Aldebaran Marc-Antoine Barrois 2025
6
Translated
Show original
Sternenpost AL-BA 25: The Epsom salt of the silent edge
What is flowing there rises in the first molecule, don't tell me it comes from far away. The journey begins in the intermediate state. In the etheric flow between plant body and light form.
A bio-signature of lost earth emerges from the river, preserved in synthetic elven white. Born in earthly garden fantasies. Emerges like a masked presence - veiled like a cybernetic priestess in floral-coded regalia. For a moment she seems to sing. Bright, clear, synthetic echo. A white calyx anchored in the tilting cavity of the floating metal temple, lonely among the stars.
What are you hiding from me?
Sparking red mist hits the silent guardian's laboratory. Elemental spice. Penetrates! Flooded through! Enveloped! Embraced!
Rest
Shall I listen more closely? Never grown in this world. Now bitter, greenish, warm. An aroma reminiscent of what remains when you try to distill fire.
Ashen fragments of red mist cover up the sound of my queen in her former silken robe. But it is crumbling. YES, MY QUEEN .... Are you now flickering fresh in the midst of this glowing architecture? Are you organic, almost human?
I stretch out my hand and observe. Have I lost myself? Or the mineral perusal of my dusty queen? I must stop trying to understand. We have both changed.
I hardly believe that Bruno Jovanovic built me this space station to undertake an interstellar odyssey, or to prove himself as an engineer and cartographer of skin. Instead, he built me a perfume machine - an aromatic instrument that teaches and invites contemplation.
You are a rare connection for me. Of embers and blossom. Of idea and body. Of fire and flower.
A bio-signature of lost earth emerges from the river, preserved in synthetic elven white. Born in earthly garden fantasies. Emerges like a masked presence - veiled like a cybernetic priestess in floral-coded regalia. For a moment she seems to sing. Bright, clear, synthetic echo. A white calyx anchored in the tilting cavity of the floating metal temple, lonely among the stars.
What are you hiding from me?
Sparking red mist hits the silent guardian's laboratory. Elemental spice. Penetrates! Flooded through! Enveloped! Embraced!
Rest
Shall I listen more closely? Never grown in this world. Now bitter, greenish, warm. An aroma reminiscent of what remains when you try to distill fire.
Ashen fragments of red mist cover up the sound of my queen in her former silken robe. But it is crumbling. YES, MY QUEEN .... Are you now flickering fresh in the midst of this glowing architecture? Are you organic, almost human?
I stretch out my hand and observe. Have I lost myself? Or the mineral perusal of my dusty queen? I must stop trying to understand. We have both changed.
I hardly believe that Bruno Jovanovic built me this space station to undertake an interstellar odyssey, or to prove himself as an engineer and cartographer of skin. Instead, he built me a perfume machine - an aromatic instrument that teaches and invites contemplation.
You are a rare connection for me. Of embers and blossom. Of idea and body. Of fire and flower.
1 Comment
Märchenlilie 4 months ago
1
Translated Show original
Show translation
I'm wearing it at the moment and am searching in vain for the right words. Yours are so abstract and poetic that they certainly fit. Maybe it smells completely different to me, but the sensation seems similar. I can understand your text very well - or not at all, rationally speaking. But it does fit the scent. Well written!