Wednesday, September 26, 2007
October approaches and time still corrodes me with bleaching out memories that make room for santity, but allow for insanity, breaching solutions temporary.. and I feel its arrows drink up my blood, gnaw on my bones, whose poison infects me with dreams, with visions that I don't want, but always make me their own.
So defenseless I am, I feel October's unsated teeth, cold and knifelike, pierce me, and I fear. But not for me. Some say I am illumined. But I'm told so many things.. I'm right-handed, left-footed, and of that I am sure (although I can't be all that much, when I have nobody else to tell me so).
Thinking myself more like a celt than like a goth, even so I feel fear, I do. Not for the future, no. But I fear for the present. For October, always present, who knocks on the door and invites itself in and enters. Step by step. Slow. Inclement.
In the air, the breath of wing-flapping future winds, secretly bearing tidings to the sensitive of hearts of the feasts' eve: the time of miracles comes, when everything must die in order to be reborn. And so everything shall be.
October arrives with my time to be crowned king. King of fools, for the best mask (most bizarre mask ever) that I bear attached to my face.
I hear shouts, acclaims, congrats. Hardly can they be aware that this hideous mask is, by now, the only face I have.
Saturday, September 22, 2007
I'm missing you so bad I'm barely sleeping I avoid thinking I avoid living I avoid lying to me like you do.)
Friday, September 21, 2007
Yet again I recall another fragment
Of a thought or a dream
That I don't know what's supposed to mean
My eyes and the darkness
My ears and the silence
Short waves emmitted from a sea I once thought mine
Somebody else I had always taken for I
Who inadvertedly has lead me here
To wait here
To watch this sea
Promised to a vastness long expected
Never arrived
Beyond a feeble spectre in many more sights
Ingenuously victimised
Intentionally envisaged
But influenced by this accursed light
That hides
When I need it the most
And such as jealousy I see it approach
And reproach me
Whilst I dream of my place in the sky above
Worth of my plain arrogance that shows
Through all for one
One for all
And invites me to play along
O grandness afore untouched
O insecurity of meek souls
O fallen might of the great
Who doubts
Forgets
Ignores
The folly of those who dared to touch it
And survived
Those who walked the world I imagined mine
The places where I had pictured I
Recollections
Correlations
Delusive infatuations
To whom all there is left is but forgetting
Arguing is useless and no good objecting
Silently accepting its decision
However knowing it was mine
I bow my head to the assumption
That half of life is a lie
That we breed
That we feed
And take heed that it be not hurt
I wouldn't bother for the lighter spirits
Or to have just one once more
I would not walk off on my own will
For my demented body
And my diseased mind
And my depleted soul
Who unsuccessfully attempts
And can't
Or won't
Having decided to take the fall
Suffer the winter and build up the wall
And forget so that I don't feel
Write it now so that I don't need
To do it later
Or any better than now
So that I may not be found
By anyone other than me
When I haven't found myself either
I will not stay for words of flatter
From whoever it be it doesn't matter
This is my mind which I've made and I've got
Whether you like it
Or not
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
― Can't focus, it's too hot.
― You'll never get to heaven if you're scared of getting high..)
Monday, September 17, 2007
I walk into the empty room and I see the dim light yielded in by the window in the centre of the locked door. My eye runs through every inch of its wood, fondling all of its most recondite details, each of the scratches it's made of. They tell of touches, of accidents, of smears, of sneakily-carved inscriptions of capital initials inside heart shapes, of all sorts of moments endured and enjoyed which are as much its feature as any of its original cuttings.
I no longer have the key. Maybe no one else does. The translucence of the thick glass of the central window is tenuous, even in the brightest hours, and thus nothing outside will be seen as it is today. Outside, the garden will remain forever as it always was and has been in my memory, a place of smiling discoveries; a nook for innocence sheltered from the disorderly extramural world; the final inattained frontier of wistful profusion in which I indulge. And so much the better.
I approach. I touch the athermic surface of the wood, almost haptically aethereal, were it not so massive and obviously thick, upon which Time seems to come to no effect. I slide my hand down to feel the knob, wide and mighty, motionless as always. It was one of those very old knobs that do not turn, save by the key. I touch it with the greatest respect my hands can express. The coldness of the metal stirs more sensuous imprints and I feel my whole body in relation to the door. And only to it.
I am awakened. In three or four words, I am told that the time has come and they need to do what needs to be done, that my time is over when I couldn't even say goodbye. But, in a certain way, it was this door who most needed to bid me farewell than the other way round. I walk out of the room and prefer not to cast onto anything one last glance.
When I come outside, I hear again the bells that toll for the house, in the form of the hoist that draws near. I shield the world from seeing my eyes with the sunglasses I put on, but there are no tears in them. The door has already given me all the consolations that I needed. In a last analysis, that's what I'll miss the most.
I'm missing you so bad I'm barely sleeping I avoid thinking I avoid living I avoid lying to me like you do.)
― Can't focus, it's too hot. 