Reading: M – Black Monday by Marcin Świetlicki
Today there is this compact poem by Marcin Świetlicki for our ideosyncratic Polish: przedzieleni światłem. I think it is a brilliant metaphor for its strangeness and its re-interpretation of loss as the completion of 'everything'. The poem says nothing about the woman's motives to reject her suitor (I assume the gender because the author is ...
Subway station
I imagine feeling elated when I walk in the underground concrete counting irksome smiles and turnstiles breathing bubbles into transient thoughts that need not be fierce and piercing I imagine yellow trains leaving on the lower levels that connect the shopping and further I imagine electric voices barking liberation from melting speakers and all the ...
Maledicendum
You want to stare into the abyss. You imagine you will discover something there, a boisterous polysemiotic laughing that reverberates against your high temples. You want to plough into new and unique territories uncontaminated by other intellects and you realize it is the fervor of your fear that strangleholds you: the others! the others! They ...
Cum granu salis
There is the commitment of a slow suicide inside my mouth flaring nerve tissue makes me a beast of seconds foregone my extravanganza, the wordsome Walpurgnis Night of wild hue candelabras burning into the popliteal intimacy of progress - relinquished Swearing and sweltering I lock myself in debasement reddish eyes sore at glaring screens a ...
gaze
I observe myself with scientific precision: a large-brained primate manipulating an artifact with dexterous fingers. I have gone to bed with blackness lately for those who know how that feels. Time's racing. Imagine you are the only one in the universe you are its grimace and everything is suspended Perhaps we need words that last, ...
we hasten not
it is high noon and the bright fruits shine in the air is a promise of decay we let the sun pour its old light on us and bury imagination in warm smiles we save up for higher seasons, for longer shadows for deeper promises and gentler declines slow and infinite are our thoughts, we ...