In loving memory of my control key that was instrumental in making the previous Kyoreographies. These images come from the AQA documentary: they’re performing Blossoming Beelzebub in South America, IIRC.
The gentle fragrance hasn’t vanished, The scorched words, Clinging to my ears like everything else… I made up my mind.
Again today I can’t see the full moon, killed by the clouds, I am always alone at the table, The spoon and the fork have been placed in order, The napkin has been hung from my neck, Already cooled in the white dish, The soup.
In the silence, my streaming heartbeat and the neighbors can be heard, A faint jarring noise.
My listlessness overcoming me, I lie sprawled on the floor, The world I see from my horizontal position is unexpectedly fresh, I stretch toward the earth.
For the first time since I transformed, I just want to lie down and sleep. When will the moving grain of rice sprout wings?
My hands are fumbling behind me, searching, Why can’t I fly? I’m searching for myself, Will no one tell me anything? Why? Why?
The creeping, crawling, multiplying you…
Under the sofa, I discover the silver knife I’d been looking for, I reseat myself in the chair, move the meat to my mouth, Stuff my cheeks full of the supposedly delicious rice, And search for wings.