8 y

are now over.

i’m coming every month

ba as fi avut nevoie.

two days away

do i scare you? do those water lilies tell things of an edge inhabited by desire? do you see my words like an amusement park? do my texts whirl in your hands? does my right forefinger point to your inside landscape? does die donau resonate in the fibres of your heart? do you feel the colorful bruises of my eyes following you? does it scare you?

on writing, owing, and missing

the end.
him/ her/ it.
the unknown,
the untrodden,
the unborn,
the unutterable,
the unswerving,
the unfaithful.
necessary,
bizarre pain,
sweet-and-sour pain,
welcome,
desired,
self-inflicted pain.
she are.

above and beneath. fear of falling, fear of punishment, the capital punishment, god-if-he-existed used it first, men are only his faithful, uncritical followers. but he did not, because he does not. we must write with all our ribs, no one missing, no one sacrificed. because there is no first judgment,

[‘your whole approach rests on the existence of the first judgment. and what if you were not condemned? what a catastrophe for the lazy! all would not be lost! you would have to raise yourself! invent! no more excuses! who could well say: ‘i fear we cannot rid ourselves of god, because we still believe in grammar…’ a believer, still a friend of men!’ (h.c., la – the (feminine)]

no one was condemned, birth is not a condemnation, neither for the parents, nor for the children. accepting it is the only sin, punishable with the birth-death sentence, no extenuating circumstances allowed. what you do in the meantime is your choice, there is no pre-given law, law is something that men make, according to their needs. the door lies wide-open, the door-keeper is not the obstacle, we are our own obstacles.

[‘before he dies, all his experiences in these long years gather themselves in his head to one point, a question he has not yet asked the doorkeeper. he waves him nearer, since he can no longer raise his stiffening body. the doorkeeper has to bend low towards him, for the difference in height between them has altered much to the man’s disadvantage. ‘what do you want to know now?’ asks the doorkeeper; ‘you are insatiable.’ ‘everyone strives to reach the law,’ says the man, ‘so how does it happen that for all these many years no one but myself has ever begged for admittance?’ the doorkeeper recognizes that the man has reached his end, and to let his failing senses catch the words roars in his ear: ‘no one else could ever be admitted here, since this gate was made only for you. i am now going to shut it.’’ (f.k., before the law)]

i say: ‘the peasant was not the only one who could have gone to the other side and seen the law!’ we all can, door-keepers are not forbidding, they are simply the resolute creations of our fears, fears as pervasive as the fleas in the doorkeeper’s fur collar and just as difficult to convince as the fleas were. waiting and begging is not the way, one must pass through the door and see what is behind it. ‘see therefore that the law does not exist, she says, we are the result of our relationship to the door.’

[‘there is no master. the paradox of mastery is that it is made up of a sort of complex ideological secretion produced by an infinite quantity of doorkeepers.’ (h.c. and c.c., the newly born woman)]

[one of the several names that can be given to limit is death. but the limit, the ‘peaky limit,’ can also be the place where from you can see the other, you can contemplate the other in its full splendor. the limit has something of the sublime in it. and sublime is always close to death.]

my body is endless, limitless, it is continuously consuming itself, self-combusting, from inside towards outside, re-creating itself from the center to the margins. ‘what center? what margins?’ my infinite centers, my crumbling into themselves like holocaust people-buildings margins. i do not want to surrender to the one, my inner others are revolving around the center-that-is-none, i am all of them, i am everybody, i am god-the-father (small ‘g’, because big ‘g’ does not exist and we all agree that until further evidence, we should acquit the defendant), i am goddess-the-mother, i am my parents and my (n)ever-born-children. i am even my enemy, i am my oppressors, i am my jackals, i am all the men who set the battlefield at fire, i am all those who set up the rules of the war, i am all those who help death at work, i am the universal battle’s arbitrator, i am the ones who lost the fight, i am the victorious ones. i am both sides of the couple/ opposition,

[‘and the movement whereby each opposition is set up to make sense is the movement through which the couple is destroyed. a universal battlefield. each time, a war is let loose. death is always at work.’ (h.c., “sorties, out and out: attacks / ways out / forays’)]

i am activity and passivity, i am sun and moon, i am day and night, i am form and matter, i am convex and concave, i am step and ground where steps are taken. i am master and slave, one can not exist without the other. i am language and passion, i am word and desire. i am writing. i am creation. for i am woman, i am bisexual, i am lesbian, i am homosexual, i am transsexual. my body is welcoming my others.

love/ other.
other/ loss.
loss/ writing.
death/ birth/ writing.
she is not anymore.
she is now and here.
she is then and there.
above and beneath.
not above.
bleeding rib.
longing body.
flesh and blood.
the beginning.

dimineata

the thought of you stays on my lips like a hot sip of coffee. early, strong, burning.

die donau

wien is well imprinted on the soles of my feet and on the muscles of my heart. and i’m welcoming it.

sign language

i wear some words like a tattoo.

i’m walking a thin line

i hate the days that push duna further back. the sand filled my sandals and i pretended it bothered me, but it didn’t. now i like that weird bridge with the guy that looks like caragiale and the way to hold on to the handrails and to carefully step between the heavy metal squares. the wind whirled in the hair and in my temples. i like especially one of the pictures. the one that catches the movement of the head and the light in the smile and the thin line of the neck. my words were windy too.

the camera felt shy and clumsy and the bridge short. i don’t remember having seen it under snow.