when music gives no vibe
silence is out of rhyme
listens to no spark
something is broken, is it the heart?
sleep, eat, think
it lasts less than a blink
it writes on a wave
the way home, my last goodbye…
it needs space
a window out of the gray
to float, away
far and straight, shapeless clay
hunger to shine
becoming as unsanctioned rain
the wave away
is in a dream that I’ve lost on the way…
Since you’ve closed your eye
I cannot see
the flicker in your smile was built for me
trembled in the night when reason failed
feeling out your fire pouring through my ways,
Dearest,
I almost took you for a dance that day,
painting into darkness no wandering little light
told me you haven’t loved enough,
the air was burning more than I could say
yet from the front row it was a remarkable play
so I stayed,
unreasonably long
and that cold evening going back home
I saw you,
again and again…
I write with a drink,
the words that I sip
and pour them down all over your hips…
I forgot your name,
how does one say when you bring water that turns into wine,
I shall call you Alice –
it suits you as one that still lives in a wonder,
how can that be?
As I did not learn your name,
at dusk I shut blinds and locked up the door,
we did not have a dog for we could not choose a name
so each time it asked we’ve fed him blue dust
and then just hoped…
You are a little girl, you wander a lot,
your steps are not measured but my sail wind is,
and your tears paint red
a whole sea has changed,
before going to bed…
I asked the skies for wings to fly
so branches came out of my two eyes
and each time a nest opened my chest I felt I could step on a cloud;
one day they left,
children of mine, to age and build up the same…
I speak days and recite the nights
with leaves that fall under the weight of so many stars,
and as you put your back into the ground
I kiss your skin and hold you into my arms….
And I start to drink
a bottle of the words that I fear
and I’d be soon drinking the sea…
![a-street-in-l'hermitage_-pontoise_camille-pissarro_camille-pissarro__86579.1556873541[1]](https://whoisalice.net/wp-content/uploads/2019/10/a-street-in-lhermitage_-pontoise_camille-pissarro_camille-pissarro__86579.15568735411.jpg)
October ends in Paris, once more the barrel’s filled
I’m missing up nobody but feelings I have willed,
the church’s tower burned down to the ground
now you see the skies when kneeling at the holy crown
rains wash out your sorrows and you dry up in the sun
and wonder if your writing could paint the story right…
The trains you used to book have never ceased to run,
where Pissarro still brushes up on the rue de l’Hermitage
you’ve slept on air with roaches running errands in the dark,
while the cold steps to the showers woke you every time
you gave it from your heart and could follow far beyond
all you asked in change was loving not some nickles in a jar…
October ends in Paris and November follows close
in a wagon in a forest on this day they stopped the war,
drinking wine to celebrate I keep the wishing to myself
for I have won this battle yet soreness hardly ever fades,
‘What happens to the Heart?’ asked Cohen from the side
‘You see, I knew about the ending’ was all I’ve ever got…
Hey there Alice, where are you now?
It’s been years since we let our guard down
and the weirdness grew like a garden flower,
oh dearest Alice, I wonder,
if purple stars keep shining
or is it just a thought that I’ve once had
a little sparkle that was only in my head?
Oh Alice, I really hope you are doing great
in that pretty world that used to be so swell,
do you remember the poppies in the fields
upon a cup of coffee in a little lucky town
you flew them home,
and we both got on that plane
but we’ve never gotten back the same…
Hey Alice, what’s your latest favorite song?
could it be a little lion or the western stars,
mind me not for I live just fine
ironically, in the city I disliked,
Alice that I always love and always hurt
were you to see a candle shining in the dark
would you come or would you part?
Sixty steps, the stairway’s broken and you hear the stereo noises
on your knees you heal your bruises
and the raindrops start to roll down the forehead that is cold,
questions looking for their answers in a song that’s pretty dull
where Nottingham has roots in stories so it dreams itself alive
and its paths diverge in alleys that run farther from the Sun…
I have chosen, Ego sum, I was wrong,
perfect sense does not exist in a state of altered mist
it is pressure that transforms dirty coal into cliché shining bliss
– and not a kiss;
his ribs are cut from stone and so are all the looks he’s given
and the devil smiled and put a tingle on your lower Eastern lip…
I cannot walk for I have lost my feet
rain is pouring washing my last words
I need a big fire to bring a little light
in this valley in the middle of the night,
I still got the guns but forgot how to use
the powder is wet and my will in rust
tonight the stars won’t show direction
I need a friend in whom to put my trust
and Steve lies on a floor many stories ago
where my dreams rest behind shut doors,
and the night is getting even darker
I try to shout but my lungs won’t listen
falling faster and deeper than ever before
relapsing on drugs to blind me from truth
I won’t believe nor listen to the signs
for it hurts too much finding out
this world of shadows is of human design…
I need to open my eyes and look further
hook my fingers in dirt and start climbing
use my bruises to feel and heal stronger,
to start writing when words won’t come out
and find a friend that may cross mountains…
Poemul de bază se compune dintr-un singur cuvânt, iar cuvântul care să exprime toate sentimentele mele într-o ordine descifrabilă este în continuare de negăsit. Am vrut să scriu o poezie, am încercat să încheg versuri, să adaug rimă după rimă, fie ea și albă, fără succes. Literele refuză să compună cuvinte, iar acestea din urmă nu răspund chemării mele ci se împrăștie după o regulă mai mult sau mai puțin browniană. Sentimente. Totul pornește de la sentimente și se termină cu sentimente. Motivația fiecărei acțiuni este într-o anumită măsură o simțire. Dragoste, foame, furie, teamă, frig… Și ce faci când tot ce îți rămâne în suflet e o vâltoare, un haos, o furtună ce răscolește și rupe fâșii din orice sens și care alungă orice speranță de ordine și frumos? Din contră există frumos și în mijlocul unei furtuni, dar pentru a înțelege trebuie să te poți delimita de vârtej, ori să fie vorba de furtuna altcuiva.
I’ve met Alice on the alley in the park,
and I asked her for her name
and she asked me for my heart,
she leaned on me slowly telling stories from before,
and the leafs were turning yellow
threes were watching from ashore…
And the dance was turning wild
she had whispers in her eyes,
and I’ve followed for a while,
but at night when her hands are getting cold,
Alice cries and Alice bleeds
and your soul to love she needs…
I’ve met Alice in the morning,
she was walking without loving
and her streets were empty spaces,
her youth is gone and she is growing restless,
and the leafs may start to fall
winter comes and summer goes…
I saw Alice once upon a March,
she was smiling looking south
and her shadow fell behind,
and I kindly walked my heart back home,
to the place I’ve left my love
to the One I dream to hold…
![a3242003123_10[1]](https://whoisalice.net/wp-content/uploads/2017/06/a3242003123_101.jpg)
Daemon…
I got a nasty daemon sitting on my shoulder whispering,
hard sex, whisky and cigars – that’s not what he’s showing me,
it’s a daemon of the rock bands from the ’70s
and this ghost is slowly driving me crazy…
I got these dreams of a guy called Reed on a Zeppelin,
I saw the landing on Mars with my very own eyes
and everywhere I go,
I see dead bodies of chords I thought I used to know;
white daemon,
I’m on my knees and getting sick for the 47th week,
I can’t control the need to rock and roll,
please have some mercy on my soul…
Daemon,
this need is slowly eating on my iron core
and with each day I turn more into a music whore,
an evil grin upon the face, a dirty Vixen with no name,
so I wrote lyrics on my walls from the bottom to the stars,
for one must get the words to find a door
like a magic incantation of a sorts …
Oh dark daemon,
talking nonsense on the backbone of my world,
release me from my contract
give me a life of endless sin, I’ll do anything,
but please put and end to dreams
and shut the voices killing from within…
Un Jurnal Neverosimil 