Archive and Poetry

As long as you DWELL in ma TRIANGLE

And touch everything with your sticky hands

I should keep sage-ing myself,

Keeping my squares tidy...

While thinking of how you lick (the hell out of)



( for Jade )

Sister, if you were a flower, you’d be that carnivor one with sharp fleshy teeth,

so that when a little skinny dragonfly does her TOUCH DOWN with one

of her six legs...- Zap! You flatten her into your insides, squeezing her juices, sipping them into your mighty body to ENABLE consequent acts of such orgasmic love.



  For I and Anya

                                              If I was to believe nothing else really existed but me,

then I would know you are a beautiful manifestation at the top of my capacity,

intricate and incomprehensible

Your emergence I choreographed

In the Land of banana trees and forever falling leaves

          where we used to meet unpredictably on the paths in mouldy forests


Changu-san is sitting in the middle of his four-tatami sized house. Changu–san is an average Japanese man, he is going bold, dressed in a tracksuit made of kimono fabric embellished with traditional ornament. He is playing with the crickets he has bought from the market earlier this afternoon. Five crickets are jammed inside a bamboo cage. Changu-san is trying to feed them with mandarins. With his fat fingers he is pushing the mandarin segments through the cage bars. The cage bars are too small and squashed pieces of mandarin fall on the floor making a mess around the cage. In effort he grumbles.


My little cricks, such pity you cannot fly, your wings are broken, you will be here with me to die.


  (Speak in squeaky cricket-like voices, repeating each other in polyphony)

Changu-san, you are a silly man; we are here to sing for you, why does your thought bring such gloom?


Oh silly Crickety-cricks! I was once young and foolish with joy! Like you I played in the forests with mistresses and drank from the ponds of glorious sun!

(from ‘the tale of lake biwa’, a. kushnerova)

THE SAND WASH photography

The sea drools to the sound of cicadas

The cicadas are born out of cracking rock

And will forever belong to the marine plasma environment

We all belong to the marine plasma

The water burns the rock dissolving the salt, compressing it into rolls of hydration

The scorched earth tries hard to swallow the cicada’s song

It is nice, so nice…

It will remain so for many years to come

Silken skin, wet cheeks from these little splashes of joy,

Bursts of incidents

Shaping humidity into delicate formations

Encrusted into the wall of the earth

                                                                                                            Bhutan, 2017
the 5 winds, the dance of 8 emanations,
the nagas looking for tetrons,
the melting glaciers,
within the storehouse of consciousness,
an offering of my fresh i






roll a ball eagerly
gently down a stream
life is but a dream
known in advance
a synonym for destiny

an organism without parts
when you will have made them a body without organs
and restored them to
free floating intensity

ship sets to sea and navigates according to celestial points
a world of 'surfaces'
atonal worlds
like a ball placed at the top of an inclined plane

organs without bodies
they can exist without the relation, and the relation can exist without them
objects are labeled black because they ‘have no windows’ and are thus absolutely opaque

roll the dice
shack the dice perpetually without rolling
suspend them in a state of indecision
freed from every

all lines are erased by the rising winds

dialectics without synthesis
workings of a dream
accompany any transition from Sphere to Sphere
a solidified dream
dissolve the relation in favour of fusion
monomaniacal about its own moment of being

what it is to bear a glorious body
so obsessed with itself, so locked together, so bound by parallel nature of its own coupling
God, who perceives all monads with utter clarity
God could take any and all perspectives, knowing of both potentiality and actuality

continual fulgurations of the Divinity
like a garden full of plants, or like a pond full of fish
regulated by the pre-established harmony
surpasses all the wishes of the wisest people

endowed with perception and appetite

the gaze
is inside it rather than outside
the master who painted
a revelation
in the sensual and through the sensual

penchant for multiple voices
image that has suffered
a reversed panopticon
the curvature of space

space bends and recedes
rendered universe
yearning for brute physicality

mirror held to the flower
the eyes look ahead and the spirit looks behind
the duette
peripheral vision takes over
visual surface all over my body
the skin is best source for the image, because it works in all directions at once