Sanjin Sorel
Blood is thicker than water
Telephone lines transformed into the coursing of the blood. Ticking pulses into corpuscles. Speech between two cities, countries, continents dove beneath the sea, the land, soared upward. The circulation pulsed like veins in rock, reefs of gold. The analogy between a skein unravelled and the vein would be one that nature knows in leaf pore and fibre, the rootball of plants and in waves. The vibrations of a spider’s web are sensed everywhere the same. As is coursing within coursing, vein is within vein. Earth too resembles pulses, the leukocyte within a limb, in tissue binding flesh to bone. In a hierarchy there is always something of an order artificially imposed, subordination, a universe of grades and rungs. A universe of doctrine. In telephone lines, to quote: “The world is order and beauty, and its sublimity is the relation of the parts to the whole”. If we leave these words aside, the coursing of the blood is only its coursing, the pulse a pulse. It all remains the same, though nameless, non-descript, unexplained. It can still exist in the absence of words, in the absence of names.
Krv nije voda
Krv nije voda
Telefonske linije pretvorile su se u krvotok. Impulsi u krvna zrnca. Razgovori između dva grada, zemlje, kontinenta spustili su se ispod mora, zemlje, vinuli se uvis. Krvotok je pulsirao poput žila u kamenu, zlatnih žila. Analogija između nerazmrsivog klupka i žila bila bi nešto što priroda već poznaje u porama i vlaknima lišća, korijenu stabla, valovima. U paučini vibriranje mreže svugdje se osjeća jednolično. Koliko je krvotoka već unutar krvotoka, žila unutar žila. Zemlja je također poput impulsa tek leukocit u grani, u tkivu što mišiće veže uz kosti. Oduvijek je u hijerarhijama bilo nešto što od umjetno uspostavljena reda, subordinacije, ljestava i stupnjeva čini kozmos. Kozmos u doktrinama. U telefonskim linijama, poslužimo li se citatom, svijet je red i ljepota i veličanstvenost dijelova i cjeline što međusobno korespondiraju. Ne poslužimo li se citatom krvotok će i dalje biti krvotok, impuls – impuls. Sve će biti kao što je i prije bilo makar i ne imali ime, opis, objašnjenje. Mimo riječi, mimo imena može se postojati.
From: Hologrami žudnje, strojevi zavođenja
Publisher: MH Sisak, Sisak
Blood is thicker than water
Telephone lines transformed into the coursing of the blood. Ticking pulses into corpuscles. Speech between two cities, countries, continents dove beneath the sea, the land, soared upward. The circulation pulsed like veins in rock, reefs of gold. The analogy between a skein unravelled and the vein would be one that nature knows in leaf pore and fibre, the rootball of plants and in waves. The vibrations of a spider’s web are sensed everywhere the same. As is coursing within coursing, vein is within vein. Earth too resembles pulses, the leukocyte within a limb, in tissue binding flesh to bone. In a hierarchy there is always something of an order artificially imposed, subordination, a universe of grades and rungs. A universe of doctrine. In telephone lines, to quote: “The world is order and beauty, and its sublimity is the relation of the parts to the whole”. If we leave these words aside, the coursing of the blood is only its coursing, the pulse a pulse. It all remains the same, though nameless, non-descript, unexplained. It can still exist in the absence of words, in the absence of names.
From: Hologrami žudnje, strojevi zavođenja
Blood is thicker than water
Telephone lines transformed into the coursing of the blood. Ticking pulses into corpuscles. Speech between two cities, countries, continents dove beneath the sea, the land, soared upward. The circulation pulsed like veins in rock, reefs of gold. The analogy between a skein unravelled and the vein would be one that nature knows in leaf pore and fibre, the rootball of plants and in waves. The vibrations of a spider’s web are sensed everywhere the same. As is coursing within coursing, vein is within vein. Earth too resembles pulses, the leukocyte within a limb, in tissue binding flesh to bone. In a hierarchy there is always something of an order artificially imposed, subordination, a universe of grades and rungs. A universe of doctrine. In telephone lines, to quote: “The world is order and beauty, and its sublimity is the relation of the parts to the whole”. If we leave these words aside, the coursing of the blood is only its coursing, the pulse a pulse. It all remains the same, though nameless, non-descript, unexplained. It can still exist in the absence of words, in the absence of names.
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