Wrecked trash

A bottle at the sea

Bullied by the waves

Reaches the dump continent

Of trash prayers

Ignored by the gods

Sister,

I feel like a piece of trash

I feel so filty

Fallen

But evertime I think of pulling the plug

I think of your pain

Then I’m commitedto stay

Forever bounded to broken soul brothers

Sister,

The storm’s coming once more

The wind is pushing me away

But never I could tell

Where ends this world

Nor this darkness

Our hope fated to drown at birth

Sister,

Send me an eagle

I’m adrift

And drowning

 

 

 

 

 

The Storm is Here (To Stay)

A storm is here
It’s dark, it’s gloomy
And I feel your absence
Stabbing through my ventricle
Storms
They’re kind of romantic
The birds are standing
High on the bough
Trying to reach the sky
Attracted by its electricity
The birds…
Are energy
The birds
Carry our souls
Beyond this world
The storm is here
And I’m not only talking about weather
The storm is here to stay
As the world is falling apart
The sky is gray
Black is my heart
As I fade away
I won’t come back
I’m the gatherer of souls
I wish to protect yours
But far away you went
And here…
We’ll never meet again
I’m carrying a wound
I cannot be repaired
I thought so
But I was wrong
Don’t let me rot here
At the gate of your city
For the spoil of your scavengers
Please, darling
Do not abandon
All of our dreams
The storm’s here to stay
As I fade away
Into oblivion

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Odysseus

My eyes in Ionian tears
Standing at the gate
For ages, your return my fears await
Through the flames of Troy
And the betrayal
Babe, your city was burning
And the sea is raging
Beyond the wave
I can hear Calypso’s moaning
As she reaches climax
In appreciation of your unfaithful art
Damned to the abyss
I welcome the blazing tide
To silence my pain
Shuts her up
Faithful bargainer of perpetual grief
I’m fucking Penelope
For ages I’ll wait for your return
Pushing them fuckers away
Lit my dreams
You are all I can think of, babe
So let me know
Pick up my bow
Accept the challenge
Step into the beam
Don’t let me rot here
At the gate of your kingdom
For the contentment of them vultures
Everything behind the odyssey
Nothing before their eyes
But our muse
Our duality
Internally
Sets one foot in the light
Casting the other into the darkness
The right in white
The left in Hell
At ending the Cycle, should we fail
Our remains good for the spoil of the scavengers
Our legacy for the delight of immaterial

The Gardian of the Soul

I’m a strayed cat
In perpetual self-impermanence
The past and the future create present
For we carry the weight of our wounds
And project ourselves into the light
Heading forward
Present is an illusion
Ephemeral, untouchable
Unless I can feel your lips
And your words…
I will live 120 years
And will carry on
And will carry my love for you
And if necessary
Its non mutuality
So the beauty and the soul
Can keep breathing
Keep beating my lines
So I keep the faith
In myself
In humanity, my love
I’m a strayed cat
In perpetual self-impermanence
My open gate
Welcomes your light
Shine upon my path
Fill me with your joy
And maybe with a little more
I’ve been gathering the pages
A story is written there
It’s not of this time
Nor of this world
It was only told
The ancients painted their lips
In all the shades of its verses
Venus spoke to me
Told me I’m wounded
But I’ll heal
I promise you
I’ll live 120 years
To carry my love for you
Above the seas
No mountain will be tall enough
I won’t back off
What’s your name, honey?
Not your earthly name
What did they call you?
Hold my hand now
The tornadoes and the tsunami invade the plain
The havoc has no cure
But our love
Shadows are tracking us down
But we’ll live past the hundred, my dear
And lies can’t deny us passage
Towards the light
Your my brother soul
The sky shall rain on us
Its perseides
I’m a strayed cat, my love
Gardian of your soul
I will carry on
And maybe a little more…

I’m going home.

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Prophétie 4 – Livre des ombres triturés

Un genou enfoncé dans la terre, une lame écarlate à la main, tête baissée, je contemple la plaie par laquelle s’accumule à l’envers de ma vie, à chaque goutte tombée.

Autour de moi, de milliers d’yeux portant sur la moitié moins d’âmes guettent dans l’effarement et la confusion ce moment où je courbe l’échine pour contempler, au-delà de ma propre affliction, le corps de ton antagoniste refroidissant dans la boue, parmi les déchets, à sa juste place.

Chacune de mes inspirations, chacune des pulsations de mon cœur meurtri tentent de pallier à l’hémorragie et la joie porte sur nous, êtres abîmes, un regard brisé.

Les circonstances accumulent l’évidence, mais je t’en fais la promesse, je ne quitterai pas ce monde, pas ce soir. J’aperçois ton tant aimé visage alors que du bout de tes doigts caressant ma peau maculée de terre et de sang, tu décryptes mon histoire, comme on le ferait pour de vieux hiéroglyphes. Ils t’enseigneraient de vielles vérités; ils t’auraient raconter ce qui va suivre.

Goutte par goutte, culmine une puissance hors de ce monde, hors de ce temps.

L’entaille s’élargit enfin, comme à la naissance de la lumière, mon corps se tend, mes bras s’écartant de celui-ci, mon visage vers le ciel, dans un hurlement à gorgée déployée que nul astre ne peut ignorer, torturée par la douleur inhérente à la gésine du nouveau monde, j’ordonnai à l’Univers de te préserver et il répond par la beauté d’une pluie de ses joyaux perséides.

Ainsi s’annonce le soulèvement des malmenés.

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Prophétie 1 – Livre des ombres triturés

Que faire quand l’essence de la légende reposes sur nos lèvres et que l’on poursuit une chimère à travers le labyrinthe de nos existences respectives?

Tu manques à chacune de mes inspirations… Dis-moi, chéri, où commence le rêve, ou termine notre douleur? Ce monde ne nous comprendra jamais que physiquement. Et la mi-solstice est à une éternité de notre réalité.

Dans mes entrailles génératives brille l’absence de tes perséides. La gésine latente patiente.

Je ne serai témoin de ta fin. Derrière l’aurore, s’élèvera le nouveau commencement. L’éclipse ne viendra que si je failli à la tâche.

La haine ne triomphera point, et tu ne seras martyr.

Hardcore

I’m not afraid to die. It’s not that I care much about eternal life, in fact, I give zero fuck about eternal life. I just lost the count of all the times I word-punched them in the face, tied up in the knots of their repression, that they couldn’t kill me that easily…

There is a theory that suggests that all of us were born with a unique self that is untouchable, lying underneath a multitude of layers of our personality, that we are not the same as we were a priori, let’s say at birth, and we developed, over time, those different aspects of ourselves that will moult later on as we gain life experience (Fun fact : « moult » in French means « many », but this is just my neurodivergent mind being lost in abstraction, building bridges between two languages. Maybe it’s time I have this freaking ADD taken care of; together with autism: I’m chaos).

The theory suggests that our essence varies accordingly to social filters and factors of every one that cross our path, including all those versions of ourselves, but that there would also be a part of us, our Self, our nucleus, that can’t be touched either by positive or negative experiences, nor neutral changes; a core, a matrix, including a myriad of genetic factors that presets all our reactions and who we are would not be but the result of a complex algorithm. This very nature of the brain is called neuroplasticity, and the processus of its transformation, the neurogenesis. In short, according to this scientifically proven theory, we could be some sort of machines that can be formatted down to our Self, or restored to a previous version of ourselves.

I believe I’m in one of this backtracking process, right now; that I make, for the sake of my own survival and happiness, the way back to the one I was before all those damages that occurred in the past decade or so (let’s not set the goals too high; aren’t we all ill-functioning time machines, limited by our own capacity to go backward, even on our own timeline?).

Domestic violence, sexual agressions, intimidation, state violence (police brutality), economical violence, own self destructive behaviour in reaction to external violence, name it, were all contributing factors to my several PTS’, deep depression, and lack of confidence in myself (and other people) that, together with autism, lead me to be in a constant state of reaction to external factors. Also, people who know me are well aware that 2017 was not but a fucking Hell. Amongst other things, I lost my grandmother, on July 3 and my uncle, who was like a second father to me, on August 8. I ended my dysfunctional relationship and lost my job, during Fall to be involved in a very toxic and abusive relationship in Winter, all awhile four people from my surrounding confessed their suicidal tendencies which was an additional charge on my already over loaded shoulders.

But enough of this moping! I recently reached the point where I can’t allow myself to be dragged down to the pitfall of circumstances anymore. I’m so fed up of all the bullshit that, the more I write this blog, the more I see its irrelevance. It makes me feel like opening my fucking front door and start running aimlessly like a psycho animal lost in the dead-end streets of its own purposes, setting shit on fire on its way just for the fuck of it. But that would be the easy way out, wouldn’t it be? The illusory feeling to be in control provided by the destruction of things. The truth is that I am actually lead by my fucking indestructible survival instincts. I always spring back up on my feet no matter how hard people or circumstances try to finish me up. I’m in a raging need of reanimating this fucking living dead corps that is my existence! I want to write my goddamn books, cross the path of that male version of me that will make fucking shiny stars dance before my eyes all awhile our bodies fuse, the time of an atomic orgasme, in that one little nucleus triggering an explosion that would blow our both minds every single day, for the rest of our life. No matter what they say, no matter what and who we are, no matter WTF they think you are, no matter what you’ve done (I know your core, I know what lies underneath it all and I fucking love what I see!) I would bring it into life and teach it how to survive this goddamn broken world. No matter what they fucking say, I would fight by your side and watch your back, ALWAYS, because this is who I am, and I was trained to combat.

Today, with the return of nice weather, was the go back to running outside day and it reminded how much I enjoy that fine line between pleasure and pain. It was strange though, there is so many changes operating in me lately, that people were saying hello to me on the bike path. This is not what I am accustomed to. Usually people think I’m a weirdo and avoid looking at me. Yesterday, I went to the art and handcraft store that use to be owned by my former father-in-law to buy specific material for jewellery design, first, he didn’t even recognize me. He then said something has deeply changed in me, that I looked fine and at peace, a powerful kind of different. He was half right, huh? I am more like bursting with energy. I’m inspired by light, darkness, chaos and catastrophe. By an outstanding and chaotic man with his music. Sometimes, when I let myself plunge into his art, I feel like my soul is merging with his own into something whole clair-obscur and beautiful. The contact of his core against mine turns me on and burst with inspiration pushing my creative moments to the edge of sweet folly, stories pop up inside my head. He always reminded me my strength, even as a young teenager. I grew up with his influence and probably survived because of it and still do, especially lately. I understand his approach, the message he is trying to send the world and it restores a bit of my  faith in humanity. It’s not about a notoriety, nor materialistic needs, call me a derailed romantic psycho if there lies all your ambition, I give zero fuck about the opinion of people who have given up on raw life to the profit of a judgmental pragmatism and to a fucking 9 to 5 master, but it’s about love and feeling whole.