Crisis Galore, Wings Petite
tm•galleria
2.7.–26.7.2025
[log entry 6347: retired miner, carpathian mtn range]
Excess… snakes eggs, rosy cheeks, citrusy notes, polished rocks on the mantelpiece, green flame in the hearth, flutes harmonizing, motor oil from the tap, tinted quadruple window panes, succulent solar flares, dead cell dust blowing in the icy tornadoes…Darkness and
Wait
Lets not get ahead of ourselves
As I sip a vintage mother’s milk
Permafrost cloaks the plains
Crows and horses have formed an alliance
Apparent huge mineral gains.
I’m the last one to hop on the rails
Just can’t get used to chugging oil
I used to be a miner,
listening to rocks
But nowadays I live above the sea because the world government doesn’t want to recognise me
I sit in the porch whistling the day away
For decades I’ve been saving for a Coup de grâce
After the latest Helicops bloodlust
Mine’s the last house standing in the cul-de-sac
I was born for burning, my hearts aflame,
with every spark, a new name
My son graduated from flight school
His tongue sore
I’ve updated my memory core in the days of yore
to contain human lore - It’s such a bore
who doesn’t want more?
Iron ore. That’s where it’s at.
Fresh molten goods, anvil and a hammer
Sunshine, little wind - No
Ants may have been the answer
Everybody and their mom knows
There’s a metallic predator who stalks the weak,
it’s a fool’s errand, the infinite peak,
even the Endurance sank to the bottom of the seas,
Poor lighthouse keeper, he lost the keys
The impending doom for thousand years,
final catharsis still not here
For those who fly and those who crawl~
What am I going to wear to the cremator’s ball?
photographed by Anna Niskanen
Excess… snakes eggs, rosy cheeks, citrusy notes, polished rocks on the mantelpiece, green flame in the hearth, flutes harmonizing, motor oil from the tap, tinted quadruple window panes, succulent solar flares, dead cell dust blowing in the icy tornadoes…Darkness and
Wait
Lets not get ahead of ourselves
As I sip a vintage mother’s milk
Permafrost cloaks the plains
Crows and horses have formed an alliance
Apparent huge mineral gains.
I’m the last one to hop on the rails
Just can’t get used to chugging oil
I used to be a miner,
listening to rocks
But nowadays I live above the sea because the world government doesn’t want to recognise me
I sit in the porch whistling the day away
For decades I’ve been saving for a Coup de grâce
After the latest Helicops bloodlust
Mine’s the last house standing in the cul-de-sac
I was born for burning, my hearts aflame,
with every spark, a new name
My son graduated from flight school
His tongue sore
I’ve updated my memory core in the days of yore
to contain human lore - It’s such a bore
who doesn’t want more?
Iron ore. That’s where it’s at.
Fresh molten goods, anvil and a hammer
Sunshine, little wind - No
Ants may have been the answer
Everybody and their mom knows
There’s a metallic predator who stalks the weak,
it’s a fool’s errand, the infinite peak,
even the Endurance sank to the bottom of the seas,
Poor lighthouse keeper, he lost the keys
The impending doom for thousand years,
final catharsis still not here
For those who fly and those who crawl~
What am I going to wear to the cremator’s ball?
photographed by Anna Niskanen