Sevrage

Se ronge le dedans,

Comme la lèpre la peau,

Distillée par les yeux

La douleur s'écoule

Cheminant gauchement vers l'abime,

D'entre les genoux

Des lèvres s'échappent,

Des vapeurs de moisi,

Colorant les pales murs

Des mortes et vieilles fantaisies

Parfumant de nouveau

Le regard misérable, brumeux,

Des cadavres noircis

Maintenant bien trop silencieux

Une boue peu rougeâtre

Titube dans les artères

S'arrêtant trop souvent,

Faisant les longs cils

Autrefois vifs,

Se taire

Ne reste plus que le manque,

Le désir,

L'absence

L'abstinence...

Le silence

De ma triste addiction

Comment puis-je m'absoudre,

Quand le problème

Est que tu es ma solution?

Sweet, dear, loving time

I would love to be able to start this little post by declaring my undying love and affection to this trustworthy friend and dreadful enemy. However, I keep wondering if it is time that changes me or if I am to discover it doesn't actually do much to the metamorphosis taking hold of me as of late.

Oh yes, my tender flesh and young blood are changing their chemical compound at a speed I have never witnessed before. It is as if I could hear under my skin the molecules clashing and reforming and be forced to watch the very fibre that covers me expand and stretch and refold in a hurtful origami dance that seems to be going nowhere…

It may not be the first time that these changes occur. With time and age and mistakes I guess they must unfold upon anyone. Nevertheless, I have never felt them as strong and as completely out of control as these past few months.

What is there to be understood of this? Passing pages will eventually come back? Will the old be entirely replaced or be modified and kept? Will the dust gathered upon so many corners be swept away or just lay down again on other shapes?

Is the finding to be proved true... that people are merely walking equations, understood by few but mysterious to others, that love and friendship are but variables and that the melting of bodies just a coma between units and subunits… Is selfishness and doubting others to be the newly crowned queen of the reign over my future?

I don't even know where these words are taking me. It's still so blurry and dark…

"Camina la punta de mis dedos sobre tus hombros,

Sobre la piel dura, como la que cubre los libros,

Se me rompen las unas al tratar de abrirte,

Y se me queman los ojos al tratar de leerte…"

[to M., to Y., to S., to DD.]

Where are you hiding my child?

Why aren't you hiding where you are supposed to?

. . .

I'll rip off my skin to cover your shoulders

And leave me as naked as before I was born

And make the world that surounds you

Leave your four walls alone...

I'll give you my hands to sew to your elbows

To cover the cracks and rebuild the windows

And be a statue of warmth and of silence

Left for your pleasure of constance...

. . .

And I'll hear all of the noise

And I'll drink all of the words

That may someday kill your joys

Or be knocking on your door...

No thighs will give you such a welcome

No legs will hide you just as well

No other arms will ever hold you

With the power of an eggshell...

And I'll be like a little shadow

You may sometimes touch or kiss

And then dissapear forever

And be back if I am missed...

[to Y.]

Come sway with me my long lost lover,

Hope and dreams are gone for thee

Drown your anger to the other

In my sheets and sheets to be.

Bend my skin as you may please

Bend my mind and breaths and knees

Tare apart the walls and laces

Leave me sinking in embraces.

Take my thoughts and thoughts to be

Break them from reality

Make me lie and cheat and hate

Be your slave from dusk to wake...

Teach my heart how to care less

So that my mind won't die of loss...

[to Espñ.]

Unsculptured

[to A.N. and Dj.]

Non-Couleurs

[to Dj.]