vexed with wires and curled up like snakes 

we all without aim stumbled and staggered 

through the craters and pools 

that were oh so characteristic 

of the landscape on which 

we to our surprise discovered facial features. 



once I was given a bottle filled with sparkling anxiety. 

it did not quench my thirst. 

it became an unbecoming addiction. 

(and in an 

abbreviated manner one could say that in 

accordance to tradition we exhibit our 

addictions in the display window to 

affront possible bypassers and to arouse 

aggression and inertia.) 



someone cast himself into self-portrayal vainly 

hoping the result would accentuate the featurelessness of his face 

disappointed he swam in the low-budget luxuries that devour 

with omnivorous appetite would you lie for me I had a rusty nail 

hammered through my temple and I'm not sure if 

what I felt was pain let me introduce you to my friend the pain in-exile 

let me spray you with last-minute lies the screens oh so cleverly designed to banish 

boredom brought reports of an accident in the shooting gallery if 

I were a killer you would not have lived to know at the ends of one's arms 

there are instruments of destruction confusingly similar to hands the imperative 

of the evening is sever would you die for me would you spy for me thank you 

I've had enough now let me evaporate and join a less tedious cloud the delicacies 

that scorched the palate and made the tongue swell 



fresh from the machinery of the filth-factory: 

a malfunctioning device: COGITO. 

upon seeing it one shrieks, 

with jealousy intoxicated 

and with the almost 

theatrical obscenery appalled-angered. 

the crumbling the crumpling the collapsing 

mild and sour and misplaced 

as were the cherub's smiles. 

pornography has brought us 

where technology couldn't.



[Vilde Lockeit: voice]

[G. Playa: voice]

[Tore Ylvisaker: computer]

[Per Amund Solberg: bass]

[Alexander Nordgaren: guitars]

[S. E. Hatlevik: synthesisers, drums & voice]