Archive for the ‘oranges’ Category


(un)healthy wish [j.w.]

December 28, 2016

i want someone who is fierce and will love me until death and knows that love is as strong as death, and be on my side forever and ever. i want someone who will destroy me and be destroyed by me.


1 septembrie

September 1, 2015

la multi ani.


past tense

August 1, 2014

quite the portrait.


happy birthday

September 1, 2013

o vacă, o floare şi… un fund ;;)


re-reading [h.c.]

December 22, 2012

in this universal battlefield death is always at work.



June 8, 2012

o fotografie mare cu un ochi. un pic verzui, un pic caprui. prin acel ochi… aş vrea să văd lumea mai aproape, mai clară, mai sigură.


sunt o vacă

May 15, 2012

ba nu exagerez deloc.


noapte bună şi tie.

February 11, 2012

da, când dormim se spun lucrurile mai uşor.


i’m sorry [or just a myth/ology]

January 17, 2012

i’ve been playing this video for the last three years in my seminars. i used it today too, to illustrate and discuss myths and mythologies.

i once considered it one of the most beautiful love songs. now it only makes me realize i made numerous mistakes, i was wrong many times, i misjudged people, i hurt a few. and i hurt myself. maybe one of those gods is showing me this by taking me apart: i’m looking through one eye anyway, it wouldn’t be much of a change to be hopping around on one foot.

yet, i did not deny. maybe i just misrecognized.



December 30, 2011

probabil n-am nimerit-o – urechea mea muzicală nu ajută deloc.
dar mulţumim :)

later edit:



April 3, 2010

راوي [s.m.]

February 28, 2009

‘i’m telling you stories. trust me’ [j.w.]


womyn before me [a.o.]

May 1, 2008

i take this legacy seriously.


angels in america

April 21, 2008

race, taste, and history finally overcome.


coming up [adf]

January 22, 2008

our father who art in a penthouse
sits in his 37th floor suite
and swivels to gaze down at the city
he made me in
he allows me to stand and
solicit graffiti until
he needs the land i stand on
and i in my darkened threshold
am pawing through my pockets
the receipts, the bus schedules
the matchbook
phone numbers
the urgent napkin poems
all of which laundering has rendered
pulpy and strange
loose change and a key
ask me
go ahead
ask me if i care
i got the answer here
i wrote it down somewhere
i just gotta find it

and somebody and their spray paint got too close
somebody came on too heavy
and now look at me made ugly
by the drooling letters
i was better off alone
ain’t that the way it is
they don’t know the first thing
but you don’t know that
until they take the first swing
my fingers are red and swollen from the cold
i’m getting bold in my old age
so go ahead
try the door
it doesn’t matter anymore
i know the weak hearted are strong willed
and we are being kept alive
until we’re killed

he’s up there
the ice is clinking in his glass
he sends us little pieces of paper
i don’t ask
i just empty my pockets and wait
it’s not fate
it’s just circumstance
i don’t fool myself with romance
i just live
phone number to phone number
dusting them against my thighs
in the warmth of my pockets
which whisper history incessantly
asking me
where were you

i lower my eyes
wishing i could cry more
and care less
yes it’s true
i was trying to love someone again
i was caught caring
bearing weight

but i love this city
this state
this country is too large
and whoever’s in charge up there
had better take the elevator down
and put more than change in our cup
or else we
are coming



January 18, 2008



two days away

June 27, 2007

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?



June 23, 2007

some numbers rhyme in strange ways.


on writing, owing, and missing

June 11, 2007

the end.
him/ her/ it.
the unknown,
the untrodden,
the unborn,
the unutterable,
the unswerving,
the unfaithful.
bizarre pain,
sweet-and-sour pain,
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.


writing [h.c.]

April 8, 2007

the other is safe if i write.