move.me(ant to be)

2011-09-15T16:15:00.001-07:00

‎...words measure distances between our hidden...and invent perspectives...and evoke a passionate quest for finding out the truths...yet they live behind ANOTHER...A NOT HER...AN OTHER.

just a thought

2011-04-28T15:14:00.000-07:00

‎...thin line between sense nonsense and no sense...feels like thinking is suspending but gravity can not be ignored...at least not for long...

2011-03-25T14:25:00.001-07:00

My face sheltering between my hands

i dream of running through a forest

my clothes shed gently

like the tears trying to undress the eyes

stroked by branches

layer after layer i give in

my feet get black as i gently wake up worms

i stomp and soften through my fear

my skin

u n fo ld in g

i run and jump until my tissues turn inside out

i hug a tree and feel it for the first time.

(photo by anjajune)

2011-01-11T14:41:00.000-08:00

...besede pa oddaljujejo, zamotavajo in kjer dva nista eno v srcu, kjer je vsaj enemu daleč od oči, daleč od srca, se zgodbe ne iztekajo v vonj orhidej (bi rekel jičing)...

steve paxton

2011-01-04T14:41:00.000-08:00

lullaby for myself (work in progress, first experiment)

2010-08-31T16:11:00.000-07:00

My body is echoing. An empty corridor. Every wall is a hand, every bump is a nose, eyes, mouth...Ceramic tiles put together as a map of their memory, a memory of him and her. Every word is a piece in a mosaic of life’s nonsenses. The universe is waiting...and so are my hands. I am touching things that will be left behind after I am gone.

Bones and stairs, the flesh is a part of only “now”...
Dust and ants, inside my body fragments of juices. The soil is drawing me towards her while I, with the last breath, push away the eternity and pull myself towards you.
Through, up...I journey to the navel and the letter still did not arrive.
No desire, only iron fence...
But when the wind blows, I stand alone. When I catch the sun, I stand alone. Like that I am undefeatable. When I stand alone.

form: an improvised personal tango
task: dancing a tango for/with the invisible partner, speed writing after shooting

idea: Jasmina Krizaj

words & body: Anja Bornsek

my after summer close-ups

2010-08-23T14:52:00.000-07:00

..i have a stone taken from the sea, memories of a sunset and a warm wind over the pine tree forest. I have a vivid picture of an ant crawling into the crack of the read soil where i walk and where little olive trees face the waves. I have here, with all the memories until now and i have a mind that is playing its own game with all of them. There is a sense of a contradictory density, like when you float in the sea with your ears in the water hearing the density and feeling the lightness..my memories are those sounds and i am searching for the silence.

(photo by Gregory Colbert)

bones

2010-08-02T15:33:00.000-07:00

Through my bone, where i am constantly emerging

through the same one that will be left behind, a silent witness, an evidence of my existence..

Through my bone that captures all the softness of my blood

and resists the pressure of all storms..

Through my house that joins the life and death..

Through that i reach towards you

hoping that i am navigating right.

on boundaries...order and safety..

2010-07-30T12:28:00.000-07:00

Listening to different journeys of the speech, which words are taking space and which sit still, in silence, providing a navigation, potential danger, points to move away from, i am thinking how all this reflects the layers of who we are, or were, or wish to be...

Sitting here i wonder if the next word that i will choose has already chosen me.

Which of all the words that exist are those that are specific for me?

Hm...How do they outline my borders..would i be in another shape if i would be chosen by other words or would choose differently?

Are words dead and objectified..or can they be the same as seeing someone crying, bleeding, breathing...are they the juice of one's body as well?

Can words be hands and hands be words? Probably if we would not lack anything, language would never develop...no desires, no words. No desires, no need of hands...

Like a mental skin, my words shape a relief in the nearness of who i am, or think i am, or desire to be...

But inside...on the inner layer, the pulse of survival is editing to protect the most fragile...editing to keep order, to reveal only fragments, perhaps only the surface of the volume mostly unknown...

The words i have chosen, have chosen me..and me and them know it was the safest choice, the one respecting order, even if in a poetic way...but still order, boundaries of my breath...breath to dare until here.

fragments...

2010-07-30T12:12:00.000-07:00

"iz sanj"

Lasje lepijo se nanjo. Bori se skozi sanje, bljuva pike in lovi obraze. Tlaci si jih v usta, da ne bi ostala sama.

Golta, ceprav pekoci strup razliva se po stenah njenih zil.

Se kratek cas bo ziva v sanjah, ko zbudi se, z las visi ji kri.

"sama"

Biti en v eni sami noci. Dan je mimo in vse kar je ostalo si le ti.

Samemu sebi.

Tisina na koncu stavka, ki ga ni nihce prekinil.

Koza mi spolzela bo z telesa, ker nihce ne rabi njenega dotika.

Slecena, obnemim, v sobi. Kri se zlije z vodo in ceprav doma, se izgubim. Tisina odbija se mi ob usesa, zalepljena od lastne vdaje. Nicesar ni za kar se je potrebno vstati, biti...Teza lastna je se le odmev.

Kako ljubiti nic, ki v nic se zliva...?

"inverzija"

Vsa svetloba jutra vpita je v kozi vsakega od nas.

Zbledi.

Ko temna voda razlije se po hrbtenici.

Vretenca pokajo.

Okoli nic, le spomini, ki bezijo pred pretecimi kriki. Ko zvezde zrcalijo se samo se v mlaki.

Takrat je konec, jutra parajo vse sive maternice, ki rojeva zlo. Koza susi se, sokovi tecejo v obratno smer.

Inverzija v popolnosti, telo pozre, kar svet ustvaril je.

"potoVanje"

2009-12-08T15:46:00.000-08:00

Obraz prekrile so skrlatne niti.

Potopila se je v vode, kjer prebivajo vsi tisti v njej, ki sami, od nikogar ljubljeni, bedijo, noc in dan, brez dna, brez rok.
Na tleh lezi telo in ona gleda vanj.
Tezki vzdihi padajo po kozi, na mestu kjer lezi, se vdirajo sokovi,
pronicajo v tla kot kazipoti, nenehno odmikajocega se mesa.
S prstom zarije v meso.
Blescece siva zmrazi jo pot, ko zatava proti trebuhu.
Od tam kjer vse bezi iz nje, do tja kamor se vraca.
Noter globoko se ozre naokoli.
Povsod delcki, ostanki rok, pogledov, zlogov od besed, razpadlih nasmehov, gnijocih sledi vsega kar je steklo skozi in se ujelo v spomin.
Vsega kar umira v telesu z njo.
Dotika se in drobci se drobijo. Razsuseni, potrgani, pomeckani, stisnjeni med kosti.
Od dalec, skozi nema usta zatuli. Obudi jih le za hip.
Skozi popek leze ven in leze, se vedno se vraca, v ustih okus zamolklega premika.

(photo by david wojnarowicz)

Sans Soleil text, movie by Chris Marker

2008-12-26T06:08:00.000-08:00

"Who said that time heals all wounds? It would be better to say that time heals everything except wounds. With time, the hurt of separation loses its real limits. With time, the desired body will soon disapear, and if desiring body has already ceased to exist for the other, then what remains is a wound...disembodied."

text by Samura Koichi