huylevershek

dleue•  2023. július 18. 23:24

entailment (CM)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9pTIE_FOzN0

 

A man (M) and a woman (F) are squatting in a green meadow, like: “hey”, and she invites his gaze with a swing of her hand towards her phone. There is a cloud with a grey hind, and there is a steeple appearing quickly in the reflection before she shakes her head, and the light disappears from her eyes and, so, from the screen too. Remembering Bob Thompson, recovering Bob Thompson - an old plaque says in the churchyard - the last image he registers before raising his hand, obligingly, to cover the sun. 

 

And now, in the depth dark of the screen, a video appears: a video of a big man penetrating something pixelated; you can’t quite make it out but… the form of the story is the form of a woman. He is not sure what this means. 

There are several factors to look at, he thinks, and this is true. There is the colour: dark. In an M, too, you tend to be affected by the colours first; all them fidgety lines serve only to assuage the intellect - you only remember smudges, particularly, the brightest and the darkest. (These feel like a sweet few steps, but he learned to be cautious.) And then there is the power- he thinks. His friends are sex-positive, free and find the things between high and low art the most pleasureful. Does she even know that there is porn in the picture?

 

He searches for a stable point in his body; he uses his favourite mantra: “how would it feel to be completely alone” and sways.  The light returns between them, glides on his nose and through his eyes as he shifts closer to her.  From this point, things feel secure  - “The present moment is a beautiful moment”, he now thinks, as if he was standing on the top of a hill with tears in his eyes, breathing into the scent of her neck, pinned in the moment of the like that heroes would find balance in, where each voicing can be heard, with so much space; both the world and himself are a bit farther away now. 

 

And then the body of F lowers itself, loosens, which he takes as a signal to approach. He grabs her big voluptuous boobs, and she allows herself to feel good - with eyes firmly closed - waiting to come out on the other side. And then, there is a scene enfolding into voluptuous things, bodies folding into bodies enfolding, thoughts are approximated by first and second order conditions, and are now nearing an asymptote; and his fingers are folding into the cracks between the approximations, slightly bending forward and touching SOUND in all big SILENCE. (Their mutual silence is punctuated by soft sounds of intimacy, echoing back from the encompassing quiet: Smooch. This is what turned out to be the sound of sex.)

 

He speaks in curt sentences then, with the thought/sound ratio ensuring that each line is filled with JUICE. If you are looking to be laconic, the trick is to speak as if you were trying to make bullet points for a conversation rather than the conversation itself, letting yourself loose only occasionally: B covered one question very thoroughly; YTMT covered all questions in a single movie. The two ways of talking about things: you can only taste the pasty buttery aftertaste of peanuts if you eat a lot of them in one go. “I like your body so much” - he says.

But then they switch, and the SILENCE returns. He forgets what he was trying to convince himself of.

 

Some people tend to change when they are having sex— but not M - he is not that great in bed. His body gets heated, but alertness counterbalances any deepening that the increased salience of bodily sensations may produce - and in that alertness forms an intimate connection with thin threads of fear warning him of cumming early. He finds this much like suffering - without anything like a balm to keep the neurotic clicking of mind and body smooth - here, that new masculine thing of rounding things to 0 or 1 is PRESENT, he thinks in extremes - like as if you were sitting on a salty oceanic beach with a little grain of sand under your eye, giving out the allergic heat all around the rim, while you’re scraping up that last thin layer of clotted blood that keeps your shapes together - there is nothing to remember - no first hand experienced wisdom to settle down deeply - this is why all these thoughts are cutting his mind so sharply, he fell in a gap in the rhythm. 

 

Love is wanting to share your happiness, hate is wanting to share your pain - he is embodying his pathos to defend -  he is embodying his self-hatred to see if you can defeat it - it’s all a cold causal necessity from mismatched personalities that only the attentive are privy to experience and know never to try again - like writing a poem where you have everything but really just have to get the rhyme right - so he uses another mantra: “I just want to be with you”, turning away the narrative-thrust of this text from the promise of a quick climax.

 

And then, his attention shifts toward her eyes, and the soul of the other person, imagines her agency in full - the curiosities she experienced - the little desires she has - the things she wants to try - how she talked about being overwhelmed in the top of a club, finding a mirror, and looking at herself while the music was playing downstairs heavy and loud. That was a story without any complications, without any strange weight to bear, and implications for him or her - maybe that’s the colour - you’ll always be the child you were — with soul dropping, smiling, beaming for a good word. There is something soft in hope, and there are so many faces that appear sad but shouldn’t be - with puffy faces and sad mouths - but the world is kind and open - and your heart is vast and full -  the world is kind and open - and there is so little chance of anything happening - she was always there when things hurt so much. 

 

And so, he starts to feel that pulsating slightly painful ripples that he was just feeling near the top of his dick around his heart - as if a gentle hand was holding it- just barely touching - and he starts to feel some sense of love, taking his imagination away. Can you grasp onto it though? His body is getting heavy and dark and dense, and it occurs to him to think  “how would it feel to be completely alone” and he imagines himself even denser, his hand now grips only slightly, indicating which place things should be at rather than actually holding anything -  and that’s when it occurs to him: how far can one go from here? and he thinks: “the present moment is a beautiful moment” and that makes him feel even more alone  - and he starts imagining himself riding in the middle of the Savannah along with the antelopes and cheetahs, jumping bodies of water, riding free by sunset near a little river with the horizon and the mirror image reflecting the red sun equally sharply.

 

And then, he returns with a single ALL-ENCOMPASSING idea right on the top of his head: all things pointing toward a single point in space, time and meaning: “GOD IS SILENT AND SO AM I” gasping “This is now a real scare”. “This is now for real.”

dleue•  2023. január 27. 12:38

patak mellett

Az ablak felől, a patak mentén, követtük a lábunk.

Érezted, hogy hagy a hangja a csöndben - 

A sátorban köröztek.

A kérdésre az ujjad a csillagokra intetted - és nevetve

“Épp úgy nézett ki mint te!” - “Ilyen mélyen ülő szemekkel”.

Este, a fűszállak, mint bundáján, a víz a földbe bújt -

a bokrokban a sátrak zörögtek.

Hagytad “Bár megöleltem volna” - kivájt szemekkel -

"Vagy mondtad volna!” - és én éreztem a fájdalmad,

radiátor alakját, a testem közepén -

Olaszba a ravasz macska

Fordult egyet tengelye körül.

dleue•  2022. november 19. 16:23

a fa alatt

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g5Uzi_6twzM

 


1.       

 

a lavorban ültünk ketten,

a hajad pedig kötegekben 

a víz tetején úszott.

szellő fújta a hullámot alá;

a kezed, meg a vízhez kapva,

az ellenpólust próbálgatta.

 

a hajadat anya szőtte;

jó napokon csengettyűsbe,

rossz napokon beléd.

abban úszunk mi még most is,

orrunk víze alá nyomva, 

a fa alatt.

 

az árnyakon keresztül

álmosra fárasztja 

az embert a nap.

 

 

2.      

 

Fekete gomolyag nyitja a táncot;

Az ujján ezüst, billent,

A kezéből fény az asztalra bomlik.

’Kérhetünk egy gyertyát az asztalra?’

Kérdezte.

 

’Ha utánozzuk az izmainkkal,

Könnyebb érezni’ – mondtam.

És a fiú testét gombócban tartva

sírni kezdett a reflektorfényben.

 

Én megöleltem; úgy hogy érezzem

A mellét, úgy mint aki ölelni akar valakit,

 

És kávét ittunk. És sok sok ideje,

A lelkem melegére lazult a testem,

Billegett a fák alatt; újabb

és újabb ágakra talált rá.

 

Apró pergetések oldalvást, 

Közepe kemény, oldala nincs

-        Csak ha a tetejét érintik… -

 

„Te mindig válaszolsz,

Ha kérdezlek.”

 

„Elmegyek a mosdóba” – mondtam.

És ő mosolygott, hogy „Jó”.

És a tükörben este magával játszott

- úgy mintha magát ölelné át -

És a nevén nevezett minden dolgot (!):

“Megölelhetlek?”

 

Az öreg erdőben a lelke kötegei a fák,

Veleje a sötét, teteje az esthajnali ég…

És ő az úton gallopozva nevet,

Míg a fűben fekve én fuvolázok.

Földje tartja, hogy bárcsak meg tudnék b*szni

legalább egy hangnyi világot.

 

3.

 

A hangod a konyhából,

meddig néztem, hogy gyúrtad

a tésztát, de csendesen…

A csendnek kintről a város támasztott ellent,

Bentről a harag fújta az arcból a hajat,

És mi hagytuk a szellem hatoljon,

Nehezen a testen át,

Lazítsa le a fonalakat.

Itt csak a kezed, a bőrön járta

A köröket, rántva a közöst a mélyre le.

Néha extázisnak engedett a gyűlölet,

Ordítva  - ’O!’  mint az indián -

Miként fáj mások szeretete.

 

Az öröknek a szép téged át ad;

A jón túl volt egy rét,

És te ott vártad.


 

 

  



dleue•  2020. szeptember 26. 01:04

zumm zumm

dleue•  2020. augusztus 26. 15:59

o o o