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letra de swerve - sauna youth

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hazel emily kregaui, 32
missing, foul play likely, body never recovered

at the opening of the retrospective filled with architecture sketches and suited men paintings, and recreated scenes from famous street protests in miniature, my bleached skeleton was arranged in my green work overalls standing at a blackboard with an illegible scroll across it
a number of visitors would mill round in the vicinity of me, a-mouthed their companion:

“her sister, never found her you know? how sad.”
or
“is that supposed to be hazel, how cr-ss?”

lilian gave a little speech about the kregaui sisters were still going strong, and that i had never really left. indicating me in the corner. there was some mile low laughter at this

“i loved hazel for who she was.”
“i know her inside and out.”
“we’ll always be a team.”

i was a museum piece. surrounded by art that was viewed and reviewed in the context of the absence. of my former, now permanent self. art that meant nothing to me anymore. if i still had a stomach, i would be sick to it from being so aesthetic. all of the things i have not known, and have not done, and have not changed, and have not become. lilian looks so happy, the heroin of her generation. not our parents but ours. kregauian had entered the dictionary that year and she’d got to re-draft the definition. lilian had maintained our trajectory even when i had wanted to swerve

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