falling

i fall in love with each and every one of my characters and stories. i walk around seeing through a character's eyes, feeling through his, hers, or its biography. i mold my thoughts through the idiosyncrasies of my characters. i meet one or another that fits my unadulterated description of the character and i start exploring the real to construct the virtual. adulteration begins, fantasy and imagination do their magic, and i disappear. it is the only prayer and blessing that i know. it is escape.

it is time to cut the strings loose. it is time to let go of it all. it is time.

i like whores and adulterers.

i am falling. i am falling in love all over again. once more. it is not even for old time' sake.

 

expressions

i lied to you. i did. i was not working hard to forget you, i was working hard to forget me. months later i get on a jet needing distance. at the door to my flat am reminded of what i keep leaving behind. i keep forgetting me, and then i forget that i forgot, and work even harder to just forget: me.

it is a mad cat. i wanted a horse and ended up with a cat. i pick it up, and we go to the balcony. i squint and can not see. i feel it purring snug in my arms.

it was night. the freaking cat does not forget me. each and every time, i leave it behind. i stay away for months on end. the cat does not forget and each and every time, it is a ritual. it loves the warmth, any warmth, even my warmth; it purrs and purrs. i watch across the city at my feet. it is just the cat that does not forget me. high above the crowds, in the night, on a balcony, the cat and me, we forget.

you reminded me of existence. you reminded me of being human. you reminded me that i had left the cat. the cat has not been left alone. the cat does not care about my presence in the flat. the cat does not care, it purrs.

misplaced

misplaced a girl. picked her up, and tossed her away. am just a kid, a little kid. i am still that little kid who can not write, but writes. am still that little kid who learned to live alone, was told that that was wrong, and grew old to rediscover that being a kid and alone is just the kid's life.

the girl is now misplaced. born and orphaned, she grew. humiliated, she stood. wronged, she smiled. now the kid remembers the girl misplaced.

put a stone on it, she did. the misplaced girl put a stone on it.

 

farewell fair one

wished you had been a man, strong and potent in will

wished you had had what i imagined that you had

wished you had known what i knew all along

wished you had had the courage

wished you had been stronger than this one.

wished,

and then wished again.

did not want to accept what i knew.

you search,

may you be fortunate, and find.

farewell fair one.

mended

It has been a while since we last sat by the fire and had a good chat. It has been a while since I wondered along the river Thames and felt nothing at all besides the emptiness of the street and the coldness of the blood in my veins. It has been a while since I confessed my perversions without saying a word. It has been a while since I wrote while thinking of you. It has been a while since I wrote you a letter. It has been a while since we have caressed each others egos. It has been a while since I felt the thirst that your presence inspires.

i think. sometimes. maybe. all i need is the smallest of all gestures, and then i am calm again. you show up in the remotest corner of my horizon, you are peace. oh, i do not understand this, and i am delighted in my lack of understanding. would we be able to access solitude and silence in the nurturing arms of each other's respect?

Now i remember the cold blood in my veins. it's summer, it rains. I walk barefoot out on the bare stones and the Thames is far away. You continue to be my muse. I continue to be the autistic being. I am wrapped by that other public persona who embraced solitude. We are in each other's arms. We never left each other's cradle.

Illusion, delusion and denial return and I tell myself that I am mended. I tell myself all the lies in the world, and on rare occasions I  believe one or the other. Those lies that I tell myself and believe in, they are opium. They make me feel good in the oblivion of no memories and no past. I am in love with no memories. I am tormented by the recollection of the gems and their sparkle that blinds my eyes.

I hear thunder out over our village. I listen to the rain splattering on the roof. I hear the water murmuring all over the yard. The stones are wet. I walk on the stones. I walk under the rain and dance. Just dance. Just forget. My autism has me locked inside, unexplained, unrestrained, preordained, self-contained. Not broken.

 

change

change is good

i return to the past

it is stale

it is dusty

 

about you and me

we have no past

we have no future

 

change; no future

 

you go figure

today

 

 

drunk

after all of it, i am just drunk. i never told you that there was another. i ran from his arms into yours. i told you sweet little lies. i schemed drama and acted in tragedy. i never told you that i could not be with what the other offered. i never told you about the other's nobility.

i never told you.

i never told you about the origins of the story that i wrote. i told you fabulous little stories, fables. my imagination runs unbound, and my perversion cannot be grasped. you fell into all of it, and i almost fell with it all.

damn!

there are days when i want to beat you. not that i want to annihilate you, not that i want to hurt you, but because i want to take over your mind, soul and body. i want all of you, and i want to give nothing of me.

i want to absorb all of you. i want to breathe the air that you breathe. i want to devour you.

those are the bad days. those are the days of reason.

then there are the other days, most of the days, when i am just happy that i caught a glimpse of you and our mysteries.

those are the days of normal madness.

i do not understand

it is strange to me that you would come back in the middle of the night when i had just returned home. i was not expecting you. i was working hard to forget you.
you returned last night. you returned when i had given up on you. you were there and you did not dare speaking the words. i saw your face and wondered if that person could be you. i did not want it to be you, but you were not it, you were there, you were present, and you had returned.
i am not sure that i know how to accept you in my life.
this time, now that you have returned, all that i know is that it is not important to me. it seems important to you. i do not want promises. i do not want apologies. i do not even want you. i accept. i do not understand. i accept that i do not understand. and i do not understand you.

amante et amant

yes. woke up remembering dreaming of you discussing law and literature. it was a grey day, we were on a grey couch, and i had my legs on your lap and the head on the arm rest. you are real, and you have rarely entered my dreams; you have entered me and my reality, not the dreams.

i was wondering if this was a wake up call. wake up to reality, it is better than the dreams!

i have to conclude that reality is far better. the dreams are the leftovers from the slavery to the present. dreams find no place in the unfurling of the universe and get caught in the imaginary world of the virtual delusions.

it occurs to me that you do not know, and that you do not care, and that it does not matter that there is another one.

it is nothing

she walked in the rain. she did. she keeps telling herself that it is nothing. she wonders if she even believes the lies that she tells herself. nothing. it is nothing. nothing.

it is nothing.

nothing.

reflection

you are the fantastic adventure. i am the fantastic adventure. we were born restless. you and i. you and i were born in a state of entanglement. i know your fear, i know your pain. we touched, we felt it.

there is a next chapter in our book. the pages are turning. change. we both know it.

not a dream

i have not been dreaming. reality is as the dream seems. language. you spoke of Napoli, i listened. i listened. i listened!

you make me think of laying in my death bed holding your hand. i want to die holding your hand. this is not a dream, but i forget. when i forget, i think it is a dream. not a dream.