vera..iron:fettered

don't be scared someone will find out

snow has scattered upon night

wrapped the halos, wrapped the winds

veiled heavens, time and nightmares

reality and dream have merged, yet they still thought:

«we will survive; we'll push a minute into mud

we'll trample era into mire

for we'll never break that spell

i've always been in the room

one more endless day of centennial rain

one more ruthless day of ancient fog

somewhere far away, there's a place

                 ᭕       ᭕       ᭕

the snow will melt into silt

and i'll dive in the puddle

to contemplate the flowers wilt

and my memory beginning to muddle

until i behold my home built of guilt

Closed world, wounds open.

Open world, wounds closed.

the snow is purple, the iron is pink, the sun is black. it's light is ashen and dull; is suffocating and baneful. cough is snow-white, bone-white.

witness the sunrise while the light corrodes your eyes, while the blood still flows. and then the blood turns black, and I get lost on a well-troden path. and the purple snow is no longer purple, the pink iron is no longer pink, the world is closed, and the wounds are open. i don't understand and i don't see, i withdraw into myself like a timid onset of a muddy february morning.

i withdraw into myself, withdraw into the murky smoke of factory chimneys, in the cage of my desires for something more. to see more ahead than the yellow traffic light plate that had replaced the blackened sun, and to be something more ahead than i am now.

but i will never be able to transcend the limitations of my capacity, like night giving way to day. my mind is heavy and wrecked, tearing me down. like a petroleum, it pollutes my clear eye.

i was looking up from below

i was watching the light sparkling; i was watching the snow covering the trees, covering my soul

i was watching, until the light blinded me; i was watching the snow, until i bowed down to snow blindness

and then, as i remained blind, as something inside of me, that used to be my soul, metamorphosed into snow blindness,

July 5th, 2009.

Dear diary,

Lately it smells like meltwater in the morning. My mom says that I'm going to catch cold because I always sleep with my window open. But I'll tell you a secret that I'm not sleeping at all. I like to stay awake all night through and go to sleep before birds start singing. I like to read about constellations in the Internet and I have noticed that I can see the constellations of Orion and the Pleiades out of my window. I love to talk to the stars and tell them my secrets. The stars are very old, they're older than my grandma and grandpa, so they must be really wise. And when the stars disappear, the glass butterflies show up and fly into my room. But I already have friends – the Orion and the Pleiades, and these butterflies are friends of my cat Susie. They like to play together and Susie never gets her claws out when plays with butterflies.

Today, my mom and I are going to hang a birdhouse on the tree so that birds can live in it. This birdhouse was made by my grandma and grandpa. My grandma wants me to wear my hair into braids WHENEVER I go out of home. And she pulls my hair very hard when she braids it, so sometimes I don't untangle it at night so she won't braid it again. But then she scolds me because my hair got tangled up.

you're finally home! we missed you :)

light is spreading over the Incorporeal substantial matter

as the watercolor stains are spreading over the incorruptible water

over the flatness of canvas

the light forces three-dimensional

to become flat

light is alienated with the inward drift

-- and that's why it's not flat

because everything that light touches, everything that light spreads over

becomes that way

but light doesn't become that way

light is not like that

have you seen the stellar bulge?

volume in a layer of plastic galaxy

four-dimensionality in a layer of plastic flatness

the light cuts through the layers of flatnesses

this is diffraction, – with each cut through, it acquires new volumes

new dimensions

five-dimensional six-dimensional seven-dimensional eight-dimensional

the light does not flow inward

either it's so insolent

either it's worried about itself

or maybe it just can't - too many dimensions

even for the light itself

but do you see

that light

is not jagged?

the light does not know itself: it knows its "I" is empty, it does not distinguish between "I" and "not-I"

the lighte isn't contemplates and the light does not contemplate itself

as different

as distinct

as personal

therefore his gaze is directed only outward

light is only a impersonal perceptive eye

that does not look back at itself

into itself

I do not think that there is nothing that can be looked at

since it is impersonal and different and indistinguishable

there is something too multidimensional

even for light itself

light is the absent core

in its own and collective

co-conscious world

the path of light is great

diffraction is the pursuit of dharma

wave-particle duality is the artha

you, who walked here, did you hear me?

i thought you were deep in the heart of the woods, deep in the depths of the forests

but you appear to be deeper

i tried to scream louder, i wanted you to hear me. but no matter how loud i screamed, my voice couldn't reach that depths

so i screamed quieter and quieter and quieter. so quiet no one could hear, not even me