I'm impostor, 78 years in this city
I feel I have killed someone
I feel I have been killed many times,
I have been in this city for 78 years
The underbrush is my home and rats my food,
My breath is death, my speech is fire,
I find myself in the cracks of the buildings' cement
The paint is white lithium, my body rancid.
I left a thigh in Volkspark,
The rest of my face and its entrails, Plänterwald.
I hear his heart throbbing and the erection at the sight of that young man's ass,
The veins are iron roads, my nose sniffs blood, my hair is urethra, my eyes are asbestos, my dick porous wood, my belly is chicken skin… empty and swollen. I observe from a distance, human relationships are of an oxidizing nature, their taste is bitter skin and vinegary urine. I smoke heroin with a few despondents and we sleep with our toes tucked one after the other.
The walks are terrifying, this land is stained with death and decay. I, overseer
of pestilence, of rot, of the future, was called to these lands, resurrected from the earth with a deplorable appearance, these lands have devoured my power, my hunger for plague, these lands have another kind of death. These lands reek of the diarrhea of the deceased, of the freshly washed flower of Ishtar's cunt along with clouds of hunger and genocide.
I feel I have killed someone.
I, Humbaba, child of Hanbi, sibling of Pazuzu, was called to this land, my father is in his 45th death, the winds are cold in Europe. My face freezes with frost that tastes like cocaine… I was made to leave the world of the divine and my life is now limited, the human world condemned me again in an open prison and cuts my throat every night at sunset.
I feel the dishonesty in me, I am an impostor, an alien invader to Ishtar's cunt, I do not live here yet I do not die here, the air is digested in me and I excrete lakes of dissolved plastic, lakes of strange shapes that imitate the entrails of the fauna of the divine world yet sink at the sound of that German accent.
I am a representation of that, I am burned plastic for I am a child of the earth after my 4th death, I am a mirror where I saw myself looking at the entrails of that man in a pot, I saw how I, my mortal(moral) self, opened the layer of fat and with care and eyes injected with an exuberant sexual desire managed to access the trachea and tenderly handled the interior of the organs.
Was it me?
My finger hurts, the starch and liver filling does not allow blood to circulate and it falls off the next day, I manage to feed a rabbit that I saw burying it in Grunewald.
Was it my finger or that man's?
The helicopters thunder and the junkie's flesh gets me high tonight in a way that I cannot sleep, I stay all night by a lake tenderly watching the ducks and fantasizing about punching a swan. A child walks by me and smoking a cigarette I knew his nature was that of my brother, the cigarette burned out in seconds and through his eyes one could see the emptiness of his skull, the wind passed from one side to the other causing a slight whistle.
I kept smoking, my brother is more prone to this kind of death, to this kind of stench, I get drunk on it and it destroys me, his power is more mystical, mine is more mortal. He grew up in war, winds, and plague and I grew up under the sweet smell of death in a burning and pleasant sun.
"Spawn of a fish, who knew no father, hatchling of terrapin and turtle, you who sucked no mother's milk…"
My curse will reach you, I hope it reaches you… I no longer have time to be cursed, my power over the future or the power the future wielded in me is finite, it is reversing, time goes backward and I already saw myself again beside myself with an empty skull and a snake's dick.
The poison sinks into my skin and my (his) eyes whistle playing a harsh and sharp melody like the wind that passes over them. The flesh and wood dissolve with the spring air and rot backward in time, I am impassive, the intestines are growing and fall into the water, they unite and touch the bottom where the poison makes them grow indefinitely until they flood the entire lake with guts.
That man, Marcel, appears in the commotion of guts and entrails, from there he sinks and is reduced to earth.
My cigarette is running out and I light the joint while my sibling writhes in pleasure, ejaculating his poison.
I don't know if I came to be, the name Humbaba was given to me by the death that accompanies me here, I don't remember any previous definition, I am in constant waiting and my temporality is being continuously hacked, I see the already dead forest die again and I have no opportunity to feed it. I am neither god nor time.