Monday 14 September 2009

Living in transition

We borrow a nice house from a girlfriend of Nina, who work in Moscow. Nina got her office work, but I stay home all the time, writing. It's a transition before going back to Bika in San Francisco; we need money to go sailing.

To be a contemporary poet means that you’re hoping for fame while learning the anatomy of silence. After some years the idea of a breakthrough seems ridiculous. The silence gets deepened. That's when you start to find the existence of ghosts more likely, even downright plausible.

It usually takes a long time for a house to disintegrate. A house leaves us slowly, but a sailboat can go down in minutes. Maybe that's why I've never heard about ghosts going boating. A ghost needs reassurance.

I believe ghosts can form during countless movements in the house. The opening and closing of doors; if we walk into the bedroom and stop, not knowing what we seek; if we walk into the bathroom unfocused.