.done.

Sometimes all we want is to be forgotten, until we realize that perhaps living in one's memory was the only thing that made the whole bullshit worth.

The Forester

(FULL VIEW ON THE PIC PLS)

Forester running
through thorns,
stroking trunks
and flowers,
unharmed, unharmful,

I am, I am.

Over rocks to the precipice
there's my leap and then,
like humming bird,
suspended in air facing
light-blue and winter-blue
water,

I am, I am.

It speaks to me
by running through me,
it invites to coexist.

Forester staring at
translucent body,
my veins into
lyrical thin tree branches
and from center of my hand
growing branch reaching out
to embrace my terra cotta heart,

I am, I am.

Bubble...ing, Splash...ing
Move...ing,
water to river,
waves mingle
into one another,
there's milk on my eyes
and so the clouds gather
into the vastness of the sky,
the wind dancing
with my hair.

My hands beg then turn to fists,
grasping air, water, fire, earth,
and so the burst of energy:
my hands, fingers, firm,
rock-stiff,
my jaw clenched, abs and
legs, firm, rock-stiff.

The roots are going down,
the roots are going down,
the roots are going down
from my feet,
down into the Earth
with wind twisting
around the storm
pouring lighting,
shouting bolts of change:

I am a forester,
my roots are here,
they take me anywhere,
they guide me through...

I am, I am, I am.

.poetic.penetration.

Composition on Bristol

Your negative space mingles
in such a lyrical way with
my figure that both
you and me
create shapes within
each other and on the
outside and upside down,
on a 33° or 90° angle
of perspective, no matter
from where we look at
us,
we’re just recreating and
reinventing our own piece of art!

.dévore.moi.

It is devouring me.

My eyes shyly find themselves

drawn to look up and

allow my heart rate to

skip half a beat and

so I nearly die for that

half a second, die of a

somatized heart attack

with wide open eyes,

staring at its immensity,

at its bestiality.

It is devouring me.

Instead of dying it always

makes me stronger as its

cold and refreshing

breath invade my nostrils

and fills me up with

intuition.

It is devouring me:

The devil in me.

She makes me want to go

through every dirty downtown

and every fancy uptown

corner. She,

makes me so famished

for more and more while

she carves her skyscraper-teeth

into my jugular.

She is devouring me

as I head east

her gracefulness and curves

turn to straight avenues

and solid blocks.

The devil in me as his

concrete creeps into my veins

and makes me unbeatable.

It is a never ending antropophagy,

my best friend, my mother and

father, my spirit and lover, my

home,

New York City

.same.wave.lenght.

There are no coincidences, only collision.

It was a regular, ordinary morning. The sun rays creeping in through the blinds, the ears hearing the beats of the morning alarm clock "Deep Breath Love" by Motorcycle playing, you know, how it goes "One by one a soul searches for a connection", stretch "It's a just heartbeat between love and rejection", rolling over and "Can you taste it in the air, how I want to be there", running hands through hair, yawn and "Take a deep breath, love, and dive in..." and dive into coffee to wake up, all the same lovely routine that she smiled about, that made her energetic everyday.

Subway. Underground time. Eye contact. Smile. Zillion of thoughts. Deep breath love. Long hair. Understanding. Liberal. Politics. No, not politics. I mean he/she. Complementary. Healthy. Fuckin' hot. I am shallow, I know, I totally admit it.

Work. Same repetitive movements but who cares, it makes the whole process much easier, and it's always fun to pretend you're always feeling excellent and you're always understanding with your clients although you want to kill them. Bump.

Bump. Sweet, just like the Indian Chai I am now preparing, not too much, not in lack. There are no coincidences. Only collisions. I wonder how many traces of my thoughts I have spread throughout my years of existence and who tripped over it, who ran into it and finally who bumped into it...

Another regular ordinary night. "Deep Breath Love" playing out loud to pump some energy into my tired veins and really motivate me to go out and dance my feet off. My ears listening to every word, to every beat separately and then all together. The light of the moon was splendourous, it filled somehow the entire living room with a mysterious dim glow, the kind of light I love. I desired nothing but dance that night. I did not wonder who tripped over my thoughts, who had ran into them and somehow... somehow there are no coincidences, only collision.

Dance floor completely crowded. Eye contact. Smile. Forget. Don't forget. Pay attention. Let it go. Get it. Let it free. Go towards it. Go the opposite way.

It is when you turn your back and let it happen naturally that it always happens. As expected, but in an incredible surprisingly way he bumped into me and I bumped into him. The collision exploded into infinite particles of multi-colored and multi-shaped forms in the air, swimming through it in the rhythm of the trancy beats guiding every move and every breath.

After the collision, there is always separation. The question is how much trace is left behind. After the amount of trace behind, the main point is how will this trace react with the other person's energy just by itself... because obviously it is one thing when both energies are interacting live and when they are just crashing into one another via thought or whatever other way they are being kept there...

It could have just been a great explosion of energies... one of those meant to last a couple of songs, great to reinvigorate, let your life bar go up. It could have been, however, that the traces left kept chasing one another and colliding and somehow inviting one another into their own world.

It was just another ordinary and common afternoon that was interrupted by a cellphone message.

There are no coincidences. Only collision.

[pic by the super talented Coey http://-coey-.deviantart.com/]

.brutally.honest

(Please click on image to fullsize)

I Am a Pop-Up

.bi.

The Complex of Bi Syndrome

Bilanguage me
Binocular me
Bipart me
Bisect me
Biped me
Bicycle me
Bipolar me
Bisex me
Bilateral me
Biform me
Bifurcate me
Biceps me
Billion me
Binary me
Bigamy me
Biathlete me
Bicarbonate me
Bivalve me

RaFFaeLLa CiavaTTa