Kyber Pass
Transform life into digits 0101010101 kisses an eye brow lips a foal dirty snow the pain in your heart into random numbers how does that feel to reshape a smile from digits a bone 3000 years old printing memories to plastic 3d coarse missing data the tectonic fissures of Kyber Pass 31.01.2017
Tsinandali
The chilled glass with the delicious tones of tropical flowers, straw, honey, sun, apple, melon, citrus and notes of quince, mint, ginger, grapefruit and pepper was empty. Tsinandali, 25.04.2020
Kyber Pass
Transform life into digits 0101010101 kisses an eye brow lips a foal dirty snow the pain in your heart into random numbers how does that feel to reshape a smile from digits a bone 3000 years old printing memories to plastic 3d coarse missing data the tectonic fissures of Kyber Pass 31.01.2017
Tsinandali
The chilled glass with the delicious tones of tropical flowers, straw, honey, sun, apple, melon, citrus and notes of quince, mint, ginger, grapefruit and pepper was empty. Tsinandali, 25.04.2020
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In the prison of art
Ivory tower
The Sassanids pass in the distance
Helis and Stukas don’t notice us
In the lonely fortress of beauty
Scraps of words from unknown languages are being blown out of the Caucasus by the wind
Into the ears and eyebags of dreams and intuition
At the center of conflicting energies
Pole fields tug at the substance
Feet and bones burn
Within the sacred limits of pure art
Where even the lemon trees wither and radioactivity dominates the ideal concept of dividing pure creation
What is lie here and what is the truth is still not clear
And yet there are big bear faces here and fresh paw prints in the snow up by the forest
There are Khikhvi here and wagtails and steppe rollers
Every new crisis tears down concrete locks made by bad architects and poor planners – cement B37 Blue
Jays chase each other, ravens
Thoughts, poems, sketches, doubts
Colours
Gallantry
Silence
3.6.2022
In the prison of art
Ivory tower
The Sassanids pass in the distance
Helis and Stukas don’t notice us
In the lonely fortress of beauty
Scraps of words from unknown languages are being blown out of the Caucasus by the wind
Into the ears and eyebags of dreams and intuition
At the center of conflicting energies
Pole fields tug at the substance
Feet and bones burn
Within the sacred limits of pure art
Where even the lemon trees wither and radioactivity dominates the ideal concept of dividing pure creation
What is lie here and what is the truth is still not clear
And yet there are big bear faces here and fresh paw prints in the snow up by the forest
There are Khikhvi here and wagtails and steppe rollers
Every new crisis tears down concrete locks made by bad architects and poor planners – cement B37 Blue
Jays chase each other, ravens
Thoughts, poems, sketches, doubts
Colours
Gallantry
Silence
3.6.2022
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