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2001-06-20 / 2002-06-22
Brigitte Helm
B. 3.17.06 Berlin / D. 6.11.96 Ascona, Switzerland
Wear and Tear
Maybe this already is a perfect world.
But it’s the same old, sad story.
Actresses are the gateway drug. After an actress you wander, never ever satisfied for the full length of a day. You learn—or else you never learn—to lean on isolated moments—to stand and lean upon a fall of light, a concerto, a picnic
Like an old woman coming home from the store, stopped with her hand on a stranger’s gate, you steady yourself on a fall of light, a transvestite wearing a pleased look, a hedge of honeysuckle in the dusk
You are restless; you roam; you try redheads and butches, fat chicks and men, again—where will it end?
Don't pretend not to know.
Born disfigured by a mark below the surface of your brow, a stain which attracts you to white—
I am filthy
thrillingly cold—
I am fecal—I steam
unavailable women—how could there have been any confusion as to the outcome? Your ilk will always wind up in a close space, huddled in the Final Thrall.
German blondes—my heroin.
Consolation Site: For example