thenightmareonwallstreet

[thenightmareonwallstreet]

Sketches of my daydreams 💋

[thenightmareonwallstreet]

Today I watched Kafka's Ape a 2015 stage adaptation by Phala O. Phala of Franz Kafka's short story "A Report to an Academy" and once again watching a Kafka play in South Africa has cemented its place in my soul. Art is life. 🫀🫁

[thenightmareonwallstreet]

If you love me now then shoot to kill

[thenightmareonwallstreet]

The Art of Forgetting

not forgetting flames me up

like a foam of whispers

bursts into with laconic daring

over darkened waters

your name hangs unwritten

I rolled over on a rib

but it's useless

how long am I going to ferment you in my armpit

with your fragile ****** smile?

chase me away like the passersby do

with the meaning of travelling

I was not and you were not

you were not in my dying

we were only a laden pool of sunlight

I didn't find any solution

than to behead the days

these thin days unraveled from myself

from the bone of the world peeled of magic

the art of forgetting is for those

who sleep on pillows

such a long, long road

I've been travelling to a destination

obliterated by pain

to this gravitational center, to this place

with no hiding space

only mute seagulls

have seen my screaming

I've cursed myself on pages,

diaries of gory hours

I've cupped myself in belated answers,

dancing tears

more than eyes can meet

while I was forgetting nothing about everything

the world revolved once, twice, a dozen of times

you were learning to dissipate your name

to waste it on the lapel of not yet discovered seas

in the silence of leaves

now I know this calmness,

this tenderness of dying

I could write this unthreatening poem

today, tomorrow

till forever finds some peace

perhaps

some forgetting

- Irinia

[thenightmareonwallstreet]

The Velveteen Rabbit

I sit I scrub your stains off the broken walls in my body

I will build them up again

Perfectly, neatly, fantastically

– Just like you taught me

I will be real once more

[thenightmareonwallstreet]

Cigarettes And Whiskey And Wild, Wild Women

Perhaps I was born kneeling,

born coughing on the long winter,

born expecting the kiss of mercy,

born with a passion for quickness

and yet, as things progressed,

I learned early about the stockade

or taken out, the fume of the enema.

By two or three I learned not to kneel,

not to expect, to plant my fires underground

where none but the dolls, perfect and awful,

could be whispered to or laid down to die.

Now that I have written many words,

and let out so many loves, for so many,

and been altogether what I always was—

a woman of excess, of zeal and greed,

I find the effort useless.

Do I not look in the mirror,

these days,

and see a drunken rat avert her eyes?

Do I not feel the hunger so acutely

that I would rather die than look

into its face?

I kneel once more,

in case mercy should come

in the nick of time.

- Anne Sexton

[thenightmareonwallstreet]

[thenightmareonwallstreet]

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Aaron Jasinski

[thenightmareonwallstreet]

thrydes https://beetrootgin.wordpress.com/2020/10/04/thrydes/

[thenightmareonwallstreet]

[thenightmareonwallstreet]

[thenightmareonwallstreet]

[thenightmareonwallstreet]

[thenightmareonwallstreet]