Pinkred
May 17th, 2012
The one and only silence that is bearable without trying to.
Blackred
May 11th, 2012
Interrupt. The lack pen. The red pencil. Stop that all that goes on obscurely. Bar the images of seduction, in red. In black search the meaninglessness of the fight. Explore it, explicit in its violent right. Then red it again. Listen not to them talking it’s all in vain. It is in vain, you know it, sensing this no. They don’t understand the extent of the ever beautiful firing, meaningless as it is. They know only no. No – on. No on!
Red their chatter. Black this red. Make a gap in there. Space it. Get into.
Hic void, hic live.
Violetred
May 2nd, 2012
For a moment forget the place, home and death. Forgive the foreigner, his bitch and her brute. Let the bridge, the knife and the flag go.
Come the girl lying under sunlit trees, on the high grass. Eyes closed. Come my hand dreaming across her skin worlds it could give birth to. Some calm and peaceful, others violent and painful, some boring and still. Her laying there, curling into the corner of cold cosmos, hidden by the sky blue. Me unpolitely trying to kiss her out of the slumber. She saying no at a distance of infinite breath. She moving backwards as we dance in the summer haze, me wanting to guess her body vectors when ignited by desire.
The violet of her satisfaction, the red of my desperation, coloured in black silver of extinct stars.
Bet against the truth the illusion of a dreaming river, slowly inhaling the smokes that leave our flesh awake.
For a moment, imagine the white of a rose in a winter night.
Then forget what you had to forgive.
To beauty the ruins of idea
April 21st, 2012
The beauty – one enters a multitude of disordered remnants – which is not a non-being of order, but an order made of different paths criss-crossing each other, fighting, mutilitating, mutating – chaos, one could call it, but I, due to personal likings, prefer – anarchy. That unbeing of a reason manifesting itself in piles of concrete blocks, broken bricks, tires, devasteted yards of grass, half-dead half-born trees.
The beauty of ruins.
Hence, a model for perfect beauty is not achieving a goal taken as a singular schematism of organic or artificial fulfilment of a plan, a telos, embodying an idea, but falling from it, descending, caused by sheer power of contingency of multiple other ways, streams (working on it).
Let it all be ruined! – a manifesto slogan for beautilism, if you will.
Yet, completely unideological , happened by itself(s), countering and countered, with no exact pattern to discern to name it. Like pi without a repeating loop in its decimal expansion.
One leaves, then, by entering and enters by leaving.
Those overhuman, undernatural remnants of highest numbers (but what is height in ruins?) of lives that have not reached any peak, any self-same illumination of a clear idea, an exemplary model.
Beauty beyond goodness.
To ruin the beauty of idea, then.
To noise a silence
March 29th, 2012
To know that all will cease one day, even the day of ceasing of all. Yet, to strive to understand, which is always not all. This, and this alone, is a vector of deathlife through splitting the void.
It’s absolutely meaningless, and precisely its meaninglessness makes it true.
Life with its multitude meanings is ultimately untrue.
Death, without meaning, but ununderstandable, is only half-true – is a fact.
So is void and splitting, taken separately.
Hence, half-forms of truthmeans and meantruths – lifevoid, deathsplit.
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To void the roam of the beast
March 22nd, 2012
Unmathematical men are given one way of doing great mathematics – constructing infinities out of void. In essence, it’s all civilisation ever achieves at its peak. Thus the melancholy of creations, being nothing else but a voided, albeit infinite, being.
It’s not surprising, then, that men would become tired of math and indulge in extremes of finitude – roams and screams of a beast, trapped between desire for infinity and knowledge of inevitable void. A monster, ironically, like the one constructed by certain mathematician – extending through 200 thousands of dimensions and 10^{60} symmetries. A universe, thus and then, could be seen and heard as unmovable movement of this great grey beast.
It follows that even mathematics is split into void and monsters that wonder in it. Hence the name of appearing – voidsplit.
To move too slow to die
March 1st, 2012
If i dragged a cup contrary to the motion of the earth’s turning axis, could i achieve something very little reminiscent of undeath?
For all movement tends to cease. Even if infinitesimal, unmoving, subtraction of moving (let’s say – of great with small), conquers death. Thus, sleeping, as unmoving of body and slowth of a soul is, contrary to wide held belief, closer to immortality than to death. And since death is total absence of moving (for all contingent things), by the same movement of thought (logic), death must be immortal. It must be not. Or it must be, if applying binary positioning, life.
Hence i, logically and convincingly, acquired the name of being – deathlife.
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To flame the light of love
February 18th, 2012
To flame – cut up a skin cross out the promise disorderly untouch her neck – tear a hole through her belly-button burn the sheets unwrite the decision – watch her fall on her knees abandon the garden start a fire – the light – exact differentiation of their encounter vectors the line uncurved like her words – say yes divide the dark raised by infinite degree count precisely where she’ll land make a perfect morning coffee true to the axiom of your choice – of love – feeling how her vulva bone bites through his skin bending the resistant left-overs of selfhood unbinding the sacred oath of their names – how his hands penetrate beyond the skin, the fat and the muscles closer to her empty insides almost till the bleeding atom of her womb – looking at the eyes surrendering while the glory of the last moment unearths their remnants – breathlessly pulsing scattering all into the vast vortex of their mutual unbeing wherein it is still heard what she said – the obscure name of the slashed O – all to his delight she was no more he outlived her called back into the black silence of her mouth.
To true death
February 10th, 2012
The black dark of the endless end. The end of nothing in the invisible white. To not be and to be not. The undying death on the sideless surface. The exhaustion of infinite in the everlasting moment. The silence of the void hovering above its weightless vectors. All things made equal raised by the degree of zero. All things extinct multiplied by zero.
The suicide of the one subtracting itself.
The remnants of knives, of flags, the decaying echos murmuring last words. Empty timeless space – as a zephyr – contemplating: thoughtless and calm.
To end-be to true death.
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To love end
February 2nd, 2012
Love face horizon eye slip lips, pause, love voice depth breath breasts suck, pause, love belly listen an ear the hair, pause, love embrace head legs tongue, pause, love ass, pause, love back caress close sleep, pause, still alone dark, pause, love more love black, then, pause, love hole burn sun think atom, pause, love face against face groundless look voiceless silence estranged touch, no pause, love nosexed unchilded infinite vain and voided, no pause, love nothing thus, to love nothing, pause, love end.
