almost like missing you

Almost like her voice were mine; soft and delicate like the ice-crystal powder on a glass of white dry wine, conveying thoughts and emotions into ethereal words that I cannot catch

https://soundcloud.com/user-451338896/siri-gjaere-tord-gustavsen-almost-like-missing-you 

REM (II)

I guess somewhere deep inside I hold you captive in a strange stasis. You’re floating through my solar plexus causing me an awkward visceral sensation. I cannot covert it into anything palpable, but a REM state caressing my delicate, multilayered, light-sensitive membrane with blurred golden yellow images whose texture I can still feel on my neck.

hidden dimensions (II). talking to wind

I found that life. And I lived each moment of it. Short poems of passing by on a deserted beach, riding astride in the warm light of sunset, talking to the silence of the mountain about those always thought-of and never-spoken feelings. I’m a camcorder. And happy cause it’s raining. It’s a perfect cover up for tears.

deja-vu

Îmi trag casca pe cap. Ai luat camera? Am luat-o. Am muzica în urechi ştiu succesiunea. Ştiu vocalele. Ştiu ce spui. Te-ai tâmpit iremediabil. Play! Îmi place zgomotul de geamuri sparte. Accente şi cioburi. Ritmul. Alunec uşor în lateral… dacă faci mişcări bruşte ne-am împrăştiat. Ca să ştii. Şoseaua şi the wheel spinning move. Asfaltul fierbinte. Trepidaţiile fine ale motorului. Deja-vu! Ce sa aleg? Galben auriu de grâu sau galben strălucitor de rapiţă? Albastru fierbinte de vară sau albastrul oţel de dinainte de ploaie? Obsessed. Murmurul motorului turat ţi se lipeşte ca o pisică de gambă. Aş putea să prind în acelaşi cadru linia îmbrăcată în piele a genunchiului tău şi marginea drumului so delicately blurred? Cum s-ar combina un rolling lent cu deplasarea rectilinie printr-o lume schiţată din impulsuri electrice? Azi eşti parte din ea.

Photo: http://goodlifezen.com/2008/12/23/what-is-natural-spirituality/

trip aside (II)

… capturing short sparks of emotions. In that very moment. But any trace of emotion melt down and reshaped. Fragile and introvert and stubborn.
Always bearing a mask. A bloody impenetrable make-up. And I feel like a hunter. And a prey.

The plunk was clear. In minor key. Perhaps sharp.

The sunset light broke the transparent glass and caught inside all the small particles of dust.

Photo: http://www.gettyimages.com/detail/200487958-001/Riser