Feather tiger porcelain fan porcelain rabbit

47. Feather tiger porcelain fan porcelain rabbit 

A bird does not fly with one wing. True that.
Why that lady walks with only one high heel and limping like that? I guess she has lost her other shoe and she is going home to have her a new pair.
Napkins spread
from outdoor cafeteria counter. Tirelessly
under its chairs, lively burst gusty blow
gum spots there.
Some things just shine through. 

Oh, Sensuela.

Oh Sensuela.

Only my irrational need to sense, sensibility and sentences. Slim moments of beauty. Grasping all of them. For those who take pleasure from flesh, pleasures of flesh really so rare, though we seek it constantly to have seconds of thrill. Hold it, keep it, till it has passed so quickly. Another one and another, like drops of something to drink dripping. Something has gone waste, the most of it.

Portrait of a missing, pencil on paper, 2015

breathe, in order to have faith in to this interrogation of present of delinquency

Fear guides me, that is what I trust. Battle that cannot be won, but it has to be fought. Deliberate subversion unraveled with such speed. Enraged, cloudy, earthly, muddy, dark, behind and under, in 

experiencing historical ontology of me, of ourselves, of that other I see and don’t, verifying existence via cruelty, inner must of terror which drives me. Fear that keeps me going. Abomination, afraid when 

afraid always, keeping me alert, a pulled string, pulling.

 

Malicious nocturne, young temperature of instantaneous and perhaps total entropy of the universe. Sounding grand, finding it in my lungs.

The need to come out. Phrase for someone admitting and showing. Coming out, revealing maintaining dignity and when you lose it, fearing shame, thoughts and talk. Brutality. Maintaining, what does it mean, how, a posture. What needs to be maintained and which parts could be discarded as useless. A well-tended body. Keeping up, staying in posture, situation in life against for what would be a better decision, difficult. Is it following tradition, listening to somebody else’s opinion than one’s own, on one’s life, rules, dictations, directions on how to. What is losing dignity? Deliberately, carelessly, why put yourself to disgrace, what will come of it, of not wanting to care about the consequences. to be killed in the most brutal way possible, publicly. I knew you could. I knew the Idea of failing and starting something new or ending up having disastrous after life or having just what one happens to get. Fear of losing face, fear of showing you my face is gone. What is the worst scenario that might happen? To be killed? 

Snowflakes form this way of water drops
at temperatures several degrees below water’s normal freezing point
depressions as ponds and lakes
zero zero Celsius centigrade and below below
water all, is ice infinitesimally small drops
all the corruption in my hand 

Would you like to poodle? What is that? Act like a baboon but look like a poodle or look like a poodle but act like a baboon.

Possible sadness of a dog

TOUGH IS SADNESS DELETED, EMBRACED BATTLE OF WILL AND ABILITY

rough rough rough rough rough rough rough rough, it’s as if dog was barking for hours with no end, no change in tone, me thinking how long will it last and what does it want. Does it belong to anybody?
Rough rough rough disgust, boredom
disturbance and irritation to get used to, to feel no pain by it, to let the disturbing angst go by letting those little things not get you. Thinking the possible sadness of a dog.

2001: Age of innocence

cat act tic tac itc cit tci tci tci where is it leading?

Choose your favourite syllable and repeat it in a tempo chosen as you wish.
Ok. I’m ready.
or..not at all. It goes on and on unfinished.

Say syllables out loud on a wasteland, in front of it, after having walked over it. Say
repeat constantly
while walking standing thinking them how to say them looking up to the sky shout out loud syllables how they go   gaps   in between, pauses, tactics
inventing teg             ASTRA TRA TRA TRA
stra stra gyte change order of the letters.

What sense does it make? What new views it opens? To tear, tear words apart. How do you feel when you repeat these syllables?

Buddha’s tooth

Buddha’s tooth, burnt mark of a symmetrical flower. A relic to worship kept in a temple of gold, temple of the sacred tooth in Sri Lanka. Who holds the tooth, holds the governance of the country, the divine right to rule. Buddha who was cremated left only one tooth. So, what is the other one? A tooth? It is a rainmaker. Ultima essence diving with turtles, ocean teacher, a born hungry ghost, never-ending Saffron revolution.

Bible speaks Job. Where is God? Like breathless, talking people pretending. There is a crack that goes from here where I’m sitting on a bench to the railway. Waiting for the train, bumpy old asphalt hot. There is a crack on my phone, I dropped it on the pavement. I always look for human face on broken surface.

Sentences on women’s magazine today: I was cruel to myself. I will never be the same again. He asked if I had gone any further. How far do you want me to go? Emotionally experiencing is awkward and risky. What do you think I should find, something very specific? Is it something particular, new, unexpected, scary, understood by people only as weird and new?

I tried to measure every word and realised it is not enough, because then I am not me, but trying to please someone else. Contextualised furore, living aorta, flowing, bumping, curling, consciously suffocating in fullness, but dehiscent to rupture and break open. It is something violent to live.

Trampoline on a yard covered with snow, a grey house and on its wall said enchantment.
Reflections of passengers on train window, their phones and laptops glow.
At Colombo lake fishing by moonlight. You really got me I thought, funny beige (Bunny Page) Jeep standing at the bank.
Poor you, Singhalese girl, what did you, who did you meet? I have an idea of normal, but it is not me. It is outside of me. I am not sure I understand me sometimes, but am I irrational? There are things that are normal for me to do daily like brushing my teeth twice a day, I go to bed and sleep at night, dream, but then when I go on I step out of the mainstream. I probably don’t want to continue thinking what is mainstream, it is pointed out, laid there like something I should walk on, but I assume it is the main thing.

Held my breath, kept my calm, waited, standing in the boat of mine, small, it could maintain my weight. I felt heavy, heavier than ever. Could not move my arms to row, holding an oar to hold my spine, I do not worry. I trust my boat, I trust its roof, I trust its surface, I trust its floor, I trust the oar, I trust my hand. I cleaned downtown Silver Sky, cleaned dusty closets with so much junk, that I wonder the person who has collected all that.
Cleaned ink and motor oil stains that have been there for ten years like I was cleaning myself I feel.

Deflowered

Deflowered, the flower has been demolished into less than a flower in broad daylight.
Into less worthy of seeing. Flower has been a symbol of purity, nature, beauty,
untouchable fragility and it is gone. Child has been turned into a woman with a push.

Opened, what happens there. Child is the flower, woman is ground for the man to grow from and he can be a child, but is a man, a flower. Is he a bug, an insect, who flies around?