Victor Boy Lindholm

Gold


ISSUE 73 | SING WRATH | MAR 2017


Translated by Sheri Hellberg



“There’s a big black sky over my town
I know where you’re at, I bet she’s around
Yeah, I know it’s stupid
I just gotta see it for myself”
--Robyn


“what matters is
whether we want to lie or
whether we want tell and write the truth”
--Thomas Bernhard



i think we’ll have a wonderful future


what do you have for me
in the white light
where the rain beats down
against the summer heating up
is it a guilty feeling
that explodes in front of me
against the summer’s illuminated earth
is the warm rain
the sign of triumphant catastrophe
but ok what the hell
im crying
it’s a workout for the soul
a cool summer
with a fit body
and say what’s up
because really whats up
the pizza that’s supposed to cure my hangover
like a sign of globalizations invasive character
i feel
like i should be feeling guilty
because i dont really care
there where my heart is
what do you have for me
triumphant globalization
which lays there like a pizza
with hammozzarellaarugulacheese in front of me
like the darkened earth
i pay for power over my brain
what do you have for me
in the white light





oh damn it feels so good
when i leave this place
and i meet you
i scrape the asphalt against my skin
oh damn the brain is so nice
it cant grasp everything
so i just walk further away from the rattling on the street
piling my bones up together in my body
i dont care about current events





when i take a shower
i look at myself in love with myself
i think about the gold chain around my neck
about status and symbols
about your little body
when i take a shower
little silver fish
am i oh so nice
because i don’t get anything
am i the king
who buys decay
and turns it into a massive illusion





when i take a shower
little deodorant spray
dizzy from everything miserable in my life
when i reflect back at myself in love with myself
and drink some pina coladas
to be able to handle denmark
at bobibar
at kassen
i think why am i doing this again
in a cloud of cfc gasses
has the move from myth to logistics
crippled the human being
why am i doing this again
am i a black child
imported from the mines
from the shining knowledge of misery
my whitegoldnecklaces origin
so i stand still
i feel miserable
in a shower of sexy deo-spray





when i wake up in my apartment
i first have to figure out who i am
full of muscles and white gold
look at the dust inside here
that settles like ashes at night
when i wake up im tired and golden
i look at myself in the mirror
and i hate these wrinkles that come from the time
gone by
smear peach lotion over my face
can i call you my little golden sparrow
when we wake up after bobibar
our goal is feeling fresh
we dont feel like moving
so i miss you a little
when you go for a run
and become heybabyinthosesexytights
you dont need to run from me
my wrinkles are the time gone by
this tight skin is a transient state
dear alligator handbag
what about sustainability







dear diamond mines
i think we’ll have a wonderful future
when we shout in hareskoven
we shout because of the sparks from the train tracks
when we drink mountain dew
we’re a sweet little exhibition
sitting sunburned
talking about the used gold
about the atomic lake in baotou
when i lick your stomach
i tell you that it wont ever be ok
are those crystals you have there in your bag
we make noise in the forest
we shout anxiety like a sweet drunk party
its the sound of us
when we dont know what to do
am i heimdall’s prophet
am i the solution to everything
who misses feeding you with gold
who is hard to believe in
which is why we walk down to the lake
before the lake becomes an atomic lake
shout yeah down into the water
haven’t we see it /
doesn’t it exist
are those crystals you have for heimdall’s prophet
out here we’ve already escaped from hope
i shout hope like a little rotten butterfly
i shout in order to break my wings
i carry my throat around me
like a sweet little snake
so red and suddenly
i finally have something
which can’t be called a collective pain
dear diamond mines
where did you get that from
where did you get that from baby







i don’t want to look like an exhibition
here among the spruce trees
what is there to say about it all
other than to sit on the plastic chair
in the sun
i walk away from here
and i meet a boy
who i cover in gold
from a shop
i guess it could be as good as everything else
oh the brain is so nice
it doesn’t get anything







i lay in bed and update
i exist in a kind of present
i’ve forgotten the sounds of the birds
outside in hareskoven
the most natural sound is the sound of my macbook
when i wake up at eight o’clock
we talk like that at night
your eyes are my used gold
in this world that’s made for sleeping
and for the machines that live at night
when they register our traces across the screen
a round of praise because the things we do
are important things we do
i talk at night
while i listen to over and over again