Somewhere in mind
I keep a memory,
a buried reminiscence
of smell of these objects

Soft paper & pink elixir
In september sunlight
    I pull it from the Deep
  Twist, deform & perform, present

‌  ‌
  The dagger to ******
The Slowness
Crafted from exotic metals

It takes years
To prepare
For this
Ceremony


The fat, tricky body
of the Slowness is taken
  and put
on stone altar.
  Ripped - the blood runs out
Forms streams on stone
Then it is left
      to dry.

The Shamans scrape it off
-it is dark, crumbling and wet-
drumming & chanting
they put it in pipes
and inhale the fumes
to complete
the Ceremony


The spirits are freed.

O damaged ship,
Voyager of the vast waters
for years and years now.
How many things have you seen?
Storms you witnessed,
Islands visited?
There's a certain beauty
in the way your body is scarred
by time.
Sail on, o elder ship.

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->all the wise words, all wise combinations of these words, language perfection and progress<------^/-^------^/-^------^/-^------^/-^------^/-^------^/-^------^/-^------^/-^--------------------------------------------------------------­-----------------------------------------------------------------­---------------------

A man sitting at
The edge
Of the ending world
Singing, wailing with his
Raspy, low voice
Whiskey & smoke voice
He swallows dimmed stars
In his mind.
Drink another one


Living through infinite worlds
Infinitely,
Through the clockworks
and mechanisms
of the machine
******* each world dry
off its juices

I was a king, a sickman
A star-eyed bizzare one
This girl, and every girl,
In fact.
This africano suited in leathers,
And a sound vibration in some canals
Only to wither away, again
Like a dying plant
And to repeat,
Infinitely.

Sing on, at the edge
Of the ending universe
Swallowing
Dimmed stars
Throwing these words to waste,
To jaws of changing rails, or
to turn to gold
Or night-bone
-the string broke--
And... Oh

The city-man came back to his house
After a day of working
He took an everyday shower
And during the shower, he screamed.
Screamed, 'cause he found a tick
A little black tick, with his tiny legs
Sticking out in a still, terrifying manner

The city-man turned off the shower,
And jumped out, pale and scared
He pulled out the tick
And flushed him away

Not much were his efforts worth
Few days later, the red alert
There's no return
The red alert
No return, no return, no return

                                                   "Not much were your efforts worth,
                                                    I've burrowed underneath your brain
                                                    So watch the slow and painful growth,
                                                    And your mind stray off its lane."

And so the tick kept singing his song
On and on, long long long
And thus the man turned his head to face the Moon.

All I see
Is a bull's blood
In time, fly through
Air
Left
To dry
In dry air

Endlessly sad songs
Make you sad
For future
Even at now
Endlessly sad songs
Is where i take
My fuel from.
You asked me
Precisely
About that,
You did,
I remember.

Streak of blood
Flies through
Air
In slow time
In a room of Music

Each note
Rips the torrent
And you see
Everything

Every thing,
Every time
And I
Soak away

‌  ‌
Marble is there for
people to smell its wet surface. So are the forests, moss, bark, trees; Wet. For us to look at their surface in sunlight falling at certain angle

Wet, cool droplets falling on the rocks
All insects, snails, pollens, mosses etc.
part in this process

Let the water do its thing, and
fall, calmly, in rhythm, on rocks

Who has the courage to ****** the Sun?
I'm sick of all these rays blinding birds

'Cause you shall know
That when the Sun meets its demise
All the Stars emerge from the darkness
And the birds turn back
To thrillful bats and owls
And all the lurking beasts
Crawl out of their caves,
As the bright light recedes.

Who has the will, to give birth to a night,
Unfold a thousand mysteries,
And dance with the Stars - insanely?

I'm calling you up, Sunslayers.

Sitting beside methane sea
Gazing at the Saturn
I wonder why Beethoven
  Sounds so good in space,
     In a place so far away from home,
        full of cold and loneliness?
         Yes, sounds of piano definetly
          fit the silence and beauty of the Cosmos.

So, so far away from home,
in cold and quiet
beside the methane seas
On my own - I find my peace.

‌‌  ‌
We're here
We have something like
Sixty years
To know each other
                      and to spend time together
To share laughter
To hug and cuddle
To smile
To cry
To grow up together
To learn
To recieve sun rays on our skin
                                and to drink wine
To stroll the cobblestone
To smell, see, touch, hear,
             feel
To walk
To breathe
To ride a bike
To feel tired, hungry, cheerful
To talk
To observe leaves on some
windy autumn day
To connect.
And then one day
one of us will leave this place
Empty shell of body
Like robot machine
who ran out of power,
   and shut off.
Blank, grey & hollow
Once filled with soul
That cheered and laughed and loved
Now we won't meet
for eternity
I will never get you back, ever.
And then the other one
will die
And then the Earth will die
and all of these atoms
once filled with all these stories,
life, love, meaning, hopes, thoughts,
will stray the cold, empty,
silent endless void
For eternity
And to think that we were there together
in this place & time
That we laughed, together,
kissed
Cried and missed
Held hands
Walked & planned
Ate food and drank
Looked into each other's eyes


We won't see each other for eternity.

I have precious things to give,
Conversations and memories
that dwell in the future.
I want them to be
Taken as a gift
Before I leave.
And want to be remembered
With a kind word
a smile, and a warm thought.

A child was seen in the water, bathing joyfully
So was Ophelia - drowning; insane
A ship voyaging vast sea
Or a galleon scatter'd
by the raging waves of dark storm

Went down, slippery cold stairs
Spiraling down, words on walls,
The paper sheets?

Heard the music down there...
Down... Down...
I've heard it before;
Down... Down...  Rumble down...
An underground celebration,
                      So I went - down.

        (the cave)
Infants were there, dark rooms,
Bathing in the boiling red wine,
Laughing madly in the fumes,
The ceiling and walls were moist and dripping.

These babies, visages of chimera,
Evil grins cutting their faces,
Evil smiles, gruesome masks
and cigars in their hands, claws...
          -Stop!!!

This I will unleash,
One day, whiskey, liqours,
Yeah.
Beers, drinks... rumbling.
Calm dark surface of the lake
At night
And the carnival nearby,
Mile away or so...
you can hear their sounds,
muted slightly;
faint lights of torches,
at the other side of lake.
Weird tribesmen
Praising the summer solstice
With howls, maracas,
Tiny bells, dance,
Fire.

-But listen to me now!
Now, when you hear me,
Look here, look closely.
Put your hand in me,
Can't you feel I'm almost boiling?
I'm no mud, I'm a clear water,
Almost as a spring!
Swift and clear - and hot.
                                
                           ­        and dark.

Ripe and splendid,
  the summer day
In luscious sun
  - the trees they sway
These worlds await.

Ether winds caress,
  Stroke the strings
of fleeting time
  While I sleep,
While it all flies
                     & lies

Under the summer sun,
Under the summer sun.

Ripe and splendid,
  the summer day
In luscious sun
  - the trees they sway
These worlds await.

Ether winds caress,
  Stroke the strings
of fleeting time
  While I sleep,
While it all flies
                     & lies

Under the summer sun,
Under the summer sun.

There was a time
       Where i had Time


The sky is free
The sea is free
To be
   & eyes are made
  For views like these


I know everything
I know too much
I know nothing
At all
I am also very tired,
Of writing in "I",
And are you?

_


She's the Queen
Of the Western Shore,
intriguing monster
Among scented words

Send one home
Way back home
Away,
       back,
                  Home.



The Sea whispered
To me in my dream,
In white words,
That it plans to
Swallow me

So i allow myself
To be
dressed
by women,
For a journey,
That's never meant
To reach
the end,
the end

‌
Vein.
Vain.
Name.
Vain.
Same.
Insane.

  ...rain?

Saw it burrow underneath
the Mtn.
The men of village
drank *** and danced in the woods
      they were returning
      as the dusk was creeping up

The shade and sunset's light
mixing and shifting
on the ***** of the Mtn.
     Felt it hide in the mines
         dark veins of gold
The men kept capering and laughing; unaware,
Always listening to the songs of forest and night,
the forgotten melodies and plays hidden from sight.


             I saw it dance, and leap madly, though.

Show me your secret notebook
A reef under generic surface of water.

They've cut down my childhood tree
I used to climb.
                                      Pink Skies.



As she was walking away
from a car
The music gradually
Interrupted, like a radio
Losing its signal
And stopped.
S H E ' S H O T

As I drove,
I poured the music
out of the windows,
to mix it with
the sea of night.
Frogs of Winter.






O birds of spring,
You woke up too early,
your songs don't belong
in the winter's cold air.
You should have remained
silent and hidden
in your safe nests

I feel rather like
exploring self-caves,
Dark Mines of mine;
Dissolving under the blanket
of warmth and sickness
With my eyes closed.
(Do I?)
Definetly not fitting the machine.

Double-edged sword.
Endless wrestling with
Ego.
Say hello!



Once again(another day),
One more time,
She drifted into the night
and the music got torn
piece by piece
(Chopin, Nocturne op.9 No.1)
And I(We)
Were left in the brutal cold,
and dark, and silence
(Dead, pinned to the ground,
awaiting.)

     The moment a smile fades
     A switch that changes the masks
     Ancient greek theatre

Oh birds, you've found
Your small place
on a lake that froze
almost entirely.
Rejoy,
O lucky birds!



Veins of the city
remain silent beside us.
Conversations like ash
or leaves, or snow flakes
fall to them and dissolve,
but they don't cease to exist;
Remain hidden.

Old and new Things
got wed in an instant,
like wild thorny
carnivorous plants,
without us noticing;
Beyond the still line of horizon
-outshouted by the
Rush of Society.
Hidden old silent rooms.





I held a pipette
and gently instilled
the tiny sharp
drops of liquid Music
into the chill lake of Night.
They diffused in the black,
like a dark sapphire ink.

      Wind be a brush,
       for my long,
       slightly savage hair.

         Time drills and channels
          the canyons
          in the flesh of brain.

(Here is the bag with all the leaves
and withered twigs, rotten apples,
gray hair, used tickets, dried tears,
dirt and sebum scraped off the skin,
crumbled, tattered papers, alcohol
metabolites, angry emotions, *****
of thread, carcasses of birds,
feces, and rusty metal junk)

Thank you,
I am cleansed.

Am I a painter?
-No.
Am I a sculptor?
-Yes, but not primarly.
        A writer?
-Whether I want it or not - yes. But words are only a tool.
I think of myself as an electrician. Some mad scientist electrocuting others, experimenting, playing with reactions, creating or recreating. You can call me a time travelling machine guy too, these roles are connected though. A sower, yes.
I'm a vomiter as well; a cold sweating frog.
An anchor throwing man.

-Who am I?
-A desperate man,
an animal crying in the jungle at night.
A liar and a hyporcite(even now(even now(even now(even now(even n
A brief flash of light in the course of thousands of years(just like millions of stars in the galaxy, going through the cycle of numerous births and deaths). A wannabe, maybe? A formless gooey of matter, not different from anything else.
A hypocrite, again. And in this particular moment, even more a vomitter and a cold sweating frog.
All and none, time and rhyme,
soon not to rhyme.
And again,
I say,
I am one of the billion stars.

These days, I often imagine myself
Lying in my bed, dead.
With nothing but the "Little black book"
On the table beside me-
-a rather non toxic version of me.
A sculpture once hot,
A painting once wet.
The "Little black book" written with a black ink
(except one little bluestar).
A sculpture now cool,
A painting now dry.
Finally - matured, ripe and stonelike.
Ready to be exposed to the people:
Family, friends, loved ones, strangers.
Chaos to words.
A cooled down notebook.