[c]ccp 0+00 irena sabine czubera + netochka nezvanova.
memes pre:served kop!eren verboten :
i seek the conjure woman to confirm the one i
hold so many masks passing over my chipped smile
as if the rituals of africa were not invented by me diversion solace
whenever .... appears no more than a city cold loveless concrete
the plainness drives me back to africa reminisce fantasies of origin
expressed drums syncopate steps frenzied dancers round midnight funeral fire
to recapture vibration vitality drained through the fissures broken heart
the foreign is the greatest comfort when reality encroaches blades
pressing the skin tender veins retreat to memory and then the
spinning begins vitality of mania lavender flares musky fires damp
impassioned is it destructive or healing this flayed passion breaking
through love-formed composure? how should it be love holds in the reins
delirious evening walks drunk on malarme why love to wax maternal
and only solitude to unfurl tender wings and burn them under neon
flashing off ice melting late cocktails to what unbound do i owe
duality plurality tucked away for kissing love born of the
evaporating moment evaporates me with it while the slow loves
nurturing a wish to hide behind daylight strength and
practicality freedom as it unwinds in heartache dangerous freedom
to myself again only passion to please i am too much dancing all
barefoot bleeding words from the shadows follow me to the bus
feverish open melting memory into courage and fantasy future frenzy
held balm around torment relish combustion relish rhythm revel the
unraveling musically into mellow melancholy wound why does
delirium dress me most myself? selfish to sink into bared pleasures
literature pained sopranos honky-tonk cheap bars and velvet migrate
through impression into one humming shiver to dive in leave
obligations on the shelf with the false tone love neatly bound letters
saved manilla envelope between shakespeare and the dictionary sleep
for working seems shameful why do our doctors not prescribe dancing,
not lure us with floating calabash and clay dolls their magic arms
rope-bound to their torsos to prevent them wandering mischief until
called upon if our love were born of potions and wet palms smoking
over the fire i might meet it lips trembling with all the words wishing
to be written could you hold me flowering my eyes go hunting
blazing through the crowd longing the leap the runner a
ferocious lover to tackle empty spaces rip them open let them bleed
out all impurities all silence born of pause or constraint i wish
for more night more hours to loosen to linger to suffer my passion
to expand engulf to drown love in the endless the moon became at
five one summer on the swings at midnight
in love i am my mother's daughter gifts too large to pass
in loss all my father's daydreaming known from frenetic solitude
why is love no good for novels and heartbrake fecund?
whilst
in my palace of dreams
there lies a circular room
carved of sandstone atop
a writhing staircase of
unfathomable distance.
a soft yellow glow
emanates from this room, it is
where i keep my heart.
every night i cut it out of
my chest and every morning
it has grown again full and ripe,
like a bursting fruit full of
tenderness and sweet liquid.
sorrow permeates this room.
it glows a gentle blue. without
this light there would return
no heart in the morning.
[i have not yet returned from
my journey to the castles of hope]
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v3kt0r.r2!n - ztra!ng !n 2 dze z!ngular!t!
-
Netochka Nezvanova - karesz!ng dze vektor!szd 4th d!menz!on.
f3.MASCHIN3NKUNST
@www.eusocial.com
17.hzV.tRL.478
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