April 13 2015
I hear the boiling Earth somewhere under my feet. And I feel how she digests her own gut again and again. She’s passionate, infinite like Tsvetaeva lyrics which make her insatiable, almost like a soul. Not free at all.
She is the bride in a green dress, a necklace of mountains and sea veil. Psyche in beautiful Cupids chains. Rippling rivers, breathing volcanoes, moan steppe winds in their continuous dance.
Beauty, born in the frenzied cry of the archaic and dark depths - this is the prerequisite of their unconditional love. In there somewhere, under unavailable surface full of sumptuous velvet roses, under the layers of deceptive deaf and dead moisture…
It was there where the original sensuality - sizzling spark of life – resides.