~ 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

~ 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.

~ 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

~ some kind of fool ~

because you Murder her she arises Again

call her names.

~ an.aesthetic. surrender ~

in bed, embraced by sheets, wrapped in darkness

a candle across the room, i see the ceiling, the flame's halflight

swaying, shifting glow, a sweeping sensation, i think

that's what an angel could look like

i fall asleep

my head in the hands of sound

almost company

~ forbidden colours ~

david. what would you tell me now.
my love wears forbidden colours too.
my life believes.

it tears me, how do you survive
these things that fall on your open heart as may raindrops and turn into rusty spikes a moment before they reach its membrane

how did you embrace the darkness thrown upon you

while doubting the very ground beneath me
trying to show unquestioning faith in everything

i dream of good hands.
a good wrist to carry the kite only onto the warm winds.
good hands that would change all shed tears into sweet water.

i trust the future, i love, and i keep my eyes only on truth, still.
that's why it hurts double.

when four years ago i set as my life quest feeling and experiencing as broadly and deeply as it is possible and training myself in perception and lucidity, i forgot to make an annex there should be a balance between the light and the shadow.
now - it's only to be brave.
stones thrown.

~ non-citizen (i won't be disappointed) ~

how do you call a being that would always grow back its wings to feed on them, in the absence of unpolluted nourishment?

i have nothing to say.
this sounds. painfully exact. musical portrait updated.
my skin is motionless. like a membrane of a drum abandoned by its spirit and left with an overactive echo.

it's not safe

~ a bat in the closet ~

a huge, ancient door is opening accompanied by a simple, beautiful sound. physician's white light is pouring in with each centimeter and my soles turn towards it.

oslo. first lesson of walking in the light.
now. thinking of all the matrioshka-closets we free ourselves from.
holding mikhail with one hand and david with the other.

towards a breath.

~ when poets dreamed of angels ~

how it is to have nice dreams?

~ false sunrise ~

this evening i've been walking oliwa's narrow streets.
darkness. stillness. leafless trees. glittering pavements. black cat. rain.

face your fears and pierce the night

i was singing katatonia and david sylvian. then pink floyd.
soon i've realized. i looked around.
nobody.

no one living like in cortazar's novels. nobody wandering those alleys at night. just me. and the wind.
overwhelming loneliness and longing.
raindrops on my lips. and a smile. this strange one.

everytime i passed a lightlime, or a tree, i got this urge to embrace it, have a rest. at last. a utopia of laying down the weapons. a bliss of closing eyes, off guard. this lightness.
unreachable.

i let the eyelids fall cause it's another false sunrise - i feel the warmth but i can't see the light. or the other way round.

so... so you think you can tell

~ the girl with the gun ~

he knows well his wicked ways
a course of bitterness
a grudge held from his childhood days
as if life had loved him less




this feather saved my life one november night.
it won't fall from the clear sky again.

reading down his list of names
he ticks them one by one
he points the barrel at the sky
firing shots off at the sun

for a girl that shoots at snowflakes -
is there a way to turn the curse?