Life, or something like it.....

May 24

irinia

the sky is wet like a mouth
the light extremely fragile
bellow people keep fighting, dancing, dying
a soothing sustance, this perfume fills my nails unassuming
the real & the imaginary fuse & diffuse each other

imagination keeps you real
by chance tears feed the earth
we need the continuity of gestures
the prelude of silence foretells the foxtrot of words
a dream clarifies the windows, solidifies the doors
like a tide of awe against the void

#light #dream #void

May 23

irinia

shadow

When does the butterfly in flight read what’s written on its
wings? Pablo Neruda
Humans cannot bare too much reality. T.S. Elliot

what is
lost in a labyrinth of questions crushed by height
only the sky is the limit is the lie. lies have borders
"What is it you want?" asks Ivan Ilych
“What do I want? Not to suffer. To live”
in their words a map of darkness
the heart of stones stops. it's so
easy to split the light with digital words
the immunity of the herd shelter for violence

I recognize the feeling as I recognize the shadow of words
it makes poetry bleed out of dreams
we understand so well how Oedipus was manipulated by fate
thoughts without borders hide from themselves
when the world is unthinkable the mind is a no man's land
their smile an eclipse of blood, in the middle of noise
life fights with its own scream

the certainty of tears pushed far away... behind the gaze till it spews hatred
a cry: the brides have forgotten to wear white,
digital happiness is unbearable
solitary selves search for communion but
the antihero doesn't ask who he is
this thought experiment terrorizes the inception of morning

a never ending cycle the desire
spectacular lives clash with normative statements
the empty father dillema in a fatherless society: some are afraid to be swallowed by the womb of the world
the resurection of the canon: the cross is hungry
let's discover these embalmed animals: our hearts

lay down the blade of thought
linden trees are blooming

#history

May 16

irinia

is history a poem

the sacralisation of politics takes place when more or less elaborately and dogmatically, a political movement confers a sacred status on an earthly entity (the nation, the country, the state, humanity, society, race, proletariat, history, liberty, or revolution) and renders it an absolute principle of collective existence, considers it the main source of values for individual and mass behaviour, and exalts it as the supreme ethical precept of public life. Emillio Gentile

#history

May 15

irinia

circles

the circles of time so possible. the hero radicalises the mirrors. in the middle of seeing a barricade, we don't know how to overcome it's truth. reality fights with itself. i have no one to cry with. time is dripping. the violence of words. the violence of thoughts. the violence of lies. the violence of dreams. the violence of reducing life to a grammatical structure. the violence of destroying what is real. there is violence on every side. there is hope. words are weapons for massification. the captive mind needs a voice. the innocent mind sleeps in a fragile bed.
i cry alone. you cry alone too. a woman cried alone among passersby. crying together it's unthinkable on an ordinary day. is it freedom that is dripping hour by hour, day by day?
the show goes on, let's make peace a fake in remake. no famine in Gaza cause people got used to eating stones. the news is incessantly breaking. an invisible menticide, our digital fingers won't recognize what kind of substance the skin is. laughter is not enough for everybody. i watch the clouds decomposing themselves with eagerness. everything is what is supposed to be. closed minds in closed bodies. birds are carrying our thoughts like broken paddles.
the permafrost of drama can finally see the daylight. violence is unbearable for me. a circle is closing, a new one begins.

#time #history #violence

May 14

irinia

blue

I have toast and panick for breakfast
there's so much noise & scrolling without end
(I am/you are/he is just islands in the middle of words and infinite scrolling)
the coffee machines just lost their purpose in radical mornings
time explodes in our veins while
I'm dreaming of blue hours

#time

May 8

irinia

new hope

the room of tears was waiting for someone suited for grace,
for bridging the gap between our wounds
a dream of togetherness filled with white smoke
the joy winged and grounded
as the immanence of the divine
tears roll with a new hope to find generosity
in the human form

#hope #divine #heart

May 6

irinia

hunger

when I hear the wind I wonder about the tales
in the chestnut flowers, they refute their ideal
yet even stones need hope to bloom
history recycles its magnitude,
confuses its layers, refurbishes illusions
with every breath we make history

on these streets I look people in the eye
their frozen smile land in my bones
we look at each other with surprise
this is who we are, for real
sealed wounds are spinning a pain in transition
who can admit the exploitation of dreams,
the violence of lies, the competition of shadows
sitting crossed-legs with eyes closed
what we know we are; what we don't know we are too
we have such a hunger for the food of life hidden
in a lotus flower

#history

May 2

irinia

evening on a hill

on this hill a poet can see how
the tip of the forest is the dance-floor for light, how
silent sediments don't notice our steps
yes, there are mythologies of darkness in the bracket (some are ready to take the plunge) but
I am here to watch the evening simmering, the light letting go of itself
the tide of sight attuned with the air discarded by trees
my bones run in a depth even when time calls a truce with itself

#nature #time #light

Apr 25

irinia

encounters (6) a tale of two shoes

"Today I didn't think..." she paused without breathing, "I took the shoes today... to get comfortable..." A monalisa smile on her beautiful face, as if happy to get lost into an unseen dimension. Her body was cuddling on the sofa like in a fresh nest. Silence was spinning softly around us. I stared at her shoes emptied on the floor, I entered their dream. Minutes passed or half minutes, they felt years.
Years of hope and heaviness, ambition and laughter, ignorance and bliss. They looked helpless, tired, used against their vocation by a stern pace. " My skin is itching... again...." Her skin doesn't want me to see through her, I thought, her skin doesn't want anyone to see what she saw, to feel what she felt. I looked at her in silence, I waited for the shoes to unfold their poetry. I hoped for a smile to slide on her skin one day

#poetry

Apr 23

irinia

escape

How many rythms we are and who listens.
We are inaudible.
No body can escape history, only in dreaming.
The dreams dream the missing body.
The mind escapes in its architecture, an unstable jungle.
it evades in dreams too
The dreamer dreams what one cannot think.
Concepts are birds on wire or double edge swords,
one edge cuts the density of the world, the other one cuts the body away. The body is the musical canvas of the mind.
Ideas don't exist without a hand, without a tongue.
Everything transforms into other than itself,
the body becomes mind, the mind becomes body.
Thoughts turn into motion, sensation into image, images turn into words, colours, noise, an eternal hum,
we are the toys of a god of life.
Everything vibrates in a potential field of meaning.
Every tribe of cells has its own sense of time and grammar,
In between the empty space improvises.
The mind is a martial artist, it rehearses its moves with conviction and pathos.
The body absorbs reality and feeds the mind, it is an amplifier of life.
These words are passing through my mind, my chest, my eyes, my hand,
I don't know exactly what they mean.
How much sense there is in a touch,
how light or rushed or heavy or shy or joyous or furious or screaming or ardous or defeated or uncertain or afraid.
I carry the other in me when I dream their bodies.
Then you move away, stay or dissapear, who knows.
Communication moves through the body.
Everything that is alive finds a way to be.
Everything that is alive finds a way to destroy its aliveness.
The body resonates inside the body of the world.
The nuances of light gives the eye its intensity,
the movement of darkness moves the mind to fill the blanks.
A shared chemistry binds us and how much effort we put to disentangle.
Full succes is impossible.
There is no escape from being alive until we greet the great unknown, I suspect death is alive too after all.
we already know many ways of dying, we pretend not to know how life can render us lifeless.
Frozen, constricted, unflowing, circling, dying bit by bit.
Nowdays we die with speed in our eyes, with surprise.
What do words dream and who dreams the words?
Who dreams the world and who shares the dream?
I don't want to be captive in anyone's dream.
Let's share the dreaming,
from some dreams
there is no scape.

#life #death #dreaming #body #mind

Apr 22

irinia

emotion

a quarter of a second
that's all I need to understand
the emotion of spring leaves

#spring

Apr 22

irinia

everyday tyranny

If I stop dreaming
It fully wakes the beast
Teho Teardo & Blixa Bargeld

a collapsed time, its recurring pulse
spews me in and out of my mold
everything exists all at once
everyday,
probable and frozen states,
this configuration of atoms.
terror owned my muscles
cruelty assaulted my mind
I was breathing only in dreams
fused and confused,
receptacle for an anarchic pain.
I was living the secret life of moths
encapsulated in strangled words

I am writing:
this is the shape of a heart
no denial.
a tyranny of silence
is an impossible exile.
oh, I have to remember
the fortitude of silence
when I'm shouting,
when the tyrant is I

#tyranny

Apr 21

irinia

April

it's April in the lilac's sweetness
I need a break from this modern mind,
from the chronic, endemic discourse of crisis
I am looking: this creature, the sea, is herself
the wind shouts without words
echoes pass through the gate of tears,
weapons of mass production
take my hands and do something with them
layers of silence or the tango of closeness,
the thought of an uniterrupted line

#poetry