The Dyke’s Complaint

epicene-writing:

Here
comes the Dyke, from night to night,

A neon light,

A smoke.

Here
comes the Dyke, and her footsteps

Are
glued with spit,

Are
marked with teeth;

She
seeps from darker walls,

Standing
still, or walks

Or
disappears into the depths

Of
a silent subway.

Her
face? you ask

Her
clothes?

Thicker
than silk,

Smoother
than wool

That’s
all you need to know.

Here
comes the Dyke,

Alone,
and so

That
her shadow’s thinking

About
leaving for good

And
in the Dyke’s shadow

Raise,
and fall

A
sobbing girl

Huddled
on the floor

Under
a tapestry –

The
moon’s absent,

No
lamp is lit at the window

And
trains are passing by:

Here
goes the Dyke, who knows

That
her shadow won’t leave for now.

soliloquy I.

epicene-writing:

Now
that the frost has grasped us.

Off
the coast of the lights, of their large white bodies, so quickly
soiled? Almost at the center of the mist, where a crouched form left
her dress, or coating, of yellow silk. She is now bathing
in the solid light, and twists
her long hair that is at one with the shadows. She doesn’t look at
you.

Crucified
with light even in the clearest nights. You came out of this net, or
scrap, of metal. You refuse the void’s asylum. You refuse the
void’s dress. You even refuse to
feel its fabric, knowing its pressure on your white eyes.
You cancel the void.

You
maybe think you can observe its rituals as a tourist. You could even
sketch it and say Here I am, back again among you, marked by the
void, still covered by its sprinkling of fresh water. You think,
then, about saying that your passing through the void is covered with
ripe fruit. With puddles brewing the leaves’ bitterness. You would
like to say that you dug its waves or pruned its roads.

You’re
sure, now that the frost has grasped us, that the lights do not talk
anymore. That the mist won’t raise ever again. That the void has
passed.

You
nestle inside the curtains.

How
healthy is the cold you say. How can one tame the void? What has
neither leaves, nor roads, nor tools. Will you deny this passing? Or
will you reasonably exploit it, tying its rings to other glass ideas?
Will you show that chain around you neck, with pride?

Now
that the frost has grasped us. Moving can’t
be. The statues become
silent. Lightness slips out as a trickle of water, so tepid it scares
you. You don’t dare drawing from it to dilute your powders, plaster
or dust or poison.

By
the white absorbed, now that the frost has grasped us.

little study tip from ur local tired and trying student

i had to study and write essays at night A LOT and came up with a little tip you might want to try: candles. I light a candle when i start studying and blow it when im done.

Cons:

– its fire. next to paper. pay attention

Pros:

– you feel less alone

– smells good

– when you need to focus you can look at it instead of ur phone (really helps)

– makes you feel like some old time Scholar studying at the light of a candle

– can help mesuring time. for example: i used small candles that are supposed to last 4hrs when writing an essay that i was supposed to write in max. 4hrs during finals

– if u hear some noise in ur apartment u can take it with you like some gothic novel protagonist

– when ur done it smells like a birthday party and really, finishing writing an essay at 2AM feels like something u should celebrate

thanks for coming to my ted talk and good luck fellow students