out.
Intestines of experience
Out of the belly of kimok-ography
slashed By the reef of riot-cycle,
there they drag, leaving a bloody trace on the ground,
Shuddering from terror and repulsion.

All is ended.

YOU - kimok - ographers:
KARTOONISTS without occupation and
ARTISTS without occupation, flustered INKERS
and writers scattered the world over,

YOU - the patient readers of the comik book with the tolerance of mules under the load of severed emotions,


YOU - the impatient owners of the not-yet-bankrupt publishing houses, greedily snapping up the scraps off the European table, and to a lesser extent the American table

YOU wait, debilitated by memories,

you day-dream and pine for the
MOON of the new graffik novelle…
(nervous persons are asked not to close their eyes),

You wait for what will not happen and what you should not expect.

My
friendly
warning: Don't bury your heads like ostriches.
Raise your eyes, Look around - There!

Seen by me and by every childs eye:
Insides falling out.
Intestines of experience
Out of the belly of kimok-ography
slashed By the reef of riot-cycle,
there they drag, leaving a bloody trace on the ground,
Shuddering from terror and repulsion.

All is ended.

YOU - kimok - ographers:
KARTOONISTS without occupation and
ARTISTS without occupation, flustered INKERS
and writers scattered the world over,

YOU - the patient readers of the comik book with the tolerance of mules under the load of severed emotions,


YOU - the impatient owners of the not-yet-bankrupt publishing houses, greedily snapping up the scraps off the European table, and to a lesser extent the American table

YOU wait, debilitated by memories,

you day-dream and pine for the
MOON of the new graffik novelle…
(nervous persons are asked not to close their eyes),

You wait for what will not happen and what you should not expect.

My
friendly
warning: Don't bury your heads like ostriches.
Raise your eyes, Look around - There!

Seen by me and by every childs eye:
Insides falling out.
Intestines of experience
Out of the belly of kimok-ography
slashed By the reef of riot-cycle,
there they drag, leaving a bloody trace on the ground,
Shuddering from terror and repulsion.

All is ended.