Thursday, April 30, 2015
Tuesday, April 14, 2015
Thursday, April 09, 2015
'August Strindberg once claimed in his profound, deranged seriousness that the stars in the sky were peepholes in a wall. Occasionally I was reminded of that when observing the endless stream of souls descending the stairs to masturbate in the darkness of the cellar booths as they watched the illuminated screens.’
The road is open to the east. Through closed
eyes and closed mouth a nation of a thousand
elements emigrates, atoms of silicon
and manganese, copper, coal, all that makes
the blood and constitutes the body, pneuma
and neurons, all that crosses skin at night
and passes through the wall, the border, digs
through buried places, searches for a form
-from 'The Road to India'.
confusion in the wild
rotations of your head &
the in/out butterfly of your thighs.
She could not imagine how,
in the helicopter swing of red braids,
you were being lifted high.
-from 'For the girl who died by dancing'.