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[c]ccp 0+00 irena sabine czubera + netochka nezvanova. memes pre:served kop!eren verboten : i seek the conjure woman to confirm the one i hold so many masks passing over my chipped smile as if the rituals of africa were not invented by me diversion solace whenever .... appears no more than a city cold loveless concrete the plainness drives me back to africa reminisce fantasies of origin expressed drums syncopate steps frenzied dancers round midnight funeral fire to recapture vibration vitality drained through the fissures broken heart the foreign is the greatest comfort when reality encroaches blades pressing the skin tender veins retreat to memory and then the spinning begins vitality of mania lavender flares musky fires damp impassioned is it destructive or healing this flayed passion breaking through love-formed composure? how should it be love holds in the reins delirious evening walks drunk on malarme why love to wax maternal and only solitude to unfurl tender wings and burn them under neon flashing off ice melting late cocktails to what unbound do i owe duality plurality tucked away for kissing love born of the evaporating moment evaporates me with it while the slow loves nurturing a wish to hide behind daylight strength and practicality freedom as it unwinds in heartache dangerous freedom to myself again only passion to please i am too much dancing all barefoot bleeding words from the shadows follow me to the bus feverish open melting memory into courage and fantasy future frenzy held balm around torment relish combustion relish rhythm revel the unraveling musically into mellow melancholy wound why does delirium dress me most myself? selfish to sink into bared pleasures literature pained sopranos honky-tonk cheap bars and velvet migrate through impression into one humming shiver to dive in leave obligations on the shelf with the false tone love neatly bound letters saved manilla envelope between shakespeare and the dictionary sleep for working seems shameful why do our doctors not prescribe dancing, not lure us with floating calabash and clay dolls their magic arms rope-bound to their torsos to prevent them wandering mischief until called upon if our love were born of potions and wet palms smoking over the fire i might meet it lips trembling with all the words wishing to be written could you hold me flowering my eyes go hunting blazing through the crowd longing the leap the runner a ferocious lover to tackle empty spaces rip them open let them bleed out all impurities all silence born of pause or constraint i wish for more night more hours to loosen to linger to suffer my passion to expand engulf to drown love in the endless the moon became at five one summer on the swings at midnight in love i am my mother's daughter gifts too large to pass in loss all my father's daydreaming known from frenetic solitude why is love no good for novels and heartbrake fecund? whilst in my palace of dreams there lies a circular room carved of sandstone atop a writhing staircase of unfathomable distance. a soft yellow glow emanates from this room, it is where i keep my heart. every night i cut it out of my chest and every morning it has grown again full and ripe, like a bursting fruit full of tenderness and sweet liquid. sorrow permeates this room. it glows a gentle blue. without this light there would return no heart in the morning. [i have not yet returned from my journey to the castles of hope] n n n n n n v3kt0r.r2!n - ztra!ng !n 2 dze z!ngular!t! - Netochka Nezvanova - karesz!ng dze vektor!szd 4th d!menz!on. f3.MASCHIN3NKUNST @www.eusocial.com 17.hzV.tRL.478 e | | +---------- | | < \\----------------+ | n2t | > e ------Syndicate mailinglist-------------------- Syndicate network for media culture and media art information and archive: http://www.v2.nl/syndicate to unsubscribe, write to <syndicate-request@aec.at> in the body of the msg: unsubscribe your@email.adress