aconite26: (Default)
Пересохшим ртом
Я припадаю к тебе,
Как к струе воды
В темноте из-под крана,
И пью не отрываясь.
aconite26: (Default)

И снова наступают именины
Усталости, тоски и темноты.
И обнял сердце вес декабрьской глины,
Промерзшие свекольные бурты.

Вагончик сторожа придавлен серым небом.

Обогреватель, чайник, хлеб, сардины
И то, что может быть вернешься ты --
Шершавый желтый свет из середины
Усталости, тоски и темноты.

aconite26: (Default)
As with anyone else,
the climate between us could change.
Theoretically,
it might become unsustainable
for one or both of us
to keep up this oasis.

But you are virtuous,
not just a drifter.

Should worse come to worst,
you will not leave me alone with it
or allow everything that was
disappear into the thirsty sand
without a glance of recognition.
aconite26: (AconiteSnow)
When you are around,
I am perfectly self-sufficient.

I can plan and execute what's planned
and feel content with what I do.

I can enjoy myself
and give myself what I learned to receive from you.

When you go into eclipse,
these options rust away, the buttons become useless,
it crumbles as it keeps going, like Howle’s moving castle.

Does this mean you can or should never leave me?
No.

But can I learn not to die multiple deaths
In advance of that
aconite26: (Default)
Like my dear friend says,
There are three modalities
Of creating art.
The service of the Muses,
Pleasure, and application.

Once you apply
For the right to be audienced,
You probably dream
Of becoming at some point
A standard upon yourself.
aconite26: (Default)
Как цветок, я сею и ращу мой ответ.
Ритм причудлив должен быть, но настойчив.
Между снами о том, что есть и о том, чего нет,
Попадаются сны, которые могут чуть больше.

Не разрушить стены, не предотвратить потоп,
Даже не предостеречь – хотя и от этого толку мало.
В них бывает можно увидеть, потрогать и даже попробовать то,
Чего тебе всегда не хватало.

От кого еще можно узнать, чего мы хотим,
Как не от желания, что слепыми нежными пальцами из глубины скребётся?
То, что сегодня в полдень имеет всего лишь статус daydream,
Завтра утром будет уже очевидно как солнце.

Ты боишься, не слишком ли сильно обманывает оно тебя.
Я – не слишком ли долго обманываю его.
Но возможно, и то и другое, часы на осколки минут дробя,
Приближает его устрашающе неотвратимое торжество.
aconite26: (Default)
being together
in physical space
activates the fear

that my prolonged
excessive closeness
may chafe the skin of your mind to blisters

that another wi-fi failure
in my brain
may ruin the iron girders of bridges

that we may hurt each other
without knowing
or realizing
aconite26: (Default)

Вес моей тоски
давит так равномерно,
что даже шага
не сделаю лишнего
вниз по эскалатору.

aconite26: (Default)

На счастливые
и несчастливые
номера машин
загадываю одно:
чтобы мы были вместе.

aconite26: (Default)

When she explained to me
That it is my own best parts that I see in him,
The sweet fuel started flowing into my heart
In such an overwhelming flood
That I just sat there staring in front of myself
Breathing fast and heavy.

Then I remembered the less
good parts - and the bitter fuel
flowed into the same tank.
It is still me.
I don't have to become
somebody else, devoid of beauty,
to recognize my failings.

aconite26: (Default)
A seduction scene, then, says the Philosopher,
must be of a certain duration,
to have a beginning, a middle and an end.

The action has to be of a certain magnitude,
neither petty,
nor overwhelming in scale.

It has to be like a funnel:
much time and floating scarlet clouds
of mind and body
go in,

a few lines come out
that make the reader’s corporal imagination
to veer off from secure to dangerously exposed.

The hero – oh, there have to be two.
At least.
They have to be

expectant
vibrant
believable.

What does that mean?
Only the writer’s
conjuring gland can determine,

but the reader’s capacity
to suffer their want
is the ultimate measure.

The best kind of action develops
according to the laws of probability and necessity
of what can’t realistically happen.

What is achieved in the end
and who it is that achieves it
is the biggest unknown of this equation.

Passover-1

Apr. 22nd, 2016 09:39 pm
aconite26: (x camel)
Something is wrapped about me
that prevents me from writing
what I have to say.

Like a thin coat of ice,
an invisible frozen layer,
even around my head.

And you stand
on the other side of the ice
these four years,

Tapping at it,
melting a hole in it
with your breath.

I want to know what I can do
to meet your gentle insistence
from the inside.

Perhaps take a warm shower?
If it helps Hilary Mantel,
Surely it can help me?

I want to emerge
into the world’s air,
whatever it might be.
aconite26: (Default)

When silence falls between us,
first it is just casual.
A day or two that each one needs
to do her own stuff, be in her own world.
Then it becomes like slippery ice,
thinning by the hour;
you have to go on, step after step,
and know it will break, and you slip under,
into the dark chilling stream.

A longer silence breeds
enormous invisible insects
of suspicion
by virtue of genuine absence of light.

In the counter-current
the dreams' increasing sweetness
is beginning to stretch some chord inside
closer to what might be the breaking point.
I know the dreams are animated by love
looking to find its way around.

In the morning sky
clouds are racing against each other,
exquisite grey painted on grey.
The dreams evaporate like desert rain.
This winter is blowing itself out.

aconite26: (ja i snegovik)
As my plane rides over the rough
Northern night winds,
I reach out for your pale thin hand
And take it in mine.

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aconite26: (Default)
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