photo by Σπύρος-Ίωνας Μαρκάτης
A few lines on the night table, then…
“Bottle”: How can you be with the other at the bounds of the bottle? Do you serve the bottle or does the bottle serve you? Do you drink it or does it drink you?
The desire to desire a desire that desires to remain forever desirable… ungratified…
“Indigestion”: The poison words instil inside a text. The writing is half the text… the other half?
“I follow you”: I carry your cross. I’m not your follower or your servant. Am I your slave, then? I follow you. I remain loyal to the pleasure you induce me. I follow the drive of death until death. I don’t dream of an Eden in the future, nor do I root myself in the present. I withdraw to the Real of the “wild night of the world”.
“Follow = follower”: How can anyone be saved following another subject?
I walk by your side… drawn from the glass side of the bottle like Eva was drawn from Adam’s side. And yet, an ancient voice, primordial and tenacious as a spell, bottles me up inside the glass prison again and, what’s more, seals its mouth with a cork.
Draw – drawn – withdraw…
“The hand”: Why is the right hand punished? What did it do?
Is it the hand that curves to touch another mouth with the mouth of its palm … A mouth that opens and closes its tips at the feel of a touch… where the fingers grow moist from the burning flesh… or the childish state of “hand in hand”? Like saying “we will never part” or “together for ever”… The formidable shadow of “for ever” makes “together” seem a prison… a prison of the body…
Ezekiel Query carefully reads the letter he retrieved word for word from the patient’s under analysis memory before he left his office. He reads it as if it were a visible text slowly unfolding its pages before his eyes. He can even read what was never said where the narrative breaks off. He develops a hypothesis and begins to see what moves between the lines of the text.
Between the “mouth” and the sentence beginning with “… don’t eat it, it causes indigestion…” there’s a large piece of missing text. That’s probably where the coffee was spilt, the stain covering the words and leaving its mark in their stead. So, I’m tracing the coffee-marks then… he thought and smiled cryptically at the mirror opposite… Coffee isn’t just another pleasure. It has its own unique boons. It’s not like when you eat something with your eyes, then throw away the rest when you’ve had your fill… something like a girl, for example. Yes… why not? A girl. You glue your eyes on her… you follow her contour, her curves, the small arcs of her thighs, her thin shins and there you stop … having had your fill, you leave the rest of the meal untouched, namely her heels, her soles, her toes…
A meal of triangular patches half-revealing rectal sets is altogether another matter, of course. Hmmm… firm, flabby, shrivelled, with beds of cellulite or round crescents striving to separate from the rest of the body. What can the eyes eat then? How can they feast with so much detail? Instead of being gorged, they work up a greater appetite…
I don’t know why, but I just remembered a plump ripe damsel frolicking in the waters of a blue pool, the water spilling over from all sides, splashing the burning bathers on the wooden sun beds. An inept meal… Then she dried off on the sun bed in the scorching midday sun, waiting on her back for the prince who would lie comfortably on top of her. Obviously she was yet another child no one read fairy tales to. Otherwise, she would’ve known that the prince comes around midnight and you must remember the secret of the pumpkin. 12.01… the coach will turn into a pumpkin and the prince into pumpkin pie. And if you miss the moment miracles happen, it’ll be your fault…
But who is Cinderella’s grey gown and who the glass slipper in this nosh-up in Eden?
“Eden”: the name in Hebrew means pleasure. Hmmm… they usually think it’s the girl. An utterly superficial reading! Can’t they see the seer is the object?… Yes… the seer, whose entire being becomes a stare… without a body… looking through a camera lens… Wonder what the girl saw when she smiled faintly beyond herself, beyond the pleasure principle? What lies beyond? The pleasure of pain or the pain of pleasure? That seems like a dipole. Better I take the third route… walk through its rough, esoteric footpaths and see where it leads me… I might even encounter the “elevated – condensed – Evil”, the god of the underworld which feeds on the pain that withers the bodies of its innocent victims….
But let’s get back to the coffee… You drink coffee slowly, sip by sip, and it leaves a surplus of cream on your lips. Yes… you don’t often come across coffees that leave dregs anymore.
His mind wandered for a moment and his gaze fell on the picture above the couch. A young half-naked girl smiled at him over a cup of tea.
Let’s start from her anatomy, let’s trace her unconscious image a little… What was her name? It was Vasiliki, wasn’t it? Yes, Vasiliki1… With or without a dome? I’ll check it out later… So, let’s start from her image…
Ezekiel Query spread open one of his small notebooks on his oaken desk. He sharpened his pencil and began sketching the girl’s image reversed from the inside… out…
So, then, she was tall, very tall for a woman, and exceedingly thin… those were her brother’s exact words. Let me see… Her eyes lively but empty in their sockets… her glance darting here and there… from object to object… seduced by every new stimulus… What about her voice? Her voice rose to scream, to cry, to shout, but not to speak. Where was her speech? Why didn’t it bore a hole in the wall of her family’s language? Exceedingly thin, then! Perhaps she was extremely ceding towards others, then?
How many holes did she herself have? Mouth… vulva… Two, at least. First hole: Mouth closed or half-closed. To suckle, to suck, to sip… to kiss… maybe… What if they ate her? What if she habitually ate the person she fell in love with as well?
“Bottle”: How can you be with the other at the bounds of the bottle? Do you serve the bottle or does the bottle serve you? Do you drink it or does it drink you?
The desire to desire a desire that desires to remain forever desirable… ungratified…
“Indigestion”: The poison words instil inside a text. The writing is half the text… the other half?
“I follow you”: I carry your cross. I’m not your follower or your servant. Am I your slave, then? I follow you. I remain loyal to the pleasure you induce me. I follow the drive of death until death. I don’t dream of an Eden in the future, nor do I root myself in the present. I withdraw to the Real of the “wild night of the world”.
“Follow = follower”: How can anyone be saved following another subject?
I walk by your side… drawn from the glass side of the bottle like Eva was drawn from Adam’s side. And yet, an ancient voice, primordial and tenacious as a spell, bottles me up inside the glass prison again and, what’s more, seals its mouth with a cork.
Draw – drawn – withdraw…
“The hand”: Why is the right hand punished? What did it do?
Is it the hand that curves to touch another mouth with the mouth of its palm … A mouth that opens and closes its tips at the feel of a touch… where the fingers grow moist from the burning flesh… or the childish state of “hand in hand”? Like saying “we will never part” or “together for ever”… The formidable shadow of “for ever” makes “together” seem a prison… a prison of the body…
Ezekiel Query carefully reads the letter he retrieved word for word from the patient’s under analysis memory before he left his office. He reads it as if it were a visible text slowly unfolding its pages before his eyes. He can even read what was never said where the narrative breaks off. He develops a hypothesis and begins to see what moves between the lines of the text.
Between the “mouth” and the sentence beginning with “… don’t eat it, it causes indigestion…” there’s a large piece of missing text. That’s probably where the coffee was spilt, the stain covering the words and leaving its mark in their stead. So, I’m tracing the coffee-marks then… he thought and smiled cryptically at the mirror opposite… Coffee isn’t just another pleasure. It has its own unique boons. It’s not like when you eat something with your eyes, then throw away the rest when you’ve had your fill… something like a girl, for example. Yes… why not? A girl. You glue your eyes on her… you follow her contour, her curves, the small arcs of her thighs, her thin shins and there you stop … having had your fill, you leave the rest of the meal untouched, namely her heels, her soles, her toes…
A meal of triangular patches half-revealing rectal sets is altogether another matter, of course. Hmmm… firm, flabby, shrivelled, with beds of cellulite or round crescents striving to separate from the rest of the body. What can the eyes eat then? How can they feast with so much detail? Instead of being gorged, they work up a greater appetite…
I don’t know why, but I just remembered a plump ripe damsel frolicking in the waters of a blue pool, the water spilling over from all sides, splashing the burning bathers on the wooden sun beds. An inept meal… Then she dried off on the sun bed in the scorching midday sun, waiting on her back for the prince who would lie comfortably on top of her. Obviously she was yet another child no one read fairy tales to. Otherwise, she would’ve known that the prince comes around midnight and you must remember the secret of the pumpkin. 12.01… the coach will turn into a pumpkin and the prince into pumpkin pie. And if you miss the moment miracles happen, it’ll be your fault…
But who is Cinderella’s grey gown and who the glass slipper in this nosh-up in Eden?
“Eden”: the name in Hebrew means pleasure. Hmmm… they usually think it’s the girl. An utterly superficial reading! Can’t they see the seer is the object?… Yes… the seer, whose entire being becomes a stare… without a body… looking through a camera lens… Wonder what the girl saw when she smiled faintly beyond herself, beyond the pleasure principle? What lies beyond? The pleasure of pain or the pain of pleasure? That seems like a dipole. Better I take the third route… walk through its rough, esoteric footpaths and see where it leads me… I might even encounter the “elevated – condensed – Evil”, the god of the underworld which feeds on the pain that withers the bodies of its innocent victims….
But let’s get back to the coffee… You drink coffee slowly, sip by sip, and it leaves a surplus of cream on your lips. Yes… you don’t often come across coffees that leave dregs anymore.
His mind wandered for a moment and his gaze fell on the picture above the couch. A young half-naked girl smiled at him over a cup of tea.
Let’s start from her anatomy, let’s trace her unconscious image a little… What was her name? It was Vasiliki, wasn’t it? Yes, Vasiliki1… With or without a dome? I’ll check it out later… So, let’s start from her image…
Ezekiel Query spread open one of his small notebooks on his oaken desk. He sharpened his pencil and began sketching the girl’s image reversed from the inside… out…
So, then, she was tall, very tall for a woman, and exceedingly thin… those were her brother’s exact words. Let me see… Her eyes lively but empty in their sockets… her glance darting here and there… from object to object… seduced by every new stimulus… What about her voice? Her voice rose to scream, to cry, to shout, but not to speak. Where was her speech? Why didn’t it bore a hole in the wall of her family’s language? Exceedingly thin, then! Perhaps she was extremely ceding towards others, then?
How many holes did she herself have? Mouth… vulva… Two, at least. First hole: Mouth closed or half-closed. To suckle, to suck, to sip… to kiss… maybe… What if they ate her? What if she habitually ate the person she fell in love with as well?
