I Can’t Really Say I Love You

Initially set to the same time, these identical battery-powered clocks will eventually fall out of sync, or may stop entirely. Conceived shortly after Gonzalez-Torres’s partner was diagnosed with AIDS, this work uses everyday objects to track and measure the inevitable flow of time. When one of the clocks stops or breaks, they can both be reset, thereby resuming perfect synchrony. In 1991, Gonzalez-Torres reflected, “Time is something that scares me… or used to. This piece I made with the two clocks was the scariest thing I have ever done. I wanted to face it. I wanted those two clocks right in front of me, ticking.”—-moma.org

dear people who have been seeking to contact me via every possible platforms and planes, i gladly would like to inform you i am alive and somewhat well (let’s just call it that). we’re keeping it on the DL since the big bang and the rattles that follow. we are scattered around the world and are unable to regroup (yes i am that many, i am we and us and them) thanks to the ever prolonged pandemic. we have thousands stories to tell, poems lurking here and there, and we are looking (and longing) to share again like the good old days.

though these past three years have changed us in a way that is unimaginable, rest assured, we are still productively creating in abundance of peace and in a more private realm.

for you especially who clicked here, yes i see you and i appreciate you (i can’t really say i love you but i do). we will soon be together again though soon seems too far away.

until we meet again.

this existence hurts my skin…


they say tomorrow might be the waves i cannot see
the sheer anticipation of what might have been
we’ve grown so old from heartbreaks so young a dream
we’re so vast a universe but no words to swarm in
this existence hurts my skin it hurts more everytime it doesn’t bleed
here in this dark place everything is shameful and unforgiven but
there’s a rabbit hole down here and there’s you and i and the world disappears we need to be somewhere else
but here we are, bloated up
and shrunk down into an instagram post

And There Will I Be

for-ever

I dream you still. And there I will be.

You don’t know my name. This is the past. And us is just a butterfly effect that didn’t happen. We are apart and at peace, just as before your eyes met mine, before our hands brushed and our words hushed. Before our secrets born into judging eyes. This is before everything.

And I am telling you this so you will search for me no more.

“I Want These Dreams Inside of Me”, When I My Own Daughter

We Will Count to Twelve, and We Will All Keep Still

Now we will count to twelve,

and we will all keep still.

i love you all year longFor once on the face of the earth,
let’s not speak in any language;
let’s stop for one second,
and not move our arms so much.

It would be an exotic moment
without rush, without engines;
we would all be together
in a sudden strangeness.

Fisherman in the cold sea
would not harm whales
and the man gathering salt
would look at his hurt hands.

Those who prepare green wars,
wars with gas, wars with fire,
victories with no survivors,
would put on clean clothes
and walk about with their brothers
in the shade, doing nothing.

What I want should not be confused
with total inactivity.
Life is what it is about;
I want no truck with death.

If we were not so single-minded
about keeping our lives moving,
and for once could do nothing,
perhaps a huge silence
might interrupt this sadness
of never understanding ourselves
and of threatening ourselves with death.
Perhaps the earth can teach us
as when everything seems dead
and later proves to be alive.

Now I’ll count up to twelve
and you keep quiet and I will go.

“Keeping Quiet”, Pablo Neruda

I Don’t Know, Kid

thinking of how you light up the dead parts of me

i seem to know how to pick them

 

out of a bunch I picked the darkest one

who’d call up cancelling whatever whenever

just to watch me dance all night

 

my then insecure boyfriend asked what’s going on

 

i don’t know, kid

 

i didn’t. but i knew i was

in for trouble

 

you stared and stared and oh that gaze, i wanted

those eyes staring at me for the rest of my days…

 

daisy jones

In My Dreams, I am You

claude lazar

When I look into your eyes, I realise I came from a long journey across time, before yours nor mine. I knew this from recurring dreams. They’re so vivid that when I wake up, my arms my feet my body’s broken, sore and tired. These dreams are more than just a realm in my subconscious, they’re real.

In my dreams, I have your eyes, your smile, and everything’s new under the sun. In my dreams I am lost looking for something, anything feels like a mother. In my dreams, I too am abandoned, unwanted. In my dreams, I am you.

When I Look Into Your Eyes, When I My Own Daughter

Something Borrowed, Something Blue…

 

I imagined Mum running wild with her ponytail, perhaps clawing her way at a concert to get closer to Dad on stage. I never picture her as a free-spirited human being (or a groupie who jumps around at a concert). In my mind she was timid and sad right after she was born. I noticed she forgot to breathe at times, she was the epitome of absence. It’s hard to imagine her being beautifully present. Even to this day I couldn’t for the love of god see the very thing that made Father fell madly in love with her that he literally gave up for her his fame, and eventually, his life.

 

When the Strong Were Too Weak to Hurt the Weak, the Weak Had to be Strong Enough to Leave…

 

All languages that derive from Latin form the word “compassion” by combining the prefix meaning “with” (com-) and the root meaning “suffering” (Late Latin, passio). In other languages, Czech, Polish, German, and Swedish, for instance – this word is translated by a noun formed of an equivalent prefix combined with the word that means “feeling”.

In languages that derive from Latin, “compassion” means: we cannot look on coolly as others suffer; or, we sympathize with those who suffer. Another word with approximately the same meaning, “pity”, connotes a certain condescension towards the sufferer. “To take pity on a woman” means that we are better off than she, that we stoop to her level, lower ourselves.

That is why the word “compassion” generally inspires suspicion; it designates what is considered an inferior, second-rate sentiment that has little to do with love. To love someone out of compassion means not really to love.

To have compassion (co-feeling) means not only to be able to live with other’s misfortune but also to feel with him any emotion -joy , anxiety, happiness, pain… there is nothing heavier than compassion. Not even one’s own pain weighs so heavy as the pain one feels with someone, for someone, a pain intensified by the imagination and prolonged by a hundred echoes.

The Unbearable Lightness of Being, Milan Kundera

And Then I Felt Sad…

And then I felt sad because I realized that once people are broken in certain ways, they can’t ever be fixed, and this is something nobody ever tells you when you are young and it never fails to surprise you as you grow older as you see the people in your life break one by one. You wonder when your turn is going to be, or if it’s already happened.

Life After God, Douglas Coupland

Quietly Drift… Drift… Like the Wind Softly…

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drips on honeydew holy water new

icy breeze colourful rainbow rain, rain on me

don’t bite the bliss on an empty stomach

but ignore ignore, red flags or compliance

 

so wobbly a place you barely stand

filled with cracks you’re bound for heartbreaks

 

here we are and here i am

you go be you, i’ll stay and pretend

 

a friend that is not till the end

a ship that is slowly sinking

quietly drift drift like the wind softly

gone and forgotten, i’ll be

It Doesn’t Conquer All…

 

a ring on your plate when i cooked you

eggs, our years apart summarised into one morning

of jars and jars, bottled up feelings

of you looking into me, looking into something

of me saying things without a sound

our lives in suspended compartments

bubbles of cliches against time voices people

 

it is kind, it is patient and it is all you need but

it doesn’t conquer all, it’s never the answer

 

my love for you, insincere and vague.

 

hello, goodbye, i love you

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you are

hope, hopping

you trample here

and there and in between

existence

for absence is what

you do best, to make

the heart grows fonder

resilience

isn’t your strength

you’d stay in bed for days

for tiny heartbreaks

persistence is

when you speak

of love you never

speak low

even in silence

your screams

aloud

loving to the end

longing to be

found

again

 

you’re my star, my big big shining star, I met you

one night, I met you under the limelight

your oversized shirt and my boots a number too small, they hurt my feet I’ve been limping dancing my years away

if only I knew how to tell you how I long

to hold your hand, but your fingers show me you want nothing but to slip them into mine and be vulnerable

so I held my guard down for that one. minute.

you didn’t turn the lights on and sat in the dark with me and I turned sluggish swimming an ocean of pride,

where’s my life-jacket?

still I let you

I let you love

you’re something big and I am

nothing more than forgotten dew in

a windy morning, but you,

you are sunlight

you are a new day

you have that smile, that

held back smile and a twinkle

in the eye

that says that I am

more than what I show

and I feel that I am more

than I want to be

hello hello, you said hello

I said goodbye, I love you, goodbye

-hello, goodbye, I love you

from Letters to Lovers Lost, re-published just now.

“Wherever You Are in Life, You’ll Always Have Tonight”

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These were the nights when gaps spotted in our time loop and father came back to us.

He’d travelled to stay for few days, playing house. Mother’s smiles reappeared and she’d dance under the moonlight.

At night I would see from a slit on the door slightly ajar, his eyes turning tender and kind, her complexion radiant.

I’d see them holding each other, her breasts upon his chest. He’d tell her places he’s afraid of, she’d tell him her dreams.

She’d say, “Wherever you are in life you’ll always have tonight.”

They’d look each other in the eyes and after a while she’d lead him but she’d be the only one who was dancing. She’d twirl to the ticking clock, she’d circle through time while he was drinking –one gulp after another, gazing intently at her –a much younger her, at their younger selves.

He’d hum her old letters he knew by heart with a voice barely heard.

Time would stop and in that second I’d know, wherever I am in life I’ll have them forever in my heart.

 

from “Drinking Games”, When I, My Own Daughter, 2019

When Everything Was Everything

baby-beach-blur-1166989

there was a time when 

everything was everything and

we didn’t try to be anything

 

what do you carry around all day

besides a bucket of flowers

and heart full of promises of a new day?

 

here’s a tiny sting of guilt to share

there there, i’ve been there

nobody likes anybody in this town

forgive me i didn’t know better

Everybody Thinks They Knew

Lately I’ve been thinking of the reason behind all of these words that I am writing (and carelessly spreading into this fucked up wounded world).

But then I remember this young girl who changed her mind about jumping out of her window, because of my words, and I thought that is enough of a reason.

Camus died of a car accident, and not of his lungs. Life is absurd. Everybody thinks they knew the answers.

There Are Clouds in These Dreams

Letter to Sylvia Cover “…there are clouds in these dreams and i am flying hard between ashes,

did you not get burned at stakes?

there are words in these dreams but I am not one saying them,

to swallow alone is pain. to breathe, a sin.

not one word out but here are letters for when you wake up,

she said, you will tell them how to say it out loud,

even with tears in their eyes. tell them.

and so I write.”

 

Get this book here.

Let Me Write It Simple

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it’s always messy down here in your basement

where memories go to a happy place

they say i’m in love with love

but i never knew how to flaunt it

in between unsaid words and

staggering poetry so let me write it simple:

i want you, life, serene and tender

i want you, love, without going so much on a bender

Remember This, Love, for Time is a Loop

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Right before our parting, mother sat me down in a meadow. She apologetically held my hands then placed a flower crown on my hair.

She said, “Remember this, love, for time is a loop. You will come back for me.”

Little did she know, time was in denial.

So suddenly as I realised this, she turned into a montage of old photographs between flashing lights.

I saw her,

the staggering girl between

dark webs,

I saw her vague fingers inside

his feathered glory,

such indifferent beak cloud,

white rush oh there there

brute brute blood!

here’s burning roof and tower

the centre cannot hold,

things fall apart…

____

Phrases in W. B. Yeats’ poems “Leda and the Swan” and “The Second Coming”, in this part of my book, are rearranged in an attempt of deconstruction. WB Yeats poems are an integral and essential part of my book, When I, My Own Daughter, available here.

Photo Credit: Alessio Albi