Getting closer

‘And we rise. From the ground’. I am not self-destructive tonight. I just want this feeling to last, a little bit more. I feel strong, untouchable. You fly in my mind, re-occuring from flashes of a summer night. This feeling is strange. I am not inspired by the tranquillity of the moment. What I feel now is pure. I have no more distorted, blurred, uneven images of the past, of the present. If I had to learn your language I would have invented another definition of pain, of sadness, of resolution. We can, my baby reach togetherness. ‘Too late’ is just poor phrasing now. Don’t think of me as a presence of blank sensuality. I am not cold. I don’t want to be cold. ‘Today is the day against noise’. You are wrong. It is not. Today is not the day against noise and today is not the day to say: ‘Stop and stare. Move on’. And to be reasonable you are not here. It requires a great deal of courage to believe in the aesthetics of ... The body does deteriorate and expire. It does become one with the essentials of creation and it does most times (I don’t want to be unfair to the sufferers of life) carry away memories. It might be as well true. I am probably the person on the side –on the margin of this “reality” (if this is the correct term of reality). I get closer to questions every day. I only want to know one thing; that all of them will be answered before I’m gone.

To feel..

You're moving too fast in my brain. I want you. I want you to want me too. J, sweety, I see you now and I know I love you. I think you're flying - that's probably because you don't turn around to look at me too. There are so many people like myself, in this world that admire the stillness of trees at night-time. Trees can become symbols of our senses. As I'm moving fast, I'm trying to count them. I can't navigate my thought on one number. I can touch the light of this moment. I am shining. You are shining. I believe I'm yours. When you touch me I am yours. If life is as small as how long this sensation lasts I now admit gladly that I am a dreamer. You walk, open the door, look at me, kiss me, touch me. I feel your hands travelling under my skin. They are reaching another place - a place unknown to others - a place of rhythms. There is no thought in the place I walk now. Join me, to this place where we can only feel..

\1

I always walk in circles.. Why is it that all of us breathe using our chest? This old lady loves to scream. She says that it’s a way of forgetting the many bad thoughts stored inside her. I am tired of the general. I need to be looked at, to be noticed. You said you’re ready for something new; someone new. I said I can’t stand the thought of you being in pain. Yes, sometimes I don’t know how to express my emotions. It is true that all of us break sometimes. Some have the strength to get over it, while others feel a constant pain. I’m looking outside the window while admitting to myself how much I miss our evening conversations. I was mistaken to say that you’re one of them. Don’t be scared. Do not be afraid that for once more you did not receive the reaction you’ve expected. I love you. It’s this distance which is keeping your desire always vivid for her. Love yourself, love your body. You’re special, like everyone, in another way– even though i will never appreciate that everyone is special and everyone can offer something to this already corrupted world (I have as well my flaws). And I’m still stuck on this chair, in this room, trying to live from memories, trying to get a reach of my consciousness.

Made of Porcelain

I'm no longer part of this world. They say that when you have faith you can have everything. I re-phrase then: 'I believe that I don't belong in this world.' Have you ever felt that even if you're surrounded by so many people everyday, everywhere, the night will find you again, lying in your bed alone, waiting for something you don't even know. The hundreds of thoughts, the many regrets always hold your hand in darkness. And because they never really go away - they are just dismissed - I will offer my body the pleasure of another form. Tonight, I'll pretend I'm a porcelain doll. He, who can see me through the stillness of this room will get the credit of holding me. I only have one condition. 'Be careful'. I can't afford breaking too quickly. I want to feel your hands on my perfect face, my curly hazel hair, on my tiny fingers.. Hold me tightly. Use both hands. Look at me. 'I'm real.' I just can't tell you, because for once you'll have to realize it by yourself.

Away..

Fairytales in ghost towns are boring. Extremely tedious for a girl's eyes, even when trying to use metaphors and personifications of trees and flowers turning into red-white lollipop sticks. Your 6 year old daughter will too quickly become a grown woman ma. She will develop her maternal instinct and sexual drives. She'll go away. Yes ma, she'll go away too - like everyone..
Everyone will pave our way to freedom.
Everything lingers slowly in this room. Sometimes I whisper your name in darkness. This darkness is moving, dancing, filling this emprty space. There is always an disjointed part which always grows in my consciousness. I want us to become the most violent tide of that isolated shore. You told me once that you'd learn me how to sing. You said: 'I love the colour of your voice'. I felt like home. You are my home. Your eyes are my only shelter. And yes, I'd die for you today because today is the first day of my life that I really want to fly away..

03:40

Once. For just once be mine. I'm looking at the light from a distance and thinking: 'I can do anything for you.' Just be you. It's yourself I want at last, not another dog in line. It hurts so much knowing that it's not enough. I mean, nothing is truly enough. There are moments I feel that you owe me and it is terrifying if anyone ever asks how. What is taken to be necessary loses its' value. It becomes insane and as bad as it sounds vital. I need you now. I am frank. I want you by my side while I'm looking at the radiance of the dark distance.. It is as if the sky has been painted tonight with all the colours of melancholy. I don't know yet if I am the painter holding this palette. The only thing I know for sure now, is that you're so near and so far away..
I'm afraid of how necessary you've become to me. I'm afraid of sleeping by myself, I'm afraid of moments in darkness. Too many faces are wondering around but in every of these faces all I see is your face. Why did I give myself this way to you? Why do I need you - as much as I hate myself for admitting this - so badly? You teach me to create and take my inspiration away whenever you want to. And I blame myself for this. Not you. You can't control my madness and you definitely can't control obsession. I forgot for a moment how restrained you are. Everything must be measured. Yes. Line by line, number by number, inch to inch. Tiny little things (which matter for myself) do not have any significance to you. You can't accept defeat and you can control your sleep. You can also prevent yourself from running to me. Finding me, another night, alone, will be, unacceptable, out of the order of things.
And fuck, as much as I'm suffering, I still want you; with all the pain you're causing to me and all the ignorance. I still love you more than anyone, anything, more than the beauty of words. And I still miss you. And I'll never get enough of you, even if you'll never understand..

Goldfish

Great power is to swim,
Slide,
Through known, unknown intervals
Like a transparent goldfish.
Yes, offer me this strength;
To bump and explode, vibrate in golden waters.
My bubbles will be flashes of memory
Like camouflage of colour.
Whatever grey shade is passing through my invisible, tiny body
Is as bright as the sun I never get to see.
And I’m spinning, forming endlessly, vibrant shapes
Of trumpet lips, and lily petals.
I can even hear the broken notes of a faded bass…