DO NOT FORGET
I will never forget. I will never forget the good, the bad. I will never forget the beautiful, the sordid. Wherever you are, wherever I go. I will never forget. I will never forget. I will never forget. I will never forget the good, the bad. I will never forget the beautiful, the sordid. For so long I tried to kill your soul, to erase you. No matter! I will never forget.
TEENAGE MEMORIES
In a dark and old attic, Among piled-up toys, a puppet searches for love. He searches night and day, among the stuffed dolls. They answer him eagerly. He asks them gently, they reply harshly. With countless reasons, they flee from the situation. “Me? I prefer the tin soldiers!” “No! I do not like demons!” Others speak much the same… “To you, I prefer teddy bears!” While some refuse even to hear him… “You are not even worth the gingerbread man!” All this affected him so deeply. He cannot help but cry. And yet he still searches for her, that doll with velvet eyes.
THE VOID
I can hold a conversation with anyone! Even with silence. And if it does not answer me, I tell it… tell it… tell it… “Stick out your tongue, Sir Void, so that I may sit upon it!” Solitude. A total and perfect intimacy between silence and me. Solitude—an opportunity for connection, for friendship, between my consciousness and my unconscious.
INSPIRATION
It is not enough to wait for inspiration. One must prepare for it. One must be patient if it does not arrive. For she adorns herself, arranges her hair to be even more beautiful. So that the chosen, inspired one may recognise her and realise that she is speaking to him. If he is patient enough not to lose her… when the flame crosses his path, he will seize it, he will kiss her and she will kiss him. His unconscious will fraternise with his conscious mind. It will be love among three. A kind of emotional orgasm. Like the hint of gratitude towards the muse.
UTOPIA
I will marry utopia. I will invite that unattainable one into my home. I will approach her at the risk of my freedom! The impossible hypnotises me, yet lights my horizon. I see her there, hidden beyond wisdom. I found her in a child’s dream. I cannot let her go. She clings to my hands and takes shape before my eyes.
MELTING
When the sun with a phantasmagoric heart begins to melt, softly, subtly, like a woman of unknown pleasures, sliding upon a sea of vanished desires, gazing at her memories lost in time’s mirror, it imagines returning, finding those magical ages again.
BITTER SADNESS
To love… A sin? A madness? A burden dragged through life. A growing bitterness born of the rejection by the one who obsesses me. A marvellous dream that ends… when chains of boredom frighten even the one who enchants. Without anyone realising that she kills, that she haunts. The thought of not knowing where to fly. Of ignoring which path to take… Choosing a path out of that bitter state, To flee far from embarrassment. Sadness, sourness, harshness. Confusion without end. An ineffable sensation of dreams, utopian love, and fable.
THE VOW
Our eyes will never play their game for the two of us. Yet an impossible vow has bound me to you. Like a naïve soul that consumes the sacred, the unknown absence. And light bursts forth, despite my ignorance. You are like an untouchable virgin. Who am I? Who are we? No one in time will dare believe what we… will become in eternity.
BLONDE MOON
Blonde moon that shines, nourishment of life, Shimmering intoxication of choices, dancing, gliding within me. You return to me, my friend, the tender and cherished desire for harmony, for a law, for a happy and upright heart! To strike down black and grey, through love, that unjust magic. Star that throws me into turmoil, even fear, I love you—you. Sweet strange young woman, blonde who unsettles me, you overturn my heart. Ignoring me, looking elsewhere. You move me, transform me. You fill me with wonder, confound me. I hope for one day, one hour… when hope becomes happiness! Sweet strange young woman, blonde who unsettles me, I offer you my life gently, you refuse… and I fear it. Why fear the angel? The light, the being who reaches out? Come touch my glow, my love, and your depths. Sweet strange young woman! You move me, transform me. You fill me with wonder, confound me.
FRUSTRATION
One woman struck me down. Another finished me. Why does God refuse… that I be loved? Why is He so stingy… with gentle destinies? Am I cruel, snobbish? A liar or obsessed? Why does He refuse… that I be loved? Love can give life and enchant. It will suffocate me, burn me, kill me! Why is He so stingy… with gentle destinies?
VOYAGE
To travel on this stranded ship? Risk my life, my dreams, and my sins? Quick! Set it afloat so it may sail again, to relive those bitter hurricanes. Hoist these fears, tears, discomfort and nausea Rock along the dreaded course… From soul-weariness and a life of hardship, to drown love, the fire of my hell. Sail towards that treasure of worn-out times. Find it by instinct, then carry it… Across virgin lands white with light. Draw upon them, in ink, a thousand and one borders. Rediscover, night and day, these territories, These sad lands that let themselves be seen. They, whose spring is but a black winter, Will console the life I lived before. To merge with these places, images of the past. Drink the ocean, she who forgot me, through this ship of fragile temper— That is my dark memory, more than upside down.
DO I HAVE A CHOICE?
Do I have the choice to believe in eternity? Whether it be nothingness or infinity. Do I have the choice to believe in every religious possibility of survival after death? Do I have the choice to hope for something beyond my life? Do I have the choice to draw from my unconscious all that I need in order to believe in “life after life”? Do I have the choice to risk others’ hatred or their deceptive esteem, if it is the only way for me to believe in a possible eternal love? Do I have the choice to consider myself mad, if madness is a possible path towards fulfilling a dream? Do I have the choice to fight for a dream… to the point of bleeding my imagination dry? Do I have the choice to believe? Do I have the choice to let others believe when I could become certainty? Do I have the choice to erase what is written? Do I have the choice to deny the existence of the ninety-nine others? Do I not have the right to risk death for the lives of others? Do I have the choice to go as far as the sacred? Do I have the choice? Do I have the choice to provoke my conscience at the risk of losing all hope, however slight? Do I have the choice to attempt the impossible? Do I have the choice to love her in the only way I can prove it to her? Do I have the choice to look at those images that make me believe in her life… and think of her death? Do I have the choice to provoke my conscience by being cruel, if it brings me happiness? Do I have the choice to look death straight in the eyes? Do I have the choice to let life cradle me, if it is through life that I can think of it? Do I have the choice to love my flesh when I know I cannot even touch her hair? Do I have the choice? Do I have the choice to love all that lives if it is through life that she existed? Do I have the choice to empty my heart by exorcising myself if it helps me grow? I am a cold heart. A heart without emotion. I love. But I love without knowing what it is.
AN IDEA
I would like to be an idea Like Christ made flesh. A creation of the imagination, An instrument of reverie. An angel of poetry!!! A universe of faith in madness. But I am here, like you, Unreason within reason. Reason, which announces my prayer to you! It is one of my ends for the end… From your end to mine. Why play at the apocalypse, Destroy reality, the real one, life? It is time to sing, to sing creation… Eternal illusion of dream, of dream and magic! Through the images and sounds that are… are… are…!
HOW?
How can I know whether I truly love you, If my soul does not know yours? How…? How…? Ask forgiveness of silence, By speaking its language. Because I spoke to it. Cried out into nothingness? Into the emptiness of a moment, Like a mute… With a dizzying flow of words! How…? How…? Know whether love is near. If it blinds us… And we cannot see!… To love a soul, With death in one’s soul. To vibrate so strongly That eternity may hear me! Why…? Why…? The only strength I have left, I place it there and allow myself to dream! To dream of a being, of a dried rose.
FAIRIES
I often encounter fairies, in dreams or in reality. They fascinate me with their beauty, and enchant me even through cruelty. I wish to offer my wild ideas, to sing, to cry out my desire to help, the burned witches… those forsaken ones, frustrated by the laws of strangers. This desire, in innocence, awakened a fairy, hidden far within my life, fatal hourglass. A character long pondered, gently dreamed, who cannot save… not yet! But perhaps she spoke to me? Advising me to apologise most sincerely, for the runt who climbed to the third landing, seeking a soul to soothe him. The deceiver was dumbfounded! He regrets the offence against the fairy in the duchy, who, shaken by the troubled intruder, fears him and flees, offended. The saving fairy adds… that I should turn away from the beauty’s eyes so that the future may greet me, as magician, as sorcerer.
BRIEF MOMENTS
Do moments arise in people’s lives, where intuition and wild imagination live in the same house? Both at once, like children playing ball with inspiration. Striking the current of the world of the living, turning fools into charming jesters.
MY MIND
The wind rises in my mind, Like a gentle hand pressing, Gently urging genius forward, psychic life into euphoria. The wind sways and dances in rhythm, comes and goes with fortune, with destiny or the immense. Dreaming that all this comes from its diligence. The wind flies high, yet low as well. It loses me when it changes attire, when it loses the north in the night. By morning we find ourselves dressed in boredom! But when, for the sun, it sings the note G, The virgin grows frantic and follows the sound in flight. Until the new moon, tender and frivolous. She crowns herself a fairy and offers my breath as an oblation.
SAD LIFE
My life is sad and grey. I search for humour that brushes close, Touches the heart like a breeze, and laughter bouncing inside a mouth wide as a church.
I KNOW
I know, I feel, I listen, I hear. The time for silence has passed. My cry was silver, But your silence… falls asleep. Nothing was said. All is dead. I know, I feel, I listen, I hear. These breaths within you, that precede me, have played with my conscience, like a lyre without strings, Nor resonance.
VOID
I am a roll empty of meaning, yet unique. Colouring the wax, justifying the worst! I dance to the hellish noises of the street. To make life, remake it!!! Untimely, exhaustive, notarial character. Crushing the cloud suffocated by beer. Manipulating deodorising gas scented with morning water. Suffocate! Crush!… Die! Eternal post of luminous elixirs, vibrating from the small intestines of President Baby Duck, Smiling beast despite a scourging, one-way, vacant stare. Beware the eyes slitting the throats of multiplied sounding neons, By the worn pencils of mathematicians with old beards and filthy glasses. I am a roll empty of meaning, yet unique.
THE DISCIPLE AND THE MUSE
To cross mountains and rivers upon a muse’s back. Carrying the disciple in her arms. Fleeing the neuronal benefits of imagination. Intrinsic, tearing through the cephalic envelope with a gesture as brutal as decadent. Slitting one another’s throats with abandon, thanks to the hospice Of a long knife made of sweet bananas. I emancipate, I stretch like a kangaroo in flight, leaping over Opportunities to adulterate words, through words… forgetting the word evil. Yes!… I… I… I… I! Seek the muse, find her at any cost! Otherwise she traps you in a net Woven from the vagaries of life. But this muse is not of your choosing.