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irinia 1d
I feel free for a while now
my shadow turned into a fountain
I am one with myself and
the darkest shade of blue
I carry no longer empty hands
his shadow her shadow
patience makes the shoes lighter
I imprison myself when I see only
halves of colour

I feel free to have fried chicken
and a salad now
I have only my own destiny
to carry around
irinia 2d
“If the perception of reality involves unpleasure, that perception – i.e., the truth – must be sacrificed". S. Freud

silence, this empty space
sight is stumbling on every object emptied of itself
I tend to forget all the nights  turning to dust
all the words turning to rust
we can hardly bear the intensity of paradoxes
I can see the world better through walls of tears

silence, this fullness of time when
the unreal seems so real, like the song of stones
I take back, I own the vision of my skin
grief is an explosive substance
the destruction of words follows
the destruction of mind really

who wants to see "the future of an illusion"?
we are so vulnerable so flawed when it comes
to creating reality, we want to forget all pain
we want to not know
the innocence of apples and oblivion we carry
in our dreams
"disavowal, turning a blind eye to painful truths, is at the heart of repetition, and the inability to learn from experience."

“The grave danger to the future of man is largely due to his incapacity to recognize the fictitious character of his ‘common sense" Erich Fromm
platonic years insurrected by civil wars (again)

one girl hit by lightning (again)

x-rays of her broken limbs painted from memory

caught between flintlock and fossil

with a just-sleepy-enough, narcotic feeling

his ghost in the sock drawer

his odd fingerprints on her luggage

the wilt of flowered books

full of wide-eyed selfies

and running scared old love letters
(or were they death threats?)

all roadblocks to her star-shaped chemical world

until her coup d'état falls helplessly into the sea (again)
irinia 7d
words come to me from the roots of a resonant hazard
I wonder if we fool ourselves that the future is open
Heisenberg paradox in our eyes, starseeds in yours
billions of years of solitude haunt me
we carry supernova physics in our bodies only they
know what we are attempting, we are crazy
enough to dislocate the inception of language

we should carrefully ponder the meaning of the words
with which we slowly killed our bonds
we should consider the poiesis of living
words have no meaning, only texture
irinia Sep 18
My grandmother was married by the communist party. Yes, don’t be surprised. Comrade Soare insisted: comrade Alexandru is a promising man, he knows the right direction for the world to go. Grandma wasn’t convinced, but the party insisted, it was her duty.  They lived in a city where every street had a dark end. Women were not allowed to have silence between their legs. Only arms filled with zest. My father married my mother for the garden. For the apple trees, peach trees, cherry trees, for daffodils, roses, for the raspberry. Their minds colonized,  the right to think abolished. The right to feel obscured. Politics of desire mystified. The wind had ears. But they were proud, they were tall, they looked the other way. They carried history in their teeth without laughter. I came along as an unfinished story. The debris of time filled my mother’s womb. It was never mine. They gave me the demand of truth: touch feels good. A living soul is necessary. Thinking is vital. Community is air.  We need each other.
One day I knew, how it happens. My blood started flowing with cataclysmic power.  This is not the time for Hollywood love stories,  but honest touching. You spin my mind, and I keep dancing.  I carry your body in my silences just for the sake of the world.  I had to cry. Passion is terrifying. You suddenly don’t recognize the meaning of crossroads. The world gets swept away.  I feel like shouting at the speed of the world decomposing. You make me laugh.  What if love is a tyrant?  There is emptiness hidden in the seed of desire. I had to learn from tears, from disembodied words.  I have to learn again the meaning of freedom. Who knows what is this everything that matters?
irinia Sep 18
so hard to comprehend if you
can truly be loved as you are
or we simply use each other
like Seurat used light
the jukebox of desire plugged-in
it keeps turning reality against itself

sometimes  I am dreaming, feeling
crying, laughing too much
I know.
I keep looking at the world
with the terror of being alive
with a look that exhausts love

what if contradiction is the mother
of progression?
irinia Sep 18
he survives his story kept in boxes and knives
the dread of forgotten runes keeps him company
mother repression father night
emptiness surrounded by invisible walls
death a continent for the living

I am facing this vortex of muted music
with empty hands, despair and white hair
no solace for the unshed tears
everyday he tells me something
about nothing
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