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       The cake knife:  which looked like a long dagger:  it was quite rippled: and
twisting with its own dangerous life: when I held it in my hand and secretly larked
with it in the kitchen.
       I placed the blunt side of his blade on my lips: and I licked it.
       It was cold and long and it excited me a little.
       I felt the long cold shine in my crotch and I realized its outlines there.
       The faint metallic taste remained in my mouth.
       Apart from slicing the fruitcake last Easter:    I couldn't think of another
occasion: when we used it.  It sat in the second drawer among the scoops for years:
and if it hadn't flashed at me every time I opened:   I would have forgotten it was
there. But it flashed: as did other long narrow knives that always let me know they
were close.
       I never dealt with it seriously, it was such a peculiarity of mine that made
me a little different and also in my own eyes - that's why I sometimes mentioned it
among friends and we spent a while together trying to figure out why it's like that
which was pleasant: like every moment when you feel special.
       A really short look was enough for me: to make my body somehow tense:  in my
shoulders and on my chest it remained hard:  and my face numbed around my mouth for
a moment. It may have happened to me a few times:  that I deliberately put a little
more into it: than I really felt: so to speak - I made it a little better.       In
particular: when women was looking at me: I couldn't help myself - but the fear: or
whatever it was: I definitely had somewhere in me   - and those knives knew it very
well: so from time to time:      they showed up to me ominously:      in full their
glittering beauty - on the walls: on the belts:  here in my drawer:   or in jewelry
stores - and several times even in sleep. 

                  

       They were always strangely peaceful dreams without sounds  and without human
faces: I looked at my hands: at the dimples that I have next to the tendons: when I
lift my thumbs: I was aware of my breath: I felt my chest rise:  or I silently sent
my exhalations in front of me through my nose.
       In the end: I always remembered the long: narrow knife and woke up with this
feeling: which was very urgent for a moment:  almost graspable:    but very quickly
escaped me again:    as if it was passing my consciousness somewhere at great speed
back on the way to the dark parts of me: that I should never have access to.
       I tried to explain it to my friend yesterday: when she asked me:  about what
do I dream in detail: and how exactly I feel then - and she was very surprised: why
I've never tried to find out more about it.    It was actually the first time: when
someone forced me to put it all into words so thoroughly.
       She's a really weird person: she feels odd things from stones:    and cries:
when she looking at a beautiful horse.         She convinced me there yesterday: to
overcome strange feelings and immerse myself in it at least once.
       The sun set four hours ago:         but there was still heavy hot air in the
kitchen.
       Occasionally a cooler breeze:  made by wings of thousands enamored crickets:
blew through the window - but otherwise it was humid: almost tangible: windlessness
everywhere around me: so I almost heard large chunks of air falling down next to my
ears: and slapping on the floor.
      It was heating me up nicely - I grabbed the knife in both hands and stuck out
my left elbow:   so that I could only see the forehead and eyes of my enemy through
it: I exhaled slowly and ran to kill him.
      This is how I last frolicked in my old parents house: which got in the way of
a higher interest and had to be torn down and razed to the ground    - just like my
short carefree childhood.
      When I think about it:   it makes me sad      - but I'm also somehow slightly
enchanted: that there are still things in my head: that have long since disappeared
from the world - it's probably the sacred respect I have for time      - because it
really is the strongest of all:    and it truly generously provides me with houses:
people: and wonderful places for my own unique world deep inside my brain.
      If only I could somehow know:  that this was the last time I was doing that -
that I would never look at this girl again in my life     - that I would never have
breakfast in this room again - I would enjoy everything in more detail:     I would
perceive every little thing.

                     

      It could be some music playing everywhere:    or a rifle shot could be heard:
which would instantly let me know - watch out boy: now!
      By some strange jump with bent legs - I flew over the chair and land straight
on the round table in the corner   - it banged pretty loud: and I stopped breathing
for a while: but fortunately no one woke up and so I dropped quietly beside my bent
legs: and placed the knife slowly in front of me - it knocked on the floor twice.
      This sound suddenly made a strange clearness: and peace in my head. 
      Now I could say exactly: about what: my strange knife feeling is    - it is a
bit like Déja vu:   or rather the part of it:   which will make you calm:  that the
whole world is full of things: that are far beyond you:     and they are completely
mysterious and unrecognizable     - and it's a bit like a mood:      when you leave
somewhere:     and then you constantly feel:      that you have forgotten something
important: or have not done something necessary:      which will remain irreparable
forever: and it will be too late endlessly: because of that.
      I looked at my hands: carefully straightened all my fingers   and lifted both
thumbs.
      A small drop of sweat glistened in the right dimple next to the tendon - as a
tear - and every my other exhale moved her a little.
      It was like in those dreams: but now I didn't have to remember anything:    I
knew very well:  that my knife was lying next to me:  and this time:   I'll have to
take him in my hands.
      The white curtain on the window was a bit moved     and a big night butterfly
dropped out of it. It touched the floor: bounced out towards the night lamp:    and
when it flew around my face: I took the knife in my right hand  and somehow leveled
my wrist at a terrible speed.
      If I hadn't seen it before a second as it happened:    I would look behind my
back:    and saw there on the ground butterfly dust and two very same brown pieces:
each with one mottled wing on the side.
      Now I felt with my whole body that it's coming finally:      I was holding my
dagger in my hands: it was my old dagger: which I wore next to the sword:  to which
I have not had the right for ages: and I knew: there is only one way to get it back
and with it my honor too.
      But just as it was    - even now I realized: that I wouldn't be able to do it
again:  because it would be the last time   and I still want to find out about this
world a lot of things. 
      And even though a thousand enamoured crickets give me loud warning with their
hard wings from outside - watch out boy: now!
      And it is exactly as I have always wished  - and therefore I have enough time
to enjoy and feel everything in detail. 
      Despite all this: I must definitely be born at least one more time.