virtuoso vertigo

 

it is as dictionary, or my word for it ….I think in images without words all day; I am a broken wagon wheel. and rip van Winkle. and so glad of the wind to disguise when, without warning, I start to cry and as I walk trying to stop the sudden gush of it, I desperately hope that nobody comes along and sees

where do memories go when you die?

    ….they must go somewhere 

 that rip van Winkle sense comes to me with its touch of mortality like ice on the pane 

fugue

 

As I start to hear the music Jörn composes, how it has begun to come to me in soprano like seagulls wailing and tenors of vocalized lines from Norse mythological sagas 

when suddenly I get an urge and I want to hurl myself off a bridge 

this place of the celf ….do I forfeit ….so it comes to my awareness and so…. you see, it has always been a part of me; this dictionary …. this fortress….

even as I know the answer I ask —so do I move forward?

  ….I get sick with fear and vertigo 

it is not for them to take apart 

so what am I doing —what am I doing? there will be no where to go if ….I share the dictionary; no where to go, no other place to run for cover, no where left within —and no one….no one, at all 

but what was it for, anyway? 

but

—whose terms? The double edged sword, 

only but no, nothing is worth my soul; it is not a product ….is a nom de plume enough, I wonder, and my identity, my face? give them electra?and for someone else ….perhaps it is too much

c'est la muse, en héros, qui donnera une voix à la sirène

 celui avec les yeux de vampire ;  avec leur beauté féroce et sauvage

threadbare rope

 encore une fois, un timing parfait….  et apparaît toujours

….tack

 

même si je savais, bien sûr, mais je viens de réaliser….

seulement sept de plus ?  -et je ne vois pas un seul; c'est une grande tragédie:( 🥀

 

politics is war and ephemeral 

    but really, it is just levels of slavery 

           as it ever was