Demons and Ashes

Will we stay here for long? 60X40X50.

Crystal nostalgia, whiffed by wind, fall into pit of torn apart bed sheets, the lost phone numbers are dripping. I take ibuprofen, we have to go, but maybe not. Can you make gold out of broken vinyls? There are yellow songs in this space, one orange sock and volcanic ashes. There is kitchen sadness, sleep, insomnia, amnesia in this space. Guest chattering and cracked glasses that echo in curses. What if a war starts? I was once a carpet. I was once squeaky steps at nightfall. I was once key-chain concert in a middle of night. I am still a key-chain concert. I’m glad that I burned some work. I am on an edge of buying instant coffee “Liepāja”. I am a stranger in Liepāja. Will we have enough space for buckwheat, lentils, flour, rice, pasta and rat poison? There are some Greek artifacts, two pieces of Dublin’s pavement and stomachache. Is this book mine or yours, or hers? We dance on aluminum, we own 15 movies about ninjas. And debts. And colors that I can’t see. Advises. Notarial certifications. Attestations. Diplomas. Lectures about Le Corbusier. I have a bag with old bones. And my dreadlocks somewhere. Probably there’s also Joe Dassin’s face. I lie down on pine-cones and count anti-depressants. A few knick-knacks, a few things that’s Ponge left before leaving off for a walk. And all those maps with ambiguous directions scratched in, asphalt showing through folding and I will never return. Everything once. One might say everything is happening until.. We drown. Water comes closer, water has soaked in foundation inside out. Granddad with a motor-saw. In one of my homes there’s a magnet stuck to a door-post, but I have no idea where. Which home? The one with melt halva crumbs? The one with Strawberry Harvest 1994 picture framed? The one I don’t remember the door code to? In 1994 my yo-yo was tolen. Where did I put the chains and fangs of Bebop and Rocksteady?

HAPPY
MOVING
MOVING
MOVING
HAPPY
HAPPY
MOVING
HAPPY
HAPPY
MOVING
HAPPY
HAPPY TO SEE YOU HERE.

Photos: Līga Spunde