Ferdaminni [XI/24 – X/25]
The dust on the road
Rotting leaves on a cold autumn morning
The faint scent of hasty intimacy hours earlier
The dogs are nervous tonight
There’s blood on the wind
Floodstained thaumaturge
Pyrolatrous and atavistic
Smudging our faces with ash from bridges burnt
I’m following a blood trail
My ego has been freebleeding
All over the place again
Shamanic nights under a bright full moon
Snow in the deep forest
Moose tracks in the frozen bog
Hematite rocks the colour of red ochre
Spells of protection in the night
I met a strange god
One that no man has ever named
. . .
Myrmalmens ballade [IV/24]
I found God at a gas station in Nissedal
Now I’m siphoning gas here in Niflheim
There’s a radio tower on the heath
Amongst the cows with their GPS trackers
My mind is a swamp
Where the air is thick with things
That are out to drink my blood
I’ve got a new best friend
The red forest ant, Formica rufa
Is it all in my mind or are they all
Moving with strange synchronicity
. . .
Purple Prozac [VIII-X/24]
Chafing on my chakras
Inflammations in my legs
Stains on my soul
And I’m standing over here
Trying to laugh it off
Saying pretty please, Pleiades
With your New Moon Theory
And my dharmatology
Trying to figure out
Where all these gulls go to die
I’ve got a bad back
From looking over my shoulder
The smell of rotten petunias
In autumn grey streets
I love your geometry
Even when you taste like dead dreams
If love is solitude gone bad
Then I’m sitting here fermenting
With your pyrolatrous autumn colours
Alight in the early evening sun
The man I’ve become has no reason
To be ashamed of the boy I once was
You laid me down among the lupines
Placed a cigarette in my hand
Landscapes of IKEAs
And your crepuscular smell
I’m standing in the middle
Of the wrong side of the road
Trying to snap a picture
For our interdimensional trophy room
Wake me if you wanna smash
You said, fell asleep
And ran a fever all night
. . .

Born and raised in northern Germany and emigrated to southern Norway in his late 20s to take care of his child, Alexis Karlsen‘s work spans three languages and reflects the life experience of a disillusioned underdog drifter. Alienation, death, restlessness, substance abuse, sexuality, and the unquenchable thirst for love are recurring motives in his writing. Karlsen’s background is in social ecology, and his German-language novel Am Ende des Fadens, which touches on themes of magical realism, is nearing completion after 13 years of work. He can be found on Mastodon: @brisling@merveilles.town.




