"You knew, even if you wouldn’t admit it now, that leaning in and pulling me close was an act of conquering as much as a foreigner arriving in a strange new land, planting his flag and declaring to everyone he can reach, that the peaks and valleys of this territory are now his."

Yarn wrapped around a wood block stamp

wool becomes a carpet, earth becomes a palace

is not the darkness of letters but the whiteness of a pure heart

just like mine

The mirrors getting old, but its changing what I see
I know I am in love because lovers are internal
each one grips, marking a little threshold - tug at my heart string
there is a little peasant girl who is shooing the flies away from her eyes,
my eyes, the ones that show me so little.
Thumping around down there, in the depts of my confusion, are little mice consolidating my arguments.
A man is putting his chin to my head and I rest a little while, until I realise I have two chins
Rest is my possession now, and I sleep on the little arm of my love
I kiss her on the cheek and tell her little riddles to keep her awake,
her temperament always accommodating, just like mine

From Poem 2 of the Tarjuman al-Ashwaq, translated by R.A. Nicholson.

Wild is she, none can make her his friend

When she kills with her glances, her speech restores to life, as tho she, in giving life thereby, were Jesus.
The smooth surface of her legs is (like) the Tora in brightness, and I follow it and tread in its footsteps as tho' I were Moses.
She is a bishopess, one of the daughters of Rome, unadorned: thou seest in her a radiant Goodness.
Wild is she, none can make her his friend; she has gotten in her solitary chamber a mausoleum for remembrance.
She has baffled everyone who is learned in our religion, every student of the Psalms of David, every Jewish doctor, and every Christian priest.
If with a gesture she demands the Gospel, thou wouldst deem us to be priests and patriarchs and deacons.
The day when they departed on the road, I prepared for war the armies of my patience, host after host.

col quote let

I refuse to contemplate the most beautiful countries of the earth, shrunken in the amorous mirror of your gaze

Colette

I've fallen out of the moon
And I'm only thinking of you

Which only proves that his violence, the fruit of his upbringing, still exists within him. That this intellectual is conscious of his violence doesn't stop him from using it, on the contrary, he expresses it.

im·po·tent  

disturbance (dear M, I am sorry to have caused you trouble)

a crazed moon
tatiana without a horse
olympia where are my truffles?
pleaded like a shackled witch
and waited like an exuberant nympth
Big rooms, greedy caverns
the inches of my distress
and sitting there
puddle of mud, weeper
I can't move in this room
the mirror will fall down
the shower pane will explode!

scrub dem eyes
scrub dem eyes

12 hours of sleep
blood in the bed
oh! come lay your head, my sweet

and muted now, after the scream of another usual disturbance

hey, how is it going? .. I am fine, 2 days left for me to come back, it passed so fast!, anyway tell me.. u feel awful because u made a mistake or u just feel guilty for something that u had to do? .. To be honest when u ate at my home u seemed kind of in love... tell me, being there killed all of that? you found another reality and you dont wanna come back soon or u just wanna do it but without someone? I hope your thoughts are going well.. sorry for the many questions.. I miss you girl

Can we make an official date? Monday, lunch at the korean? or dinner? xxx 

Hi. Happy new year even though it is bit late.

Happy Birthday. I hope you're fine. Update me about your plans !

he he i have a lightbulb head not you, festive i agree, but weird no..

I know, I am really sorry, I was in a bit of a mess but, I'll hold myself together and send them to you, I really didn't forget, so, count on me 

i feel you belong to here
i dont use belong that much

i think it will be great if i got a phone call from you soon ...

well then itll probably be alright

Friction in the bathwater

the only thing that is meant to make you okay

at the beginning of life, swimming, pure without chafing

but the bath is spinning

and your getting bigger, loosing more water

spilling, out of the sides, onto the carpet

the rough, goatskin prickle earth 

and you rash quickly and you get bald 

Survival. Don't be moody darling...you won't make it through

GRACELESSLY GRACEFUL

O

Statue of a Saint

It is imagined, that on the day of arrival, that they be symmetrical. That their worlds meet somewhere in the middle. And when a foreign being enter into that sacred space, one should say 'look after yourself' as if the other one is not capable of warning off unwanted spirits. One however is not the only pole. One is not the only man, there is not one man, not no man who may stand on a pedestal overlooking the scenario, the scenery, the light movement of nature which is (of course and anyway) under the control of a higher being- ones own father. Perched there, angel like, one should expect of the other one that the eyes only look in one direction, to the centre, eagerly awaiting ones arrival. Come my other one, come. And yet, they are all waiting around 'the other', all saying the same thing, all imagining that the other delicately take her steps toward them. And this is what one gets by putting himself in the centre, no not many man just one. Static. Expectant. Anticipant. Statue of a Saint.

some people are pigeons, others are contenders of this place, others you wouldn't in the world have imagined, could ever begin to live

M

I can see, that quickly there have appeared a maze of walls to start at defeating us, and water barriers to keep us from the world, sheltering us in artificial cover. I give you moss, you give me moss, and we feed like peasants.  There is fencing everywhere 'for the people', but maybe there is shrubbery too, somewhere, greenery and fields full of food. Flood the gates! Imaginary landscapes! So far, I can only recall the concrete ships,  factories and stones that skip and stop too early at the doom of a day up too soon, in the cold, severely unhappy. But you know more than me. Can you see the aqua in my eyes? Can you see the leaves? Can you see the fishies?

In conflict, in apathy, with mild traces of greenery... we say it to ourselves, daily (in meditation) 'we must begin to live,  w e   m u s t   learn how to live.'
.................................................................................................................................................................. On the tongue is another night of medicinal fodder, a damp awakening on a half camp, a fake rural setting, with a tormented wind swept ambition; to get up and go, to make a meal of it, to make a master of oneself.

home?

In every calm, and every word

the place lacks something, the very moment I step into the lid of its dip,

into its service. Interactive architecture, a world that is built for my manoeuvre. with persons! of whom to interact, easily, even naturally, and paths of which to walk with, not against or at war. I wonder why I feel uncomfortable, then, at my dress and my shoes. Unproper I, am unproper. And so unrelated to the click, and blink, the glance that ends too quickly, the look that never leaves.  

recipe

a mass of people in a midan midan of snowflakes no not snowflakes of flags of stone almonds and rice with milk with powdered white steam making tea come out of choo choo trolleys and more milk for the barley of pale male robes hanging down on cotton candy by the shiny lady who is wearing metalic pants ultra light of the semiramis intercontinental shining through dusk smoke bomb painted silver of crowds and crowds and crowds and crowds with tin bowls and itchy town faces who are neither winning nor loosing from the crying gas