dazed

The questions generated by dazed thoughts have no value for all realities. ‘Cause all thoughts generate a self inflicted interview. And you’ll end up hiring different, suspicious personas which will act as you. These questions born from downfalls are useless when asked too late. That desired knowledge must be searched beforehand.  But we are just humans and we don’t know shit. We keep on hiring until when we truly think we found the one that should have got the job all along. For many it could be that the vacancy will remain open to the end. We don’t know shit. There is this powerful sorcerer which acts without our consent.  This guy is closely related to time and uncertainty. Time, time is what we need and we despise so much when the hill is too high. In the beginning, one’s measure is characterized by optimistic presumptions. Up the hill, feet start squealing and time stretches in every muscle and bone, minutes turned in hours.  And the road gets narrower as one tends to the top. Not all plans conclude with the desired situation. Keep on fighting they say, keep on banging your head to the door. No answers. Just these evanescent questions popped in dazed and confused heads, all lead to an unsatisfactory state full of disgust. If there’ll be a place with greenery and pace, a place of tranquility and contentedness, in a short time people will destroy it. We don’t know shit.  

it must be autumn

It must be autumn

when leaves say yes to joint burials,

acceptance transforms aerials

and all goes down to the ground.

bare branches pointed at passers

clever whispers lure ears

through narrow paths

and words get a second chance

when thrown another glance.

It must be autumn

when you’re left broken hearted at the end of the land.

a mixed experience where love and hate meet to date

where you have your downs and ups, puffs and rocks,

candle lights and rain, fingers touch soft parts, bodies, all together

in search for a bedroom fame.

wind blows her hair, you take a look, blinded love, broken glasses

your love fades, grows and then  fades again into a crystal clear winter.

It’s the time of highs and lows, of fun and flows.

It must be autumn

when one loves and hates with the same passion

when strangers serve hot tea

when one feels free under a raincoat

a walk in the park, boots shuffle leaves

dry grass in the sky

books, music and wine, a time penetrating journey.

autumn satisfies, running naked

her dress left on the floor

I take look around for

it must be autumn.

Starting my days in the morning.

When I turned right, my eyes were hit by the morning bloody sky. Riding on two wheels I was caching with my human camera the light and the color of the moment. My thoughts were waving in the blow of the wicked wind. I was also feeling very wicked, man…

And suddenly I got lost in the music coming from the headphones and all the green hills around me. Mesmerized I cycled, for a little bit, thorough the recent past.  A lot of faces then rolled on the front wheel, many memories compressed in archive files. Stored somewhere in a closet, someday they will be rediscovered. All will be funny like hell then. With this in my mind I cycled further.

Until I reached the top of the hill and factories were spreading smoke in the morning sky. It was beautiful like that time when girls were running barefoot in the winter morning.  Drunk that is. People were wondering why and they also judged using decadent phrases at their address. Nice girls with bad habits. Who am I to judge when I drink my morning coffee with beer.

It is a perfect illusion created by the sunrise. The sun man, the sun is to blame. The morning sun acts like a catalyst for all the actions that could happen in the day. Ja man! This is the sun that some love and some hate. It is the bringer of destruction and construction.

When I turned left, my eyes were hit by the morning clouds. They slowly sat down by the river and washed my mind with pouring rain.

But who’s to blame?

blabbering around

When you feel the soft embrace of tolerance, dance around the opportunities. Take them by the hand and push things forward. Accelerate the process if it’s necessary to get it faster. Images tend to take form when you truly desire something. And when something fails to happen you blame it on others. Everything collapses at the point when you realize the illusion of the walls that separate your worlds. Your confusion born from shattered words and images. Mystifying your space blinds your eyes and you can’t see the naked truth that lies on the brass bed.

                Turn the tap on and let the stream amaze you. Put your hands in the stream. Watch the process. Call it off. Bang your head against the tap until blood gushes and fills your sink. Do you feel it now?

                On the way to the hospital, yell at the nurse, call her a whore… Reality is dressed in white. Reality saves you from the evil you’ve created. Bloody paintings hang on the corridors walls. Jump from the medical stretcher and dance with yourself. Check the wall if it’s there. Or maybe the door through which you exit on the porch. It’s late and you play the harmonica like Sonny Boy Williamson. The Sun says goodbye and calls it a day. You sit in the rocking chair with your whiskey on white dust and the feeling of being another one among the others.

as I see it, those boys are up to no good

And then, the static of the mind chained the bodies

To the ignorance of prejudice, accepted unanimously by everyone and each

We share and preach about a tolerance that doesn’t seem to be

As real as the words spoken by the leaders, up there in that ship

Where they drink rum and scotch and smoke cigars

And sing about poverty, integration-disintegration, liberty and truth

This funny way of show and tell, a howl is what we need

To scare the hell out of their comfort zone

And lies will jump ahead like fleas from fur.

Dance on your own music

Chaotic moves, defeat the norms

According to the new law

The Universal Comes.

alcoholic anonymous

She lights a cigarette and looks around for a perfect face to take back home, into her empty bed. Too long has passed since last, she dived in lust and touched a human skin. She takes her blame for all of this, she takes the blame. With her desires, wandering the streets in search of one to stay around, but failed. Now strangers act like wolfs, and she’s the sheep, a grotesque image, a cheap revenge. Perverted words that penetrated the normal, angelic memories transformed in porn.

Disgusted he walks in silence from these scenes of flesh on flesh. A fuck without a feeling is a wrong method for healing loneliness. And from far he sees her true nature cleverly disguised over the years in white sheets and flawless actions. Deception hits him to the corner where depression awaits to comfort the stupid man.

She walks the streets in search for flesh. She walks the streets. A soul that died, the body needs pleasure. She strays among wolfs with sly eyes. Men gathering around her hips, forming queues. Ugly peasants staring at her pointed tits. The flower that bloomed was sold to devils so that they can burn every beautiful petal in sinful ways. Love? Died, squashed by societies standards. True love maybe existed somewhere in the days of our fathers but it’s extinct.

Are you there? He shouts in the night but the night is not his friend anymore. Alcohol and drugs estrange people. Cigarettes pop their lighted heads into the dark. He wonders why and how.

Sweat drips on her skin, ugly males pumping vaginas, innocent memories fade, lost between the copulating bodies. She’s in beds covered by other skins. She screams. He sins. She fucks. He drops. She cleans the mess. He vomits the golden years. All of them. They’re in parties.

The sun goes down taking dignity from humans. The moon comes bringing lust to their beings. Special effects arouse the weak. They’re in parties. Blinded by the lights there’s no way to see the succubus and the incubus sneaking to fuck your dreams away.