Она в реке.
Она теряет волосы.
Где-то на пыльных страницах архидревних книг течет суеверие-легенда/миф о волосах, хранивших закодированный шифр памяти/истории бытия…….а может это она все нарисовала во сне, ибо верила в реинкарнацию своих снов.
Она плавала в реке целую вечность.
Она смеялась и томилась целую вечность.
Она была хранительницей своих волос.
И /самый/ центр земли приветствовал ее пребывание на нем. Где? …….В затхлом домике с деревянными ставнями, с отсутствующей дверью и окнами, похожими на очи мрачного вечера
բառերը ծորացին ափիս մեջ
ու արագ աստիճաններով
փնտրում եմ մարդկանց
ու երեք ույու չորս
ես միացրեցի տեսախցիկը,
կախեցի պատիս քարտեզը`
տեղ տեղ այրված
պատի ժամացույցի մեծ սլաքը
չլարած կիթառս ձեռքս չգնաց
ու փոշոտ ասեղնագործ սփռոցը
փայտե մարդուկին ոտքից
իրերս պատսպարեցի երկու բարձրահարկ շենքերի արանքում
օդչց կախ ու դուրս եկա
դեն չեմ նետել
լուռ եմ, լռակյացի մեկը
լինում եմ ու չեմ լինում
Untitled, a photo by clair_voyant
What I see you cannot even imagine.
I know that you can read this. And that your eyes run along the lining of these letters, blinking and moving on…. as this vision becomes meaning, you hear your own voice in your head or maybe you try to imagine mine.
And I’m struggling, friend. I’m truly struggling to explain to you through your burden of vision, constant need to see, to envision everything… I try to explain to you my world, my view.
You see, I live in ambience. A very soundfull, moving ambience of an eternity where I recognize people by their smell, their manner of breathing and the softest side-tone of their voice.
This is a gift.
People who see are so dazzled by what they see that they ignore the rest of the beauty. They will probably never hear and feel the magical vibration of each and every single piano key. Even when the music stops I still hear the aftertaste of music.
You live as an eye, I live as a new and special kind of organ that senses everything at the same time.
… I smelled a certain kind of hair-tone. I heard a flatter of eyelashes, like a tinted blue butterfly, (even though I don’t know that color). I felt the humidity of her eyes. The smoothness of her skin. The movement of her bones. The stretch of each muscle. A beating heart. Breathes, in and out of a warm smell of a female body. The radiance of heat and slight perfume. It grew and shrank with the pulsing of her veins.
Her phone rang and she answered. A voice of honey tea that didn’t ring, or sing or echo but swayed and vibrated. Like piano keys.
As she went on talking on the phone on this bus in this city in this world in a whole universe, I felt alone and pressured by beings and people. I only needed that certain creation sitting right in front of me.
I sensed and caressed every single second so quickly, so slowly. I felt and was aware of everything around me. I have never been so awake. At the same time I have never felt so asleep and stunned, and in a dream.
And it all comes together, multiplies, mixes up and turns into chaos until…….
you reach a certain point that you feel nothing. You are numb and senseless.
And I realized for the first time entirely that… I don’t need to see her.
Listening to Bach – Saint Mathew Passion: Introduction
© Ani Boghossian
Today as I lay in the grass with my friends I couldn’t help but wonder about the what ifs….
For example, what if I am not who I am, but another person somewhere else as I go on with this life but the real me is somewhere else and I am only inside this low self-esteem bodied girl as the birds fly above her head and she stares at them as though she is a feather on their wings as winds rushes through and through…
what if the real me is not a being but a spirit somewhere between times and spaces and shadows of colors
what if I can do whatever I want, what if I can commend things that I have no idea could obbey me
what if this world is just my dream and I am a creation withing a creation
what if my mission is to bring something out, the truth perhaps…
what if …..
listening to Sigur Ros _ Virar Vel Til Loftrasa
Today I remembered Gugo Dzya that commited suicide.
I have been meaning to write a story about him. I have been busy… and lazy.
I hope I’ll be able to make myself get to it later… hopefully today.
Also, I need to write a script for a 15 minute Armenian performance in front of Serbs, Albanians, Azeris, Jews and Palestines… Any ideas? I need to get to it today too…
I like my new hair… wish you could see it. But you’re blind Enid… how are you going to do that? Maybe if you touch it… but no, noone’s alloud to touch my hair… sorry.
Well, I’ll tell you what it’s like some day… Like in that story that a deaf artist tells a blind musician about colors and the blind musician takes the artist’s hand and moves it about to make him feel music… Wait, I didn’t write that story yet… Well, I will write that one too… soon soon soon…
I just realized… you are blind, how are you going to read this letter? Maybe if someone read it to you…? But maybe you have one of those programs that reads it for you then I guess you won’t have a problem.
I know that you’ll figure something out.
I’ll see you soon, Enid.
Listening to Muse – Falling Down
I have very little time until this sleep drags me into it’s silent purpleness and I travel through minds of unsuspecting dreamers. Drown down their music and drink their silent smiles… that’s what I will do.
But you know… I am awake sometimes as I sleep, it is called lucidity…. and I love the smell of it, as it smells familiarly like my pillow. It’s like sitting on a bench that is half in reality half in dreams, and my left ear hears the softest humming of the nightingales, my right ear is listening to a long dead poet chanting about his lost mind, my left eye is closed and is dancing around my eyelid, my right eye can see ghosts dripping down chimneys from heaven. But my heart can’t figure out whether to beat for life or dream.
Lost and happy.
Listening to Sigur Ros – Neja Lagid