~ you're miles away (the truth is) ~

this is the last entry on this blog. a website is being built, photos are being taken, films are being made, sculptures emerge and so do paintings. and i myself am turning into a catalyst for creation. let the focus remain set. this place has served its purpose and is no longer presentable for stages to come.

below, a school exercise. once again i bended the task to suit my inner rafts. i listen carefully but i sing in my own way.

poor mobile camera copy, but isn't it one of the charms this place has. a state of draft.

on doit pouvoir s'épanouir à tout envoyer enfin en l'air

we can. we do. if we ponder the possibility of light unobvious, that it also can creep from behind and sweep its fingers over your backhead just like darkness does. that the foreground can be, as it often is, the darkest part of the picture - and that the sight lightens with growing distance. the fairest Lucipher of Milton and Blake descending to hell. and taking it over.

if we realize the light that can be as solid as the shadow, as heavy as a nightly sky. that it, maybe, cuts as deep and swiftly as the borders of black, that it maybe swings the sharpest razors. maybe the only ones.

let my eyes tell you something you'll understand

goodbye

see you soon in some other place

.w

~ on the first day he took me to the river ~

he did so. there were far wilder flowers at its eastern bank.

just before leaving my room, i grabbed a book for a random fortune-telling. for it was the first day. the book was collected works of John Milton, lines chanting the future were:

In all his lineaments, though in his face

The glimpses of his Father's glory shine

indeed, a joyful reunion

how music snaps into my lifeline just perfectly

almost esoteric coincidences

tear the pages out
and write them faster

~ i want you to come empty-handed ~

this is the first and the last time i embed a video as the main contents. i know i usually link music because it simply always is there. this one is special. my soulscape for the coming weeks, found and granted by myself-claimed godparents. and just a few entries ago mentioning myself feeling like persephone. strange, strange synchronized now.

my mantras again

she commits blasphemy because she is a believer

and

because you Murder her, she arises Again

do you know

if you google this quote, you will get only one result: a one directing you to my blog. 

William, are we that solitary?

~ i can only pray this way ~

take my piano ------- and then take me

dust it with your only shirt

i will sleep, the black key in my hand, under the pillow
your forehead, lined
stretching into a stave
words, stretching into five lines
or more, if the scale is big enough

notes
pauses
b-flats
ties

endless

persistent

constant

here


hey.




here

~ next time, break me correctly ~

sonic pools. nobody in norway ever dances at concerts. raindrops. late night. quick morning. release, a postponed one. sneaking in with the daylight. sound of steps on a cobbled street. clouds passing through my forehead, canceling temples. a true release. when did it come? i danced at each one i attended. dance or cry, or both. cried last week, let it be motion this time. still do my crying in the rain, only lighter. listening to the song of my life because it sounds like rain and i want the sky to fall down on me and cover me with its grace, ice and air. thoughts spilling on the ground and rolling like faded indigo beads. some part of me still can't believe.

~ the stars we are ~

you have three life lines, dear

months have been passing by and there were hours when i would wonder. in those moments i would see myself as both kai and gerda. walking forward, inward, upward with a sting of ice nested in my heart, twinkling sometimes when the heart beat harder. or, as gerda, searching the ice-stung boy as far as to the core of a glacier. through any form of water, solid or steaming. constantly

then, two days ago, glimpsing at my hands after an evening with a prosaic defrosting war with a fridge - i walked and i looked, and blinked, looked again, smiled silently. in front of me there was a pair of hands cut with ice. discreetly

blood is thicker

blue of other reasons

~ chitin chord ~

snail is the poet in the hour of canaries

~ repeatedly inside of me ~

do you know the raindrops pearling on the windowpane

when the weather is changing so quickly that they become

a filter for a perfectly blue sky. can you remember

these thirsty winter walks when you are waiting

for the rain to come back. the prime sign of things changing

the glow of the first warm shower

do you know the sound of strings when you stroke them with fingers

still soft from rain

~ afterglow ~

sometimes a journey makes you realize better the place that you have just left. this is what i would call draught of the bus aisle i sensed. this is when the dots joined: the last months of via negativa, the last weeks of emptying all of my inner rooms, the last days of all their windows flying open and letting air in and through. 

so thank you, iceland, for the wind. thank you for the first rays of light to fall on this rainy film, from the sky that is a bit closer to our steps and our wishes than anywhere else in the world. finally, thank you for the song i was able to play again, almost perfectly, effortlessly, irrationally. i am sure my fingers slid over the steel strings by your smile stretching under their tips. by your longing. thank you for this surprise, i will always imagine the floorboards of this song stretch over your kind, solid ground. and the warmth of it.

for finding a true friend feels always like a come-back.

for a dear song returned.
for the stones that lent me warmth.
for the rocks that drew my blood.
for the wind that brought me breath.
for the rains that soaked.
and for the blue that poured.

thank you.

~ empty glass of milk ~

not much following the brush or pencil lately, but definitely following the eyes.
as they meet the floor, the Infanticidess rises.

to recycle a pure value from the dust of a generation. to liberate it from the purgatory of the past dates. through an act of violence on the liminal grounds - let them speak. let them settle. the eyes, the hands, the lashes. let them reach the completion through dismemberment. the moment when killing becomes a dawn of a new life. does it ring a bell?
be so or not - see you soon in my new vision, have a foretaste. and until then -

remember, hardy tin soldier

damaged people are dangerous

they know they can survive

hear
the inevitability of locks and zippers

the sound of future dragged behind

~ the last border ~

how come the most shady minds are the most free ones as well?

can it be that stars breathe darkness for life, sun being the greatest of them?

it is silent here now, but i am not mute.

this non-utterance is just a space preparing for all that will fill it up.

soon. the crow is hovering. it sees.

the lion walks upon the grass.

~ jane sparrow's tambourine ~

so… seems like there comes some massive painting sessions, got the place that i wanted. if i'm surprised? not at all, but it's nothing i could say i've expected either. it was one of these choices that are unexpectedly enlightening when they come, completely illogic when you consider them, and just perfect when you live them. once you've recognized it, you follow it.

and now, this entry is a thanksgiving one. right now i am thinking of each and every single person that believed in what i create. i abandoned drawing for many years, it was a bit like forgetting who, and more importantly - HOW, i am. you reminded me of myself. you saw what i didn't notice. you showed me that what i do matters. that it changes a day of your life, or even a minute. that you feel at home in some corners of my soul where i thought i was solitary. you were the dots that, after joining, stretched in a line that guided me.

i am where i am because of you. i love this place and no words can contain the gratitude i feel for you. this is something i will always remember, creating will be the way of giving back what i owe. with full heart.

anyway the wind blows, time to take out the hawaii shirt!

today i am Stinky dancing with the tambourine, rolling down a green hill and inviting the world to join.

~ gone to earth ~

the air kept on pulsing with om and the square became still. people who were talking loudly a few minutes ago, passer-bies, the ones sitting around and chatting - went still and observed. when i opened my eyes a few times, some faces were lit-up and smiling. peaceful.

the sun played with hair and knees in the circle, with toes, ankles and the corners of our lips. the light inhaled with harmonized breaths. lately i feel like persephone wandering earth's surface, the smallest thing makes me smile, or nothing, like today. in my head there is this picture from my hometown, a place where i used to go - two old railway viaducts and the stairs inbetween. leading up, bringing down. 

my pupils are clear now and my heart is beating, even if in a different way. there are oxygen particles circling in my veins and i feel them dance, their colour is glow. i love wherever i am. back to the state of vision. held and carried by the water.

rest in your arms. breath in your heart. the healing place.

~ the night we never met ~

the task was: draw something you use daily and cannot do without

i drew a knife

a hand is what it creates

isn't it

with may back, in yet another place

a fragrance known and foreign at the same time

a kind of peace you only feel after a long, unrelenting battle

scent of mirabelle blossom mixed with rain and soil

beyond

~ manuscripts never burn, quills do ~

when your hair becomes heavy with tears

soaked and straightened to the ground

you contemplate the gravity

drinking tears from his navel

- this was the course of yesterday, steps on my return to feeling. today is the huge full moon, high above the rooftops of oslo, antennas, i watch it. i sing about the sun and know somewhere on earth it is true, above the grey sky. it's beautifully dark blue here so - still singing - i wonder:

if the full moon makes people act crazy

what does it do with madmen

because i feel a strange peace

the only thing i cannot figure is
if it's the one of a seventy-year-old
or
the one of a newborn

~ let the bride awaken ~

calmar fieras saliendo de la tierra

estoy tan cerca

i am so close

~ hungry ghosts ~

wandering moonburnt

i'll cover you in my own coat

my windy red coat

dear barren tree

~ you'll pay in soul ~

i feel my nails grow

longer than your skin can hold

~ on your hands never seem to heal ~

on your arms, in the mirror, on your footsoles, across your chest, through shoulderblades

they run. the ones under your eyelids stop you from sleeping sometimes

the ones on your tongue make your voice break in the middle of

a word - sometimes - that should be inborn instead of learnt

scarsick

she throws the burning books into the sea

come find the meaning of the word inside of me

to get rid of this disease:

look down. watch the scarred hand
see a hand

it's alright, the stars are all aligned

when i surrender
a hand of an angel over an ear
a hand of a human over an ear
create a world
anew

back, joining the river, being the river
meaning - the same as the flow
follow and surrender, cease
to be the rock, cease
to cut the stream
be
water

~ merry christmas, mr ~

the face of david. a head of moony, desaturated gold. over the surface of sand. a white moth landing on an eyebrow. stay.

you are the victim of men who think that they're right

hara-san.

merry christmas. quite reversely, as the last hours have taken away the only day of this year that i've beem waiting for. a story for which my heart thirsts. a feeling of haven, even if temporary. quite ironically, because the christmas was snowless, and now it's snowing over the roofs of oslo. gentle snowflakes, falling in peace, free from haste, making me believe that falling can be a flight, sometimes. i raise my blick over the screen, glimpse into the window. across the street - a lamplit office. a man working overtime, all eyes on his computer. a governmental departement. a man that has never cried. never from his very core.

flicker, do you know. there are tears so hot that they never reach the ground

space is only noise, if you can see

but will there be an echo