On Alenka’s Thousand Ice Cubes – 3

Never recreate from your memory. Always imagine new places.
– from the movie ‘Inception’

Zanirza was spotted by many camera lenses, showed the world the meaning of gorgeousness.

Zanirza smiled and was asked to smile, sometimes only plastic smiles. But it was a beauty, beauty of innocence. Becoming disseminated and the shadows on magazine covers. Sometimes, time had pushed her to run towards the edge of felicity and estrangement. High heels were changed each times without any warnings. Learned to walk slowly in bare foot. smooth toes felt the wetness of earth. Need a deep breathe to understand the power of pause. Lacrimal glands taught the silence of time. At a time, only the pillow was the companion. Moving inside the wheels, there is a world unseen that made to explore new spaces. Was in love, in love, will be in love are in some strange meanings that really made to arrange deep thoughts. Lime lights were more rude to melt the skin, it opened the eyes to see many faces. The obliterated corners were laughed at her to pull all her unknown past. In Safer hands, thanking hands, caressing hands, blessing hands, this world is still breathing fresh air with smiley faces. Holding each others hands and dancing around the bonfire.

‘Caesura’, another short story of Zanirza.

She accepted the blood and never screamed for it. Her reddish hair allowed the doctor to handle her skin. Always skipped to count her wounds. She slept with her boyfriend. Sucked his organ to make him sleep, always. She again read the same book to get some sleep at that night. she teared some pages and cried a lot and tried to find the reasons. She wrote some poems and got published it. She received letters and awards and kisses. She sold her words again to buy her pills. Looked for hands to hold, looked for shoulders to rest, looked for smiles to share. She wrote new theories. She laughed at outdated constructions. Fascist government planned to slit her wrist and cut her vagina. But she always fly away from her nest to find another land. It’s easier than before to get out from the door. There is no lock neither keys. She knows about her felicity and its extends. It’s not important for her to contact others wishes. Her words are made up of candles. As she burning herself to create words, it’s melting without her conscious. Her smiles are very expensive that no one can buy unless they are seekers. She always laughs along with innocent meanings, though she is investing her smiles too. She is not she, but she is symbolism of her views. She saw her body was hanging on the roof garden. Not an illusion but a vision. Vision of framing the shadow of sun in the pond water. Sun is not rising and stars are falling, that is the reality. Her rough skin have started to spread all over the space, but the moon have burnt again and again in her sky.

The world war, poverty head lines, hidden genocides from history, Cuba after Castro, Pablo Neruda poems, Naxalism, someone is smiling from somewhere, accepting the touches of raindrops through a window, a lonely old person in a park, a teen girl staring at the mirror worrying about her look, black and white forms of scenes has made to construct a castle inside the heart with strong walls. How could we react if someone says that they born in this day? Mostly we contribute our smile without any meaning. I do always. Here I am sitting with a person who has the same of name of another girl. She is in the same skin and eye color is light brown. Staring at the table really made me run to find a person to make her laugh. Thinking about another girl, then the pain helped her to have a smooth transition to see things, but not so obscure. Spoon had accepted my fingers to have a tasteless food with tasteful people. Many things are merely anything in any structures. Trying to heed the mind’s debris, not ready to feed the love, like prises. Eyes have been closed to see the libertine. She got the third hand to ruin the serpentine, always hard rain inside her sun that is increasing the heights of her sky. Spending time to find the factors and some new chapters.

There is a fear in me, it always passes faces to me, How could I ask, “Would you like to have sex with me?”. How many have we lost the secret times? Kisses all are burnt by our silence. We don’t believe in adherence to soft touches. It’s a good theory to have a pause all over our meanings. Sometimes I would like to stay in frozen times. Frozen times are constructed by an inevitable situations. The clear pitch can also be absorbed if we really open the uncountable reasons. Thus it is vary from different minds, it could be contaminated by the unreal self. Though the thoughts have been revolves so fast during the frozen times. Closely observed parts were hidden by new meanings. Some words are totally scared to stay and listen to the real meanings. Every pixel of time were already tuned up to different sounds, because the potential parts were also lost its capacity to continue with different meanings. In the time when I switched off the light in my room to go to sleep, the words are crying like a new born. So I always sleeps in light to avoid word cancer. This is what I called as frozen time. A pencil treat in the dark is a new suggestion made by my mind. Unwilling parts are to accept the same color of dead words. Like an emotional penis or breast nipples which are allowed itself to get dominate by the facts. The facts that are really developed by the real frozen times. Meeting points were cheating, silent touches were loosing its grip, forgotten the taste of time, let the gorgeous things be gorgeous. Let the dreams be dreams. Time is an illusion in dreams. Touches and smooches and kisses and sex and smile and laugh and ‘and’ things are all illusion. A glass is filled up with sunlight, he pulled all his strength to pour it into the sea. Sea is slowly melting inside him to take him to the unreal world. The beautiful stones were already demolished by his smooth fingers. Am I dreaming in someone’s subconscious?

Zanirza’s ‘One of my death’ was published in a magazine.

The sound of broken glass had woke me to think about the shadow war. Living in this city, a lovely dusty city, a dark and light city, caressing my eyes by lies and truths. And this city is running from my heart and it clears all my expectations. City of dying insects inside the rotten eggs. City of lipsticks and designed belts and shoes and masks. Nude legs are walking on the air and ghost smiles are peeling my skin very slowly. Have you seen this city at midnight when the owls and wolves are hunting each other? This city, is a, was a, as a, like a city. Cat walk, smelly cat walk, was it skin or fur? It has rubbed all over my face. My tongue licked the toes and ate the nails. Someday you might smile at the pieces of my body. My smelly fleshes will teach you the aroma of death. Have you ever stand between the scattered bodies? That will show you the essence of death. Smiley face of death.

My angel! Let us betray this night along with fire beetles.

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