Christofer Degrér & Rasmus R Streith
Idle Vacancy (Archaeopteryx)
Appendix (ver. B)
(derelict flashback)
“[...] my daydreams become more fervent and vivid. [Every]where all at once only metal and glass and fossils [...] only metal and [...] and fossils. Contained, only breathless beside oneself [...] what seems [?] like lightyears later, the mold of a passenger seat. So terrible was the thought of time, of the landscape being transformed into narrow [?] stripes. Do you [...] this feeling? This breeze, which has traveled from the regions toward which I’m advancing. [...] Esophagus red, petrol black and empty page white lights in the night, form a pattern of eternity, cities of eternity [?] and [...] indeed [...] where faded dreams and touch intersect, where the blue horizon fades to gray.”
Lorelei Ragnert (Don)
55.60180997948276, 12.968570223674018
?, October 10, 2017
“In an act of consciousness, waiting, waiting, drifting. Knock on window, sound of falling snow, all else, peering down, next thing I remember [...] doubled over.”
(derelict flashback)
Clickings of aerated bones, flat vertigo, a dilated beach trodden with watercolor insects and procedural abstractions.
Every step
PAN VIEW
CAM 6
[...] lies still on their stomach
Fade to:
MONTAGE STOP LIGHT: AMBER LIGHT
V.O We were forever ago already
Fade to:
[...] lies still on their stomach
X caresses Dons back, runs their fingers across Dons pointy spine
Cut to:
CLOSE-UP DON
(derelict flashback)
PARKING LOT PAN VIEW
CAM 6
Don and X
X: I must’ve dozed off [...]
Don:
Lorelei Ragnert
55.60180997948276, 12.968570223674018
Friday, July 24, 2025
In an act of consciousness, waiting, waiting, drifting. Knock on window, sound of falling snow, all else, peering down, next thing I remember [...] doubled over.
L: That's good. lt's nice to come first
every once in a while.
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(ENGlNE ROARlNG)
(TlRES SQUEALlNG)
(HORNS BLARlNG)
Stars as distinctly unavailable blossoms. We were forever ago already.
There’s this sense that we’re brought here only by that circulatory system front road segue.
Is it not?
Was it not?
Was it not some only way amid all other impossible ones?
The wake stays the same short of the firecrackers of the daffodils removed by speed, velocity, the rate with which sophomoric questions and answers burn and don't fade away. Curtain of dismissed fumes all around, the weight of full rib cages, keys leaving behind provisional abstraction in cosmic metallic. Oblivion all dreamed up.
Lorelei Ragnert (Don)
55.60180997948276, 12.968570223674018
?, October 11, 2017
“In an act of consciousness, waiting, waiting, drifting. Knock on window, sound of falling snow, all else, peering down, next thing I remember [...] doubled over.”
(derelict flashback)
Health anomaly
The canyon disintegrates into a fixed infinity, a complete set of palms slip in between the sleek flatness of the unreflected sky and the scaly freckles of a solitary carcass. A ribbon-knotted bag of cum and dust, everywhere all at once only metal and glass and fossils. Only metal and glass and fossils.
Contained, only metal and glass and fossils and only breathless beside oneself. Laid out like one of several jigsaws across the dashboard, the annoying vortex of fingerprints meeting replicant utility. Long last, they’re not seen yet, as if too struck by a long afternoon that’s full of filters. Butter cultures networking amid the overripe canopy.
“Where u at.” (2009)
“I can’t discuss this now. Driving and Facebooking is not safe! Haha.” (2012)
“I love you and I’ll try to do what I can to make you happy” (2012)
“Sounds good my man, seeya soon, ill tw” (2013)
“The happy song makes me HAPPY” (2014)
One or several driving instructors instruct to handle the gear shift like a hard cock, synching the tempo with which to control the finality of violent death in the form of a 70 km/h 180 degree turn along a railingless highway. X who said they'd come would've come by now. What seems like lightyears later, the mold of a passenger seat observes the blood-signal red rear lights and bleached bone and empty page white lights in the night making up a circulatory system. Feeling’s front row and aspects of the whole, all secondary to none.
Amber.
Quoted to the extent of talking bodies atop the hood illuminated by stadium lights. Stars as distinctly unavailable blossoms. We were forever ago already.
There’s this sense that we’re brought here only by that circulatory system front road segue. Is it not? Was it not? Was it not some only way amid all other impossible ones? The wake stays the same short of the firecrackers of the daffodils removed by speed, velocity, the rate with which sophomoric questions and answers burn and don't fade away. Curtain of dismissed fumes all around, the weight of full rib cages, keys leaving behind provisional abstraction in cosmic metallic. Oblivion all dreamed up.
Inaccessible x, stale crossroads. What extends beyond these confines of only metal and glass and fossils is a slow cancelation of the vertical. The agency of fumes providing landing stripes for total sun beams, a flat next, a flat coming, a flat end. Distances with which we travel, perfect volumes for the occupation of excess. All must belong, all must belong to become part of an ever refining self-fertilizing cycle. Nothing wasted away as it is needed in the next phase of the cycle, the next recovery, the next once and for all.
-left turned on as final product, alongside transfer, amber cormorant and exhumed breaths with which to render a desolate totality-
