| THE WORD FOR WORLD IS FOREST |
| SUSANNE WENGER |
| I was sitting on a bench in a train station, waiting. Bored, I stared in front of me, when a crow hoped into my filed of vision, picked up a little black something, and then took off to a small platform. The platform became big, the black thing became a rock, and the train station a world apart. I began to walk, the air thick of humid heat. Far away old sounds pulsating. My body began to morph. Outer cells began to rotate inwardly and intestine feelings pushed outwards. My brain structure reconfigured in response to the landscape. I could almost hear my neuronal meshes expanding and looping like tropical vines and my tissues adjusting to the texture of mud. Transforming the distant rhythms unveiled the sense of breathing. Then a terrifying roar occurred, and bewildered I saw the train arriving. I took my bag, entered, sat down and exhaled. |
| UNLEASHED GHOSTS |
| Slimy |
TOO MUCH SUN IS NO GOOD FOR DREAMS |
| NIGHT DOES NOT FALL |
| SORRY, YOU ARE NOT INVITED. BUT DON'T TAKE IT PERSONAL |
| IT'S BETTER TO STAY ANGRY |
| I KNOW IT’S A ZEBRA WHEN I SEE STRIPES |
| nori paper |
| NEXT GENERATION |
| IT BELONGS TO US A LITTLE LESS THAN WE BELONG TO IT |
| LAUGHTER IS USUALLY THE END OF THE CONVERSATION |
| THE MASTER‘S TOOL WILL NEVER DISMANTLE THE MASTER‘S HOUSE |
