luni, 28 noiembrie 2016

In love with the world

I want to drive.
I want to ride the open road like a pirate rides their ship
I want to own the world
And smile at it and see it wave hello to me
I want to yell
And yell
And scream at the Sun,
To thank it for the freedom.
I want to look beside me at the freckled queen
With high brown stockings and eyes that look into Heaven.
I want to open my soul until I can feel my eyelids stretch and grow with wonder
And I want to feel a cathedral in my chest
With Gregorian voices resounding all through it,
Singing of divinity.

I want to own myself and every dare I choose to take
And even though I leave a gorgeous Dawn behind,
I’m here to seize the day,
One day…

I’ve said goodbye so many times it has become hello
To every other soul I find, just lost throughout the world
I’ve left so many homes by now that every time I go
I know I’ll find another one, they line up in a row.

I stumble on the doorstep to the world,
The doorstep into it-
I’m nothing but a daredevil coward that cannot fall asleep,
As I’ve been cursed with wakefulness and lands I cannot keep.
But who needs land when I have Universes in my mind
And stars clinking in my ears
Like silver bells of choir boys
On winter days
With snowed-on trees?

I’m blessed to live and have a choice
And make the choice
To sing with all my lungs in open fields
Where none can hear
And none disrupt my voice.
With questions I can ask and maps I can explore,
With water I can still pour over me
And grapes meant for the Gods.
With moments I can ask for more
With memories that will not flee
And a girl that jumps into wild rivers
And has them bow down to their knees
As she swims against the currents
And kindly greets the trees.

I am in love with the world.
And so, I passionately hate it.
It offers all I’ll ever need
But never tools to take it.
And so, I’ll have to plant a seed,
And see if it will make it.

sâmbătă, 30 iulie 2016

Definition of elective madness

Eadweard Muybridge- plate 187
There is a room that is so big you cannot see its walls. Rumor has it, they do not even exist, but no one has managed to map the room out to tell for sure. In this room, I fumble, but it is so comfortably warm that fumbling is a compromise I am willing to make. It’s not really dark, but there isn’t any light either. It’s a sort of endless lukewarm mist that caresses me and gives me goose bumps sometimes, a sort of endless exciting unknown that invites me to reach out with my fingertips and touch. And after I touch everything that is around me, it invites me to kiss each crease of my fingertip to taste it. And after I taste it, I am invited to trust it is not poison, and swallow. The mist tastes like nectar from a flower after it rained. Like watered down honey. After this feast, I am invited to lay on a bed of nails, slowly, willingly, to never hurt myself. The intention is not pain, but  the nails still stick out of the bed frame like tiny cobras ready to attack. I lay on this bed, slowly, willingly, and look up. Rumor has it, there is no ceiling either. But no one who managed to jump that high to know has ever returned to confirm it. And after the feast and the tiredness and the invitation to sleep, another body walks past the bed. And I look at it passing like a ghost, leaving flowery smells and refined tastes behind. This body circles the bed and I don’t move anything but my eyes. I do not want to disturb it in any way. I admire the freedom it has, walking around me as I lay on a bed of nails. Taking a stroll through the mist. Not after long, this body reaches with a palm towards my abdomen and places it on it. Applies pressure. I feel the tips of the metal thorns, but they are not hurting me. I am just finally aware of their existence. Before, undisturbed, I could not really feel them, even if I was laying on them. The body slowly climbs in bed with me. But it doesn’t lay on the nails. It lets itself fall with the curvature and lightness of a feather, straight on top of me. I feel myself glued to this body. I am completely motionless, breathing in unison with this other creature, with my eyes closed, completely trusting that it will never move, that it will never want to get off again, because if it would, every nail would penetrate the skin and the flesh, and on every one, drop by drop the blood would trickle until I would be drained. But it is comfortable now, it’s strangely exciting, strangely perfect, unexpectedly warm, beautifully fitting- like a machine with all the cogs in place, oiled up and with absolutely, definitely, undoubtedly no possibility of malfunctioning. Well- as long as no one will ever dare to touch anything.

joi, 12 mai 2016

Prayer at Dawn

Cecil Beaton

I want to lay down on the edge of a river, and wait for the rain... and when the river is high enough, I want to be taken away with it, washed away, until there is nothing of her left in me...
Until her fingers are no longer intertwined with mine, until her breath is no longer in my hair, until her mouth is no longer on my breast, until her eyes are no longer staring in mine, until her sweetness is no longer on my lips, until her movement is no longer my rhythm, until her palm is no longer my chain, until her cheek no longer rests on my chest…

I want to be washed away, purified, reborn, with no trace of her. I want silence, I want no more ghosts, no more shadows of the possible futures, of the hopeful futures… I am haunted, and I want all the clerics of the world to gather their forces and see if they can defeat the poison that is her smile. For God’s sake, I will even eat the body of Christ if that will cleanse me of the sin that taints my bones… If I abandon resistance for a second, I think I will go mad, mad, mad! Would I have to kill my heart to kill the tree she grew to be inside of me? Maybe a dead heart, presented at the feet of Fate will spare my mind…

luni, 28 martie 2016

Bottomless lungs

Joseph John Jenkins- Titania

I have this music encompassing me like a tornado of space glitter,
And I wonder if I know how to shine when this duvet of stars covers my eyelids.
How can you hold the Universe in an endless breath?
With eyes closed, I try to find the bottom of my lungs,
And stick a flag on the discovery, but I’ll be nothing else
But a frozen corpse on the way to the top of the world,
As what I want to discover has long disappeared.
There is a tree growing in the dark depths of my stomach,
A cherry tree, with plump fruit that fall and dissolve with a shiver-
The branches point at the stars on my forehead,
And the roots extend through my abdomen to enmesh
The endless concentric circles that expand until they disappear
In maddening silence.

luni, 8 februarie 2016

Carve my heart out of this chest

Carve my heart out with that curly-ended ice-cream spoon.
The cold, careless metal against my fire-pumping life-giving mechanism
Might just be what is needed.
A vanilla taste of reality, maybe even a tiny bit of bliss,
Carve my heart out, and fill my chest with autumn leaves,
And let me die…
…and let me die in your arms.
What do I care of blue skies and beautiful plants that grow flowers sometimes,
If there is no eye of you to see them through?
What do I care of good food and good wine,
If my drunkenness and joy won’t speak truth to you?
What do I care for honor and death,
If death is not in the honor of you?
Carve my heart out, I say
And throw it. Far, far away.