The butterflies are like snowstorms. Your home, as tiny as a circus arena, is with tropical plants, artificial water source and red rocks. The temperature is thirty-five degrees Celsius.
The butterflies are omnipresent. If you have the narrow, walks along plant-lined trails, the butterflies cover a distance with you. In lemon yellow, sky blue, chilli red zigzag. They ensnare you. Strip shoulder and hair. Sit on the very tip of a leaf and rock, Progressing- and hind wings rubbing together. How thin their wings are, sometimes transparent, covered with scales. Pigments, which glow when the light is refracted. If you touch the wings of a butterfly, these become thinner, get holes, break. A butterfly with a hole in its wings may indicate this, that there is a sphere, in which the confirmation of the living does not occur through skin contact. Neglect people, if you don't touch them, one reaches for butterflies, if you want her death. Days and weeks have passed, during which the insect, engulfed in a cocoon, like a juice decomposed and newly formed. Without further ado, a butterfly can be seen on a fermenting banana, another on an old cheese, a third down on the back of the hand of a young wheelchair user. The face of the wheelchair user has something mask-like about it, and, even something butterfly-like, it seems like it is made of brittle plaster of paris. The wheelchair user cannot bend her face forward. The neck and jaw are pushed back against the back of the chair by a kind of vice. From the lower corner of her eye she looks at the back of her hand, where a butterfly lands. Holds devotion.
Lillie is now pushing herself up to the side of the wheelchair. Lillie digs her fist forgotten in the fabric of the woolen overhang, which covers the legs of the woman in a wheelchair. Reaching just over the back of the wheelchair with his eyes, she fixes the face of the adults, first. Then the butterfly on the back of her hand. Now her little index finger pops out, dabs the butterfly, maybe just in a mock swab, and quickly pulls it back. Like Rumpelstiltskin, dancing around a fire, Lillie then hops away, the abdomen, which has become damp from the tropical heat, pulls itself over his head, stops stubbornly, proudly extends her pear tummy and caresses her nipples with her fingers. Then she continues to frolic, disappears into an underground passage and plunges into a tropical sanguine night. We are in the Nocturama, the tent of the wild animals.
Cicadas are climbing. Stars shine from the sky. A being hardly recognizable in the dark, heaves his wobbly body hanging down over our heads. Then swings from one branch to the other. An ocelot sits in the crown of a tree and licks itself with thicker, scarlet tongue dotted with black onion rings, honiggelbes Fell. The artificial moon falls on it and makes it glow like glossy paper. It is monsoon, of the, breathed out from a pipe, waving the palm leaves to one side. He carries the suffocating, beguiling body odor of the big cat all over the hall: Paprika, Curry, musk, flowery sex. In a dark water basin on a narrow ledge sits a very funny looking frog of South American descent, a so-called arrow frog. This amphibian is as tiny as the diamond on a ring, and blinds the viewer in bright colors. A fish named Gabelbart brings Lillie with his grim one, mouth pulled down by two forks and gigantic goggle eyes to chuckle. Exhausted, he drags himself to the window glass of his basin, unlocks his blunt-toothed mouth and turns like a clumsy boat. A bubble remains. Lillie thinks, the fork beard farted.
The walls and floor of an aquarium are populated with bright red mangrove jellyfish. Her arms are reminiscent of the biting filaments of artificial Christmas trees. Some of them perform a seductive belly dance. Are they just dancing or are they alive too? How does this starry look, musk-scented night off, from inside the termites? How does the worldview of the lizards frozen in their skin differ from that of the lobster?? She stalks over a coral moss like an office lady, pushes a few vulgar fish aside with her catwalk legs. Lillie expresses the wish, to take these fish home, to be kept in a jam jar in the garden. I wave it off. So let's go through the mysterious tunnel, in which bats dangle on one leg, upside down from the ceiling. White night owls peek down from the trees like grandmothers in nightgowns. A drunken Siberian beaver is rolling over a bush into the water. We are also confronted with liveliness in the night monkey refuge: A monkey cheekily holds out a kiwi in the air, another rubs his gender.
And then the snake: At first we only see their shadowy, distorted outlines at the bottom of the pool. She has her long, light green body wrapped around a tree trunk several times and weighs, lit by a bald moon, mysteriously up and down under water. Her head sticks lethargically to the edge of the bank, like a rolled-up glove. It is unclear, whether it is the front part of a slow worm or its end, that gradually eats its way into the snake's throat. Snake and slow worm are hooked together like parts of a chain.
Lillie lay face down on the floor. Press her face against the window, which starts from the intimate breath of her breath. Saliva and fingerprints follow, everything smeared. And suddenly Lillie presses her lips against the glass and gives him a deep kiss. The blind snake has disappeared in line. "From!“Lillie gets it with a ball. Then it flips around, pulls the bodice up to the neck and storms all the way, that we came, back like a crazy dwarf.
The bats hang in greeting like scraps of paper from the ceiling. The owl grazes the child with a blue-tinged night look. The mangroves dance with their Christmas threads, the lobster untangles its legs like glittering needles. Bubbling the fork beard turns his round and waves goodbye with a fart. The ordinary multiplies, the beautiful remains unique, the poison dart frog judges the situation critically from the rock.
The monsoon breathes quieter. The cicadas are crowded. The beaver tugs at its snout. The night monkey rubs its gender. The ocelot - its scent! mustard, Cloves, Oleander - it creeps up like a grace on lush, beautifully shaped, warm tea paws, just turns his head coldly.
In the light that floods in, the enigmatic metamorphosis of the dolls, they wink, Konig's Breath, Blue morpho, Black tiger, Mormon, Tree nymph, (what a naming!), and the eccentric Osterluzeifalter sits down on Lillie's shiny red nose …
Lillie Glacé wanted with chocolate. Lillie Ice Cream. Lillie too. Naturally! A couple of ice-licking children crouched under the termite tree. Lillie has not missed the sight of their rolling eyes on smug faces. But Lillie doesn't like ice cream. Ice is cold. It runs away, and if you are not careful, there is only the stalk. Besides, that much is clear, eating ice cream is something for small children. Not little kids. Not. Cold. Lillie Ice Cream. The little body flips around. Empty air is swallowed. to cough. Rattle. sob. The world collapses like a house of cards. The doors are blown up, and the inner drama rushes out of every pore like a wave of water, with such violence, that the cheeks change color, dissolve, clench their fists. Yellow mucous bags crawl slowly from Lillie's nose over the purple lips into the inside of the mouth. Chom Gotti, squeeze! You can't be that cruel? You can't just refuse my soul's wish?
No, I can not. But it will be noon soon, and your legs have carried you far, your hands, that grow like flowers, Picked stones. Your powdery vanilla head rubbed in the sunlight, that i love, his many tiny questions. Now is the time, to be tired, to go home and get some sleep.
The time has come in the evenly rolling pram. The train rattles past the sleeping girl. He draws a swath through the landscape. The blue of the sky has become a little more cloudy or smeary, when we left. Runkeln lie in the field. Field border flowers. A butterfly in free fall.
Maybe that is the Creator's idea: To evoke a memory of another in one being through fine drawing. Because a leaf on the roadside has the veined wings of a butterfly, a butterfly takes on the snake's camouflage color, and the pattern on the snake's back is sometimes one with the onion rings on the ocelot's hide. Didn't say Blaise Pascal:
So all things hold together, through a natural and imperceptible bond, which links the most diverse and distant; therefore I consider it impossible, recognize the parts, without realizing the whole, and as well, to see the whole, without recognizing the parts in detail. Stars, sky, earth, elements, Kohl, Lauch, Animals, insects, Calves, snakes … but the eternity of things in itself or in God must continue to amaze our short duration. The fixed and constant immobility of nature, compared to the continued change, that takes place in us, must the have the same effect.
(Walk with Lilly 2003, dedicated to my Niece Malou)