~ 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

~ 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?

~ 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

~ 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.

~ 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

~ linoleum floors ~

my camera is dead so i cannot submit any new work even though there are some.

my room is cold and its lighting is poor so i draw only in my bathroom.

the tiles are white and so is the shower curtain.

the strip lights ally with the floor level and make me feel like in a mental institution. or a movie. i hear my pencil scraping the surface. snowflakes behind the window, a wall ahead, surely make a sound too.

warm, seeing and superwhite in the deep night.

whatever you think, the floor marks your body. ascention?

polyvinyl chloride reminding me of where i am not.

~ because the night ~

the reason she commits blaspemy is because she's believer

father Arteta, it's just like with many things in my life, it is. so

i'm on the verge of crying, but i don't cry

i'm on the verge of collapsing, but i don't collapse

i'm on the verge of salvation, but i'm not saved

~ 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

~ blades that cut, hands that reap ~

peel

~ our first names: angelene ~

there was one crooked street

and two crooked girls

crowned with countless shadows

putas baratas!

shouted two cycling brazilians right into our faces that night

unaware of that by doing so they had made us the happiest girls in the world. we laughed to the sky, recognized. 

and now, in a few days' time, a minute to 2012, drinking black rum on the roof of the opera house, breaking glasses against the houses of oslo, branding the humanless streets - two pirates. carry shadows for parrots.

two corsairs. and a tune wafting after the waves of their coats:

do not look back

do not look back

~ vollmond ~

this is too close, far too close


are you afraid?

are you scared?

if you are not, look again

and deeper, focus

now, you see?

which way will the sunflower turn surrounded by millions of suns

are you scared?

if not, you should be

if yes, be brave

which way will the blindgirl turn surrounded by millions of eclipses

~ i mean you ~

and each time i will come

each time i'll be another

a sinner, a saint

your enemy, brother

the rush of freedom when a perceived part of you, a deeply true one gets expressed for the very first time - a thrill from the depths of an ocean reaching the surface, rucking it up, revealing its inner movement, released with an unheard sound.

whatever the face, its expression is constantly beautiful as reflecting the deepest truth.

it's an ascending shiver.

the wodnica who has finally found her way out to the surface

through the channels of ritual photography

will she sing?

~ of patti and .w ~

why do they say he's mad? he has faith

- i've heard in a great movie contemplating the nature of madness, madonnas, light and rain. a relation that nurtured me for a long time and now i somehow lost my interest in things this relative. after all, i've never seen a person getting healthy only by hearing the diagnosis.
and after all, quoting the same motion picture, it is the so called healthy who brought this world to the verge of ruin.
still, so many miracles hiding in the cracks, like this photo that kind of leads me for a few months and that i've finally succeeded to paraphrase. so -

follow the piper of hamelin

~ through a lens, darkly~

when i light the candle and get into the water
they pull me out

on thursday night i joined a ritual of lenses led by a french adept of oddity who gives his heart away for a beauty of the most unique kind. looking into the lenses from 1920's, celebrating the birth of a single photography and presence of an antique eye - i touched the art of captured pictures in its most poignant essence.
singular. sounding. meditative. focused.
a concerto for percussion of time and camera parts.

they pull me out
they shout: "you are mad!"
understand?

no, and i never will. you won't either.
we walk in red, right into the dawn.

~ aura ~

Consuelo, le démon aussi était un ange, avant -

i have this feeling

that inbetween, there were those mirror people, reflecting both god and the devil, scar and flawlessness. that heaven as well as hell hang agaze admiring themselves in the mirror dividing their grounds. and that this mirror is earth.

~ catkins on the wing ~

spring has come and i could no longer resist. to sit on the post-winter grass, sharp yet soft, to breathe in the scent of river. to find catkins that recall all the homemplaces, all heart-warming thresholds.
a seagull landed. a butterfly fluttered. a bumblebee flew and disappeared. a duck looked around. a beaver swam. an ice floe floated to my shore and turned, and then floated further.

i sang going through my playlist. recalling the well-known, saturated riffs and passages. serenity. sunwarmth. being.

green angels of bieszczady mountains. by the edge of feather.

i'm being heathenly unproductive. lost the count of days. i guess i'd use some resocialization after the last weeks, too. mind somewhere. laces on the wind.

flutter. flutter. gone.

~ nordtatt: et eeventyr i et halvkapitel ~

inappropriate? it's just a matter of definition.

let's go iron pancakes.
let's go.