Vulnerability

I have whispered very slowly: Pourquoi partir encore? Pourquoi encore?
This journey from town to town, from language to language, from book to book, from body to body, is an intravenous sun turning around unknown possibilities like our starving wild silence. Does my heart have aerial roots? Does my brain chemistry allow such a borderline reality?

Sophia, all my skin is deeply written and I cannot decipher it. Our bodies flow and their temperature explodes. Study the geometry of wildfire, study the grammar of anxiety, study the history of nakedness and you will reach wisdom. A stormy wind is forming—within, without. Can I drink it smoothly before my final burning?

I was praying inaudibly and bleeding invisibly: Serre-moi, encore! (...) Sur la bouche, encore! My memories do not cohere. Neither do nights agree every day. All disappearance encloses an inverted birth of discontinuous verbs and nouns. Sufferings and imaginings have a peculiar topography. Sensing my random arrivals and departures increases my thirst. The world is nothing but a story of thirsty bodies, and every body mouths on other bodies. No emergency exit exists. Neither do emergency entrances.

The threshold of metamorphosis vibrates. Mouth-to-mouth. Nothing can convert fire into ashes nor wind into rock inside our veins.
Your eyes taste like boats loosely anchored off coast, crying for future waves. My salty perspiring is an absurd path of fragmented intensities, hungering for something to love. If you touch my chest, your truth will undo my labyrinth.

Force au superlatif

Il pleure encore. Les textes et les raisons ne font rien. Il pleure toujours. Longtemps s'est-il dit le contraire du vrai. Maintenant le vrai le renverse. Le temps se brise.
La souffrance est la ligne de fuite de tout paysage. Je suis la limite. Demain je tomberai malade et je plongerai dans la source.

"Je pensay en tomber malade, la sensibilite ne dependant pas du raisonnement." (Leibniz an Lady Masham, le 10 juillet 1705)

Le sensible et l'intense

Jouir et souffrir fusionnent ici jour et nuit terriblement.
Aimer l'Amour, c'est un noeud absolu et une angoisse maritime.
Mes passages vers Toi exigent la permanence d'une naissance et d'une disparition co-originaires. Je songe aux naufrages et aux navigations excessives. Mon corps insiste sur le vide et s'y confond sans retour. Le soleil corrobore la joie chaude et dense des pierres. Je me tais. Se taire, c'est ouvrir quelque chose.
Je ne dirai plus davantage: vous avez tout compris.

Delirium tremens

Je me souhaite une faim une soif
un tremblement continu
qui porte un nom insoluble

ma peau souterraine
personne jamais
ne saura manger ni boire
elle porte notre alliance
(?) l'insoluble (?)

No Return

There are irreversible metamorphoses.

Only further metamorphosing can follow.

I fear my In-definition
my heading for Terra Incognita.

Self = 0

Today I have been waiting for my Self.
(All in vain as all my perspiring. Lately.)

After some despair
I decided to examine my chest
it was marked with a sign: 0

I concluded
my Self should have departed.

All departure must be an arrival somewhere.
I doubt.

Is My departure a longing for an arrival
and an encounter Elsewhere?
I doubt. Extensively.
Within, without.

(Young man,
I had told you that you are suffering
from an acute aerial roots syndrome
and that the nodous inner formations,
your new system of flesh beliefs and desires,
must derive from extreme temperature variations.)

Tell me your story again.
Begin with the sign 0.
Draw it on your palm.
Again. Between your eyes.

Imagine your love as rain and snow on your body.
Imagine your anxiety as a mobile landscape.
Open your mouth. Embark on naked voices.

Only speechless vowels through your skin.

Begin breathing and drinking the Origin.

Vide-au-coeur ou au-coeur-du-vide

Ici je touche ma combustion
au-coeur-du-vide

Ici je comprends ce muscle
qui me frappe du dedans

je lui demande de me parler
de s'expliquer d'une fois pour toutes
de me laisser partir quelque part

je suis une urgence d'ailleurs

mais il n'a pas de langage


je plonge dans le souvenir de tes yeux
c'est l'Age Insoluble
L'Age du vide-au-coeur

le vide comme muscle et combustion

ma soif n'a point de langage non plus
elle m'arrache la peau
elle en fera
un tambour
une voile
vides