You chose the Sea

Something different like something new
and still known to me.
Breath to breath;
toe to stomach.
We both try to sleep from time to time
and keep her from sneaking in.
Tonight I was weak.
She waited until I opened up
and then she intoxicated me.
As long as she is there, you are gone.
With her I keep you distant.

She grows larger, not being herself anymore.
She reaches the point of being something iconic.
Beastly iconic, from a sad place-
and I want to make it even worse.
It is your death;
the knife, the poison, your throat.
Over and over again.
Waking and sleeping.
I see you laughing, I wish you gone.
She will never hear my words;
a numb muse, a bitter kiss,
hitting me were it hurts.

You are not real, you just touched me.
I can skin you,
I can strip you to your imagined bones,
drain you and make you different,
make you new.

In my mind you are crying endlessly,
I wish to make it worse.
Let him attract you.
Let him satisfy you
and then break you.
Spill yourself in front of him,
melt, dissolve:
Liar.
Liar.

He was born again, he was new.
Your breath with mine,
your toes on my stomach.
Your trust on my chest
and I keep you distant.
A head in my hand, uncrushed.
It is not my choice.

It is your memories, not mine.
And it hurts to realise, that it is the same the other way around.
We share some health,
deep down inside
where it is warm and dark
and filled with dry grass and leaves.
I know I should not be here.
But I am glad I came.

That hole was yours but you chose the sea-
You is Me.

[Pause]

STILL HIM

Sometimes rationality reaches a state of mind where everything can flow freely and drip out of it as small bewildering clots of confusion. It is not clearly to make out what is true and what is phantasm. It does not matter.

Something gets warmed up, old wounds rip open, far gone situations come to life again. How can you know if he has changed, when your mind keeps it perfect; pain and distance in abstraction, melted into one?

I am confused right now.

I am sitting in front of you, my face controlled, a war in my head.

Under the table my sword is drawn. Your eyes are stable, but your mouth sometimes twitches.

I hope your weapons are of same strength as mine. I hope the fight will be fair.

My fair lady in the grass, what are you dreaming of?

Greater blue, wider horizon? How far have you drifted away?

Still I know that your ears recognise my steps. You sense me.

And I am approaching. I slowly creep towards you.

The more often I look at you, the more confused I get. Every time I face you, your eyes rest on me. It is like getting swallowed deep inside of your gaze and I am not able to stop me from falling.

It is this room, we once created just for the two of us.

It is the space we fill. It is this place far from rationality… far from morality.

But there is no need to get between the borders, to lose steady ground under the feet. There is no need to wander through tender nights. Is it?

And it still fits. Even if the jacket is too big, it keeps me warm.

You always kept an eye on the wind, on an upcoming storm. I still smell the smoke of your cigarette, I can taste it. I will never tell you, how much I actually liked it.

Your hands that were always right. Your touch as sweet as night. You as my darkest days. The ones that bear truth.

I want to see you again and again.   Clandestine behind the window.

When the snow is gone, I will be there.

I feed that amber juice to you.       Slowly you let it drop out again.


from "STAINS - Zwischen Macht und Mitternacht"

Tango Minded, Delicate Bodied

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R--wCqB1qUQ

EINDEXAMENWERK BK 2013

Performance 24./25.05. - Opening Museum Complex, 's-Hertogenbosch

Performance 19.05. - Proeftuin, Duizel

THE IMPORTANCE OF DESSERT

One text of my book "STAINS - Zwischen Macht und Mitternacht"

THE IMPORTANCE OF DESSERT

You have just had a splendid meal. Your whole body is still trembling from that sensation of taste, exploding in your mouth, taking your taste buds on a trip to a place far beyond. Everything else was irrelevant. Your eyes were closed, you surrendered to this moment of pure ecstasy.

There is silence enveloping you, maybe a slight sound in the distance. You are alone.

You have licked the plate, ran your tongue over your knife. Your fingers still try to hold on to that perfect scent, convulsively.

Now you are desirous.

You have tasted blood.

Your body starts twitching. Your eyes begin to roll. You are drooling : You want it. You need it. You cannot be without it.

This has nothing to do with addiction, you tell yourself. This belongs to you. It always has done, you have just never realized that until now.

Then you smell something sweeter. Something… mysterious. It has a subtle influence on you, it changes your perception. The utter conviction of what you need.

There is nothing that imperative, you tell yourself.

Control it. Breathe in. Breathe out. And freeze.

The scent gets heavier. It creeps towards you, surrounds you, swallows you, even before you can place it. Recognition dawns on you. Your mind opens, your tongue is overwhelmed ,

your soul tries to break through the roof of your mouth.

Where there was a wound, where there was blood you have licked, an even stronger, a sweeter taste emerges, covering up everything that has been before, all the sensation which you are already beginning to forget. This is dominance.

From red to yellow. From liquid to viciousness.

To superfluousness.

To go through with it is an absolute necessity, to stay on course.

This is the last course.

And your tongue touches it, your whole body is moving with it. Thrilling. A revelation.

It goes further than you could have ever expected. It opens a complete new vision to you, it does not just take place in your mouth: it is physical. Solid. Flesh.

The last dish. The last meal. You merge into something larger, more infinite.

You rear up.

… to collapse.

Out of your ashes, a new life is developing. A new universe is growing from your fertile ground. The flames of your burst soul are amplifying your existence. In you everything is one and you are everything. In embryo, already knowing the absolute form in the end. Still taking the effort of growing towards it.

Dessert is not just about the form that it has when it is finished.

It is the whole process with a ceremony of meals towards it.

Dessert is about the celebration of creation.

It is about the beginning of the end that forms a new start. It is the source of a new existence. Dessert is the coronation. The thunderstorm that cracks your throne. The one thing too many that you can spare, which forms new ground. In your body you can create a base for new life.

Feed it, breed it, give it more than it can take.

Fulfill it, still it, mill it. Make it, break it, forsake it.

Satisfy yourself with a meal and trust in the absolute overwhelming power of dessert.

Afters as superfluity.

After us: tranquility.

Indispensably stimulating.

"A Question of Identification"

"A Question of Identification"                           3:07 min

"Nieuw Leven in een associatieve Ruimte", Styhrl Bouieng Feb 2013

"Nieuw Leven in een associatieve Ruimte", Styhrl Bouieng Feb 2013

Ich liege auf dem Bauch

Ich liege auf dem Bauch, mein Gesicht in lehmiger Erde.Mit offenen Augen und lichtreflektierendem Staub auf meinen Schultern.Ich weiß nicht mehr, welche Tageszeit es ist.Es interessiert mich nicht.Mein Körper nimmt das lähmende Gefühl von feuchter Erde als gegeben wahr.Alles andere irrelevant.Lehmig in drei Ecken ist er damit zu einem Bild verschmolzen.Langsam dehne ich mich und ziehe mich daraufhin wieder zusammen.In meine blinkende Mitte.Dunkle Ränder unter meinen Nägeln,braunes Pigment auf den Kuppen.Unberührt, da unnahbar,ziehe ich erneut mutig einen Finger durch öligen Sand,dessen Farbe daran haften bleibt.Bis zur Spitze werde ich mich hinaufziehen und dann springen.Meine Welt benetzen mit weißem Staub und glänzenden Metallsplittern.Mit fließendem Lehm und salziger Gischt.Ich habe es schon lange erreicht,das Dreieck in mir ist schon lange Perfektion.Körperwarme Erde unter meiner Haut,wachsendes Gras an meiner schwellenden BrustUnter diesem Tisch, diesem Leben, offen bis zum Schluss.Schon lange ruhe ich hier.Eine farbige, selbstgezogene Linie führt dich zu mir.

In solchen hellen Nächten

In solchen hellen Nächten drehe ich mich zu ihr um

Manchmal zieht es noch in der Narbe an meinem Bein


Sie streicht mit einem ihrer feuchten Finger über die flache Stelle auf meiner Nase


Der Abdruck des zerknitterten Lakens auf meiner Haut ist mein Unglaube


Die Hitze hinter meiner Stirn ist wahr


Auf meine Unterarme und Zehenspitzen gestützt ist mein Körper langgestreckt und starr


Er schwebt, beginnt zu zittern


Eine Übelkeit kommt auf, ein Schwarz umnachtet mein Bewusstsein


Ihre Hand ruht auf meinem Rücken


Ihr zaghaftes Pulsieren gleitet in mein Herz


Schön wie eine kleine Frucht, gen Leben blinzelnd


Elegant wie ein junger Adler über dem Strom


Segelt es hinein und stößt mit einem hellen Schrei nieder


In solchen gellenden Nächten glaube ich ihr


Die Wärme ihrer Hand strömt auf die sich ausbreitende Hitze hinter meiner Stirn zu


Und geht zwischen meinen Schulterblättern ineinander über

Wie eine feine Haut

Wie eine feine Haut aus tausend Samenkörnern legt sie sich auf mich und stößt mich mit sanftem Blick tiefer. Der Kampf wird nicht mehr allzu lange andauern, dann erliege ich ihr ganz. Ich breite mich vor ihr aus und zerfließe zwischen ihren Schenkeln. Warm und pulsierend nehme ich diesen Trugschluss in kauf und atme scharf ein. Eine Wahrheit ergibt sich aus dem darauffolgenden Sturm und eine Kraft zieht mich in meine Mitte. Ich schwitze, etwas heißes tropft aus meinem Mundwinkel. Salz umkrustet meine Augen. Wie sehnlichst ich sie mir herbeigewünscht habe, oh wie verlangend ich sie erwartete! Und doch… nicht. Nun, da sie meine Sinne zu trügen vermag und ich rhythmisch tiefer tropfe, packe ich sie, zwinge sie auf die Knie und platziere ihre kühle, linke Hand knapp über meinem Bauchnabel. Ich schließe die Augen und Erinnerungen wirbeln wie Staub von vergessenen Büchern um meine raue Haut. Sie riechen nach versengtem Metall. Schmecken nach Lehm und nach dem Morgen. Sie beginnt zu flüstern, fügt mich stückweise wieder zusammen. Fängt mich auf, leckt meine Wunden. Ihre Stimme hebt sich, richtet sich nun direkt an mich und mit dem Morgengrauen verblassen auch die letzten Zeichen auf vergilbten, abgegriffenen Seiten. Mit jedem Sturm von ihr brennt sich das Vergessene in meine See, mit jeder Stille sammle ich mehr Erde in meiner Hosentasche. Sie reicht mir das Glas. Der Inhalt ist dunkel, träge und warm. Ich weiß, dass er mich in sich birgt. Und letztendlich streift ein Schmunzeln meine Lippen und ich lasse los.

Vielleicht werden meine Augen offen sein, wenn ich aufschlage.

RAUSCHEN

"RAUSCHEN", video-ondertiteling-collage, zonder geluid, 2:10 min

STYHRL BOUIENG opening 31-01-2013

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