Broken glasses, don’t say you are sorry. Right there, yes, right there, straight to the point I want to reach. Lay down and rest on your bruises. Frames of lies, vanished quicksand and bottomless prisms. A bed of roses, red as the dawn…how could you turn your back on me, but I did the same, detatching myself from your shape. Find me the head, I will show you the wings and you’ll realize that words can’t make a realm. Falls of concrete tears are crushing you down and your black eyes are wrap by the empty space that is folding your sould. Don’t pull the trigger if you don’t want that explosion of red filling up your nose. Now I’ll show you the body and you’ll know the root of the truth.
Archive for dicembre, 2010
Blonde underneath a blackened hair, crawling into a bed of broken nails. Mascara glass, swollen throat, boar abrasions and a kiss. “I’ll never let them hurt you” she said, “I’ll never let them in”.
Bait into the water, closer to the end, I’ve become the apparition. My coat has hid the marks. Please beware of them that stare, take your time and you’ll be fine.
Who will be the first? Who will save you? Whats your odd? Biting their fingernails, patiently, they are waiting for an answer. Fatherless in midair squeal.
Flares of black eyelids, blinking out acid obscurities.
You made me open my eyes, I turn my head and I open that door. In that moment I just realized how beautiful you were and that carring others’ pack of lies was not my job. I really appreciate your fancy moves, your way of collect hair, your gaze full of malice and untold secrets. Picking clothes for you is my new challange and you are my new doll…you belong to me. Kindly you walk to me and the shape of your body in front of that light is a delight vision for my eyes that are waiting impatient to hold your hips. As a snowflake in a cold night you were a gift. What you gave me is mine and what is mine I never give. Now, red maked glasses left on that table are standing there, your parfum has permeated pillows and sheets and the night has became day. The flames around the room are not dancing anymore but I keep feeling your warm and silky skin over me. Bonjour mon amour, bonjous mon ange.
White and pure like the corpses ashes is coming down. The religious silence is filling up the black holes among walls made of dark bricks. Red and blue lights conspire on gripped floor cold as the last victim of a polyester bag. The train up there wont stop again on satin railoards while a kid is yelling pointing at that white hill. Emergency is evident and the traffic is stuck while colorful umbrellas are floating in the snow. Her fever collapsed again and the breath is slow but the mausoleum is no more a vision. The blue is turning green and the red is brighter just as blood on icy water. Lachrymal smiles and bouncing ink gestating with snakes at the end of the storm and that table there looks like a cake.
There’s no light, no, there’s no light in the darkest corner where words reach the quietest noises. Panic digs into disease, flirting with pain, lost in a spiral of metallic clouds. A blistering sky crumbles to hemorrhaged lips thirsty of nervous truths. Succubus worms, eating air from the ground and licking colors, are dying because a sick dream is condemning them. Frivolous mouses sink their teeth into the scars of a bone, trying to running away from petrified flowers. Depth perception of memories cut from rusty razorblades brings visions on knees, but this, this never happened.
I suoi passi scacciavano via gli aggrinziti rumori che si propagavano attorno a lui, attraversò la strada e lo colpì l’immagine della città vuotà. Una vecchia bici senza la ruota posteriore era legata ben salda ad un palo della segnaletica stradale, in quell’angolo del viale dove tutto è permesso, e veloci le mani si muovono negli scambi, come in un innocente gioco erotico. Lo stridere della luce lampeggiante sconfinava nelle stanze buie dove il sonno banchettava con i rimorsi. Accostò il cappotto, il vento gelido gli si avventava contro e si rassegnò quando le pioggia gli si abbattè addosso. Un urlo, poi una risata, a spezzare le tese corde dei pensiesi che lo attanagliavano. Mise la mano in tasca e tirò fuori un mazzo di chiavi legate tra loro con uno spago, aprì la porta di casa e lo assalì un dubbio…la macchina! L’aveva chiusa?
…siete pregati di non visitare questo blog e di non proseguire oltre nella lettura dei vari post. Ci si lamenta per il tono delle parole troppo forti ed esplicite, non consone…non consone a cosa? Emerite testa di cazzo! Provato a sfogliare un vocabolario della lingua italia e cercate la parola “cazzo” Cosa trovate? Ah, bene, allora non è poi una brutta parola, lo avete scoperto da soli, allora vi dico di cercare anche “bagno”, così capirete che il vostro essere ottusi non è l’unico limite che vi rende tali, ma anche la vostra poca conoscenza della lingua madre. Adesso avete capito che “bagno”, come erroneamente e volgarmente lo chiamiano, non è forse così giusto come credevate. Sala da bagno sarebbe corretto, neache WC, perchè non è una parola italiana, ma se continuate a leggere, tutto, fino in fondo, allora vi sorprenderebbe l’aver trovato la parola “cesso” come sinonimo, molto più adatta ad appellare quel luogo dove andiamo a defecare! Luridi ipocriti, perbenisti, bigotti e ignoranti. Censuariamo la parola figa, ma basta scorrere i canali dei vari programmi televisivi o sfogliare una rivista per vederne una, basterebbe guardare i cartelloni pubblicitari nelle nostre città per avere una visione di una gigantografia di un culo che vi invoglia a comprare una birra….perchè magari fa bene al fondoschiena, forse elimina anche la cellulite, chissà. Dovrebbero lobotomizzare l’80% della popolazione, e censurare il 90% dei programmi inutili che ci propinano. Inetti voi, che continuate a cibare il vostro cervello, inquinandolo, con l’edificante visione del grande fratello e i suoi simili. Questi sarebbero i programmi da censurare, non parole in libertà, vere e dirette. Riflettete e quando avete finito, ricominciate, e poi, fatelo ancora e ancora, aprite i vostri occhi! Riscoprite l’arte…andate a cercare anche questa parola.
Your smile, like a colorful kite is taking me away from this blackened ice that is burning my skin, drawing weird faces with shapes of pain. Empty noises are rolling down against walls of roses to explode in mystic symphonies that hug my harm and dry heart. Corrupted bodies are looking for a late revenge, so please, let’s keep running, faster, until the wind is going to support our wings. There is a new sky to see, a warm and unconscious universe too young to implode. Cut the wire that olds me here, on this blacened ice ‘cause the skin keep burning. One more step, another one and we are gone.
Yes, one more time, I did it, I did it again. Like a beginner or a newbie, like every stupid little naive dreamer, I gave trustiness for free like if it’s was a glass full of butterflies. Like if my dignity wasn’t tired yet to be crushed down against field of rusty nails, infected by your hypocrisy. Oh no, it’s not going to happen anymore, next time I will let you crawling back with your lies like a sick and dirty dog, I will spit on your muddy face and I’ll let you lick my ass hole till your tongue is sore. I will bound and tie you up and when your useless and aroused lips are begging for my comprehension, I’ll fuck your mouth till I’ll chocke you. Less than zero your eyes are going to be for me in the minute you start gagging. You, piece of shit, fucking worthless worm, you must strip under a bed of dead leaf while I feed you up with my urine. Fuck you!
Wax Simulacra 