Svein Fannar Johannsson "turned into stag"

I wasn’t hiding and I wasn’t looking. I came about it by chance. But there was no coincident. It was
only after a while I realized she was naked. ¦ Actaon sees her from a distance – distanced by her
appearance „ beauty halts him – and he waits and wants. From behind the blinds: ¦ Halfway hiding
from behind the tree I am mesmerized by what I see. She is new. I open my zipper and want her
more as I manoeuvre the blinds. I am in the house behind hers and she cant see me as she wander
the frontyard – the forest. ¦ Artemis sees him from a distance – disclosed from clothing her nakedness embalms the landscape she is about to bade in. ¦ It goes from second to sacrifice as she moves
closer without me noticing. She sees me. The brief exchange of words proves me incapable of
retribution – I linger, I lack, and in want of power she renders me dead. ¦ The entire incident turns me
into something I am not : ¦ It is raining. I am outside. The strange man leads me through the
narrow passage as if we are holding hands ( my fingers resting into his halfclosed palm as he
pulls me without effort ), but we’re not touching. I follow behind him. Half a pace behind. As soon
as he unzips me the difference is extreme between his freezing fingers clasped on my butt and
his warm mouth that takes my cock deeper and deeper. Straight off the street and into a nearby
doorway. ¦ I let go without wanting too – I close my eyes and while all the time he is working, she
is dancing, projected like a hologram onto my tired retina. I look up, distraction hangs over my
head like a blanket of clear stars – what was her name – what does her mouth feel like ? ¦ I am
looking at her through a tiny door in front of mind, like an erotic dancer – naked inside a hexagram.
Hatched open from her side she let’s me get glimpses. Flashbacks. I want to dance with her. ¦
I pretend he’s a woman – the tongue is bisexual and he is better than most women who tried
before . I imagine it’s her sucking – but it’s »men only « here. ¦ It is not important what’s happening – but what is happening in my mind. In my head I’m in the forest. Not the rural setting I belong
to. I am one from a line of men - all wanting to dance with her. ¦ I am not what I am becoming. ¦
The cushioning movements of his tongue, cheek and pallet slide from gentle to abrasive, as
rough licking and sucking turns to a frenzy of biting and chewing. His wolf like eyes stare
up at me as I look down to find blood overflow from his eager mouth – the pain is excruciating. ¦
I scream to silence as I come into his bloody gape before I black out. I lean or fall to the wall like
a displaced statue or dismounted medal – an opposite representation of what I never was or once
wanted. ¦ I am becoming symbolic. Larger than myself, the refractions that I represent is driving
me closer to her. I want her past myself. ¦ I don’t survive the details of the event Alain Lucien Øyen
{ SILBER P OLE, 2 0 0 7 } →
turned intostag
Sv e i n n F. J o h a n n s s o n
E r ö f f n u n g 10.01.0 8
11.01 - 02.02.2008
g a le r i e h a f e n + r a n d – f r i e d r i c h s t r a SS e 2 8 – 2035 9 h a m b u r g – Te l.: 040 – 278 65 783
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S c h wa n g e r a u f
s t. Pa u li