Syndicate: [ot] [!nt] \n2+0\ your envelope

[integer@www.god-emil.dk]

        [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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