Marble Cool - Dionysian Cuts

The crude and the pure: one seeks a purity of expression that verges on being a crude poetics…

Eros is always about our desire for the impossible-real, not the real of our egoistic illusions that imprisons relationships, but the real that eludes materiality…

Dionysus dances techno, feeding on grapes of rainbow pills, singing tales of chemical sex, lust and love…

Sparkling nights, where everything twinkles, eyes, lights, skies, and desires…

…beauties who nurse their skin by moonlight and stagger around the meat rack, abyssal eyes spiralling with drugs for every star. All those girls that go too far, prolonging the ecstasy till dawn…maybe…just maybe, share a spiritual secret…

Pills of many colours reflected the caramel opaqueness of smack…

Sweat and ecstasy remained in a state of lived music. Hard-edged, metallic, molecular and bass driven: abstract rhythms of silvery nights…

…on the dance floor a crowd locked into the groove, faces and bodies cutting angular shadows against geometric patterns of coloured beams…

…naked…the girl’s skin perspired a dense abstractness, mirroring hues of metallic blues, greens and rusty silvers; the colours shimmered, rearranging shifting surfaces across her marble-cool skin …unhinged from the beat ambiance, she looked like a beautiful otherworldly extraterrestrial siren washed up on the sublime shores of an alien lust…

Time and matter, for once, stood still…hours, minutes and seconds dripped dropped like sinuous lava, melting everything, stripping all of life’s lust and pornography away…yet, full of erotic longing….

…lights made of infinite colours drawing vectors and arcs of optical designs, greeted us beyond the boundaries of time and space…

It’s all about Crystals - Crystal Infinities

Writing should be a search, a quest through words, whose only direction is the beyond of words - life in its pure sacred immanence…

Writing is not about stories, theories and contents, which in our post-modern world have been exhausted to the point of sick parodies, but rather, a clearing of words through words – to write the crystal thunder of silence on the opaque infinity of being…

The infinite soul of man for the finitudes of science: not only is God dead, but Faust is about to collect his dues, any moment now....

What does one do, when one sees an infinite promise full of life and beauty? one tries to catch those eyes, maybe to glimmer a possible empathy, even to try to capture the secret possibility of a spiritual communion - whose reality will always be in dispute, even after the event - was it all an material illusion?

The crystal quest: find and inebriate the true passion of minerals and crystals, and break on through to the other side of infinity…

The only feel and hope there is: to live under the archway of a crystal infinity…

If there is nothing, and all is matter, why the perpetual epiphenomena of life and self?

In-between spirit and matter, shimmering mirages in a desert of illusions….

A general emptiness from time to time infuses all things: people speak, but, they don't make sense, apart from a strange phonetic cacophony; almost like, slivering lizards bathing in the white coldness of multiple moons....silvery lizards hiding in-between the city’s shapes and shadows...

Eyes that exchanged nothing, except the void of each other…

Night-time in the ultraviolet shaded city: under cheap neon lights and the thudding vibes of elegant beats, he waits, for a female design to emerge, out of the undifferentiated darkness, into the crystal light…He sat down, near the edge of the dancing crowd, a void looking for another void. Then, one fall of light caught his eyes; emerald eyes reflected the gyrating lights around the dazzling shards…

Dressed in black, slits high in front…dancing away all she had, Valerie felt, at last, a kind of melting freedom, gently surging itself to the pounding rhythms, gently pressing her inside, or so it seemed, for the heroin-ecstasy mix was already fading blue...

A sacred whore from Babylon, rising from the shadows of the gods...or maybe not...a material girl graving for thrills, tricks and chemistry…

London Calling

Saw a beautiful face of a darkly woman appearing out of the top branches of a ..tree blowing in the wind, above my window. Quite an uncanny appearance almost surreal in its face-branch design, a true epiphany…one always waits, mostly in vain, for these spiritual singularities/events to happen which open-up for an instant the suffocating no-exit immanence of material existence….from time to time, a luminous sign of an exit called transcendence flashes in the dark cinemas of our existential matter…

…and talking about events and matter, London after New-York and Madrid has been hit by a series of “terrorists” attacks. As if life wasn’t difficult enough keeping a job down and commuting to work everyday…of those London commuters who woke up this morning to go to work like any other day, some of them are dead, and most of them are severely injured…keeping a job down in the major cities of the west is becoming like Russian roulette...of course, this is what the terrorists want, to breed a perpetual atmosphere of fear, disorientation and panic, to break down the “enemy” psychologically and socially… this is the ultimate Foucauldian breeding of the “panopticon”: the ultimate presence in the most widest sense possible with the fewest means - the terrorist eyes and presence are everywhere covering the largest area possible, even when they are not there, and no bombs are present - the terrorists also know their Deleuze, to avoid major capture keep the cells rhizomatic and avoid the tree…