••• XXX

other gravities

my flesh is calling noctambulism. lately i wish i could make its seams burst by a single scream. yet i walk completely soundless, hearing the the lack of explosion thudding in my ears and deafening them to the point when even the eyes black out for a second.

nobody believes me when i confide that i am scared of graveyards at nighttime. a few minutes usually is enough for me to vocalize all the moving branches, whispers in the leaves, grass pinches, stone bones, flashing eyes and shadows stretching their arms towards any oversensitive imagination. i am thus immersed in darkness and despite all those years it still is not my element. nor do i wish it to be.

walking barefoot in search of the moon. let the asphalt under your skin.
and a song about voyage that sounds inevitably like falling.

.,.

••• XXIX

sad to satiety

humankind! be wiser, can you. can i? waking up at midnight to quench the most absurd cravings and clothe them in a graveyard image.

reading drew me back to Japanese prose lately and reminded of the reason why i value it so highly. passions harnessed by very fine, and astonishingly thin, threads. stories about the untold. just like my dear bemossed place. so far, it has been for everything that i could not or would not say aloud. i might have annulled this boundary lately.

.,.

••• XXVIII

is there other way to blue

it has been a long time since i added this photo. a long moment of lockdown. a tearing need of a heaven to breathe. the moment i needed a kick and i launched a documentary on Nick. his and only his sequences, seems like they seep from the same place. i scent wood and a dim, warm light in the middle of the night. weak but persistent. nightlong monologues with yourself or imaginary disputants. ideas of closeness. communion on the verge of skin.

sometimes i feel like this over there, in my cemetery. when i look up at the sky, it seems to belong to the macrocosm and summons its reflection in me. the solitude, whistling grasses and the voice of a man from behind the veil.

we are cold but not coldest.

there come times when this is enough.

.,.