archives, poetry

For Idoru: The Turquoise City Girl. {poetry}


He speaks to me
And I whisper to him
In a most profound manner of speaking
Sweet magical things

There is a thin line between madness and genius;
thinner than the one between madness and neurosis.
Between them, a perfectly knitted spider web, in both directions.
Unfathomable. Eternal.
Such a spider web met me in a movie sequence, tattooed on the chest of a girl.
Beautiful black spider, as big as a fist, drawn exactly in the middle of the chest.
And from that point exactly, a spider web spreading towards the stomach, passing through the navel with its longest thread and reaching to the middle of the uterus.
And in the opposite direction, spreading through the chest, and with its longest thread — still much shorter than the previous one — gliding right up to the neck.
The girl is sitting at the back seat of a limousine, driven through some cities, through high buildings, through grey urban fields. Completely absent from them.
In the next sequence, a man is sitting in her place, while everything else remains the same.
“You know,” says the man, “Detroit should be leveled to the ground. Detroit is a tomb. No colors, no sky.” (William Gibson documentary)
His eyeglasses reflect the grey of buildings, of windows, of streets, of empty colorless skies.
Instantly my mind reproduces a quote.
“The sky above the port was the color of television, tuned to a dead channel.” ~ Neuromancer, William Gibson

In the evening that same day, I walked through my city.
This city is an urban grotesque. A joke. Total disorder.
In the heart of the city, the million-years-old cobblestones were taken out and replaced with tiles. With common trivial tiles. An urban toilet now stands in the middle of this city. But the air is full of pleasant smells. This city is not clean, but it smells nice. This city is a total disaster, but it smells nice. The lights are on, the noise stops… people move in slower rhythms, the urban madness stops… I raise my head and I meet the most beautiful turquoise color there is in the Universe, spread throughout the skies above my city — so beautiful, so magnificent, so perfect, unreal; magical color palettes throughout the skies above my city… masterfully spread, unnoticeable… and there is no painter and there is no color palette that can catch this specter, nor the perfectly painted turquoise tones over the sky in Skopje… and I start laughing out loud completely absent from myself…
In that moment I lose my breath. Something hurts. Not unpleasantly. It doesn’t hurt physically, nor does it hurt psychologically… it hurts eccentrically…
It’s the source of my being that hurts.
It starts from the place in the middle of my chest, spreads around perfectly, goes exactly to the middle of my uterus on the one side, and reaches the point below my neck on the other…
I walk through this city, but not through these streets.
Inside myself, I hear most profound music.
I know
He speaks to me
And I whisper to him
Sweet sweet magical things
In a most profound manner of speaking
I whisper to him: Idoru

On February 10, 2011, Idoru was born under the turquoise skies above Skopje.


Viola Damjanovski is from Skopje, Macedonia. She writes and translates poetry and short stories, and loves the avant-garde and unordinary. While she was young, Viola used to sing in a goth-psychedelic band (part of the bands consisting the first Macedonian Rock Encyclopedia). She has published short stories and poetry online under a pseudonym, and loves words, music, paintings, and everything out of the ordinary.


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