Moments before I fall asleep I am told the truth and I’m meant to forget it. The only residue I'm left with when I awake is my craving for the taste of placenta and a tantalizing desire to construct a world outside the theatre - this time, a real one, in which each of us directly participates as subject, not object.
I used to be a woman who knew how to make things out as I saw them, but I have since committed the pathetic error of thinking. Wanting to understand was one of the worst things to have happened to me. I care too much about the utter darkness, the void of unfulfillment, to receive and eat back the lives that have been tossed forth from the womb to fail, to kiss and bestow them all a second chance.
I’m sending my true love back to the bitch that bore you. She is the world-generating spirit who all creatures rise through: space, time, and causality – the shell of the cosmic egg. She is the enticement that budged the self-brooding absolute to the act of creation. All information inside her is systematized around an enigma invisible even in its most private nucleus.
I’m handing you a world on fire. I’ve given up on figuring out how to figure things out. Every lure seems to be an expanding vortex. Fear comes from what surpasses me, and I fear myself becomes I’m always ready to suffer. To protect me who persecutes me, I’ll float in emptiness and become air, energetic air, or maybe I’ll be more like an instant of air. Yes, I want to be an instant. Rather than a soul in a body, I’ll be a body in a soul.
The heavens love to laugh at me in secret. Understanding the resemblance of truth at the same time as the flowers along the esplanade are being hit by the man’s bronze piss. What are we even risking? The entire city’s distraught order? God. Improbable woman; the heat-giving violin; a bachelorette’s face painted with fascinating sins kissing your mouth while vomiting; the most rapturous applause to be made at this deranged opera. I’m only truthful when I’m alone.
The monster still cannot reach me. As I was being raped by heaven, I stared down the eyes of death. What a loyal and unwavering friend Death is, standing like a savior by the side of unfortunate mankind. I live forever in the echo of the centuries, so be it. The sunlight shining between my ribs burns away and removes the tunnel itself. This universal neurosis casts me out into the silence of the infinite spheres sole bearer of the secret of your name alone with you my most unknown now and forever, so be it. Without language, would all history evacuate into the ether? As soon as a human spoke, we became separated -- language was elaborated for the suppression of feelings. The repression of instinct, the core of civilization, can be expressed when I sing to you a very loud love song while naked and squatting on my heels.
The days go by and I am no nearer and secret conversation is the most effective stimulant I know. I have an aching desire to explode, an insatiable yearning to vomit out all of my insides so I no longer have to explain myself. I sing, sometimes scream out the window to anyone with or without ears. I continue chasing after the illuminations, filling in any silences with my own wishes, fears, and fantasies- driven by the certainty that no matter how degraded, used up, and empty the world seems-- anything is still possible and I will love you with all my heart.
It’s late. I’m already yearning for new ecstasies of joy or of pain. Is it dangerous to ask for more life? If I should or should not submit to the pressure of the stronger force is the question I nonchalantly struggle with.
I ended up getting in a taxi. After about ten blocks, I jumped out into the middle of an intersection and everyone was crying out to me. I opened myself in front of this audience and you were born for you yourself, an effervescent island of consciousness locked up in a bag of skin. It was like I dropped a glass on the floor and it shattered and the world exploded. How much gold poured out, how much rich blood was spilt. You were born, and I dissipated. I effaced myself so you could have the freedom of god. I love staircases, but I don’t love them as much as I love you. I love you so much it’s as if I were always bidding you farewell.
Years of love letters sent from this obscure prison and our built-up tension finally release after learning about the foundation of nothing. Smiling disbelievingly, you will never lie without telling the truth. I make too much noise when I see the light of day, I try to die in childhood. I float naked in gray water, fertilized and laughing because I am the culmination of everything and everyone I have ever encountered.
I repeat: there is a forgotten ecstasy that lives inside of us, a powerful force that isn’t made to fit into daily life. It is an experience that is beyond thought, a confrontation with the familiar, a nameless energy containing all the expanding circles and knowledge of the universe that we senselessly repress because we view time linearly, constantly interpret every moment that happens to us, and spend our whole lives waiting to start living.
What I create is an attempt to access these complicated shadows that live within and around all of us and unveil their poetry. Lightness and darkness intertwine and recreate themselves every moment, delicately stroking the prehistoric monstrosities of this earth. This is me making love to the human experience. Riding through the cosmos on the backseat of a serpent, I sob symphonies and secrets supply my soul. Heavenly being, seek me above the starry vault; I enter your sanctuary intoxicated with fire.