Ouroboros

Air in here is a lot like molasses – sticky, heavy and orange. The last one I’ve made up – I actually don’t know what the colour of it is. But I like to think that this would be it. We are looking at each other above the table. It’s a little bit like a duel, a little bit like negotiation. Somewhere on the peripheries of my vision I can see all of the empty bottles, dirty cups and broken straws. Sunlight – mercilessly – consumes all of the remains of the shadow and everything becomes even more visible, even more tangible - everything but us. We seem to be merely the outlines of the people, faded contours of something that exists only in potentia. I can’t feel my face but I know very well I am squinting and that it goes through series of nervous ticks and contortions – a fucking perpetum mobile of neuroticism. You, on the other hand, resemble a still nature and the longer I stare at you the more I feel as if I were struck by the sudden prosopagnosia. So there we are, at this table, in this heat, flooded with blinding and burning sun – with the seizing reality at my end and this agamic void at yours. I can’t really tell if your lips have moved but surely they must have because the air between us starts to tremble and then a sound of your voice wraps around my head and slithers its way into my ears.

- Fuck.

Probably not the most bright or eloquent commentary to this moment in time and space, but let’s be honest – probably the most fitting. Just to test myself I first nod and then lick my lips. With a relief I notice that your face regained some of the human-like features – a crooked smile becomes visible.

- What now? – I say because I know that one of us has to ask this question and it’s very important to be the one that asks, not the one that answers. Even before the last sound leaves my mouth, you know that you have lost.

- Fuck – You repeat and I couldn’t agree more. We exchange uncomfortable looks and then it seems almost as if the world around us would swallow itself – in a collateral damage we get dragged into the Ouroboros’ belly.

Air in here is a lot like molasses – sticky, heavy and orange…

dysania

dysania (df): an extreme difficulty in waking up and getting out of bed

it is a little bit

as if we were

the two survivors

on this boat at the sea

still in the shock

that the storm

has passed

and left us alive

- so we lay

in your bed

between the sheets

covered in salt

and sweat

with your fingers

in my hair

and blinded

by the sun

I surrender

afternoon.

sipapu

sipapu (df): a small tunnel or interdimensional passage

I've broken already

few fingernails

and I'm up to

my elbows

in dirt and mud

the tunnel grows

I can taste sand

in my mouth

I can hear it

falling on

my shoulders

I think I might be

crying

the tunnel grows

in my image and likeness

dark

shallow

and dirty

kairos

kairos (df): the perfect, delicate, crucial moment; the fleeting rightness of time and place that create opportune atmosphere for action, words, or movement.

until now

it was a little bit

like being a butterfly

pierced with a pin

to this time

and this space

you are breathing out

some warm air at me

I start to blink

and that's me

learning

to fly

with your teeth

you remove

the needle

from my heart

my hands

get warm

inside of

yours

komorebi

komorebi (df): sunlight that filters through the leaves of trees.

I like to look at the sun

through my fingers

this is when I pretend

that I am a tree

I get easily blinded

but instead of tears

I cry with sap

my skin is still white

with this unhealthy

paleness

so I guess I must be

a birch

you carve

your initials

on my stomach

but it doesn't

hurt anymore

light pierces

my wooden hand

and lands

at your feet

yugen

yugen (df): to watch the sun sink behind a flower-clad hill, to wander on and on in a huge forest without thought of return, to stand upon the shore and gaze after a boat that disappears behind distant islands, to contemplate the flight of wild geese seen and lost among the clouds.

we are standing outside

and staring at the skyline

with some constellations

drawn as if by a child

and cranes with red lights

you try to describe

what's happening inside of you

but have to stop just after

first two words

cold stone under my feet

makes me shiver

I want to grab your hand

but I am afraid it

could fly away from me

like a startled bird

I guess there is not

much difference

between us

here

tonight

tomorrow

I will get a fever

and you will

bring me coffee

to bed

rubatosis

rubatosis (df): the unsettling awareness of your own heartbeat

street lamps flicker

and I tell myself

that this is a broadcast

especially for me

(even if I can't decode it)

so there is that

and there is noise

I think we must be

standing exactly where

the City has its heart

if I am right

and that's the heart

I am the needle

moving through

its arteries

and about to kill

I focus on

my own heartbeat

and synchronise it

with this other

bigger heart

- so we can die

together

I want to tell you

that this is the time

to say all of the

goodbyes

but the only sound

that I can make

is this loud rumble

coming from

my heart

- already

counting down

...