under those wires

the wired landscape: disturbing statues of some distant invisible power. no traces of love around here. moloko in the headphones: should've been could've been. none of this really happened. ever. my eyes produced their own wires i tried to connect to: the sound the thought the vision. a path between the fields you take only when you intend to become one of those wires pointlessly reaching toward some unknown center. yet my stroll is de-centralized: its pattern is that of suddenly awaken memory: the more i walk the deeper in time i sink: the space of no wired connections: the freedom of movement: intactile love.

::: all my past life is mine no more the flying hours are gone like transitory dreams given o'er whose images are kept in store by memory alone :::

a torrid affair

all that you can receive ... lifetime intake ... in a single/singular moment. the moment you cease to be unfinished. the utmost completeness of pain. yes ... the singularity is a landscape of pain; each time different each time limitless. ((oh death, i would like to fuck you in return)) imagine rilke in duino - this noble solitude interrupted only by heart murmurs of angels' wings. this divine lack of presence ... a torrid affair of a poet and his insurmountably distant god. this machine of desire, death and despair. this longing for completeness. for "beauty is as close to terror as we can well endure".

::: shot in japan, the undeveloped film had to be shipped to france for development, due to japan's strict censorship policies :::

a night without a night

so blue, you could not feel it more; so damned you could not forget the way she tasted when blood surrounded your sight. i won't show up in the years to come: everything has to be basic - as silence if you long for examples. detruits. nous. can you see the tree? it's below horizon - it has lost faith in the sky and now -sudden and growing- tries to escape the land. i can feel it though nothing comes out of this feeling. just swirls, landwide.

on a blue monday, the first time i saw you you talked a lot about books; you brought wine, we drank until the world was torn apart. it was so cheap: everything. you should have felt it. then and now: total lack of denial. sometimes: i try to figure out what happened: how this or that day was possible. how did it all survive to this point where death is so blatantly inevitable.

on the blue surface i saw your face diminishing. i saw fish, water, everything was so green below. apart. apart du monde. nous partons. le ciel est... i will miss your west and hope i will never see your east again. i could abolish any cloud. i could re-establish any thought i forgot in last three years. and no: now i cannot do anything i am just a surface i am.
the trees, the clouds the faces: they all possess something that's only their: something that passes with time, that makes them just too unique to persist.
old and vain. the blood detrition. the sound extinction. the last crime of nature. desolée.

::: ich bin auf der flucht vor aufgebrauchten massen durch die wildnis am ende angekommen warte lange schon am eingang stumm unde ohne plan :::