.lower remedy lane

and to survive this, you need to sleep long, you need to sleep sound 

sleep deep, see your own within the haven of your eyelids 

remember dreams of angels blowing black balloons for you

you say there's beauty in a scar

i find it sick, but it's a part of me i've long ago accepted

now what a stupid thing you are 

sometimes

as you watch it 

you draw your lips closer 

and with all tenderness you can find 

you slide your fingertips over its surface 

not to make it hurt 

- to understand better

feel like your own 

give it warmth, give it cold 

whatever it needs 

now isn't it sick

drawn to each other for every stain

when you see beauty there 

but without taking any pleasure 

and asking yourself: 

where are the lost rites 

and when you've opened so much 

that it's made every rib in your chest break 

for a land that's hidden it had no sky 

and thrown you into an airless void 

the ill-mended bones, you know 

you need to break them again, by yourself 

so you run 

straight into this wall 

so you run fast 

onto the pain of salvation

♫

.13

there is something deeply wrong in being broken under a clear sky. it was a day like this. a me that knew not. with eyes wide open recognizing no shapes, knowing nothing, just like a child. only not able to glance like a child does anymore - i'm not a tabula rasa, i'm a palimpsest. a one that recreates itself, and each time, even if it becomes a new sheet ready to be written on, it gets heavier. by the ink it has contained, by the number of recompositions, by the crash of bonds broken.

so, flicker, this page is not clear - it's only empty

♫

.12

i'll come with the flood and teach you to breathe underwater. for this to happen you need to go to the shore, stand on the edge in the storming weather. you have to be fearless, you get lost only if you fear drowning.

1 + 1 = 1
mathematics of rain
our count 

you know surface is for the easy, it reflects the sun beautifully. depths are for those who are ready to drown, if together. the sun is taken in.

the greatest drama of the story of little mermaid is that she at all needed to go on land, walk in pain and mute. if a dive had come, there would have been sounds, music

a new kind of breath

♫

.IX

the difference? 

is the reason why not touching the ground can hardly be compared to flying

.VIII

sunshine sunshine go away 

if you can't reach my heart

♫

.VII

which way will the sunflower turn surrounded by millions of suns 

which way will the blindgirl turn surrounded by millions of eclipses

♫

.serenade for the renegade

we starve for light and yet we 

devour darkness 

dance 

to the rhythm of stars crashing under our teeth 

then 

we fall asleep 

the moon crumbled, in our hair 

mingled 

making love through stone walls 

we breathe 

into each other's lips, only 

come, 2 a.m.

♫

.VI

staring at lightning won't keep you warm 

and yet i catch the electricity in my hair so easily 

so very easily

.V

a sketch. beauty of imperfection. energy of temporality. 

soft graphite. hard sunlight.

.11

agaze. i've just realized, clearly like never before, how it goes. how it always goes. 

you see this person and in the first moment you want to run to him and kiss him right away. and then you wake up to reality and start breathing again. and you look at him and then you slowly get closer to each other, reaching the place where you both already are since the very first second. 

it's not about falling in love

it's about the moment of recognition

♫

.10

Consuelo, le démon aussi était un ange, avant -

i have this feeling

that inbetween, there were those mirror people, reflecting both god and the devil, scar and flawlessness. that heaven as well as hell hang agaze admiring themselves in the mirror dividing their grounds. and that this mirror is earth.

♫

.9

i believe in purity preserved in the cracks of this world
just like salt in the rocks
i raise my hand full of these crystals and look ahead in silence

.8

distance begins when the first thing passes you by

with every other fling the distance rises and so does the sharpness of sight. you see the picture and the frame. you see the wall and the very first brush movements. you see the shadow of the hands. 

you see all the time although the world is trying to convince you it's the other way round. with all the pictures, tasks, ambitions, desires, futures, opportunities. 

while the only one is the chance of life. the chance of step. of touch. the possibility of voice. of a blink. 

how many times have you shaken hands
how many times have you remembered it

♫

.7

amazing how a song can diametrically change its meaning if only you switch focus from one line to another. how this dichotomy can run down your spine one day - that surprise ice can become something more and different from what you've taken for granted. 

there are nights when splintered mirrors you resurrect with your afraid fingers give a better picture in the end. there are nights when you sense for the first time the closeness to becoming both strong and tender. this is a night like this, a night when i sat down at the desk without a purpose and suddenly found myself in this trace. the brush landed in the remains of my tea that soon became blue, violet and chaotic. accident and running while took over.

♫

.IV

a space taken from someone's love confession