“RÄP”
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![](https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/da04584836aeadf10641f81fbf71bfccae683e74625ae5c28a9eaddbb0f15232/Helena-Perminger06-rap.jpg)
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![](https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/69d4113105312b6aecdb6c5fd822db26ddff75f3f8624e617447a7d3d686b890/Helena-Perminger05.jpg)
![](https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/cd53c305fe6c17d5bc2355ae57f8c1dc77150e8b2ee0b7d5c3420629eab34024/Helena-Perminger-Liljelvachs.jpg)
“RÄP”, Old reused swedish school bench, bees wax 2019
With the axe in hand I grip the memory, working myself sweaty.
I whittle the body off, piece by piece,
peeling off its exterior like a skin from its body.
A scent of fresh wood pools around me.
Soon the body can hardly stand, its shape forever changed;
now bare, unstable, unusable and fragile.
Around me on the ground are what remains,
forever separated from their wounded body.
The piles of hewn wood are now their own and I am careful not to step on them.
I leave this relic scattered and broken.
The absence of me in every wound, every shard, every fleck.