"God is Alive, Magic is Afoot."
Who are you? Who am I?
the light in February can be self-sufficient,
sharp as deafness in the middle of the sentence
heavy as denial,
rapturous as a fusion
in the wind, in the air
forces of cohesion and destruction
play well together
in the arena of ribs, guts, lungs,
perhaps the silent liver
something is shivering inside
the light of a blade
an efortless wave of desire
a tired boundary left alone in the afternoon
the contours of my limits, your limits,
their limits so bright in this
constructivist fabric
Picasso was just foretelling us
forcing the doors
to expose the cover-up
dreaming his internal objects
then we start all over
with every breath
I want to give myself to me
as a new toy, as a gift
I want to love him with overt passion
I want you/him to break and store me
in between your thoughts
the body is full of eyes, of ears, of lips
I’ll survive in a whisper
They just want to flow into each other
clapping, holding on to the fluid of life
engulfing everything, defying all
censorship, authorship,
leadership
the light in February
is newly born with desire
to embrace itself, its darkness
in the vibrant body
I am, you are are sliding back with the air
finding rest in the vital void
the song remains the same
I am you, and you are me
the enchanted blade
is ready to cut
a new body for misunderstanding
we need to survive each other
something is tickling my feet
some wordless revolt
some rage of the living
to impersonate death
to posses their breath
I feel my boundaries
watched over by desire
but you are always invited here
to sing your sea of blood
turquoise or as you like
I am my desire
my desire is searching for myself
everywhere
in the incomprehensible light
in the lightness of his hair
in their hunger, courage and despair
for tomorrow
Feb 15, 2015
Feb 15, 2015 at 4:41 PM UTC
"God is Alive, Magic is Afoot."
Who are you? Who am I?
the light in February can be self-sufficient,
sharp as deafness in the middle of the sentence
heavy as denial,
rapturous as a fusion
in the wind, in the air
forces of cohesion and destruction
play well together
in the arena of ribs, guts, lungs,
perhaps the silent liver
something is shivering inside
the light of a blade
an efortless wave of desire
a tired boundary left alone in the afternoon
the contours of my limits, your limits,
their limits so bright in this
constructivist fabric
Picasso was just foretelling us
forcing the doors
to expose the cover-up
dreaming his internal objects
then we start all over
with every breath
I want to give myself to me
as a new toy, as a gift
I want to love him with overt passion
I want you/him to break and store me
in between your thoughts
the body is full of eyes, of ears, of lips
I’ll survive in a whisper
They just want to flow into each other
clapping, holding on to the fluid of life
engulfing everything, defying all
censorship, authorship,
leadership
the light in February
is newly born with desire
to embrace itself, its darkness
in the vibrant body
I am, you are are sliding back with the air
finding rest in the vital void
the song remains the same
I am you, and you are me
the enchanted blade
is ready to cut
a new body for misunderstanding
we need to survive each other
something is tickling my feet
some wordless revolt
some rage of the living
to impersonate death
to posses their breath
I feel my boundaries
watched over by desire
but you are always invited here
to sing your sea of blood
turquoise or as you like
I am my desire
my desire is searching for myself
everywhere
in the incomprehensible light
in the lightness of his hair
in their hunger, courage and despair
for tomorrow
"Desire appears in the rift which separates need and demand; it cannot be reduced to need since, by definition, it is not a relation to a real object independent of the subject but a relation to phantasy; nor can it be reduced to demand, in that it seeks to to impose itself without taking the language of the unconscious of the other into account, and insists upon absolute recognition from him".
Jean Laplanche & Jean-Baptiste Pontalis
