Looking back inside me now
there is only glitter scattered on a mirror,
I’m supposed to be a fighter in the front-line
all I can hear is fear
this enemy walks in the shadows as it strikes through the day,
we are prey…
I am hiding up in the sky,
two days to go before the great fall
it is us that they have
the slayers of orcs, the bringers of hope,
sleep while you can, gather your strength
sand runs fast and sand runs down…
The scalpel landed on the table with a metallic clack. There was an opening of not more than five centimeters through which a yellowish crumble-like pudding was trying to force its way out. Then the steampunk wand started buzzing for the second time and the room was filled with a scent of burning fat.
” He pushes again! Make him sleep Bob. I can’t work like this!”
…but don’t fake those smiles darling
give me something green and breezy
one last beer before the play gets rolling,
you were selling tickets for the numbers
yet this time I do my dance alone
wheels burning on remembrance road…
It parted the skin and the fat underneath as it went on. Tiny marbles of blood were forming on the sides much like tears, soon to be sponged off by the assistant and the source carbonated for good. There was no turning back now…
That’s how it all started. The writing, the songs, visions, books read in the dead of the night, red wine, the three years of smoking slims, the love, the orgies, the pain, Italian coffee…with a drop that fell in an ocean and sent ripples across the universe. Across my universe. And looking back now, to all that it was all that could have been, I feel empty, pointless, directionless. All lost faster that the tick of that fossil of a watch I still own somewhere on a shelf back in France…
So listen here sonny, that guy is also a fraud. Don’t believe everything he is telling you. I see a bright future for you. But stay away from him and his doings. There are stories they tell about his kind. Stay away…
In the night that came around
just before the demons fed on dreams unaccomplished,
I have seen the stars,
one needs darkness for the light to show
and nothingness makes place for everything to happen
when hope is in the trade time’s a moment repeating on itself…
I am in the present written from a book that’s spared
hired as a preacher selling truths,
I scar inside and change the fate of those who look
ask me for a question that may open minds,
for silence rides a racing horse that wins
and grass grows where only dust remains –
The last scribe hunts words shaped in coal
an understanding offered to an altar in the desert,
why push forward when the heart is heavy
in the total absence of ideas
kneel before the center of existence
and cry a prayer as a sentence burnt in stone…
I have met her in a dream
where the nights refuse to stay
and I am driving to the mountains left side from the sea,
have a calling for the heights
and got a house to build,
my two arms digging making place for roots to fit –
oaks to grow up in our garden
for our kids to play;
showed your soul through opened rib-cage at occasions
and the bleeding pulled your madness to the surface,
in the battle to exist
you did misspell the road to glory…
I have met myself through life
an old men always feeling younger,
I do not dream but did imagine
all the terrors locked in bottles of their own,
it took some time to learn the lessons
took a lifetime to remember words of wisdom written in the clay,
my second mother left a testament for loving
words were few but burnt in deep,
and did I listen?
I recall the war as I do the taking my goodbyes
hoping that beyond the havens she is very much alive…
I have met my army marching
their feet naked and the hands up in the air,
counting stars when nothing’s left to trust
they slide one after the other in the gutter,
I loved her once, I’ve got a photograph misplaced somewhere
but nothing could have guessed the silence to become,
when the grass turned greener everywhere
while my backyard covered with a yellow scent,
the Doctor wrote me medication
and I fell asleep once more,
dreaming of a calling for redemption,
dreaming of a different world…
I threw the dice before last night,
in the fortune cookie was a letter asking to be read
and the chariot ran down south,
never got the telegrams she sent so far…
One morning sitting on cold pebbles by the sea
my feet caressed by ferries in the chanting mousse,
I tear down all piece of garment
getting lost into uncharted deepest blue…
Going closer to the bottom is a mirror
looking through is my heart unsettled,
how to love when forgotten where to see the stars
I need a prayer and a lecture from the Psalms!
Alice if there’s really you
there is something that I’d like to ask you to,
tell me what’s your real name –
so by spelling it I’ll find my why…
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…
by Pablo Neruda
I want you to know
one thing.
You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.
Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.
Un Jurnal Neverosimil 