Bone Tickle

domingo, 12 de febrero de 2012

Slow sunday

And Virginia's cat continues filching fish in the corner of our eyes... so we watch and count the spines - see where the tail drops; It leaves an oily mark, as the clouds passing rivet the shadows like rivers across our faces. Our stained hands are heavy, for there is nothing on which to hold a firm grip, long dissolved is the comfort in which we were warmly held.

Pencil on paper

"There is the puddle,' said Rhoda, "and I cannot cross it. I hear the rush of the great grindstone within an inch of my head. Its wind roars in my face. All palpable forms of life have failed me. Unless I can stretch and touch something hard, I shall be blown down the eternal corridors for ever. What, then, can I touch? What brick, what stone? and so draw myself across the enormous gulf into my body safely?"
VIRGINIA WOOLF - THE WAVES

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lunes, 6 de febrero de 2012

Síndrome siberiano

"MEOW"

Pen on paper. GIMP



 "- Hajime -dijo- cuando te miro mientras conduces me dan ganas de alargar la mano y dar un volantazo. Si lo hiciera, moriríamos, ¿verdad?
- Seguro. Vamos a ciento treinta kilometros por hora. (...)

-No te preocupes. No lo haré - dijo- Sólo que a mí se me ocurren estas cosas. A veces. "
MURAKAMI, HARUKI. Al sur de la frontera, Al oeste del sol.



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F.S.Blumm & Nils Frahm - Heber by sonic pieces

viernes, 3 de febrero de 2012

Button up those bones

"They made love through the hole in the wall. The three lovers pressed against one another, but never fully touched. The Kolker kissed the wall, and Brod kissed the wall, but the selfish wall never kissed either back. The Kolker pressed his palms against the wall, and Brod, who turned her back to the wall to accommodate love, pressed the backs of her thighs against the wall, but the wall remained indifferent, never acknowledging what they were trying so hard to do." 
FOER, JONATHAN SAFRAN - Everything Is Illuminated



Pen on paper






All simmering away, our boiled shreds dance to the broths bubbling. 
Somewhere, the vapor is lifting in threads from the skeleton's frozen hair.
Clinking of fossils, chiseled embeds of the things we never said. 


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Let My Key Be C (Thriller Edit) by Fluid Radio