scrubbed her closely with sweet oils and voluptuous silences that always open onto the same landscape with a lake in the middle whose depth is so inconceivable that we need to keep repeating this is no dream to keep reminding ourselves we truly are of woman born and will need to take our time to comprehend all of this and no longer think about fences in breathing.
I always carry with me the clipping from an Oslo newspaper that I have kept since a long-ago March twelve black plastic bags lying side by side on the cement each one containing a human shape stuck to each bag is a rectangular piece of white paper and looking at the limp plastic one sort of gets the idea of garbage needing to be moved if we turn the photograph slightly the twelve black body bags become twelve women wearing niqabs I never talk about death I only know that in life there are fears that simplify meaning and prolong heavy silence.
Today the lizards came out because of the heat their tails glitter like the sharp dazzle of stones soon Kim will be at the seventy-eighth parallel in the land of extreme darkness and of radical whiteness that make the present too vague too vast.
The letters we have traced with the shadows of our arms in order to love somebody need always to be reread I reread I would so like to tell somebody to come visit me even though it’s cold in my workshop or in the hotel room where I sometimes go and where there are sofas and large mirrors like those I saw in the château of Tatiana the Russian she who publishes stories of love of wanderlust and of guns I so long for somebody to touch my mouth and my fur in my heart I can now say how one enters someone’s thoughts there is love there is no love we settle into it it’s that simple we ignite the conversation or not wetake a look around we observe a little now I am pretending to turn my head toward the white bridge to see if somebody is coming Laure goes by wearing a black suit and carrying an enormous briefcase she is walking toward boulevard Long it’s easy to describe maybe her mother is dead I say this because of her clothing I timidly nod she doesn’t see me I don’t feel like following her any farther someone is already following her I will never get used to time’s fluidity in the foreign language it’s as if I were in an eternal present filled with cross-strokes and big fat letters in colours that are almost images there is little free time for oneself in a foreign language I always feel confined even though I am well aware that it is as vast as the imagination of someone who is afraid of sudden death it is however a language where one need not be concerned about who is truly speaking only about the verbs the generic nouns nothing specific for example to talk about trees and seasons but hundreds of words to get closer to the stars and so everybody goes travelling at any time of the year or they wish to stay in a hotel like the one where Laure and Charles stay as consolation for living in a village and probably other things like fences in breathing that I do not wish to discuss presently one life comes another life goes it’s that simple there up north I will have room to put my hands everywhere in the landscape shove them right into the daily gestures of everyone’s life I will speak the language ofdogs of polar bears of reindeer and maybe even that strange code spoken by the ugly hairless fox that roams the streets of Longyearbyen I will get close to people they will explain to me how not to fear emptiness while staring into the deep water so clear so cold they will explain how not to die I will have the feeling of being nothing of being infinitely the solitude of infinite silence several roads lead from one village to another one life comes another life goes it is hot in the middle of the sunflower fields under the still-scorching sun of early autumn once in a while a warplane flies over the fields in the next moment we say that each plane is a wound in the azure skies
I always carry with me the clipping from an Oslo newspaper that I have kept since a long-ago March twelve black plastic bags lying side by side on the cement each one containing a human shape stuck to each bag is a rectangular piece of white paper and looking at the limp plastic one sort of gets the idea of garbage needing to be moved if we turn the photograph slightly the twelve black body bags become twelve women wearing niqabs I never talk about death I only know that in life there are fears that simplify meaning and prolong heavy silence.
Today the lizards came out because of the heat their tails glitter like the sharp dazzle of stones soon Kim will be at the seventy-eighth parallel in the land of extreme darkness and of radical whiteness that make the present too vague too vast.
The letters we have traced with the shadows of our arms in order to love somebody need always to be reread I reread I would so like to tell somebody to come visit me even though it’s cold in my workshop or in the hotel room where I sometimes go and where there are sofas and large mirrors like those I saw in the château of Tatiana the Russian she who publishes stories of love of wanderlust and of guns I so long for somebody to touch my mouth and my fur in my heart I can now say how one enters someone’s thoughts there is love there is no love we settle into it it’s that simple we ignite the conversation or not wetake a look around we observe a little now I am pretending to turn my head toward the white bridge to see if somebody is coming Laure goes by wearing a black suit and carrying an enormous briefcase she is walking toward boulevard Long it’s easy to describe maybe her mother is dead I say this because of her clothing I timidly nod she doesn’t see me I don’t feel like following her any farther someone is already following her I will never get used to time’s fluidity in the foreign language it’s as if I were in an eternal present filled with cross-strokes and big fat letters in colours that are almost images there is little free time for oneself in a foreign language I always feel confined even though I am well aware that it is as vast as the imagination of someone who is afraid of sudden death it is however a language where one need not be concerned about who is truly speaking only about the verbs the generic nouns nothing specific for example to talk about trees and seasons but hundreds of words to get closer to the stars and so everybody goes travelling at any time of the year or they wish to stay in a hotel like the one where Laure and Charles stay as consolation for living in a village and probably other things like fences in breathing that I do not wish to discuss presently one life comes another life goes it’s that simple there up north I will have room to put my hands everywhere in the landscape shove them right into the daily gestures of everyone’s life I will speak the language ofdogs of polar bears of reindeer and maybe even that strange code spoken by the ugly hairless fox that roams the streets of Longyearbyen I will get close to people they will explain to me how not to fear emptiness while staring into the deep water so clear so cold they will explain how not to die I will have the feeling of being nothing of being infinitely the solitude of infinite silence several roads lead from one village to another one life comes another life goes it is hot in the middle of the sunflower fields under the still-scorching sun of early autumn once in a while a warplane flies over the fields in the next moment we say that each plane is a wound in the azure skies
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