Monthly Archives: July 2011

Flamboyant Termination

A beautiful view is all I need to quiet down my bearing.

However, it seems (that) that is exactly what is missing in our rushed routinely lives. Do you ever stop on your way to work, to appreciate the flamboyant simplicity of the sunrays ? Or better yet, can you appreciate it ? Can you see that it holds the muffled pleas and desires of locked-up lunatics and corporate slaves living lifelessly away from the Sun ? Or does it not appeal to you, that you’re bathed daily by what miserable ones hold as more valuable than hundreds of diamonds and golden coins  ? You’re missing it, my friend. When you see only that which is countable and precise, you stop enjoying your gift.

Precision is the archenemy of carpe diem.

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Careful Now, Trickster Girl

Playing me again, aren’t you ?

Well, darling, I thought you would have a better excuse this time, for sailing around my head without the proper use of safety gear. I mean, you might get hurt, hitting one of the solid walls I’ve built to protect my foundation. I’ve seen it happen before, and I must confess, the  friendly radio songs you so desperately seek out have done a really nice job in hiding all the gruesomeness of those love affairs.

“This game contains scenes of explicit violence and gore”, I’m warning you. Ta ra.

When Copper Turns to Silver

It’s not your voice that is mystical, it’s my auditory system that has had some trouble for the past few weeks.

I ran

From an angel who had been cast out of Heaven, and in the fall had lost half a wing, and in order to be kept alive, had to rely on the charity of good-hearted humans with whom it happened to come across.

I ran

from an odd kind of sweetness, something like the harmless way a mother stands in front of her child, trying to defend it from the inevitable death at the hands (and fangs!) of the bloodthirsty vampire before her.

I ran

from the shelter of my breeders, in a rush of overconfidence that would ultimately lead to my utter failure in everything I tried to accomplish.

I ran

from the opportunity of redemption in the starry eyes of a teenage girl, who’d allegedly fought against the vile desires of “this doomed modern society”.

I ran

from a shower of speeding bullets that accused me of being a dead weight on the shoulders of whoever paid attention to the debris I left behind, in my quest for absolutely nothing.

I ran from everything.

I ran from everyone.

Until I was stopped by the sight of a marvel… the gray clouds disappeared, and the threatening sky was cleared, and the hovering crows fled away from the scene: another runner was coming my way. Another lost soul, dressed in the same colors I was in, and defied the same rules I did. Another one who was the aim of misfortune, another one who drifted from the harming shots of this dangerous life…

Thus, I stopped running when I found you.

The Famous Cycle of Sweet Revenge

Blowing my mind with two half-lies, while I’m joking back the tremors of my weak hands;

Then glaring at my face, you seem to have forgotten that I’m a compulsive reader, dear, and yours is a book  I’ve read a thousand times.

So here I am, sitting before you with my hands tied, and trying once again to show how much of a nonsense it is to be feeding the hungry monster of our vengeful outbursts, while all the way your only answer is to keep one eyebrow raised, a simple gesture that says “I’m too fucking stubborn to hear a single word you say”.

And I now I’m up, like all those times before, having lost the possibility of having a hell of a good time, and I’m heading towards, as sad as it is, the only thing that can keep my frail heart off the poisonous flower garden of your current state of mind: the open arms of the alcoholic side of me.

As I take another sip, I think to myself, “now it’s my turn to get the cycle going”. Should I take it down, or should I wait for the next round ?

The Wayfarer’s Perspective

Oh, the wonders of the wayfarer life !

I see trees and the sky, at strife;

I see swollen faces tired of their routine;

I see on the road the traces of gasoline;

_

And I don’t understand, how in the world can there be a man

who gets enraged by things as simple as the frying pan

that spilled boiling oil on his brand new suit,

in a waitress’ mistake at a cafeteria table.

_

After all, aren’t they all just soulless atoms ?

Like the mass-destruction bombs that killed thousands,

or the little rock in the poet’s alternative metaphor…

_

People are losing themselves out there.

That’s all I can see when I fare.

Falling Snowflakes

It takes a lot to admit I’ve lost. I did.

I was so overwhelmed with the crushing winter’s blow that I was stripped of what was left of my poor optimism. I ignored how ridiculous was the question I was about to ask. And when I got the answer to that preposterous denial of everything I had fought for, I wasn’t surprised. I was just… used to it.

Used to feeling broken. Used to feeling wrong, and foolish beyond repair. Used to seeing that face looking at me, from above and down below, telling me exactly the opposite of what I wanted to hear… and, hey, I’m not a whimsy fella, I’m just tired of being shut up by my false sense of righteousness. I’m just tired of being disabled by the Snowgirl’s demolishing words.

She just makes me feel like I don’t know who I am. Who am I ? The star-crossed lover, the depressed infant, or the Ashtray Writer ? Or am I the biggest and stupidest contradiction this world has ever seen ?

This is all I know for sure:

The Snowgirl will never know how to love.

I’m A Photographer

And I hate my metaphors.

The Worst Actress I’ve Ever Seen

I saw through your every line, and I must say I’m impressed by your lack of acting abilities. You sounded like a soap opera actress, trying to fool me…

Plastic Mona Lisa

You went through walls like a phantom, you bore a cross like a saint, and you shot your bullets in a sea of contempt.

Who do you think you are ? Do you think you deceive me with your sugary smiles and that plastic figurine of the Deathwish Lady ? Don’t flatter yourself, Mona Lisa, I’m not fooled by what you say. I know a lot about people like you, gamers with a high perseverance rate and a miserable excuse for breaking hearts like worthless china.

Stay out of this, hollow saint, because there’s no space left for your cigarettes inside the Ashtray. I’m already full of my own bullshit.