~ 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

~ let the bride awaken ~

calmar fieras saliendo de la tierra

estoy tan cerca

i am so close

~ 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

~ 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

~ cinder alley ~

the good shepherd
lo he left all the others
an' went to look for you

an' yes he did find thee
an' with bruised hands

a shade against my skin

its weight, its will combined with mine. a perfect dose of resistance just to amplify this movement

without past, deeply in the now, breathing future

hungrily, with the pores of our skin

just in a second

growing blackness

a shiver

and what's left of it

~ shimata darlings, crayon recollections ~

- hey, dolphin called and told me to pass on the message. if you don't show up at new year's, he'll totally kick your ass.

hah, sure eastern dolphins do this with a lethal precision. unless they eat a mischievous pineapple pizza slice. and chain-toast with a homeless snail.

moving from a guesthouse to a guesthouse, post-christmas cleaning and found my highschool drawing-diaries. touched. all the small takes and details that warm your heart after all those years. forever dreaming sounds like a good idea for the upcoming year when past will be shut off to the last fast rewind.

~ lower remedy lane ~

and to survive this, you need to sleep long, you need to sleep sound

sleep deep, see your own within the haven of your eyelids

remember dreams of angels blowing black balloons for you

you say there's beauty in a scar

i find it sick, but it's a part of me i've long ago accepted

now what a stupid thing you are

sometimes

as you watch it

you draw your lips closer

and with all tenderness you can find

you slide your fingertips over its surface

not to make it hurt

- to understand better

feel like your own
give it warmth, give it cold
whatever it needs

now isn't it sick

drawn to each other for every stain

when you see beauty there

but without taking any pleasure 

and asking yourself:

where are the lost rites

and when you've opened so much

that it's made every rib in your chest break

for a land that's hidden it had no sky

and thrown you into an airless void

the ill-mended bones, you know

you need to break them again, by yourself

so you run

straight into this wall

so you run fast

onto the pain of salvation

~ magnetic south ~

but the true travellers are they who depart

for departing's sake; with hearts light as balloons,

they never swerve from their destinies,

saying continuously, without knowing why: 'let us go on!'

having decided in your youth
on the policy of truth
you hear

a calling

~ remember without retrospection ~

to drop wings when blades travel just as fast? hollow out holes behind your ankles. change hermes for a varg, feathers for tar muzzles.
the difference?

is the reason why not touching the ground can hardly be compared with flying.

 ravenous wolf, let me look into your eyes
that bleed

to fly on these engines?
dear angels

on the razors of lobofobia

~ tanzt, tanzt sonst sind wir verloren ~

never can you dance with chains around your feet.

without the risk of going into a skid -

- there is no dance

~ inner shores ~

step into this room and dance for me

as if you scented a flower in your early childhood, through a mist you seek what lingers there all these years. you remember a trace imprinted on the brim of your taste buds. a promise you follow at the verge of your senses. you won't rest until it fills your nostrils, rests on your tongue, flows down your spine falling with you into the soil, until it moves in your hair. inner shores. you never know where they lead.

and at times i find myself seeing love and music as one and the same thing. so -

hold me closer than that

~ people are stranger ~

sunshine sunshine go away

if you can't reach my heart

~ love you but i've chosen darkness ~

there's no mystery in love, he said.
indeed, there isn't. when it comes, it's obvious. the rest is a miracle, leaving you with things to accept or deny, and admire.

though there is a risk.

that the butterflies in your belly will turn into moths

filling it with a lightless flutter

how long, my long lost

will the last day be?

~ calling on symmetry ~

you're a real famme fatale, prima! 

so that's what you're called when you smoke a cigar without ever lighting a cigarette before. that's the first time when i didn't negate. i've never fancied being one. names? i've been called so many.

my steps clattering through the midnight streets of a city i baptized as chamber paris, red coat, searching what i believed was a graveyard and what turned out to be rooftops. bridges. sitting in the hotel window and looking down at the lights of place de la gare, with a heart beating like charlotte's of lost in translation.

a portrait of rafael as baron von petit paris scribbled on the backside of a beer coaster, a few seconds. a red coat, the bridge, the songs. 

sinking my hands in the moss of grund's stone walls, its mildness, soft green, wet leaves, the thrill of relief.

i'm calling on symmetry of your mind

~ serenade for the renegade ~

 

we starve for light and yet we

devour darkness

dance

to the rhythm of stars crashing under our teeth

then
we fall asleep

the moon crumbled, in our hair

mingled

making love through stone walls

we breathe

into each other's lips, only

come, 2 a.m.

tu dois voir plus loin
tu dois revenir
tu dois tout essayer
tu dois devenir

~ the colours change, we need to leave ~

wake up, little sparrow

an old belgian castle. a forgotten street of dordrecht. a breath in nakedness.
dirty windows of a desolated greenhouse. air into the brushes.
words of pina bausch, the sister of motion.

vocabulary

found

still ahead


homecoming
banition
why do they feel like one and the same thing?

~ ziggy sundust ~

poetry is born from insecurity

there is something in this sentence but i remain distrustful. last night there was a full moon over the hospital. i had this extremely vivid dream, with dark oak wood, library, naked skin, and a voice, a calling. i woke up and read. then caught a glimpse of sleeping v. and in a short while i saw a deamon in the scarce sunlight. i blinked - it was gone but i remembered his arm. i grabbed the pencils. the sound of paper and graphite. cars passing. a new day.

a sketch. a beauty of imperfection. an energy of temporarity.
soft graphite. hard sunlight.

~ raincoated ~

open arms, open heart
in the sight of telescope

at the moment the stars are raining over poland.
from a distant grass - i'm listening.