The Strand magazine, England, December 1906

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I’m drinking Redbull and becoming someone. I’m downing Redbull and becoming something. At the peak of caffeination I am an              excitable wicked-genius                     lab-made   animal guzzling down electric shocks           I am a            black swan              calculator          saw-mill bottle rocket       pink bunny                    a dollhouse on unshaven legs lights on in every room        a               swimming pool opened for the season                   gloating                shimmering president of the good-time                              street corner gesticulator                   beheaded king lightning rattling through the window panes                     obnoxious ring-tone         plucked  daisy                  111 mg                                I drink Redbull in the front seat as a dog scurries out in front of the car staring down the headlights                        I drink Redbull when I forget how to laugh                I drink Redbull and can’t even taste it          I drink Redbull and keep the tab           I drink Redbull on my walks through my neighborhood        through the land of the open and shut case  my parched Suburbia meadow              77mg               I would do anything for a lift         a flutter of my silver wings                 a touch of divinity                             a laugh so loud people turn around to look at what could possibly be worth a noise like that      I will take my bliss however it comes         no matter the crash                       Redbull is my serum                   my milk         my dosage              my cure                my highest bid                  my lucky charm            I want it every day             I want it all of the time

Erik Bulatov and Oleg Vassiliev, The Wild Swan

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