01 June 2015

vulnicura, reviewing the experience of listening

vital and mature, a woman who is lover first mother first wife first woman first, making love one desperate time moments flashing like red behind eyelids each a whole -- thinking being too linear, this is pineal reasoning. her lover an oblivious coagulated ox, her husband rendered -- rendering slowly  -- will go will be gone will never be a stranger. the death of our, the death of a place carried whole, the last heartbeat of the shared coordinates -- moments of lyric reason bound by a beginning and an end. affirmation of the me being between two skins. beats and strings, music is secondary, blood and nerve.

she has written a novel in the ephemeral rise of the sad wave of orgasm, the descending crush, the crestfallen return to the greater body. ocean beats on land, rocks as passive as oxen. secondly there is hopefulness  -- the somehow wishings of all unscarring futures.  maybe he will come out of this loving me? somehow somehow.

nownownow we are together so familiar so naked. hearts rattle against each beat trying, finding synchronicity -- it all compresses now like atoms ready sucking in the past to a finepoint. can we capture it can we explode together make a new universe in this womb this room

this is an exhale afterglow, a break apart moment, an abortion -- you did this here, you are the fuel of this explosion. she is the projectile burning it up. murderer

let me say who you have murdered: the meyou (the man woman), the mechild (the mother child), the youchild (the father child).

a swarm of sound, an Icelandic Saga, rolling ars, wintry flourishes, stark emotion.
this is a savage cry on a blank ice sheet tundra -- a curse, this is the pain pleasure orgasm spoiling clean sheets with organic anguish.

grinding grinding, peeling off hopelessness regret, grinding hips together like hemispheres, grinding to hope. there is no hope. Hopelessness is safe from death.

in pain she is giant, a goddess radiating thorns of light, ice splinters. I am broken when I am whole, she declares, I am whole when I am broken. I speak finally and roar like arctic winds and landslides. roar like implosion.
Is the fusion? No this is fission.

"we are the siblings of the sun
lets step into this beam
every time you give up
you take away our future
and my continuity and my daughter ́s and her daughters'

and her daughters' 

This novel is a difficult read, the chapters only hold as the whole. this is a difficult read and not enjoyable at times but immediately necessary. Plug this story in, wrap it around your ears and hear the story told around a cold hearth of the dying embers of family broken, the immediate emotional viscera spilling out from a wound like the afterbirth of a scarred crone, illuminated and born again. If you are a man in this world - this is woman, if you are a woman add this to your sagas, so long unspoken, so necessary.

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