Being in time is too late.

Rust, acrylic, coffee, stain and bitumen on canvas
 80x80

 Phoenix onward!
 And then it flies so beautifully afterwards...
 How long did they ponder this?
 And yet he must get out of his air again
 and down into the icy slime, into the lead cage.
 You must now enter the arena together with those like them.
 Here's a chance to renew yourself.
 Come on, you old grease-soap fool, dislocated
 Man is not a piano stool!
 Screw in the ass,
 for turning up and down.
 Odu and how-you-talk:
 "It disgusts me, but it doesn't knock me down-"
 That's also a thought that can be captured in oil, you could frame it.
 let.
 Or how to carefully pace your breaths,
 as if that would buy time.
 You can't do that.
 All of this must first be uprooted – organically – by force!
 Tomorrow already.
 Even today.
 Being in time is too late.
 Gently pushed off the chair.
 With a clear jerk, it came off its hinges.
 Like that perfectly ordinary neurotic guy the other day
 He tipped the couch in front of his psychiatrist's feet and said:
 "The Hypo bank brought the debts into the house."
 and with the doctor the conditions -
 But I want my money back and to hear my voices again.
 Something like that!
 Or rather: "When I really say 'I',
 How many people can still have a say in this?!
 Objection? Not a chance.
 'N Everyone has it in some way, and that's not so insignificant.
 When it closes its eyes,
 is the earth going under,
 The stars are out.
 And that's why I want
 - right now! -
 roll the gravestone away from the door.
 And that is why I want to submit myself completely to you,
 like a June meadow
 an abundance of greenery.
 And I want to pour you the river,
 until you overflow,
 untenable,
 swept away
 and me - with you - drowned.

 Peter Rühmkorf