3_that our default?
all it took was eye_contact.
it happened just after the group’s furniture broken_dance in the building. i was going to celebrate my pain with an appointment for coffee and cake with her sister bibi, who was in my class at the ars_kademy. we were meeting at the cafè of azza’s movie_museï, in the middle of the north park.
momo, delightfully elegant, her voice quiet and low – a contralt – had the posture of complete comfort within her body, and her movements were praecise, economic, fluid. i got lost in love.
momo looked at me, her eyes turning into a sea where i then undulated, all tones of blue and grey, crystal foam, her scent, mermaid,
i took her hand and didn’t feel my legs anymore. azza’z skin_ground got hold of my feet, and i felt the sap hushing up towards my brain_core, through my lymphs – the brilliance of my inner_built was so intense that i had to close my eyes for a second. i felt the fierce storm passing from from her eyes into my body, i tasted the vivid salt of it.
“hi, i’m ninôn..”
but i can’t be sure i said_sense anything. the instant was saturated with so many other sensations – azza’s through mine – that i didn’t have time_space to compute any comm_memo. later on, and for many years to come, i’d have to hear momo repeat a dialogue that she herself didn’t remember quite well, because she wasn’t at that moment, as i was – as i was, i, i was – experiencing the sublime of azza’s life_love.
i mumbled some this and that, fluctuating on and in the expectation of her voice to intertwist with me, and i turned my head around just a tiny little bit, smiling.
bibi had already gone into the museï cafè, immerse in deep talk with her friend from doc_inc_college. but momo waited for me, for i was of course out of course, unconditionally lost in the vast ocean of uni_love. azza trilled under my soles, with laughter.
“what do you want to drink?”
i’m guessing there was such a dialogue at the old movie_museï, during a warm late afternoon of our rest_day, some ground tone enveloping us, waves to move and lay and rest, and the motion of this circulatory stream had a logarithmic rhythm, it was breathing.
i can still see momo and myself standing at the corner of the counter, this counter’s many hues of burnt sienna greatly contrasting with the light green turquoise of momo’s eyes. my point of view is high, i can see far into the building and its art work walls, further into the garden and the early night of my fresh love, deep in the fragrance of dozens of lilac flowers and balm trees, and i can still feel the breeze, a kiss.
i can also watch myself and momo and the counter in the movie playing at the musei right at that moment, a duplicate scene multiplying sensations in geometric progression. the complete whole of everything being one, and only, and all. not lonely but one.
the little crowd in the niche_shop, costumers going about their leisure, all fluids sucking fluids – the idleness of a true, massive change of guards – these people were in a constant vibrato, they were the tiny moving hairs of our colourful, colossal, pulsing azza.
my powerful love_glitch started with our eye_contact. it opened a whole_hole in the blister_matter, where through i could henceforth become azza, at all times, along with many other wicked_resistance civilians.
life_love of azza was the headquarters of the underground rebellion.