loyalty

- Camille sat quietly; the fine line between knowing anything with conviction and acting with logic while carrying no truthful certainty in her heart.... could she ever meet any realistic goals living like this? - 

~ I’m here, am I not?

Full bodied like a crisp wind

The restless words

Being spit

Down the funnel

Of your eager ear

Reaching the bottom of

An aching heart

Merciful, but

Silent

For the waiting has made

It hard

For feelings to be

Allowed in

I’m here, am I not?

All feelings

All flesh and red, hot blood

An ocean of vibrant pieces

Of this puzzle

You’ve been working on, but

Feeling blue

For the blue of your eyes

Speak in a tone of colors

I’ve never heard anywhere else, it

Speaks to me

Abruptly

In a harsh and fierce mood and

I respond to it, I’m here

Breathing the same air

You breath but

Unable to share

The same taste for longing

I thought you would

Die to kill

Well, I’m here,

Am I not?

My part of this deal written in stone

You have my number, my hands and shoulders

You have my full

Attention

And strong arms

You have my ears

To hear only your voice

And the sounds you’ve waited

To let someone hear,

One who might look or

Maybe even sound

A little bit

Like me, so

I’m here

You must be here too

All flesh, blood and saliva

The taste I knew

I would love to taste

The thick skin that allows

No one in but,

You’re here and yet

All is very dark my love, so

Come near

Fear fuels only the weak and

Weakness is not

What matches

Your mirthful skin

Best,

It suits only

Those who lack

The type of loyalty

Only our unrest

Knows

By heart. ~

....a late romantic.

Read this while you listen to this. If you dare.

˜˜

My heart was bleak. My weak thinking gave room to experience for the lack of a better idea. The very first time I set my feet on this very sidewalk, you said, I had tears in my eyes, you know? Just like those tears running down your cheeks right at this instant, those tears of joy.

Joy? I asked. I guess is all you answered.

That’s what you said, I guess.

As I glanced at what was happening right behind you I noticed the sound that was nearly dissipated by thick and heavy glass doors. The symphony blew the last chances I still had to pay attention to what you were now asking of me. Cry, you begged. Cry for releasing it all will set you free, but how could I? How could I do this just for you when…

Mahler was crying for me.

The world didn’t listen but I did, I followed it.

The sharp notes were but dubious in their courage so I carried on, going as far as pushing you, obstacle I adore to hate, out of the way. The door was almost shutting down completely but I managed to run fast enough so I could catch it open just before it was too late, such was my fear of not surrendering, such was my fear of neglecting this kind of happiness.

Just for a change.

A song, that was all that it really was, a moment inside of a song that spoke to me in tongues of strings, in the shapes of hearts I would never learn to admire nor loathe, a song nonetheless. So much can be built around a song.

The universe could be nothing but the product of a note that built time and matter, the perfect moment of romance that created you and me could have started with the beat of a steady drum coming from the reliable old stereo system down the basement, a grip of true inspiration can come from the very sound of winds blowing a symphony of leaves right outside your study’s window… oh, a song.

So much for a body of independent sounds, brought delicately together in the creation of a harmony I dare to call perfect.

It was nothing but a song and I loved it, for all that it was worth those were true twelve minutes and four seconds of complete surrender, and for those timeless minutes I learned to listen.

~~

A Rat That Stinks

There’s nothing wrong

Nothing wrong with the line of your chin

The curve of your hips

The way you hold yourself up

Against the truth

Nothing wrong with the pale look

Of your skin,

The way your hands seem soft, in the edges

For not doing any hard work throughout

Your entire life

There’s nothing wrong

With the way your lips move

To fight solely something we call

The silent rule

The golden, unbreakable law of men

Nothing wrong with the way

You lace your shoe

You wait for your time to step in

When everything I demand

Is for you to step away

There’s absolutely nothing wrong

In being wrong

Completely wrong

Fugaciously, fiercely, passionately wrong

Bad in its core, rotten in its root in its

Soul 

There’s nothing wrong, really

Nothing particularly against the norm

Nothing too fine, too sure of itself

Nothing that will linger through the history

Of mankind

Nothing that would break my heart

Nor his, nor hers, nor theirs, nor ours

Nothing that would change my life for good

For those who shape my days

Have kindness dripping

From their pores

They have eyes

Full of sparkling sores – sores you will never learn to soothe, let alone notice-  

All in all, you are but a rat

A rat that stinks

Like the sewer stinks of things

We don’t take to our graves

Memories we don’t hold on to

Because what you do counts as a nameless color

Yes, a color that adds up to the lives of those

Who rise, like I’ll rise

And fight relentlessly, like I shall fight

And are not afraid of going along

With the one golden, unbreakable law

Of true men

Of those who know

One who acts against one’s kind

Must be left adrift, but

One who knows the worth of one’s kind

Shall never

Be forgotten

Songs will be sung for them

Not for you.

unexpectedly

A poem was left for me, by a stranger. With these words a note: 'you remind me of her.' Nothing else, nothing left.

He aproaches carefully,
There's not one reason for him to rush
Specially not towards the one
Who - in a heartbeat - could 
Represent both
Life and death,


Be his ruin
Or his way out
Of this sort of mess
He's created for
himself.


The long, wild and fearless curls covering her shoulder...


He wants to run his fingers
Through them,
Bury his nose
In the nest of them
He wants to go beyond just
Dreaming, 


There's nothing but
Desire
And consequences
Hovering above his head


There's nothing but passion
Permanently damaging the tissues
That hold his heart
Together...


His mind knows too much


He wishes
He knew nothing
So her eyes were all
He would learn
To know
From now on.

~~~

heroic is.

'What was as light/ as breath/ turns captive/ and still./I grew up and abandoned/my fervor./ I pretended/ I wasn’t heroic./ I turned/ my volume/ down./ I wish someone had told me/ that cynicism may be intelligent/ but enchantment/ is wise.'

I humbly observe the wheel of time surrender and yet still hold on firmly to the steering wheel of desire.

What breath has given, one may never shed in the name of cause. A cause is nothing but the twist of a knob, a knob that may increase or decrease the volume of the unique set of words that perpetually dance around your head,

a cause is just a knob.

Breath can only be taken for the flame that abides in the heart of the box that holds all knobs. These tiny buttons that with a tender pressure return the kindness by caressing you back, these causes that may mean the world but are not the world you breath for... for what breath stands for is something of a divine figure -

something of a beauty that will remain untold.

A colorless heart of strings that when touched just right tangle up in the shape of everything that

smells,

cries and smiles

like love.

and love can be... such a tender thing, so tender it can never be toughen, it can never be broken, it can only embrace.

love is heroic.

***

- blood stain.

***

There’s a stain calling out for fire’s name just outside my window.

A sight of dark red and shades of orange coloring the air my lungs breath in. the color they exhale... you don’t want to know.

There’s a light, it’s faint, but it’s a light, the voices of thousands of passionate souls

the same souls that have been the fathers of history as we know it.

they have been fighting their entire existence, they’ve been breeding to fight yet again.

The word in my mouth is the same that comes out from their mouths, but I’m not them. They could never be me. One who was built to love with roses in arms, smiles of sympathy in her lips, sparks of warmth in her eyes as she watches her love step in.

Be it now or then, they could never be me like nobody can teach me. Nobody can teach the parents of human history to love the magnitude of love.

This one single soul, belonging to whom fears nothing but cares greatly and knows awfully too much, more than they do.

After all, loving holds all truth ransom, holds all that lives well protected under its wings. **

camille had a way of saying things, 

she called him that night and let it all out... 

it turns out he actually listened.

(play 'i hope i don't fall in love with you' by tom waits 

as you read this post - if you dare)

-cold heart baby, cold heart bleeding ice cubes in my hands.

it drips, drips, drips

i don’t quite believe it’s alright but you said so, i believe you, even though believing this might not mean going along with the truth, believing in you is all i really mind, right now, it doesn’t matter anyway -

i guess the moon is about to freeze to death rolling around an ocean of darkness, baby, i’ve asked you to show your face more often, i guess i missed the last call, oh well, whatever... time rolls by like the night, like the moon, freezing to death away from me and you away from all the bloody pouching lips i got here hidden under my sleeve for you, baby, i’ve asked you to show your face - i guess you were just not quite righteously ready for me yet.

i know... i’m too much. more likely i guess i’m more than what you’ve expected, baby, i guess i’m more than what expectation expects when it comes to high expectation even though i myself never understood expectations to begin with.

the song plays softly. i believe it’s my queue.

i dance along you know, i see you. i see you in the reflection in the mirror, the eyes staring back at mine, your eyes so different from mine, the heavy look you got oh i know it well, i know it better than i know myself, and guess what? i’ve known myself my whole life.

i’ve known you my entire life and half of yours.

i’ve known you longer than i’ve known love and love has blossomed as sweat, blood and tears and they’ve been freezing baby, freezing like the very liquid we call fear, this sentence is short, the love lost is not forgotten, there’s a trail and the mixed tape is my pen drive filled with the moment of overrated passion in combustion being recorded by the wild winds of furious underrated reaction.

i love you. i’ve been loving you and you’ve been deserving more than what you’ve found so far.

so let it all in, let me in - i guess you’ve let me in since the beginning, you’ve just been waiting for me. the eyes are open in the reflection in the mirror i guess mine have been shut all this time.

i’ve asked you to show your sweet face more often now haven’t i? i’ll let you in,

this time around.

***

hopelessly hopeful

*Let it be known, they were addicted to each other.

By the time of their twenty-seventh birthday, they couldn't see any further down the road if not assured by each other's reasonable confidence that everything would be alright.

Romeo and Juliet would be proud.

He looked at her in state of awe, she looked at him in state of bliss.

- There's absolutely nothing that I wouldn't do for you. Nothing that lives within the walls of capacity can never stop me, I'd go beyond that for you, the feeling is this and this is the only thing that is because to be is all there is for us to do and doing anything else is just time-filling time on Earth... I don't want to do that, I want to be this.

- I want to be you. The tremendous insight of you, the skin you live in, the eyes you see the world with. I wanna embrace the very essence of you so I don't have to open my eyes inside of my own self ever again. I want to overflow you with me so I'll become you. I love you like the wind blows, freely, on its own terms and without any given thought. I was given to love you.

Let it be known that they were beyond vice, passion and addiction, they were woven together in a way it was hard to find the end of such rope... It wasn't their fault they loved so much, it was the stars.

The stars?

Yes. The stars in their hearts.

***

picture from here.

Why I Cry

I can still feel the burning sensation taking over my throat, my chest and the reluctant muscles that hold my features together, my body was fighting me.

I can still remember the taste of the deranged and strange wave of fear that carved its way into my thoughts as I prevented the shame that an imminent outburst would take over in case I gave in. I can still hear the words in my head and the words that followed this moment coming from my dad's lips: "Don't hold your tears, never hold your tears." I heard him once and that was enough, for once has always proved to be enough for me.

After the very first time I felt like crying in public and that I tried to hold it in, the physical pain I went through ended up being just a reminder of how my body responded to the deliberated disregard of my own feelings and instincts, a competent way of proving me to myself even in such an early stage of my growing process.

Maybe crying is the only way my body can let the frustration of a harsh feeling escape, and maybe - just maybe - my father knew better not to let me hold everything in even though I initially thought that keeping what I feel to myself was the best method to preserve my integrity. Although I still hold so much in, maybe more than I should, crying is the only physical proof of my incapacity to withhold this ocean of passion I master and have no clue of what to do with.

***

picture from here.

The violence of a heartbeat

I'm not afraid of the violence present in the passion of a heartbeat, the very moment between now and later when everything will be rearranged to look like that very thing I wish to stay away from: the analyzing, constant humanizing of pure animal behavior. I'm not afraid of things I desire, I fully understand the consequences of wanting. The spark of life generated in the moment of idealization, the true recognition of reality without rationalization living in the drip drip drip of sweat, blood, saliva. I accept challenges that may only run deep into my own roots and veins, challenges perpetuated by the restlessness of those who do not seek but generate the seeds of all ordeals and nightmares behind wishing... I embrace the wholeheartedly, the mighty in life, mild in manners, I live for those who fully understand the meaning of craving - even though meanings have nothing to do with the heart of the matter... I do.

***

picture here.

The Truth Is...

Today I feel like saying the truth and saying it out loud so I can hear it.

The truth is: I know exactly what I want and even though I do know exactly what I want and I can actually name and even tag each and every single individual "thing" I want to happen to me in my life, I can't truly admit it and say it with all the intensity I'm supposed to use whenever I talk about it, specially not out loud!

Wow.

I know it, I feel it, I desire it and I can even taste it in my mouth, but I'm afraid of talking about it.

Why? you will ask because you should.

Well, I'll answer, because it scares me to think that I'll get it all. Because I know down my core that it's all very simple, I know what I want and I'm getting it. Knowing things are frightful. Being sure is fearsome. Having your hands and heart full of what makes you HAPPY is intrinsically, sickeningly, outrageously, dementedly and nervously HARDCORE SCARY, to an extend I don't even want to talk about too much out of fear of what other things I might encounter along the way.

Our world of humanity has been created on that of which we fear and this fear I'm talking about is also the very thing that sets us free.

Yes, I've learned it now, I have. And I'm so proud of myself for finally confessing it to myself, because the other half of the truth is: the rest of the world doesn't matter at all.

If you can't - and listen to this carefully - admit the reality behind your existence to yourself, how can you even acknowledge the existence and co-existence of millions of others around you? Even those you've considered the closest to your kind (whatever you call kind) can never be truly close to you in matter and substance if you don't know what the heck you are!

Do you follow? Of course you do. We are all lost and as lost as we are we are also constantly running away from ourselves, out of fear. But the fear is not the problem. The problem is not facing fear out of the fear you feel when facing fear, do you... perceive me?

Yes you do.

I know I do. I know I'm just talking to myself who happens to be YOU.

Well, anyway. I know what I want. I'm happy about it and this is kinda hurtful. Why? ask away. Because it's painful to know you are actually happy. For the first time you feel the warmth and the cold breeze mingle together in perfect harmony and you know that you are not that wall that will hold things from reaching your own life anymore, you do not stand tall as your own enemy and you never will again. You are proud of what you've learned and nothing can stop you from the things that are about to come your way... Yes.

Say yes, you know why? because you can. That should be the answer to any question, yes because I can.

I can and I am. And that's all that matters.

***

she said it...

"it's not meant to be a strife,

it's not meant to be a struggle uphill..."

me

i like low lights, red wine and black, black coffee.

the soft feeling in my skin after i first open the windows in a week morning like a tuesday,

or wednesday early, before eight.

everything feels fresh when it's early enough

and i like the feeling of early things against myself.

early trains, the sound of early birds

magnets of a kind passion that never lived

and never will.

i like the color of lips before a kiss and adore the texture of eager skin before a fight.

i believe in strength,

of character

of love

of understanding.

i like the smell of familiar dreams, the cold shoulder from those who i'm indifferent to, i like to hear it how it's supposed to come out.

i can't stand fenced demons nor demons in disguise.

i like vacancy signs.

and can't stand the restroom ones.

i love the night, when it reaches that endless hour, when i'm no longer scared of the emptiness that waits for me, when i've conquered such fears. i like the fact that they are present and grateful, every other night, close to me - close enough i could kiss them.

i like it when i can kiss you.

and hug you.

and give you all of those things i wish to receive

even though i won't

quietly.

i like to surround

i like to embrace

but rather be alone

and still

until the bus arrives.

i adore the moon. i like to gaze into things while thinking of other things.

i like to create memories on words and sins, some of which are simple dreams.

i hate many, like some, despise a few.

i wait.

waiting it won't be more than a bad moment. a rotten fruit. it's gonna be alright.

i wait and wait

and like to act

to myself, locked up.

i like the movement of honey dripping slowly, the taste of olive oil in my fingers.

i love it when the fire consumes a candle-wick

an old piece of paper

or my skin.

i like it when it rains, but i love it when it pours.

the smell of sunset after the storm...

i like it more and more.

i do.

a drum flourishes

there's a beat of a drum

the little sounds it first makes

rejoices in doubt as soon as this taste

of fresh fruit drips from the contented corner

of my lips -

there is more even though

there is not much to show

the proof has fallen rotten

down from that sad, old and forbidden

cotton tree

its branches,

they shake - nor with pleasure but graced

by the slightest of winds

that carefully spill

these unsound and unchancy beans

for me -

for me, for I see

the delightful eyes blurred into

the nuisance of a tomorrow

where

the golden tinted

and

the poorly acquainted

reform - and arrest

the old ways of a world

that

never grew out of its adolescence

yes,

the joyful sounds of the drum

the little waves

they form

not out of rhythm

down by the quiet and calm

part of that river -

that in all is set

to be

(life, it is)

more than a bed of water

for those who seek

refreshment

(a big tease)

it is life

purely because

it was left to be -

yes-

left for me

to see.