Tremante Saltare

(view Notes about "Tremante Saltare" in des-integration Pages)

The skin explodes in billions of particles.
Bones dissolve in body fluids.
Head hair grows
weaving
Persian carpets.

The torso floats - legs hover -
weightless knees defy gravity.
Hands wiping air with caressing speed.

Fluttering feet fondle -
bare oxygen -
invades my brain
through the channels of my nostrils.

The heart pumps
dark red fresh blue
blood
transforming incoherent thoughts into
one phrase
whispered by trembling dry
lips.

The Gluteus Maximus prepares
for landing.
Reassembled particles quiver
when the toe impacts the soil.
In the surrounding ocean
the Step of the Fish
was never so easy.

02.17 a.m.

Punctual
as an obsession
the dialogue starts.
Swelling sweat streams
raised by
-not even replied-
arguments
are unleashing unsuspected
energy.

Salty sweat.
Sticky skin.
Rubberized thoughts out of leaking pores
flooding the sheets with unchained power.

As a volcano the body gasps for air
- floats for a second -
 and falls crawling
back in the blubbering pool.

Pillows are turned for dry cool sense.
Anxiously the body waits
the decision of the mind
for a new round
dialogue of the deaf
or a restless wake till
dawn.

carves and notches

I am
the burning sand
stinging
the flesh of the soles
yearning
for tide
healing
fire spots

| eyes smelling trouble |
looking with one nostril
for that other
enemy
| ears echoes |
gibbering lips
zipped sealed

I'm longing
to transform in
rippling water
caressing
people's feet
where the sea ends
and land begins.

The [not so] simple truth.

Every similarity between the characters in this mono- dia-logue and existing persons is purely coincidental or -maybe- not. Read also the side notes in the Page links.

I: "Go away!
      I don't need you..."

X: "Why?
      Why did you invest so much |time| |energy|
      |life| in this?"

I: "Because you are, now, for a while,
      around
      in this city, (silence)
      here, (more silence)
      and because
      you are an interesting person,
      different from the others
      and because... (an eternity of soundless vacuum)
I  l o v e  y o u!"


I: "I want you to hate me!"
-Not logical-

I: "I want you to disgust me!"
-Not logical either-

I: -Not logical is
     trying to associate your age with mine
     and therefore
     your -youth-feelings-ideas-emotions-laugh
     your -face-eyes-hair-lips-skin.-

I: "I use all my power to develop your aversion towards me."
Calls for attention meant to create detestation and repulsion.

I: -It is not always easy to make oneself loved
      but trying to make oneself hated is terrible.
      It is like dancing,
      going to the end.-

I: "The end is
      that
I love you!"

A [dedicated] Honourable Intention -when funny becomes anything but fun-

i.
.t...
.ook
me
t...
.ime
t.
.o
t...
ake
a major decision.

A bitter cold,
a great sadness
came over me.
I lost,
a warm
covering shield.

my dignity
is in peril
my wellbeing
is at risk.

Victim of
guile | cunning | deceit
my confidence is lost.

My mind is feeble,
My voice is muted.
My chest is crying out.
My eyes are humid.
My body is clumsy weak.

My naive innocence,
creates arguments,
determined to revise
My major decision.

DISPERSION. Dedicated to M. C. Tabatabai.

SSStoooooooooooooooooooop
sweat
and a head filled with
drumming heartbeats,
asthmatic gasps,
saliva on the sopping pillow.
Brutal awakening after that
viciously returning nightmare.
Endless projection of deliberately
suppressed reality.

night after
night
after


night
let this end for
one uneventful night
with
smooth breathing
and
| in his mouth
sweet taste of tangerines |
let him for one sleeping second
taste the flavor of earth,
his soil.

Taking a nap

Jumping into the
deep,
sleep.
Landing in front of the
thin wall
mirror.
Looking back through its |scratched| |faded brown| surface,
wondering to see
myself
watching
myself.

If it's not a dream I will call this
vigilance.
Seeing myself lying down
restless
this side;
peacefully
over there.

This is how bigots keep an eye
across the street,
spying
unseeable in the dark.

My mind
awakens
with snatches of dream
and consciousness.
Covered with tatters of a window curtain
I'm leaning against the steamed glass
Carefully returning to the
other room.

inquiry

Your name in the phone directory.
The only residual sign of life in an otherwise meaningless book.
An indication,
not even addressed to me,
with the sole aim to give prove of
your existence.
Which significance shall I give to that
eternal desire,
incessant thinking,
those restless
nights and
hectic days,
than the sense of
a never ending mourning.

Today
no longer
exist.
Only history remains
wherein I live
as a tormented soul,
a frenetic spirit.

Bittersweet significance.

I experience past as a returning
laceration where my body is separated from my
thoughts
wrapped up in memories.
My embalmed mind looks restless
at you and at time
in an environment full
of past excitation
when your presence filled my thoughts with pleasant
excitement.

Your name is still there in
the phone directory.

Dedicated Memo

Did you notice?

I, We

started slowly saying

goodbye.

Uncovering our mutual

enemies,

splitting our minds | dividing friends | allocate beloved ones.


Back and forth,

an eye catching play.

Questioning glances.

A glimpse of a concealed petite histoire,

a bodice-ripper pure sang.


So you noticed!

We, I

started to say goodbye

too fast.

Not taking the time

to slowly learn

each other |Mayday|

|Mayday| flying

a short flight.

Hawks

Visitors looking for
a garden
waiting
to receive
sniffy birds
mirroring
themselves in twinkling water
finding
their future
in the deep,
their past
in the reflection of the sky.


While still alive
trembling branches and
shivering leaves
yearn to give shade.


With growing fear for the coming season
a gaudy tree waits
in the heat of the summer
for visitors.
Autumn fruit is glowing to attract
haughty observers
refusing the
invitation.

exercise

Someone told me to trust
the paper
told me to trust someone.
Ink Insecure Incisions
a pen writes as if trust doesn't exist.

Brought to life after rubbing
hesitating words
the fingers feel what
the eyes don't understand.

How will the wounds heel
asks the brain and
the wisdom knows that it's not an option
to cure.

To know is not sufficiently satisfying.
Better is to learn
again
avoiding
falling.

As sun breaks through smog

As sun breaks through smog

I slowly feel inner peace growing.

Doubtfully vacillating

like all seeking human beings

in a labyrinth of

subterranean tunnels

vaulted with a web of wild ideas.

Hairs hitting

causing power

causing flow.

Tidal waves stunning my mind.

Temporary desire that yearns for satisfaction.

The longing of the pelvic struggling with the strength of the reason,

both floating like ghosts

through my ever reducing brainpan,

as sun breaks through smog.

the title of the book

Trembling for release
impatient words are waiting
slowly
thoughts|emotions|feelings|concepts
invade the paper pores.
tasting|drinking|eating|gusto
savoring you in one big wave
Heat and gold
I am sweating rivers
You
being the contra distinction in me
evoking mutiny
contradiction evokes the wish to cherish
the surface of your skin
looks tastier than fruit
culinary delights sinking into insignificance compared to subcutaneous feelings
Your
eyes are life
offering sea I am drowning in

Inspired by Antjie Krog, (Kroonstad, 23 October 1952), South -African writer & poet, I started to write, since a few years, poetic prose.
Antjie Krog, has the incredible power to translate the reality of her daily life towards a universally comprehensible language of beauty and involvement... http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_RQVyHCzFfI&feature=related
Recent events in my life have accelerated the idea of sharing.
The challenge of writing poetic prose is the ability to change the texts as if they are in a permanent evolution as are the ideas behind them, with the care of keeping the rhythm of the poetry. Some texts were translated from the original French or Dutch. Some French texts were not translated.
These times I try to write as much as I can in English.
Starting from today I will publish regularly in this Blog. In the beginning I will leave it open so that all of you can subscribe, afterwards I will restrain the access to those who are really interested and subscribed as registered readers.
June 13, 2010
Guy.

Name

The night.
Did I saw today?
I do not know if and when in recent years I have seen light. Or how.

Dawn.

Not the remembrance fades, but the memory sometimes fails.

Today is used.
Is not finished.

Is it wrong to suppose that we consciously have chosen this scenario?

I do not know how to respond to the question. Sense.
Let alone I start again.

Something. Not to describe. Has forced me to name.
The name to write. Like a pinch to see how real the image is real.

Now the top of this writing and the image is authentic. It is more than name, a name.
It is a picture.

How sick is the mind when the body, in a sea of sweat, awakes in the morning and is only aware of colors.
A palette that only by tears find its original shape. Actually, I remember.
The picture is rather more complete as coming from a developing bath.
Wet, where does that water come from anyway?
It is the distance that separates us; the few miles seem deepest oceans.

I cannot remember exactly how long it has been that I have written something that starts with name.
Name for each day during the past years,
one number, one digit, a landmark, a symbol. Years. Almost.
Those days, when you embraced me, at last, when the untold became truth.
Music. Your stamp and steep depths, heights and that pretty girl bearing a child.
That belly which I will touch later. Empty.