don't be afraid you may start over determined, purposeful or hesitating, fumbling keep to rules follow your own way let go of that hand or grab on to it don't be afraid for dreams too big go when you know for sure and if you hesitate wait how vain the things you envisaged the most beautiful things just happen, the least are contrived don't be afraid of what they think of you what do you know about someone if you don't know yourself don't lose your origins by committing yourself too soon life seems alternating but even love grows accustomed don't be afraid you are one of many and at the same time there is only one of you that means that you have to share a lot and sometimes have to shout let me free
Wednesday, July 30, 2014
Basket with small fish
What do you think it's like to be me? What do you think? Do you think that I go out everyday with my basket full of small fish to feed the sharks? What do you think? Do you think it's fun to be me? How would you imagine it's like to go out every morning with a fucking basket full of small fish to feed the wild sharks! How do you think that is and do you think you can imagine how it is to be like that? To be like that, do you think you can imagine that?
Tuesday, July 29, 2014
she sings listen how she sings like she doesn't care that death sings backup in falsetto proudly she keeps tone even when the light breaks through the stained glass window and vowels sink stubbornly her foot stomps the rhythm through the floor she keeps the tremors in check and casually keeps the beat with her red polished nails
Monday, July 28, 2014
This is not a drill
Closed the hole in the dike with a mouthful of words. No wonder that darkness like water is up to our necks, any form disappearing under the wavy surface of what is missing its own form and roots deeper. Living on wet feet the sky, with icy gusts, scourges our thinking. Flashlight sees the world with red eyes and makes us look like devils. Behind me sirens wail.
Wednesday, July 23, 2014
Tongue It's never one word that parallels life there are many, It's many faces contorted or fragmented, with bristles or light make-up, with hair or a hat that doesn't go with anything In every face a little box of skin in every box that opens a treasure of flesh and blood whereby any assertion can come to life, and each antonym with the same force, so that each word can live its own life. Can you still understand me when I lisp? Do you understand me when I put my tongue between my teeth and bite? No face that can make all others redundant, no word can be sufficient unto itself, there are many, especially those that are about nothing: nobody can exist in language alone
Tuesday, July 22, 2014
I only know I only know that she was born with it with all that blue in her eyes as soon as she knows words she forgets them but knowing she does she folds the sheets she airs out the blankets says that she has been gone for a while there aren't more words also the desire is lacking the desire to form words because for telling what happened to her she's got her silence she often cries when she hears what that silence is saying
Tuesday, July 15, 2014
The great Eskimo vocabulary hoax When I tell my mother that I've read that Eskimo's only have one word for snow, and not, like they say, more than fifty, she doesn't want to believe me, because she has the house to herself: my father was not aware of this a century ago and she wants nothing changed. She says: maybe the the Eskimo's didn't want to overplay their hand I say: we have fifty words for intercourse and death. Do you want to hear them? She says: I suddenlyfear that I've expected too much from the weather report.
Monday, July 14, 2014
Summer deceit
You cuddle up against me in front of the TV like you just came home after years of looking for me while the vegetables go through your hands you fill the kitchen with your songs and you feed me your history If only I could softly -without breaking the light- tell you that what you feel isn't always there
Saturday, July 12, 2014
Answer
light unfolds in the room that I immeasurably inhabit twice you ask why I know no reason I don't play questions and answers I save the light up to the edge of my pupil while I irreparably caress the dusk called shadow and paint it till it disappears offer and counteroffer I say take me push me to the edge save what I waste love the drought and shoreless stream and know this is this
Friday, July 11, 2014
Finiteness To the limits in the light of a reading lamp, to the fields of enshrouded things, to the reflection of faces unshown, to the relieved illusion of being excited, to the twisted words of a child playing, to the shock of unfulfilled wishes, to the ultimate courage of stunts never shown, to the poignant longing of the poet for the pain of vulnerable submission to her mild look, to the melancholy of lead shoes for the garden, to the silly of never before, to the start of a braid, to ground colors, I had the end but I brought it back.
Sunday, July 6, 2014
How can it be
This inviolable succumbing for nourishment on the table and in bed, how we fucked up time for a couple jolts of stillness. True nature was rotting away in our bodily fluids, losing ground on our depraved bodies, movement became a repertoire without the chance of being caught on something real. We lusted after the smell of decay, every greedy draw of breath felt like a small, beautiful revolution on that fleeting mortality. And now, from this diluted life I try to breath like then but time persists in being what it is.