Jedrt Maležič, 2012: A True Animist in a True Dilemma "You know when you meet someone on the street and they »recognize you« and say: omg, is that you??! And you lower your head and say: I don't think it's me". Boštjan Narat, philosopher, musician, songwriter An SMS on my pink mobile saying: »Who are you?« appears suddenly, its demanding vibrato shakes me to the bone. I begin to erase the teyt of a sender unknown to me a cosmic error, like dividing time catching me at a bad bad bad moment, driving a car foreign to me borrowed, not rented, a gift from an absent friend foe friend foe giving me the chills and a thrill in my spine making me sick and demanding of me actually know – shit oh shit, how could I even begin to meet its orders satisfactorily? I – it's all about the EYE – would love to belong, to respond to an actual name and an address, to feel and to put in a song the sameness of my people to let it get under my skin and crawl into my limbs and sigh across my chest and cry and bye and bye – it's all about this crazy fucking EYE – devour what was left of my Why and How and Who and Where my pussy riot claws I think I'll spare for days on end, just leave them there Am striving to reach for the answer and catch it somewhere in the slimy abyss of the When and the Now – using so many capital letters no one is actually going to take me seriously Someone asking me who I was, most likely a kid playing boss aiming for friendship the more the better perfect value inflation It's all about the answers and I – it's all about the I, the aself, all seing Eye of fucking Saruman Illuminati Gotham city bets and jokes– don't seem to know to grow to flow across the issue of Who knowing only who claims me as theirs as ours and not some other's piece of art. Fart. thing is, I could go anywhere and just dillute change the color of my hair and salute the obvious choice the never-ending, ever-mending shrill nightmare of butchery in the name of belonging in the name of belongings in a society that uses thong-pins and S&M sms's dresses up as people when all it is is a beast with a dollar sign for an eye – It's truly all about the I – beholders or not we are sickening slippery beings and if there is a choice we made then we're consiously chosing condescension in the name of the superior breed of flesh of dress of mess of less than a poppy seed sprouting into the big H. that's how big of an ego eagle you are, I keep telling myself so as not to go bonkers in Yonkers so as to truly be – it's all about the I and the BE – worth the question the sms question the S&M question the unanswerable question of some whimpy kid BE – it's all about the bee, the flower and the tree – free and see and just claim the We and the teeny tiny Bee A tribe of so many devoured entities that we are that we admit ourselves to be keeps naming and taming the nature of Me keeps wining and dining in the bowels of mother-father earth – Please, help yourselves to a drilling of a hole in your mother-father's chest! pull them by the hair and never let them rest! – but truthfully I don't think my tribe wants my eyes to see that being a human is shameful to me. I pick up the phone and answer the kid I write down my name in reply and utter a slight imperceptible sigh as the poppy seed bursts and the answer is clear: in capital letters of my first and last name I type the weird words: "I don't think it's me."
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#220 Since you are gone, in the mornings I am listening to the birds for a long time. The flame, that has been illuminating your face, I have covered by the soil. I have disconnected myself and I will never be back. I should’ve cried, but I quit even before I have fell silent. And then, I left and you went home. I can take the responsibility of the executor. I know how to kill even further than knowing how to love. #211 Despite all the closeness, I don’t know you. I don’t know yet, with what writing you are writing down the secrets of the moon. I know you know about humming woods. I have seen you already, breathing in all the oxygen around yourself. I have seen you ages ago already, you are just a bit closer now. And I rather don’t use the questions, not to hurt the freedom, that tightens us, somehow into the simultaniousness, with no name. #206 Silently, I am undoing your buttons, my hands are shaky, you let me, not asking anything. The kisses belong to both of us. We ignite - the magnetism when we touch. We are inventing the words, the punctuations, the signposts in the fog; something that would explain the heartbeat. Something for us to grasp. We don’t even care for the wind and the blue blossom I gave you as a gift, because I don’t know the word for that feeling, it becomes transparent, as the air in the August, as the water being near by. #202 Even if you have forbid yourself, the tourkiz have already begun to live in you and it is glowing like a comet. The need of nourishment. I am eating out stardust and drawing the lines into horizon. #188 Magnetism between you and me would burn out our kiss as a comet in the clear sky The glimpse of the eternity. #183 At the highest peak, when the time is breaking down into the see and the gravity is chasing its origin; at the very beginning, everything is different. #181 The light in the darkness is brighten by the morning shadow. In the stove, the flame is burning out, slowly the answers are disappearing and the doubt-lined drought changes the way of the movement. And slowly, it is disappearing, what it belongs to the embers. #73 Her lips so close to me just blow me away. Sole escape velocity lunches me into the endless horizon. There is a hiding place of kisses We let them into the see. Let the gold of duality grows into the peace of the sight. #60 Today, it happened that I have, In her eyes, for the moment, (caught into the eternity) saw the universe. I could bearly breathe, this is how I am blown away by the depth. The most, she touches me very tender; as if she would be searching for vulnerability, to give it the value. When I feel her most closely, my sight is lost in the distance. As if my heart would yet have to come from the far, far… AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. Archives
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