Akira Rabelais

Music:

Spellewauerynsherde

1390 Gower Conf. II. 20 I can noght thanne unethes spelle that I wende altherbest have rad.

1483 Caxton Golden Leg. 208 b/2 He put not away the wodenes of his flessh with a sherde or shelle.

(Gorgeous curves lovely fragments labyrinthed on occasions entwined charms, a few stories at any longer sworn to gathered from a guileless angel and the hilt edges of old hearts, if they do in the guilt of deep despondency.)


...bénédiction, draw.

Pourtant, sous la tutelle invisible d'un Ange
Retrouve l'ambroisie et le nectar vermeil.
Et s'enivre en chantant du chemin de la croix;
Pleure de le voir gai comme un oiseau des bois.


Dear Eisoptrophobia

Notturno
Aphorisming, first
Saraband No.2 (video)

Elongated Pentagonal Pyramid

3 of 15
a la recherche du temps perdu
Chronosynclastic

__________/track/coda/remix.

Harold Budd - 'Avalon Sutra'
[cd coda]: 'As Long As I Can Hold
My Breath (By Night)'

David Sylvian - 'The Good Son vs.
The Only Daughter: Blemish Remixes'
[remix]: 'Blemish'

Björk - 'Drawing Restraint 9'
[track]: 'Bath'

Movies:

Television:

Books:

from 'a book of fragments',
summer two thousand five.
Noticing to
confess the days,
rapids were I,
before a glance
forwards and wearisome,
silenced by
language,
here to leave the music
wept across the body,
the wall before it and all
I cannot tell you
must reverberate
through sense,
on eyes window,
imagining and vanishes
with voices for a circle,
windows of grass
in a whispering
at little green
as if
it would
to brightness reach,
and the actual
perceiving
is resolved
to the centre,
here
any moment
remember
and
perish.
I summoned
up the balcony,
mingled with
cloth off
the love
of so far
as dragged down
could scarcely close
my gaze from each other,
were we to this fonder,
any minutes together
and outside looked
steadily
for needed
none,
and
against
the hand
simply to escape
the warmth
from questions
put to the sweet ring
once descended
still remains
where anything
and by it
disappears,
many questions
conclusions reached
before you might
suppose
them.
in a pile of time
ever streams away
you would lightly recall,
words bewitch eyes,
a sweet disorder
in with delight,
and spake, the bodies
of blood,
in a great
fig-tree growing,
in this river
to be dying,
the voice indeed
is a way to reach it,
so hand, so,
there upon
the heavens touch
kinds of fire written,
and hears the sound
of Sirens' voice
never ceased,
but
that asked
how this river
to the truth
was dream, hold had to
much-sorrowing and sheer,
as fascinated tale
with loud voice,
by no greater
than when art
is too precise,
subtlety doesn't want
but the hearth,
the heavens
touch the common
into a great heap
of yet more
bonds,
it haste away
if they will
then let think
necks long
and circumspect.
safe
and warm,
as safe
in a little space
the sensations
of dreams,
a patch
of sleep,
those names
now my only wish,
making significance
of course,
I enter
into obscurity,
loved the likeness
of mineral and substance,
here a day from little
rushing flight
through moths fluttering
among all apart
in what new delights
there were,
a degree
of Earth rise on
and
silver brocade
embroidered,
the music
of its trees,
set in this
that ghost of little
rushing flight,
a crown
of innocence,
almost,
which is life,
yet lifted
to disappear
for naught,
and walked blindly
into forgetfulness
of everything,
thus my sweet thoughts
with distant unseeing eyes,
these haunted bones,
bodies giving expression
to our eternities
turned obscurity,
turned to ash
and the sweetness
of closing hand
on hand,
our shadows broken
on the little in-betweens,
surface of soft steps also are
turned to meaningless,
on of sky pale with stars
left to gardens
and limestone labyrinth,
times more sorry to no alteration
in this out to blessed
nothingness.

Heroes: