“Dévore-moi. Déforme-moi jusqu’à la laideur.”
“Shaman” (1976) by Nathan Oliveira.
marlene dumas at zeno X
56 x 100 cm
oil on canvas
When he sleeps,
the snoring does not bother me:
the rhythmic growl, gravel shoved
across the sidewalk of his throat.
It is the grasping, desperate way
in which he takes in air—his gulping lungs
as if every dream is filled with water
and he is trying to inflate
the life jacket under his skin.
I babble in my sleep. He believes”
I am trying to tell him how my heart works,
says he will translate the manual one day.
I want to ask him: am I the ocean?
Are you drowning in everything
I don’t say when I’m awake?
– Sierra DeMulder, “Heart Apnea” (via fleurishes)
“What is necessary, after all, is only this: solitude, vast inner solitude. To walk inside yourself and meet no one for hours - that is what you must be able to attain. To be solitary as you were when you were a child, when the grownups walked around involved with matters that seemed large and important because they looked so busy and because you didn’t understand a thing about what they were doing.”
– Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet (via heteroglossia)
Partie de Campagne, 1936, Jean Renoir
flick, drawn into the white between
two phrases. Slow,
you mark my page,
you urge my legs
open. Swim of the
head, the mouth
come to rest, caesura,
tip of the tuning
fork, crura humming,
vocal folds’ taut bands