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klarajohannamichel · 3 years

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The pyramid

The light of the neon sign flickered. It was summer. Moths and mosquitoes flew around the illumination. Again and again they bounced off the fluorescent tubes, only to rise again and circle around the buzzing light. The door had been open for several minutes. As yet, there was not a person to be seen. Most came on foot from the parking lot below the hill on which the pyramid stood. The way up was sandy and steep. Afterwards, the guests' shoes were covered in a beige dust and their faces were shining from the sweat that the climb brought. She stood outside the front door, fuming. A light breeze passed through her red hair. From up here, one could see the whole city. The pyramid was about a 30-minute drive from the city center. She watched the colorful lights of the city, imagining them slowly making their way to her from there. There would be many. The last few weeks, it seemed to her, the amount of visitors had doubled. This had surprised her, since a heat wave had reached the city. This had been taking away her ability to think clearly for two weeks. She felt as if this incessant heat had made her unable to distinguish the days. Everything was a chain of repetitions. She shrugged her shoulders, barely noticeable, and threw her cigarette into the sand. Then she turned and pushed aside the heavy, dark red velvet curtain that enclosed the door and entered the pyramid.

He closed the door of his carriage and looked up. A drop of sweat ran down from his forehead past his eye, so that it almost felt like a tear. He wiped it away with the back of his hand. The last few days had been so unimaginably hot. Even now, when night had fallen, he estimated the temperature to be over 30 degrees. An unusual scent floated in the air. Floral and heavy, it invaded his nose so suddenly and intensely that he briefly felt as if he were losing his balance. Searchingly, he looked around the parking lot. A few cars were parked in the dark corners, faint headlights illuminating the sandy lot. He thought he recognized a female silhouette leaning against a car and squinted his eyes. The person appeared unusually tall. He had never seen such a tall woman before. He had the feeling that the person was also looking over at him. Unpleasantly touched, he dropped his gaze from her. He stretched for a moment. After the long ride, his limbs were stiff. Then he began the arduous climb.

Now sweat poured down his face. The climb was hard, in this heat he was reaching his physical limits. The sand that surrounded him stuck to his sweaty skin. He heard a buzzing sound. There were many insects out here, snakes, small lizards and huge toads. On the news they warned hikers about poisonous animals outside the city. Something buzzed around his head. He tried to fight the animal off with his hands. A bee. He flailed as it flew around his face again. It had come so close he could feel the wing beats on his cheek. The buzzing made him nervous. The bee flew more and more aggressively, striking his ear and taking off again. It spun in the sand, hitting nothing more and more violently. Panic rose in him. He couldn't see the bee in the darkness, now had the feeling there were several, a whole swarm, attacking him. His body twitched under the pitiful attempt to avoid the animals. But he simply could not see them. The buzzing became louder and louder, the wing beats, which he now felt on his legs and arms, became more and more.

Suddenly he felt a sharp pain in his right hand. He screamed loudly into the silence. Now it was silent. The bees had suddenly disappeared. Rubbing his hand, he listened into the darkness. Nothing. Incredulous, he paused some more. He tried to catch a glimpse of the aching hand. In the black of night, he could only make out its outline. The palm of his hand was swollen and throbbing. He must have been stung. It amazed him that the swarm had let go of him so easily. With a sore hand, he continued on his way.

In a secluded spot near the hill stands a single tree. Moonlight shines on its ossified branches. On its trunk is a large, moving outgrowth. A huge, buzzing nest in which millions of bees dwell. The overflowing trunk hums menacingly into the still night. Something happened at the door. Chains jingled as she slowly rose. She wore a silvery metallic bodysuit made of individual steel chains that were artfully looped around her body. On her head she wore a jewelry also made of steel chains, which was magnificently incorporated into her red hair. The metal on her body shimmered in the candlelit room, surrounding her with a sublime glow. She strode to the door and opened it. A man stood before her. She gave him a barely perceptible nod and let him in. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see that something was wrong with his hand. He must have been stung, she thought to herself.  All at once the evening no longer seemed dull and gray like any other to her. A small smile flitted across her face as she turned her back on him to lead him to the hall. She could feel his eyes on her body as she guided him through the dark anteroom and into the hall. The hall was on the first floor. It was huge, magnificently furnished and had a ceiling height of over four meters. The center of the room featured a green-lit diamond-shaped pool. Along the sides of the room were rows of malachite-colored bar chairs where the pyramid staff sat. They were illuminated by a dim red neon light. Their costumes shimmered in the light. Some wore masks, others feathers. Their eyes shone in a variety of colors and their lips were overdrawn. To her right, an artificial waterfall flowed from the ceiling. She took a glass that was ready on the counter in the entrance and held it under the waterfall. The glass filled with a blue, milky liquid. She filled it to the brim and held it out to the guest. He took the glass from her, took a deep sip, and headed down the hall.He could hear faint snatches of conversation gathering in the hall, coalescing into a confused hum. He was exhausted, his shirt soaked with sweat from the heat and exertion of the climb. He found it difficult to stay on his feet. Here, in the pyramid, it was cooler, but he was only slowly regaining control of his senses. His right hand throbbed. In the glow of the neon lights, he could see that it was already dark red and badly swollen. Was the sting really from a bee?  He gulped down his welcome drink in one gulp, hoping it would numb his pain. The drink was slightly thick like jelly, sweet and unfamiliar. The sweetness of the drink settled around his parched palate. A brief relaxation. Then he began to make eye contact.She was leaning against one of the hall's two entrance pillars, watching him. He wandered dazedly, his shirt clinging to his body and his eyes staring confusedly from their sockets. So the choice had been made. She had imagined him differently, somehow more impressive, with more character. The man standing there seemed normal through and through. Like a person who prefers to blend into a gray crowd, finding individuality unpleasant.  How could he have changed so much. She closed her eyes, put her head back and took a deep breath. After a short while, she found what she was looking for. Her scent. Her scent was so beguiling, so wonderful. Her nose traced it, followed the flowery trail through all the rooms. Past the private rooms on the second floor, up through the hidden bar, up to the third floor. Here she found what she was looking for. She slowly turned around and followed her scent, her who had now served her for so long. The third floor was off limits to visitors and strangers. It lay protected behind a secret door that hid a small wooden staircase connecting the second and third floors. One had to pass through a narrow corridor and finally reached the secret, throbbing heart of the pyramid. This is where the real life took place.   It was relatively busy. Here the inhabitants of the pyramid ate, drank and danced. They walked briskly up and down. Their faces were colorfully made up, their clothes were dazzling. As in the hall, here they wore costumes, feathers and masks, but the make-up was more garish, the costumes more extraordinary. They were responsible for the mistress, served her responsibly. Every action and movement was an interplay of the inhabitants. A beat in which they were all united. For the future of the pyramid. She pressed through the tangle. In the center of the room was an area covered with cloths. A canopy of sorts. The colored cloths danced lightly, propelled by the rapid movements. A dim light burned, and one could make out the outline of a woman lying on a couch inside. Two guards stood in front of the entrance to the canopy. They recognized the worker by her red hair. Wordlessly, they nodded to her and lifted the canopy's light cloths aside. A glow and a pleasant warmth flowed over them. The flowery scent of the mistress hit her, running through her whole body. It was so beautiful, so inspiring, it warmed her belly and relaxed her body. She enjoyed the brief moment of this indescribable happiness. The mistress was lying relaxed on a red velvet upholstered couch. Her body nestled elegantly against the cushions. Her gaze was calmly fixed on them. It reflected strength, grace and intelligence. Her stature was taller, her shoulders broader, she was almost twice as tall as the others. A black lace veil framed her androgynous-looking face. Her soft lips were painted a dark purple, her eyebrows ran pointedly up her temples, and her forehead was adorned with a tattoo of a winged insect. She was strong and beautiful. Everyone wanted to be close to her. "He has come," she broke the silence. The mistress nodded, barely noticeable. "I know my dear, I have been watching him. It is amazing how much they have changed him," she averted her eyes and looked thoughtfully into space. "I thought we had lost him" , then her voice hardened, "he can't feel it yet". "What shall we do now, my mistress?" She was seriously concerned, because she could feel how important he was to her mistress, to the community. How important for the good of the pyramid. Only as a community were they complete. The mistress turned her gaze back to her. With a serious face, she replied, "We must wait and see. He must feel it himself."The music began to play. A deep bass made his body vibrate, mixing with the conversations in the hall to form an exciting whole. Other visitors had arrived, frolicking in the pool, at the bar. He had been served several times. A beautiful red-haired woman in silver chains had steadfastly refilled his glass as soon as it was almost empty. This blue liquid seemed to rebuild him physically. He thought it must be the alcohol. His hand, looking quite bad, hardly hurt anymore. He visibly relaxed. Soon he noticed that familiar smell from before again and wondered if the woman from the parking lot had mingled with the people. He looked around. His vision was slightly foggy. Colors flashed, music boomed, costumed people danced around him. He noticed their stares, everything seemed to be spinning a little faster than usual.There she was again, the red-haired woman. She smiled at him and gave him a refill. He thanked her politely, wanting to approach her and engage her in conversation. But as quickly as she had come, she had disappeared again. A movement irritated him, someone touched his shoulder. He turned around, but could only make out a hint of black, and that scent. That scent. What the hell was that? He spun around with a searching look. Behind him again, a black shadow. This time it left a whiff on his ear. It felt like a dechavaux to him, he had been writhing in circles to avoid the bee before. He turned, trying to discern who was playing this strange game with him. Again a touch, this time on his right hand. The pain this brought made him cry out. But his scream was lost in the loud music. Again he began to sweat, again to lash out. He saw the faces that were paying attention to him. Felt their gazes. There was that red-haired woman again, and also other women, older women, men, and some sort of hybrid. He had not noticed them before. They surrounded him, literally stared at him. He was hot, desperately screaming for help. He tried to run, but they stopped him. They held him tightly by his arms and legs. He could not escape their grips. There were just too many of them. Then a black veil appeared, a quick movement. A face stared at him, the insect tattoo on its forehead moving. His senses were fading. He perceived a whisper. Slowly, he tried to open his eyes, his vision clearing only gradually. Strange faces bent over him. When they noticed that he was regaining consciousness, the conversations fell silent. An eerie silence filled the room. He lay on the floor, cloths were stretched over his head, they had spread blankets and pillows under him. He tried to sit up. The woman with the red hair helped him up, tenderly stroking his cheek. In front of him, the woman with the face tattoo sat cross-legged. She balanced two glasses in her palms. Blue liquid ran from her mouth. She hummed imploringly into the silence. Her hands began to move, slowly at first, then faster. A kind of dance. What was happening here? He didn't know what happened to him, finding himself in some kind of ritual. The others joined in the humming. The shock paralyzed him, made it impossible for him to free himself from the situation. He could barely breathe. He watched her catch the liquid running from her mouth with the glass. The buzzing increased his volume. She had feminine curves and features, yet the size and shape of a man. Slowly and artfully she stood up. Her height was incredible. She leaned over him and slowly held the blue drink to his lips. He refused, trying to dodge it with his head. But already the red-haired woman intervened and held him gently but firmly. His eyes widened, again he felt panic, his heart pulsed so strongly that he almost approached another fainting. Hands placed themselves on his face, fingers dug into his mouth and opened it. He closed his eyes, feeling the cool drink fill the roof of his mouth. Don't swallow, he thought to himself, whatever happens, don't swallow. The liquid ran down the corner of his mouth, dripping onto his torso. He found it harder and harder to breathe through his nose. Then a gentle voice spoke to him, "Don't be afraid. Relax." Strangely, he relaxed. Absurd as it seemed, he trusted the voice that spoke to him. "That's it, now drink." He began to drink. Sip by sip, he emptied the glass. Finally they handed him a second glass, he emptied this one too, guided by the voice, sip by sip. The grips around him loosened. He opened his eyes, the people around him smiled at him. A pleasant feeling rose in his body. He was calm now. For the first time that evening, he seemed to be completely with himself. He looked into colorful faces that looked at him expectantly. He smiled. The crowd began to shout and sing, some of them dancing and jumping up and down. The joy was great. He did not understand it. But he felt the euphoria, it went into him. He wanted to get up and dance with them. He wanted to be part of this spectacle. But when he looked down at himself, he cried out. The arm where he had been stung before had changed. Something was emanating from that sting, slowly creeping up his body. The fingernails of his right arm shone in various shades of blue. Blue shimmered through his veins and his skin glowed with an unnatural luster. Panic gripped him. What was happening to his body? What were these people, creatures? He tore himself away and fought his way through the crowd, slowly at first, then faster and faster. Then as fast as he could. He ran through the unfamiliar room, tearing the cloths hanging from the ceiling, knocking over vases and chairs, jumping over pillows and carpets. He felt as if madness had taken possession of him. The crowd fell silent, they stopped dancing and singing. Now they tried to grab him, chased him, wanted to stop him to calm him down. But it was all too much for him, he just wanted to get out of here. Where was the exit here, his eyes searched the room in panic. There was a window, it was open at the end of the room. The warmth of the night emanated from it. Without thinking about it, he ran towards the window. He took a running start and jumped. The glass shattered. He felt the shards cut his face and arms. The heat of the night beat against him. He fell deeply. The impact was hard and painful, and for a moment he lay dazed on the sandy hill in front of the pyramid. His will to escape released an undreamt-of strength in him and helped him to slowly get up again. He looked up. The lighted window from which he had just jumped was empty. No faces peering after him. No more buzzing. His foot hurt; he must have sprained it when he hit the ground. Keep going, he thought, you have to keep running. They won't let you go so easily. Limping, he continued his way through the darkness. His body ached and struggled, but he forced himself to keep running. What was happening to him? A part of him just wanted to go back to his old life, but a smaller, quieter part, was barely noticeable, told him he wanted to go back to the pyramid. An inner turmoil he couldn't explain. The pyramid was slowly moving away. He ran down the steep hill he had climbed earlier, slogging through dry bushes and scrub. The heat of the night enveloped him. After a while he stopped and stretched his head in the air, listening to see if they were following him, the night was silent, no sign that they were after him. Exhausted from the pain, he sat down in the sand, leaned against a tree and closed his eyes. The gnarled branches of the tree creaked in the wind. Above his head, he still heard a soft buzzing, but then fatigue overcame him and he fell asleep.The bees were buzzing. They buzzed through the air, freeing themselves from the trunk and branches of the tree. They filled the air. Some of them landed on his cheek, then on the rest of his body. Slowly they covered the sleeping man. Several thousand bees surrounded him. Formed a living shell. A buzzing cocoon. Thus they remained until dawn. When the sun rose and covered the tree in a golden color, the first bees slowly began to detach themselves from it. They took off and disappeared into the air. Slowly, the buried man reappeared. At first, his right hand lay exposed. Colorful nails peeked out from the cluster of bees. He was changed, more and more colors flashed. The exposed body shimmered in the sunlight. His face was garishly made up and his head was adorned with golden ornaments. He wore a transparent lace dress. When he opened his eyes, they glittered in all shades of blue. He was no longer who he used to be. His inner self had turned inside out. So he lay in the morning sun for a moment. Finally he got up and made his way home, to the pyramid. When he reached it, the other residents were already waiting for him. Cries of joy could be heard, they hugged and kissed him. They were one again. The night owl, who had been thought lost, was reunited with his own. Text and images by Klara Johanna Michel Model Mama Michel

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klarajohannamichel · 3 years

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Leader (Absolutely incoherent) Biographical and yet never experienced like this

D. has a scar on his left brow.

Step, step, pain. The left hip collapses.

Chapter I The man kneels on the floor in his apartment. His back hurts. His back hurts because he has been carrying a fat belly for more than 20 years now. Thick belly on toothpick leg. It is 08.00 in the morning wintertime, it is still dark outside, frost shimmers on his window pane. He stands up and throws his head against the wall. Boom. Briefly dazed. It's not that he likes the pain or that it's a conscious expression against his life. It is rather a habit. A compulsion. He looks at the clock. It was time to get ready, in about an hour he had to go to the other end of the city.

Arrived at the other end of the city.

He enters the museum he runs. The museum is known mainly for its classicist sculptures. It is a world-class museum. In the center of the permanent exhibition is a sculpture of a woman lolling on a stone in the sun. The artist is unknown. He had the face of David and the posture was reminiscent of that semi-strong phase that men go through at a young age. Too self-confident. Exhausting but also infinitely attractive. He tries to ignore the faun. Always. Whenever the others were or could be in the room. Past it. Left song twitches. Right back to the faun, now more about him. He is comfortable in his role as museum director. As a young man, he was already aware that he wasn't cut out for many things. That he didn't have many talents. But in the few he did have, he was unbeatable. He could speak quietly but loudly. Give long passionate lectures about artists and bodies. He had the talent to put a glow over the museum. Even to be one of the most impressive sculptures that attracted the visitors. He has name : M. E. or ME. ME starts his day. Every day is the same here. And yet is always different. Like the face of a good friend you have known for many years and you watch him through a reflection. Slightly shifted. After greeting the employees -Hello, morning, Yes it goes well, no, yes, gladly, until later- he goes to his study. 30 minutes later the visitors arrive. ME is glad that he managed to get to his office before. Some days someone stops him and he sees the first visitors draw their cards and stare at his faun. ME doesn't like that very much.

-Woman walks by window. Does not notice it. Nothing happens.

His assistant enters the room. He is small and looks like he is funny, but he is not very. His name is T.H. and he is not much involved in the story. ME and TH talk briefly about things that need to be done. Today these are orders for the museum store, craftsmen for the humidity measuring machine in room 15. ME passes the tasks on to TH. He does not feel responsible for such trifles. Brain shuts down. -Yes, ok, no problem, gladly- TH reminds ME that there are 2 guided tours today and that one of them has to be taken over by ME. He does not do this every day but only as a gesture or out of compulsion. Today it is compulsion. A medium known art collector is in town and wants to be treated in the best way. ME agrees. It's ok, it's part of it and maybe he can like it. -all right, until then, later, bye- TH leaves the room and the story. ME thinks. Brain reboots. He starts his computer and tries to find out more about the medium known art collector.Y.U. It turns out that YU is more of an artist than an art collector. She works with clay, stones and chewing gum to create realistic sculpted bodies in survival size. ME looks at the photographs of the sculptures. He admits that he is impressed by the composition of the materials and the size of the objects. But he can't feel close to the faces and bodies. I do not understand. -Thought tries to take a ladder into consciousness, slips off- ME begins to read key data about YU. Easy to understand. Medium Old, Medium Beautiful, Medium Educated. Enough info to get started.- Woman walks past window. Notices a shadow. Nothing happens.Meet. K can't. ME can.ME steps out of his office. Walks slowly down a hallway, through a side room into the reception hall. Some people are standing in front of the ticket booth. He is briefly distracted by the heavy talk of the people. Then he approaches the receptionist. This one smiles at him -upstairs, waiting, fur jacket, medium tall, medium brown, medium old-. He recognizes YU quite quickly. Conversation: Hello you must be Y.U. my name is M.E. I am the director of this museum. No response. Shall we start the tour. Short nod. The museum / antique sculpture collection was built in 1816 to 1830 under Ludwig 1. -red, red, info, info- ME talks alone. YU does not answer. Stares at him listens well. He feels hip and good. Passionately gives information. Surprised that he himself talks in depth about the beauty of the woman he usually mentions only briefly. -Swing, perfection- ME talks for 3 hours. Then out, all info said. His body and head get tired. Euphoria is over. It gets quiet and he looks at YU. YU is still attentive. They stand there for a moment, then ME can't stand it anymore and leaves with quick steps. Into the office door turned to locks.Masses of water crash down on YU. Her body becomes liquid and she melts on the floor. Images and text by Klara Johanna Michel

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