quochichquo

[quochichquo]

on shame

Where in your body

Do you feel shame?

Shame is like steam

Hot and sticky

Behind my nails

Burning my cheeks

It inflamed my throat

So I can't breathe 

My clothes and my hair

It is all wet

Can I take my skin off, please?

Can I vanish?

Can I not exists, can all the mirrors stop reflecting

Can you forget I ever lived

Can everyone, please?

Can I, too?

[quochichquo]

How to draw a dolphin

I never learned how to draw dolphins And sunflowers And clouds on a blue sky And people dancing Embracing in a hug Or all the other happy things

I know how to draw Sorrow And fog And the feeling Of ripped intestines And the heart snatched And emptiness And void And broken branches And boney shoulders And torn grounds

I never learned how to draw dolphins Or all the other happy things As when I'm happy I don't look around I don't look inside When I'm happy I dissolve

[quochichquo]

The vein in my elbow hole caught your eye

Blue and pulsing a path around my body crossing hachures of my years Maybe you can find What I was searching for?

Intersections with corrugations of proterozoic wrinkling which shaped the terrain which shaped the nature of what I am now

We traversed them all mountains formed by timeless settling of mud and dust and sand of mundane events at the bottoms of devonian oceans

Creases of my consciousness elevated by continents colluding savagely eroding under your fingers

Following the alive path of my vein we came across a rim a valley leading to a soothing meadow where the history wasn’t exposed

I didn’t recognize the territory for it wasn’t mine You took the lead and showed me what’s under the woods

Deep silty embayments deltas and estuaries like mine Headlands formed by infinite eruptions of volcanoes from ancient times Like mine I thought

We reached a ravine violently ripped into the body of sedimentary rock from bygone times by a glacier melting in a sudden heat wave Like mine You said

You got scared. Turn around you said in the deafening sounds of ripped grounds  It was too steep  for both of us to climb and the waters too wild and the scar in the flesh of your earth  too fresh I cannot hold your hand you said For we could both get hurt For I want to drawn I heard

One thing you couldn’t read in the chronicles of my scars. I could fly.

[quochichquo]

A Storm of light winged moths Ripped my guts apart. They kept coming from your mouth Every time you said a word And from your eyes, too, Whenever you squinted In pleasure.

Moths are no butterflies. They crowl from the night Following light Burning when too close Or covering it dead In amounts.

It was a bloodbath. You didn't talk anymore Choking on Wings sticky with particles of me. Shoving them down your throat At midnight And midday And every second Did you forget you have to breathe? I was dead already, didn't you notice?

In mids of the spectacle Freakshow you said I have no beginnings And can't see my end Where are my legs And my belly, I don't see it What did I do I didn't mean it Where are my companions Did I consume them all In the whirlwind?

I didn't mean it Let's rewind Collect your particles Reshape your molecules Perform a miracle Come back Give back what I gave you I didn't mean it.

It doesn't work like that. I am a shapeshifter I am half god I took the moths We won't come back Bloodbaths are no endings Bloodbaths are my breakfast I keep what you gave me And won't turn back. Catch me, if you can, I won't slow down.

[quochichquo]

Something for your body, for your mind and your soul

It always feels like we'd be going downhills. Steep steep downhills, when you try to hold on to your seat like in an amusement park. The curly trees, always sunset, never bright daylight, sharp curves of the street, chaotic houses, half forest half city, heavy humid air. Dense saliva, guts cemented in a clump. Molding consciousnes trying to catch on something solid in the present, what are you thinking about? -esh, shu beddek, ma ba'aref, tamam habibi, yalla - What was it? Nothing. Still sunset, still downhills, the silence is heavy, is it still yesterday or was it tomorrow already? does the sun ever rise, does it do its round or is it always just setting, us in the car on the way to wherever? It used to feel like infinity just to breath his presence, that kind of infinity that makes you whole yet nothing, when did infinity changed to a loop? I want to take both of us out, where we can melt into one another again in a sun that just arose, but we sit on an arm length and he doesn't take my hand when I reach out. He has to hold on the steering wheel, because we're going downhills.

[quochichquo]

The aftermaths of not crossing the border with Hungary Split screen story on self-sabotage   It’s Wednesday night, tomorrow is a public holiday, free day. If she’d had boarded the bus she’d had been somewhere at Hungarian border at the moment. But instead she’s sipping a gin tonic in her hood. They put thyme and bitter fruits instead the usual cucumber. Exciting. It doesn’t do it for her so she gets a second and third one and finally she feels the stone which appeared yesterday morning melting. Reckless. Thousand kilometers closer to the sun he’s scratching his stubble listening to Cigarettes after sex. Everything is fine, isn’t it? If she’d had taken the bus she’d be crossing Hungarian border right now. While smoking another cigarette he rolls another joint, Thursday Friday Saturday Sunday in front of him, how to fill them? No pressure. Maybe just more joints and more cigarettes and more malbec. Something shivering, what didn’t leave his guts since yesterday morning, is growing. Let’s watch football. It’ll go away. For a second she feels light and careless, let’s run, let’s go to the park, let’s go dancing, but another second later it’s gone. She’s void and null, the vortex is howling in her stomach. What to fill it with, when it’s caused by the absence of something she never had? She reaches for an easy solution, as always, the other one who’s been fucking her and who’s been nothing suddenly becomes a convenience, distraction, but not now, not yet, she first needs to numb herself, to let him touch her without hating him for not being HIM. Players running on the pitch, ball flies there and back, what game is it even? Getting another bottle from the kitchen he closes his eyes just not to look at the pile of books on the table he collected over the passed few weeks to give her to read. No, that’s not the reason, his head is spinning from the weed, that’s why. It was his decission and he owns up to it. No regrets. She didn’t even bother to answer when he cancelled. She wouldn’t have cared to read the books, and they would just get high anyway, and… Where is the wine, did he drink it all already? 3AM, her hands are wet with cold sweat, trembling under the blanket, hugging her knees, what did I do to myself, why, I don’t want him to come, no it’ll be fine, it’ll dissolve, it’s just the high. The other one’s here, oh god, you look terrible, come to me, it will be fine. Why did you do this? She doesn’t answer, just hold me and fuck my brains off that the last bits of what was there his can be destroyed. Morning. Bottles filled with a shadow of the nightmare of a night. Stomach is floating, head is empty, soul is numb. Someones elses body under the blanket. In the shower he’s masturbating and she’s examining her wounds from last night. He focuses just on the rythmical movement just for the sake of coming, she’s fully involved with the pain coming from desifecting her damaged skin. She prepares coffee for the one in her bed and he collects the cigarette butts and calls someone to catch the match tonight. She smiles and lets the other one go down on her. He puts the books from the kitchen table back on the shelves.

[quochichquo]

On texting *from feed of a coward* Me: I miss you YYY, I miss having you around, I miss what never happened, I miss what you gave me a taste of, I miss what I can just hope for, I miss having dreams, I miss the promises you brought, I miss future ,I miss all what you are, I miss the safety you offered, I miss your shoulder, I miss looking forward to you, I miss the girl I became next to you, I miss staying in the moment and not to let the future enter, I miss your voice, I miss what we were and what we could have been, I miss what you're to me, but who you are without me I hate, despise and reject. It's a selfish love. YYY: Typing... Typing... Typing... Me: Sorry, wrong guy

[quochichquo]

The Thing of Ice Cream >>a little note from Beograd<< Strahnica Bana, that little park on the corner with the two swings, three benches and a few trees. Ice cream boot, green spots of light under the plane trees, heavy air, silence of a late afternoon of a summer day. Sunday. A blond little girl, swinging with an ice cream, her mum right behind, looking after her. A little gypsy girl on the other swing, dirty, with too big of shoes, watching the scene next to her. Us, on the bench, silent, smoking the cigarette you proposed to have before we say goodbye. I know I should say something, but my head is empty and my throat weirdly dry. I wanna buy her ice cream, I say finally. You give me money and I come to the gypsy girl to ask what kind she wants. She's just watching me, confused, doesn’t respond. I decide to buy her whatever ice cream comes first to my sight, and while paying you appear next to me, hand in hand with the little one. She looks shy but when I hand her the ice lolly she can't wait for it to be unfolded. Good bye, you say and I leave, I wanna turn back and say it all but what is it for, I'm leaving, leaving you behind, leaving the girl behind, for now she's happy and all sorted, but what will happen after she finishes her froyo?

[quochichquo]

What drama? why to be passive aggressive when you can be just aggressive? I don't want any drama, he said after I proposed to have a cigarette somewhere more quiet. He left a month ago and I was confused, what drama, my drama? My drama of the one who's skin I cut open, my drama of the one whom I broke into pieces every time I betrayed him, my drama of the one who’d dance a break dance for me until his bones crashed? I didn't understand. Up until now this meant drama in my world. Today somehow all of them resurfaced and I was a boiling pot and I came to you because I knew your loveless look will cool me down. Instead, you poured some oil into my flame and the sparkles of that flame made me blind. You speaking of my drama? You, who never tasted a bite, who kept me ready on your plate for months, that maybe, one day you'll be willing to have a spoon of the icing, and I kept my cool and you wouldn't have even guessed what drama I am, under that surface. That moment I let go and became a storm, unleashed and destructive. Here you go baby, have a taste, a sample of what drama means, and don't talk to me anymore about emotions.

[quochichquo]

*** last *** on numbness    Last night I had some friends over. Lovely unexpected tea party. Some wine, some joints, some music, I was smiling and responding but I didn't care much about what's going on. I was thinking of the day before and the day after and of the next month and of the other town, of a room I've never seen and of a view which is not mine. My friends left, I'm not sure if we set up some plans for next week or if we agreed on going for a trip together, I couldn't wait to be alone again to develop my vision to perfection. A lighter of let's say orange color next to a pile of papers with handwritten notes on a wooden table under a window facing the sea. Dirty clothes in a dark corner right next to a mattress on the floor, can used as an ashtray, your face with a stubble of a few days enlightened by the pale light of the screen, nervously tapping on the desk with a credit card. Then I fell asleep. Today I woke up and although I had a vivid vision of the bright moving reflection on the wall above your bed I didn't give a fuck. I didn't call my friends, I didn't go to meet my mum, I sat down and booked tickets to the north. I'm sure I won't stumble there into anyone of your name.

[quochichquo]

Off This morning unexpected sun was drying up the streets after long months of forespring dullness. I was walking home in my raincoat from last night and felt my bones melting in this pleasant change of weather. I wanted to go home to take the shower. >> Fine, let's have a coffee in 45 mins in P. << I put on sandals and summer dress and let my hair down and on the way to P. I was dancing inside. Now it's raining again, cold wind returned and I'm freezing. They call it April weather, apparently it's normal in this time of the year. I was stupid for getting so excited for the first unstable hints of spring, I should have taken my raincoat with me. Maybe I should have stayed at home. Anyway, the coffee at P. was too dense and bitter, maybe there was something wrong with their grinder. In my breakfast omelette I found a hair. As an answer to my questions was there just my own reflection in the sunglasses he put on to overcome the hungover. I live very close to P., yet the sudden change of weather during the short walk caused my lungs to inflame.

[quochichquo]

Passing on

Since the last day of summer I was waiting for the spring to come. I didn't care about the mild sun of autumn and I completely dismissed the sparkly days when first snow covered my neighborhood. I didn't hate it, I just passed it in a standby mode with my eyes filled with fresh sun on warm grass and scented breeze on soft blossoms. Now I'm sitting in the park, first flies buzzing into my silence, sun turning my skin red and his head rests on my lap. I'm watching the drops of sweat on the soft hair of his armpits, thinking if I'll remember the spicy smell of his. He's telling me some story, I feel I should laugh, so I smile and take a picture of him. I like the curve of his chin. The film is finished and I'm curious how the frames gonna come up. What you thinking about, he asks me. Not much, I reply, rolling the exposed film back. Just how the summer will turn out.

[quochichquo]

The other girl She’s nothing special. They never are, the other girls. They are working their office jobs from nine to five and they draw watercolour pictures of kittens in their free time. They have their circle of best friends to have dinner parties every other week and they don’t smoke. They are a little bit too chubby and they sleep their necessary eight hours every night. They call their mothers regularly and they are satisfied with what they have. They have their master degrees in economy. They have names for their future babies figured out. They have their shit together and no sense for fashion. And they are dating your ex. And then you have a look into your mirror. Didn’t eat for a couple of days because you feel a little puffy lately. Running late for your photoshoot because you got stuck with the installations you’re working on. Another missed call from your dad which you haven’t seen for weeks, being busy with the guy who never returns your calls when you trying to reach him but you have great sex when you ‘’randomly’’ meet. You match your clothes with your hat. You put your designer sunglasses on. You postpone your production meeting. You try to call the boy again. You buy your cigarettes feeling ashamed because the only cash you have is the rolled banknote from last night. On the way you write down all the doubts into your notebook. You hate yourself a little bit, yet with your sunglasses on you seem untouchable.  And finally, you ask yourself, what does she have what I don’t?

[quochichquo]

That late afternoon of one Wednesday in August

The drops of sweat on my back brought me back to consciousness from the sweet half sleep. I was delightnig in the heat for a second yet my first real thought was dedicated to you. Are you also lying on your back, soaked wet, drawn in your own sweat, like me right now? Is your skin also burning, making you restless and all itching, like mine right now? Are your eyes also dwelling in the empty space under your eyelids, blindly, like mine right now? I felt your presence vividly next to me and for a second I tasted the world of yours, like the other day, after the half conscious passing out which you call sleep yet I couldn't ever get used to it. That day my body was your body and nothing else existed, just the thirst, need of a cigarette and dullness, because our minds shrank into a flat tasteless nothing. Yet, my eyes are filled with clouds and sky and sun when I open them but yours are gonna stay blind in a dark room with closed windows, because you didn't fall asleep in a meadow and you aren't delightnig in the heat but you trying to defeat your daemon, in which, as you know already, you'll fail, as always. How could I help you if you don't wanna be helped?

[quochichquo]

High jump

Tonight, I passed by the tower you made me jump of, on the way home. The kisses of another man were still wet on my lips yet I felt the same heaviness of eternity I felt back then, standing on top. I was scared and insecure, poisoned by previous happenings, yet I gave you my trust and when you said >>don’t worry and jump,<< I jumped. I still feel the pain in my heels. I crashed my bones, falling from too high up. It happens, I thought. That’s a part of it, to crash, when you let go and jump, with your eyes closed. Then I realized you never jumped from that tower. You climbed half way up and then you found a safe way down for yourself, but me, you let me jump. I passed that tower, feeling the bitter taste of blood from my tongue from months ago in my mouth, and I finally understood. I jumped, you didn’t.

[quochichquo]

Plea of a twenty-something >>train of thoughts<<   With a lighter stolen at an opening last night I'm lightning the fifth cigarette of the day and I'm trying to suppress the thoughts about unpaid healthcare insurance popping up in my head. Waiting for a tram, sending a Snapchat to my friend about getting a dinner at his place tonight, gently concealing the fact that I have no other option to get a bite for today. I moved into this hyping part of town into a ridiculously expensive but beautiful room with the perks of my friends being close to feed me in cases like this, not even considering the option of renting a more affordable place somewhere less on point to be able to pay for my own meals. The status matters. Food is overrated anyway. It'll work out somehow. I'm returning the missed call from my mum from this morning, mum, I'm not awake at this time, get used to it, no, I'm not a junkie, no, I have a job, no, I won't get any maternal support if I'll get pregnant, why are we even talking about this. Let's rather do dinner on Sunday instead of the traditional family lunching, this DJ is in town on Saturday night. I love you too. Still no idea about how taxes are paid. Tomorrow I have a shoot and then I'll meet this guy who wants to work, is it gonna be one of the talkers again, no, this could finally be something, the life is in front of me, baby you have a lot inside of you, you have stories to tell and the talent to translate them in form of art, he told me. Did I fuck him that night for the first time? Where is he now? How many more of those will I still meet, thinking that this is it? The tram comes, the most entertaining wax museum, look at the people, I live in another dimension, I've chosen to walk on the wild side, oh shut up you arrogant bitch. Spring is coming, you can smell it in the air, meeting people in parks, drinking wine, talking about ideas, networking, my most favorite part of the year. How so we didn't do anything last summer? Where did all the plans crash? They dissolved in the morning hungover, I guess. This time it will be different. Also, I will finish my script, and I'll be a better person, and I won't fuck the guy tomorrow and I won't play games anymore and I'll get my social security insurance done and I'll visit my grandma - - oh hey babe, tonight you saying? Sure, put me on the guest list tho, I'm broke. What was I saying before? Oh, never mind, tonight will be fun.

[quochichquo]

The Thing of Monday Morning praising John Keats I cleaned my windows on Sunday morning. It was sunny weather yet the fresh air was biting my waterlogged fingers, drawing flowers on the wet glass. I was shivering in cold exhaling clouds of steam contained stored pollution from deep inside.   On Monday I was awaken by bright sharp shrapnels of light cutting my eyelids and my lungs seemed empty. I stood in front of my window observing streets and the void of the 7am world, filled just by dissolved orange and pink and light blue. The clouds, the church, the houses, the trees, everything was silverlined, it seemed more like a collage. And the void of my soul had been filled with the void of the outside.  I banned myself from thinking of the past and the future. There is no past and no future, all the moments are like pearls on a string, existing all at once, we are just able to see the one at the time. Enjoy the one, I’ve told myself, there is no rush, taste every bit of it and don’t crave other ones, nor the ones behind you, neither the ones in front of you.  I was delightning in the little beauty of cleaned windows and all seemed mild and soft. I rounded the moment of Monday morning to a perfect shining pink and orange and light blue pearl and I was quietly happy.