how the hell did it....?

you were the very last exception i was willing to give the world up for...for what? For nothing. there is a single shred of smoke that slips into nothingness, sounds so shrill they tear the earth apart, one sorrowful gasp to express the ordeal, the void and mostly...the space you failed to fill. why would it matter if i trampled over my good nature, if, just this once, i was more like you... if the sky crumbled at your feet. i see not, i hear not, i smell not, i taste not, i feel not...i love not. there is nothing worth loving and the rest is all a huge disappointment. no one is entitled to such a grand display of affection, not even me. i know that much, it's just that my vision gets blurry at times, it gets "blinded" by the shining of siblings such as you, of mirrors, of...disappointments. The world is undeserving and unfortunately you're part of it with all your flaws and imperfections. i want to disappear from your life forever, so nothing could evoke a question or a thought, no memories, no years, no me.

incoherence

i cried my share in oceans yesterday, i sobbed, i sighed, i bellowed, i despaired, i stopped existing, if only for a few seconds in a hallway, collapsed on the floor, dripping mascara that stains carpets and perceptions. dark tears that stained the very fabric of my soul and its underlying reality. the experience is like being drained of any drop of life lingering in my body, like having wings chopped off with an axe...bloody feathers stuck to its blade while i shout in relentless pain and insanity the realization of the loss, the absurdity of such a state, the absence of...you. regardless of the effort i put into wording it, the more it seems impossible to convey this dreaded ambiguity of what i feel so that you might understand... i think i tore myself up in another million pieces, to add to the other millions... so much so i fail to the substance in my existence. i need a sack of pieces... could you spare some?

drunken daze of a sunburnt beat

some things in life need to be documented, for various reasons, such as: further reference or "let's not screw it up the way we did last time", fond memories or "how you promise yourself you'll never sleep in a car again" and personal notes to self or "fuck! i drank again to the point where i can't remember my own name". one such eventful and amusing experience was our weekend trip to the seaside. seemingly, we planned it down to a tee, 2 weeks in advance, but since this sort of thing never really works out, we went with the flow...and what a flow it was! mood swings from ecstasy to agony every hour, on the hour, from filthy rich to flat broke and then some, from dancing next to the trunk of the car to a literal crowd as far as the eye could see, but one thing we never missed and abundant and great it was...music. so much music, you could satisfy entire worlds for a few days, car music, beach music, after music, liberty music, kudos music, water music, optick music, sleeping music, house music... elevator music??? maybe, dunno - must have been there somewhere.

needless to say we had our share of troubles and mishaps, our string of misfortunes, but everything just slips by when you can complain about to each other about how a iron fence fell flat on your alcohol-enhanced head or how you could never find an ATM when you badly need one. frankly i miss lying on the beach and bathing in live music, i miss being so drunk i crave to eat a box of skittles, i miss getting upset and angry for a full 2 seconds... btw, were you ever going to change that t-shirt? u'r wearing it in 90% of the pictures :))

heat sweat dust plaster

a day of heat, sweat and dusty plaster, which seems to be indefinitely embodied in my lips, just as you are. no matter how i try i can never truly do anything - meaningful that this - more than a sweet calming voice. it doesn't really help, does it? how can i metaphorically put this hopelessness into words?

at times, it feels like we're worlds apart, so distinct, so far away, and yet i can almost reach you, i can almost make out your troubles...i just wish i could do something - i'd conjure a measure of perfection embodied in blue to wisk you away to what you might envision as carefree carelessness on a distant island in an alternate telepathical universe.

...in slightly emotional, undisrupted, contemplative pieces i feed my soul on the truth in your lies. neverending, this solipsistic outlook which overshadows the desire of simple unreality consumed by affixed nothingness. don't bother ...no need is fulfilled by mere presence and the blissful ignorance i solemnly preach.

what do i call thee...?

i fiddle here alone with a fragment of my own consciousness, amids secular trees, iron railings and the soft indistinct voice of a mellow corner of nature, but, one can't help but notice - faintly, that's true -, the shrill high-pitched call of a car alarm going off somewhere in the distance. and so, my solitude is drained away by a single phone call, by the presence of them... i take comfort in delusion and fascinating insanity, the kind you surrender yourself to completely, with no remorse, no regard, no trouble, no idea, devoid of reality, of rationality into, what i call, my blissful ignorance. i loathe the very idea of what escaped my lips, deflected by the crisp watery surface in the dead of night, of how i broke and bended, of how i couldn't contain that monstrous lame excuse for a soul - i keep a heavy rusted brass lock on and tie up in chain on the recessed of a would-be conformity. i don't conform, you see, i never truly use my emotions to get what i want and i'm not even sure it would work if i tried to. it just gets so tiring at times to fight atrociously long never-to-be-won battles. i take this great pleasure in trying to achieve the impossible, for i see myself as maybe more than i am, giving myself credit for something i may never do, something unattainable, something only a fool might embrak on. the fool, the arlequin, the lovely, charming, mezmerising, beautiful, gripping, humorous, perfect little character i strip off when i'm here alone. i allow myself to be selfish on a piece of paper, i can articulate how much i hate whining people, the attention seekers, the extorsioners, the ones that have to constantly remind you of what they did for you, how much they love and suffer, how wonderful they are, how much credit they deserve for listening to you. i can only see this as something so selfish, it cannot stand to be put into words, something so inherently human. so despicable, so incumbersome, something you always fall for, because i do too...stupid of us, and you know it. if i tried explaining it you, if i actually had the guts to say it to your face - how it makes sence to me - you might agree, but, then again, i know you'd hate me for it - you can't really see it. that doesn't really count for anything, it won't matter, because things never actually change for me, i never change my feelings. you can read my thoughts, but i'd love it if you could x-ray my soul and weep at the sight of its fragile deformity.

displaced, misplaced, replaced

do you have any idea what it feels like?...the very question beaming from your eyes, a question unuttered, but profoundly there, burning your every nerve, rotting away your cells, eating at your sanity - the sheer hopelessness of it all, the one moment of clarity...this too shall pass. as a matter of fact, i do. i know that pain ever so well, i've watched it morph me into a human wreck, i've suffered in despair, but no one ever knew. i masked it so well and so do you. trouble is, now, i long for you, you suffer too and this thing can't be fixed. it's elementally flawed, each of us has this little army of skeletons cramped inside a closet too small to fit such burdens, such dramas, so many things unspoken. what we wish for is the impossible, the unreachable, the destined, the perfect, the match, but that which is never to come to pass...for literally unexplainable reasons. i can never mash them up and put them into a sentence, but it all makes such crystal clear logic in my head. you see, that's the problem really, uttering the ideas strips them of their wholeness, their integrity, their structure. why can't we try for what's within our grasp each and every day and willing, but not considered? ...i'll trow the withered flowers into the garbage bin and i will have forgotten all about how much i love you by tomorrow. probably you will have gotten back to you ol'jolly self again by next morning...i'm just hoping here for the inevitable, for we all revert to the undying state sooner than later.

how easily the world is broken, how feeble the castle of cards, how absolute the reprochfulness, how distinct the way your voice trembles, the despair resounding with his every pounding on the walls of the drawbridge. she is trapped in her tower, alone in the dark, croching under every shout and bellow, useless, powerless, thoughtful... misses them, the happy bunch, the carefree, the loveable, the incomparably hillarious - which he could be a part of, he's like them. never going to force anyone into anything, undecided crystal-clear deceitfulness. craving to hear the voice, melting at the memory of it, crumbs of indistinct solitude, creeping icy heartache. i want to be left alone, but with you comforting me, i want to run away with you chasing my tracks to the ends of the world, i want to cry my heart out for you wounds, but never speak a words about it, i want to heal every broken fiber of your soul, but not knowing it was me and i never want you to love me - it would only ruin things and you'd stop being perfect.

no need to cry

middle weak coughing wednesday sunny chlorine morning. paint scorched off blood-shot byork trembling walls and how i'm seemingly so uninvolved and peaceful. sure, the swings of the pendulum are uneavenly balanced and this quaint equilibrium may crumble to fire consuming dust in your absence. that's why my consciousness dictates my permanence in the shell of this uneasy sanctum. i'll recall this time later on as a new stage, troublesome, hillarious, lively, no pretence, no need, not having to care since nothing could dissociate this slumbering memory from my future temporal lobe. jazz on the sidewalk of the table kitchen, smouldering pavement under the thumping of the unusual marching-band:me, you, you, us, they, them... saxophones, pianos, trumpets and soulful voices. like a sun won't you come...and brighten my eyes to the unreflected deflection of surreptitiousness. i unfold my smoky wings over stratospheric shouting...listen and stop pouting, infinite disapproval and remorse could clutch at your heart and expiate your sins. these rays banging on glass, curtains, your retina.

in bucatarie...

frightful damp cold weather out there, fish odour and mushroomy undertones in here... business management related disputes that contrive to induce a fragrant dissention of the profoundly incompetent underlings. so here starts the 6 PM dinner ritual, evidently backed up by a severe discontent in primal misjudgement of character. this all seems so atrociously still, like a picture-perfect statement that this should be heavily imprinted in memory.

intermission

few hours later, same location, different posture...liver thawing and slowly decomposing into maroonish meaty grains in a pile of blood-shot water. and amongst potatoe peelings, strange as it may seem, while quaffing down cherry soda, in the backround of the hitting keyboard, i find myself in the midst of a sort of quarelling "family" of dearest beings - so baffeling the concept of living with two guys: they fight, they argue, the discuss, they're logical and yet unawares of themselves, they accept and never ask questions, they inferr the obvious, but in a subtle way, they... are, somewhat, carefree.

i so wish you wouldn't stirr so madly, like life depended on chicken livers...like change is possible and doctors could show up in the most unusual places. never underestimate, never disregard, never adhere to a premise you don't intend to live up to.

abruptly with no regard for consequences

Indisputable lack of sleep adorned by the lack of your interest in me
inspires selfmorphing so as to incinerate your sences and then drown
them in a pool of my distorted consciousness. I was pondering the idea
of us and it seems to me so improbable and abstract, no matter how
much I strife to entrance you, maybe because of this huge gap in
time...we met too late, but even this is better than no meeting at
all. And you're so different from anyone else I've met before...you
don't fall for the tragedy I'm capable of or my perfect damsel act, so
you've forced me to be myself around you because you won't have
anything less than my original self.
And so you left one cold dark December morning...too early in the
morning. I was somewhere on the borderline of sleep and delusion and I
pleaded with you not to leave. It's snowing out there now, above
ground, above my frozen bewilderment. I wonder, is it snowing where
you are? Can you stand the blistering cold degrading your skin or the
snowflakes dying of the hopelessness of having met you?

i do not presume to be, i am...

difficult to say what hell's fury is compared to my own emotions... ever get the feeling you're hearing metallic sounds, like a door closing, like music out of a grain of iron, like my mind going epileptic from the insatiable lust for suffering reduced to unattainable fairlytales? i don't think i've ever told you that what i want out of life is the fairytale, the impossible, the surprise, the sweeping off my feet, the sparkle in the eyes, battling the bad guys to make me feel better, flowers for no possible reason when i wake up in the morning, my favourite songs one after the other, pick me up and dance with me in the rain or snow, romance me out of my consciousness and then pin me against a wall like you're out to destroy every bone in my body and drain life and thought from my soul.

i do not presume to be, i am... the most wonderful thing on the face of the netherworlds, i am dark and obtrusive, i am devious and scheming, i am jealous and mean, i ...well, i could do horrible things if only i didn't love everything around so much. the most horrible specter of my being is in so in love with this world, it can scorn, but never harm it. Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds... it might seem ghastly presumptuous, but i have a photo of everyone when i first met them. i know the colours, i can trace the light and the shadows, i know the place and most importantly you were there... no idea where i'm going with this.