Nuclear Nymphs – short experimental poetic movie

I weave a web of my own microcosmic narrative about fatal sirens, ondines, naiads, sea and water mythical creatures, such as their indirect foremother Tiamat, the dragon goddess of primordial chaos, but also vampires, succubi, and aliens. In this piece, I'm dealing with mythological creatures, a testament to my 25-year-long obsession with numerous facets of female archetypes and the ways in which my fluid and multi-layered identity draws from that rich and vast pool.

The turbulent, dark, and deep ocean is a metaphor for emotions, and the violent verbal images of seduction, castration, and destruction are sadomasochistic and fetishistic fantasies after the death of a relationship that was meaningful to me yet toxic, codependent and annihilatory, or after trauma, which triggered numerous questions, pain and confusion in me. I brew a magic potion that will cure my open, pulsating, and dripping wounds, and I nurture wings to rise from agony like a phoenix from the ashes or fight against despotic authority and the Name of the Father, in the shelter of wild nature and naked elements with which I am making love. I sexualize anger in order to create dramatic tension, and I process all motifs through the reconstruction of poetic language and playing with stylistic figures. I try to create a hypnotic, magical, and mystical atmosphere through linguistic acrobatics and ritualistically repetitive singing similar to a medieval liturgy, madrigal, or necromantic spell, to heal trauma and psychic lacerations and to be reborn, as if from salt foam. My poetry is "intricate, wordy and veiny, like a fountain or even volcano, baroquely encrusted with ornate and spasmodic associations and cross-references, with sprinkles of stream-of-consciousness-archipelago ambiance" (op. a.), like colloidal drops of mercury streaming out softly and liquidly in all directions, to form new vibrant and trembling constellations.

It is also significant that my father was a sailor and my name means "rock", and here my fictitious (anti)heroine acts as the ultimate siren who fights against what the Father psychoanalytically symbolizes, and in that battle, the primal, raw, antediluvian wildness of nature crushes and decomposes sailing ships as ornate sea phalluses to decaying ruins, and returns the ocean to its primordial fold. In a way, I touch on Electra's complex, but inversely: I long for the Father as a structuring monad that I never had, and all the characters of my story are contrary to his image and features of the soul. But trouble, sacrifice, and temptation occur when the symbolic paternal backbone is broken and the ocean of the Id goes wild.

The video was based on a song I wrote immediately in English, when I discovered the gorgeous, metamorphosing, and meandering possibilities of a language that is not my mother tongue and with which I can play endlessly, juggling derivatives, synonyms, and even words that I invented myself.

I interlaced the film with igniting sensuality, with a focus on oral fixation (biting and sucking/licking, i.e. schizoid vs. depressive position in the psychoanalytic theory of the formation of object relations), also referencing the sticky vs plastic libido.

Formally, I use glitch and short, stroboscopic, flashlight interpolations of illustrations to disintegrate fluidity of the image and therefore reflect the fractured, unstable, and unreliable nature of the digital world, but thematically, I dance and chant through the cracks to smooth the narrative and revamp my old shattered selves, like kintsugi.

 

Voices, voices, voices, voices...

Voices of lamias in my head

peaking violently dizzy hights,

vultures pecking my virgin flesh,

ultramarine corpse,

cerulean breaths,

saphire blood -

kitchen knife blade's

etching fatal canyons

in my delicate porcelain skin

I didn't deserve this, I yell,

kissing bijou Byzantine icons

turned upside-down

you push me down in the bushes

give me Antichrist babies

we dance as beautiful,

lonely satans,

angelic strippers of

tinsel nectarine

on Nembutal of burning hills.

My stilettos poke and pierce

your heavenly eyes

in Mephisto dance of

amethyst siren

flashing syrup of your

intestinal archypelago

entrancing, enchanting you,

bewitching your ouija

of, Sephiroth of misfits,

their slit wrists

and dirty punk faces

pressed against tempestuous silverscreens

 of howling, horny desire

shimmering like disintegration

of morphine mistress in narcotic haze.

I dance for him in the shotgun,

in my wedding dress

lulling babies into

dark cliff of the night.

My ocean squamas

twinkle like razorblades

melting, shrieking

pale lunatics of lavender suicides

in the corner of the eye

Romeo is bleeding in a heart-shaped massacre,

stabbing him to death, oh, lilies

of my vanity!

...daughter dolorosa,

smudged scarlet lips...

Dancing on the graveyard of

venom hydra's kiss...

Zephyr is wild,

anacondas copulate

in feverish hemorrhage

of deep lunar cuts -

Lorelei bedevils doped-up sailors

in their troublesome loins

of vicious orchids.

Their leechy labia

flicker like pyromaniacs

in ecstasy of crimson crime.

 Sanguine mermaids suck your

ardorous itch

of salacious maniac.

Nympho lymphosis

bites off your listless, dewy limbs

like a cannibal.

She screeches jelly blood,

puking and vomiting fountains

of bloody tentacles,

clairvoyant antennas of

violated violator,

and your chopped-off head is rolling

down the Neptune Avenue,

like carnal, fetal snowflake,

tumor of love,

desolate heresy of everything

I ever believed in,

blinding Sun of nuclear noon:

I killed it with my cold,

crucifix Moon

in obscene gemstone erotica.

I devour your cellophane heart,

that useless piece of

pulsating meat,

I surf on the swelling waves

of your wretched tar despair,

while your scandalous,

wild cat paws,

criminal and polluted as hell's

blaze grave

reach for my pure, bright face

lucid as a lighthouse

upon pitch-black blizzard cape...