Poems

// victor's archive
Luka
"Victor writes in French first. Always. Then he translates himself, which takes longer than writing the original and makes him miserable in a way he seems to enjoy. The struck lines are the ones he gave up on. I've read some of them. A few of the crossed-out versions are better than what he kept. I haven't told him that.

Sometimes there are notes in the margins in Hungarian. Those aren't his. Don't ask Kira about them. She won't answer."

Gentle Wild Boars

// original: français // undated
Sans elle, l'homme n'est que poussière Without her, a man is just rot
pas de dieu, pas de sol sous ses pieds no god, no ground, no name no god, no ground beneath his feet ↑ "no name" is too easy — v
il chasse, il grogne, il se vautre dans la boue he hunts, grunts, rolls in the mud
mais une bouche humide, une paire de hanches but one kiss and suddenly he prays but one wet mouth and suddenly he wants to live ↑ yes — v
oh vous, les sangliers doux oh you gentle wild boars we always knew you would

// became a song. victor claims the song version is worse. he's probably right.

Confession

// original: français // found folded inside a wine bottle label
Mon front contre le tien, l'amour tremble Forehead pressed to yours, love trembles in my wretched stomach and against my chest
la confession pèse comme une pierre the words sit heavy like a stone I can't lift the confession tightens like a stone so I dare not breathe
parce que respirer c'est perdre ton odeur because to breathe is to lose the scent of your warm breath
que mes lèvres atteignent les tiennes let my lips reach yours let me taste the sweetness of your mouth let me taste your tongue your sweet saliva dissolving the bitterness of wanting
et dans un baiser me dissoudre en toi and in a kiss dissolve into you drown in you finally please

// the last word was added later. different pen.

What I Miss

// original: français // undated. short.
Tu me manques quand tu me regardes I miss the way you look at me the brightness in your eyes
ta main sur mon visage your hand moving across my face your arm thrown over my neck
comment tu transmets le tremblement de ton cœur how you pass your heartbeat through your skin into mine how you give me your trembling through your body so that my heart trembles again // ez a legjobb — k

// three lines. he spent four hours on it.

Bits

// original: français // written on luka's printed server log
Depuis lors, chaque heure est infinie Infinite since then every hour when the cursed bits bring nothing from you
ne pas t'entendre c'est mourir not hearing from you is a kind of dying not hearing you is like dying every minute inside my head ↑ "a kind of" is cowardly — v
chaque centimètre entre nous est une année-lumière every centimetre between us a light-year of ether
je ne vivrais que si je sentais tes lèvres I would only live if I could feel your lips and your arm thrown over my neck strangling me with love love strangling me

// luka found this on top of the server rack. he printed it out. it's still there.

Two Lines

// original: français // napkin. coffee stain.
Je suis plein de désirs que les doutes assassinent I am full of desires that doubt kills
plein de volonté que la honte retient prisonnier full of will that shame holds prisoner in a cage full of will that shame keeps captive ↑ it's two lines. that's the whole poem. — v // igen — k

// victoria said this one should stay exactly as it is. victor agreed immediately, which is unusual.

Biology

// original: français // became "dirty glands"
Je ne suis rien d'autre que des glandes I am nothing more than glands bloody bodies filling every space
un cœur, des poumons, un estomac heart, lungs, stomach, kidneys two balls straining toward something they call love two straining balls for love's disgrace ↑ kira's line. i'm keeping it. — v
mais derrière l'os, derrière le besoin but far beyond the biology behind the bone and the need
l'Âme est enchaînée et elle rage the Soul is caged and screaming the Soul is chained and raging and it will not be freed

// this is not poetry. this is not your art. this is a fist wrapped around your heart. — v (margin note, later crossed out)

The Mite

// original: français // early draft. the song version is longer and worse.
Il y a l'acarien There is the mite tiny creature, tiny life
et moi, la grande bête débile and me, the large stupid animal dreaming of the great one and me, the great stupid beast dreaming of the right one ↑ "débile" doesn't translate. nothing does. — v

// two stanzas. kira said it needed to be a song. victor said it was already finished. kira won.

Tectonic

// original: français // source for "tectonics (the happy corpse edit)"
Le chagrin s'est assis sur mon cœur Sorrow sat upon my heart the beast tore apart what little remained
les années enfuies comme des espèces éteintes the runaway years like ancient ghosts extinct animals staring from the shore extinct species on barren coasts
la douleur comme une plaque tectonique pain like a tectonic plate moving slow, a heavy fate grinding down everything I've been
juste un cadavre heureux à la fin just a corpse that learned to smile just a happy corpse in the end with nothing left to mend ↑ "happy corpse" was kira's suggestion. she was joking. i wasn't. — v

// the song adds drums and a cello attack. the poem is quieter. both are correct.

Ashes

// original: français // source for "ashes to ashes"
Froid et gris cendre, tout Cold and ash-grey, everything here inside this endless void
les vents hurlent à travers le cœur abandonné screaming winds blowing through leaves in an abandoned heart
tous ces mots anciens — "je t'aime", "je t'adore" all those old words drifting away like smoke all the "I love you", "I adore" drift away into the frozen dark fading out forevermore ↑ victoria sings this part. she asked me not to change it. i didn't. — v
une bête enragée à l'intérieur a rabid, bellowing beast inside raging raw, it twists and turns all-consuming, starved, burning all-devouring, starved of light endless hunger always burns

// victoria added the echo lines herself. they're better than mine.

The Burrow

// original: français // undated. late.
Un terrier sale, le corps dans lequel A filthy burrow, the body in which the soul hides, trembling
et je crains qu'elle sorte un jour pour de bon and I fear one day it will leave for good, shaking its mane and I fear one day it steps out for good mane shaking, foam on its jaw terror hardening on its face
griffant, mordant, hurlant clawing, biting, howling spinning endlessly on its eternal axis spinning on its endless axis and around it no one left // koszos kotorék — k

// kira and victoria recorded something with this. they didn't tell the others until it was done.

The Kitchenette

// original: français // source for "the universe in the kitchenette"
La vie est si fragile Life is such a fragile thing and I'm afraid of what I carry into it and I'm afraid of what I bring
il me faudra encore quarante ans I'll need at least another forty years in a studio flat to drown my fears where the kitchen is a narrow shelf pushing me back into yourself ↑ this is the whole poem. the rest is just the same thing said again. — v
tellement petit qu'on est forcés de vivre peau contre peau so small we have no choice but to touch so slight and thin that we're forced to live skin to skin the only way to survive the night is holding on and holding tight

// victoria read this and went quiet for a long time. then she started cooking. — luka

Strings

// original: français // undated
comme ils tremblent en moi, ces organes maudits how they tremble inside me these wretched organs the heart drumming, the kidneys filtering sand
pendant que dans mon ventre des papillons deviennent fous while deep in my stomach strange butterflies go mad, circling, consuming the old acid grief strange butterflies go mad circling, consuming the old acid grief that nearly ate me
et c'est grâce à toi que mes yeux sont à nouveau pleins de lumière and it's because of you that I can see light again and I owe you that my eyes are full of light again ↑ "owe you" is wrong but i can't find the right word. leaving it. — v

// the butterflies appear in three other poems. victor denies this is intentional.

Bow

// original: français // found in kira's cello case. nobody asked.
Il y a des cordes en moi, tout au fond There are strings inside me, deep within something like a bow, sometimes drawn taut so I feel I might snap
parfois elles vibrent sometimes they vibrate sweet, sad, wild songs like guitar strings sweet, sad, wild guitar-string songs when I think of you even for a moment
mais la bête tremblante au fond but the trembling animal deep inside the soul only claws and howls as the melody bends toward you the soul only claws and howls as the melody bends toward you // húrok — k

// kira read this and didn't say anything. she played something on the cello instead. we recorded it. it's in the fragments.

[ untitled ]

// original: français // found on kitchen table. 3am.
Je me souviens de toi comme tu étais I remember you as you were before you became something I carry
——— [nom barré] ———— ↑ not publishing the name. — v
tu es la seule personne qui se souvient de ma forme originale you are the only one who remembers what I was before all this you are the only person who remembers my original shape

// victoria asked him not to publish this one. he published it anyway. she hasn't said anything about it. — luka

// more poems exist. some are locked.
// victor_3am — access uncertain.