LIMINAL by yma

angoisse 43

A voice flashes by, undertaken. One, who, why, why you. & too. Its of. Somehow it was.
To reason in a circle towards the reason of a circle. To listen to her move as a ribbon unspooled, & fluttering—each moment a lesson.
Yma's is an amorphous pop chattered from source then doubted and cross-questioned and pulled as a loose thread from a nebulous dress. It cinches and transmutes, swirls to marbling effect, runs its lips along the edge of a shadowy veil.
Gestures contain their own utterance. Echoes of anima subsume into springs of milk and glue, anew. Anne Carson writes, Where is the edge of the new? Where is the edge of belief? Is it possible to believe something truly unbelievable? How does that begin? Is there a crack of light under the door? How do you know to see it as light? Is there an edge of light all around the dark mass of your life up to this moment? Can you see the dark mass as a veil? Can you want it gone?

Words by Natalia Panzer
Photo by Francesco de Gallo