The Concert in Nails
A poem after the third erasure. To Mayakovsky — and to all who still read me. The auditorium of the beloved, the storming of heaven, the one screenshot answering a million.
Poetry Presence
Poetry Presence
Poetry and presence. Intimate voice without promises. Texts that hold a moment without explaining it.
Losing the Center
I usually write about structures. This text is about what happens when the structure is destroyed from within. Distinction can be cold. This time it’s hot. The mechanism is the same. Everything I write about the center — this is…
Happiness for Everyone
Sometimes the whole story of intimacy is placed in the distance between two palms. No drama.No possession.Just two people close enough to stop defending themselves. This text is part of Lintara Poetry — a series of poetic texts non-explanatory transmission….
Chapter 1: Morning in the Coffee District
Welcome to Substack City This isn’t just a text. It’s a space. A space where recognition becomes a form of love. A space where comments aren’t “engagement,” but continuation. A space where a username is a street, and someone is…
— “Every. Single. Word. You felt all of it.”
A poem about invasion without a body: about psychological and energetic intimacy that burns through the boundary of the “I” without violating external rules. The text explores the form of contact, after which it is impossible to return to the…
The Shame of Matter
The Shame of Matter A philosophical exploration of what happens when beauty and justice collide with physical limits — and how systems respond when matter refuses to cooperate. Cracked marble statue under harsh light, symbolizing the limits of beauty and…
How Certainty Dies Notes on the Collapse
A philosophical autopsy of confidence —and a kitten who learned that certainty is just the pause between two falls. I. The First Hairline Crack Certainty doesn’t break in crisis.It starts earlier —with the first hairline crack in a sentence you’ve…
When-the-world-goes-dim
Some seasons don’t teach us anything. They arrive without ceremony, heavy and gray, and sit on the chest until breathing becomes a deliberate act. This isn’t drama. It’s just the quiet weight of being alive when everything feels slightly broken….
The Cat on My Planet a Short Cosmology
🪶 Introduction Sometimes it seems to me that people are just different planets. On some, everything revolves around guilt, on others — around logic, and on mine there is a cat. She’s full of cream and is sitting on the…
The World I Live in is Called a Dream
I sit in the car showroom.He smiles at me like I’m the next big sale.But his dream is the beach.Not my tan, not my shorts, not my sun.The beach. To forget who he became. I sit with the broker.He says…