that day in june

~~ It was an atypically cold morning amidst spring but he didn’t mind the weather. His phone was off and as it was expected of him, the bed remained undone and untouched. An empty glass on his desk, lamp on, windows wide open.

On the predominantly bright and white screen, one single sentence written.

That was everything.

The gaunt look on his face, the dark circles around his eyes, the quiet despair.

With the presence of a night crawler, he walked to kitchen and meticulously searched for something of interesting value in his messy living environment. Deception was clear until the moment his dog discovered something stuck under the front door.

- A… letter? Really?

The crumpled pages were printed but there was a handwritten signature that caught his attention because of its similarity to his own. 

- Who did this? Ah. - He had a lucky guess.

As the sun pushed the night away, he sat and read what was carefully placed on those pages only for his eyes to read:

***

Hey there Mike, I hope this will find you at the right moment…

First and foremost I must apologize. I was way out of line in my last message. Part of me thought that question would sound ‘cute’ only to realize it was actually stupid shortly after I clicked on the ‘send’ button.

With that being said I must also let you know I’m writing this to tell you why I like you so much or in other words, why I think I like you so much and what liking you means to me, right now.

It’s entirely your choice to stop reading this letter at this instant if you don’t like to be thrown into the thoughts of somebody’s sweet/deranged little head in the middle of the night without any previous prep time…

Still here? You were warned.

My relationship status as we speak is ‘caught in somebody’s limbo where I’ve been fighting to get out alive without hurting the dreamer, not really knowing what the hell I’m searching for’, getting to the conclusion there’s ultimately nothing here for me to find, just to give: and I’ve given it all. I’m actually feeling like this is more like Blue Valentine and less Frankie and Johnny, nevertheless it is a situation I must deal with by myself, you have nothing to do with it, but

I kinda like you.

In fact, I like you quite a lot and this was the first time I felt like this since I fell for this guy I’m with. For a period I enjoyed being far, watching you work every now and then, thinking about what a great person you would be if I ever got to know you. I loved to do that.

Being away was right. I could think you were nice enough in my good days or hang on to the idea you were just an arrogant little asshole in my bad days, but it didn’t take long for you to talk.

It didn’t take long for me to notice my good days were always spot on and it definitely didn’t take me too long to be able to speak. That is a major issue in my book: a woman like myself should be silent for life or put away in a little village in the countryside of France (yes, France!) without internet connection so she’d never put herself in these stupid situations, ever again.

My point is I’m ashamed to like someone else but I’m not ashamed of liking that someone else. I’m ashamed I feel like a stupid platonic creepster when I know I’m nothing but a girl with lots of passion running through her veins and… I’m definitely ashamed of not being able to just take a deep breath and relax. No. I have to sit here and write this for you because, well, I like to make a brilliant fool of myself instead of simply moving on.

So, I’m sorry for my being me and I’m sorry I like you. You deserve someone less… well, like myself.

That was it and I guess I’m never seeing you again? :) …. :(

love, Rita. 

***

By the time he was done reading the letter the day was new; the sprinklers had all gone off, the dogs were out sniffing trouble.

A few people stepped out of their houses, cars drove slowly by and there was a refreshing smell of coffee being brewed coming from the house next door.

It always seemed right to start a new story by morning time. ~~

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.

***

*

I want me an ocean of understanding

nothing more than my hands can hold,

nothing more than my love can mold;

I want my ocean to wash the world.

*

- 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.

***

from betty's book

brutally torn
I'm brutally torn
turn me on, off and apart


I'm done.
or so is my mind.


time spent not fearing makes the spheres go around...

--/--

the quiet place one can achieve

the better words one can learn

everything is easier when it's hard enough - 

the truth or dare of our last days.

--/--

"Betty's book" is yet another pet project that might not see the light of day.

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 Frailty of Wanting

The frailty of wanting

It all seems easy and reachable

Just because

Wanting is easy and reachable -

While expecting tender thoughts

made of hopes and golden garlands,

To become as reachable

And as vivid

as the feeling of a rough, cold wind

hitting the back of your neck,

Or the hot and harsh grinding of skin

when all you had to do was

to watch where you were going before tripping

and falling

face against the brutal pavement -

The frailty of wanting

equals nothing and equals everything

Because you still wish to feel pain

As much as you wish to be loved

But never wish to see the clear sign of the rope

that ties

One end

to the other.

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 Movie by Jim Morrison

"The movie will begin in five moments/ The mindless voice announced/ All those unseated will await the next show. / We filed slowly, languidly into the hall/ The auditorium was vast and silent/ As we seated and were darkened, the voice continued./ The program for this evening is not new/ You've seen this entertainment through and through/ You've seen your birth your life and death / you might recall all of the rest/ Did you have a good world when you died? / Enough to base a movie on?

I'm getting out of here/ Where are you going? / To the other side of morning/ Please don't chase the clouds, pagodas / Her cunt gripped him like a warm, friendly hand./ It's alright, all your friends are here/ When can I meet them?/ After you've eaten/ I'm not hungry / Oh, we meant beaten.

Silver stream, silvery scream

Oooooh, impossible concentration..."