A kind of a "dangerous supplement", marked, scarred on a body, post-orgasmically, always, already in anticipation of (a) crisis OR for a desert avec 'agape'. Mindb(l)ogg(l)ing Noise. "Avalanche, would you share my last pursuit?" (Baudelaire)

Monday, August 02, 2004

"Emeis den katoikoume mia hwra, katoikoume mia glwssa"

Multidedicated fragments from a hypertext mind

...ki an epistrefw me tin tromokratia twn dakrywn na me ehei gia ta kala agaliasei stin ygri, zesti, panikovliti hwra, ki an epistrefw me pliges epoulomenes ap' ti ptwsi kai nees pliges ananoihtes pou me tromazoun, an epistrefw drapetis xopaska hwris tis violetes, hwris tis gardenies sou, ma m' apotypomenw sto dromo mou, san tou Leonard Cohen ton stoiho, t' agaliasma sou to hamogelwn, t' agaliasma sou to aylo pou prgmatwnetai tin praxi mesa apo tin ekfora tis -anikete twn amihanwn amihane kai esy tou hronou mastre- pws na epistrepsw sto here otan techno-logika ta daktyla mou mpousouloun, otan ta matia mou se herwnte kai otan sta ftia mou oi lexeis sou me tou whiskey tin aura -ekei anoikwmen, ekei: here, anakoinwste to koinwnwntas ta epi hartou vimata tou hwnemenou kapnou- ximerwnoun ta savvata kai tis defteres mou, kai i giorti kai i skoli xana ehei tin protokathedria, akoma kai stis aggareias to prostagma, akoma kai here, se poiou pia to here na hereafetithw afinwntas me to here, me ta daktyla, to melane na ihnografisei tin frasi "The human heart beautiful as a sesmograph", otan i ygri, zesti, panikovliti tromokratia twn dakrywn, oi ananoihtes pliges me exorizoun stin fygodikia tis kokkinomalas panw apo ton ahnisto kafe, kathws to tsai krywne afougrazwmeno ta tziztzikia. Monaha to here tou hronou tou Ezra Pound isws mporei na metrisei to stavrolexo tou hronou, kathws epistrefwntas epistrefw ex orismou kai chorometrisis stin poiesi kai stin evexapti ypomoni tis: One hour was sunlit and the most high gods / May not make boast of any better thing / Than to have watched that hour as it passed.
Hwris to krataio koinwniko tou kratous, me heria gemata pote nero kai pote ammo, gnwrimoi tou Escape! There is, O Idiot, no escape / (...) / It is our eyes you flee, not the city, epimenw:

Free us, for there is one
Whose smile more availeth
Than all the age-old knowledge of thy books:
And we would look thereon


Xorkizwntas tin ehemytheia tou here 'dear voyagers', fernw pisw tin mihani EOS Parajei D.

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