“Want to hear something weird?
It’s a story about a sheep that loves a goat. And how that does not matter at all in a herd, because words are not always necessary to say what is there. And if there is love between a goat and a sheep, than that is the sentence, by the lack of a single word: love between a goat and a sheep. So because we lack one single word for it, why search for that word? Why not let things be undiscovered? And why not tell you something instead that comes a bit closer at you understanding what I mean ?


Sheebo spoke.
“All the footsteps that were female, defined wing-like projections beyond the line.”
Gustav listened.

“None of the red colors were called, so no indication of hinges was given or found.”
Gustav was still quiet.

“Instead they gave answers in such a clear way that together they could have been called light. The same light where unborn sheep turn to.”
Gustav kissed Sheebo in silence. He was the stillborn, he was the mourner among the gentiles. He was covered with powder, with which he wrote a document. “Are you distinguished enough?” it read.

“For what?,” Gustav asked. “Oh, come on, mäh, you can’t throw a nut to it and not expect me to pick it up and throw a stone away, so please explain. Distinguished enough for what?”


“To expire. Or to go night-lodging in open air,” Sheebo said.
Gustav fell over. But still he listened.


The butterflies were guarding the young Gustav heart, they would never understand, even if he had whispered Abascanta. They looked like gold, being soft like this. Sense and pressure was applied. So he pressed further, looking away: “We are united, no matter what you do not say, please explain your words further.”


But this time it was not the mähle sheep loving the femähle sheep who answered, nor the mähle sheep loving the mähle sheep.


But it was the sheep loving the goat.


And the goat loving the sheep back.


“It has to do with moistening all thirteenth letters of what I would ever told you while I was dreaming. Can you count?”


“I have counted sheep before,” Gustav whispered. “Sheep can count, so I take it that counts?”


“It does. You know what I am talking about, don’t you, when I try hard to not find  a word for what we have, right? It would be like creating honey. And we all know it’s not up to me to do that, we have bees for that. And even if we didn’t know the bees, they would still make honey, and even if we didn’t have a word for honey we could still enjoy it! Right?”


“Abascanta”, Gustav replied.