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(tel aviv, 2005)

a system of ropes is my body, watching & matching the curves of the Earth. a great pulley lifts me out over my chest, opening a door between the nipples; solar plexus erupts tan landscapes. the brownish grass a rolling entity resembling my growing breast. I am painted to the sun, turning me close to color & texture of dirt. dusty body sheds heart. 1,000,000,000,000 feet tread on this land. the bus tires skid over ancient donkey hoof-marks. old battlefields scream serenity. I paint the Earth w/ my black-brown eyes, closer to existence, closer to death. the wind's waves mimick my fingerstrokes on paper & sand. approx. 5 million Israelis must agree w/ the wheaten fields to the point where skin lives in the argument. the Earth is buried in us. a system of ropes & pulleys wrapping gravity into the energy of overtly fragrant brushes & trees. the brainwaves tremor the frozen hills. the world spins steadily w/ every footstep walking East, subtly chasing down the Sun, confusing the jetlag. happiness infuses sexy red stones rolling slowly w/ khaki soil, the traces of demolished housing & bleeding humans. each sycamore leaf glistening like eyeballs hardly ending with its colors stopping to the contrast of turquoise sky. likewise, my feet do not bound themselves to white skin juxtaposed w/ the red grass infusing sexuality. the grapes do not stand still; vine roots tug the world's spin forward. energy in a circular path, helixing the energy of energy into zero. a blank canvas for a potential action, thought, tangibility taking up space. the vacuum of energy at the core of the Earth connects to a million stars forming constellations inside this bubble of the stratosphere. not all these stars are more people, plants, lands. gyrating invisible points on the axis of common calm ingenuity, pockets of understanding when to shut up, valleys of the Earth's crust sucking tons of hertz into a reserved personality. meditated collection of waiting smartness; the meditation itself is premeditated. unafraid of classic ideas & reality manipulations. finding a stairway to anywhere out of what has always been here. courage: not to draw attention to clever resourcefulness. I stretch my arms & mind out like pine branches; I emit the smell I know who will notice. I knit my heart into a beautiful delicate fabric net to be climbed up by whoever will be my nurtured child & I the purifying mother. I am listening to the arc of everyone's four chambers to hear if it is the hill reaching algorithmically up to clouds w/ cities zigzagging up its sides filled w/ carefully constructed communities & languages within itself, blaspheming the empty spaces between the invisible stars of energy, blaspheming the unsearching eye. I am perking my ears up for the vibration of stars. I think I have found some, I think I have found some. wondering if I myself am such a carrier of sweetwater. I promise to do my best to make water out of electricity. I can create these sounds matching these breasts of the earth, curving the whistle of wind, transcribing the waves of the starry seas. energetic scales & harmonic progressions are in the holes of my face. 2 in front of my eyes, 2 in back of my eyes, 1 in back of my teeth. twisting the unique resonance holes to vibrate the strings of the hills' cellos. romancing the holes of the hills penis-like to later birth of righteous rhythms. rhythm the X-axis to the most soulful earth-curve-hip-bone chord progressions the Y. matching two musical dimensions to create the intentional 3rd, the musing inexplicable Z: praise w/out effort (w/ appearance of effortlessness). oh what genre to find as outlet for this sweetwater w/ cubic theory. the depth of dance-thump, the breadth of untouchable attitudes folding their arms in the corners of smokiness.


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