* * *
kodak disposable, cup from Debbie,
one house one skyscraper
nothing has changed and everything has changed,
and I think I've heard this so many times
and seen it, that for a few seconds
I've been obsessively considering whether
I should find it and find the author and dress it in quotation marks,
add a footnote and eventually just walk out of the room
nothing has changed, everything has changed;
it is only in absolute stillness that I know how to see. but it takes time.
the hardest thing is to just sit down when no one is next to me
stop moving. only bare fingers on the keyboard, or paper, maybe some reaching
out for a cup of tea coffee or trying to straighten my hunched back
there is a disposable kodak camera lying next to me, from this year's birthday. it's only been 7 months since then,
i find it hard to believe in all that happened, but it really did. everything that comes after the comma after the word time is really a filler, because, i wonder, how it is that time can pass from time,
and it's terribly difficult to notice that time (sometimes)
when the passing starts.
it's easier in the countryside, or if you have a favorite road to take home and return by it for at least a month or a year. and if it's even longer than that, you can become a time expert altogether. that's what I learned at home. measuring time with a swing, my body moving from a crossroads to a left turn, the temperature of a balcony slab divided by the intensity of the sun on my eyelids at seven in the morning in late August.
And I guess I'm just now being reminded of all this, on the 17th of August, hoping I am not late.
* * *
in this particular moment
to see shadows on
a surface of the
water, And a sea
that rather turns into a sky
then a sea
There is nothing difficult
about being in this moment,
though it is
Complex
my dictionaries
Learn from each other.
They learn from each other
completely ignoring me
Like diaries that Forget
the author
And the reader
are you even real or not
maybe they check
Who are you
And who am I
In this particular moment
* * *
floating shrimp
on the ceiling
the ability to acknowledge the reality
of a situation without resistance
how to stop resisting if a huge part of
your life is about
the resistance and its absolute absence
at the same time
This is not philosophy,
not a comedy
And it cannot be a stand-up because
I am sitting
trying to commit in my brain the least
romantic view which is a selection of cheeses
And a massive shrimp floating on the ceiling
I wasn’t high, I was bored
Who names a nut store “family nuts”???
I am the waiting room of life
* * *
to avoid faintng
keep repeating
I listen to you from a middle of a wound.
From afar, it looks so gentle, it even resembles
a cake. When I come closer, I see a scratch,
and bits of fur and pink stripes on the skin.
I never liked you in pink, but this time you look beautiful,
you’ve never resembled yourself that much, as today,
it’s only a move
An attempt to leave,
and attempt to make a mark,
see a sign of presence
Fingers are touching the pearl, and the pearl
becomes a finger, and a finger becomes a pearl
There’s no daylight, yet — it’s not night
The sun’s safe, somewhere above the clouds
and somehow we’re both in a hideout
Only a move
Can step out from square,
from the canvas,
from a rectangle,
from a drawer,
from a box,
from the sea,
from the green, green grass,
and the one that’s always greener
Isn’t it what we’re best at? Crawling out,
crawling on for the last billions of years
we, the moving-towards Built from grains so small,
Shrinking internal fractions
Only a move
i take off my jacket, and pants, and all the rings,
ring by ring, and then,
when there’s nothing to take off anymore,
I turn off the light,
hide under the bed and detach
all the scales, one scale after another,
it takes me all night.
My sleep became another life.
under the bed, time is not invented yet,
so life can run forever, uninterrupted
Among the cells and lashes lost,
leaves of grass,
and thousands of sticks, brought from the walks.
There’s no “therefore”, there’s no “but”, there’s no “why”
Only and,
And how
It’s Only a move, that keeps me from fainting
(It’s only a movie)
* * *
what does a man who has learned
a language know?
the man speaks, speaks, and speaks. I sit and listen. and listen, and listen. I touch, I respond, I go home.
I walk alone, counting all the moons in the side streets I pass. And the letters in their names.
And the grains of sand between the bricks.
I count all the cats, all shirts hanging out on the balconies. I count all the blades of grass. They look like blades,
and they do not resemble leaves at all. I cannot see them as leaves today, no matter how hard I try. And I guess,
I don't want to try and there is a reason behind it, or there is a feeling behind it. "Talk to your guts more often".
How can I talk with my guts, while they are digesting with such an effort? My guts are too busy to talk to me. I can only try to hear. Halo! How are you? It is so loud, down there. What have you just eaten? Or, when did you eat last time? How big was the meal? It feels like you ate a stone. It is 11:36, and I type. "can stomach acid dissolve a stone?" You know what you're looking for, right?
A pause for now. A cigarette, water, drying
my hair, putting on a blanket. Why can't we digest rocks? You will not believe where I went to find an answer. I've been everywhere. They say all the answers are on the internet. I went to the gallery yesterday and saw a video. "all the answers are already there. my friend learned how to ski from a tutorial! he skied better than me." So why can't I learn how to dissolve a stone with my own body? The men speaks.
"Rocks are, by definition, unreactive, because they are what remains after the most powerful reactions have subsided."
Why do I still feel like eating rocks?
* * *