Borbaletta:: A First Interlude of Blind Love::
River of Days
Ocean of Nights
Spent waiting
One shining moment
I Saw your face
No lifetime long
Could replace
A moment is all it takes
Gently we touch
Under the tears of the stars
Wanting so much
To hold you
I can see falling thru space
And fear no more
Years I sailed from shore to shore
to be met finally
By this Curse on Disguise
You cant sleep because you are wired. That spun gold head of yours is spun right out.
I know how to sleep off the coke but you pester and pester me to stay awake. I tell you on one condition. So you get undressed with out delay. I am slow arousing. Exhausted, cartooned out of my head, spinning in another galaxy but soon enough…I spare no muscle, no ligament, no joint or tendon is overlooked. A real work out on you and four orgasms later, that coke packed patrician nose of yours is snoring away. And now I am awake. And I want satisfaction too, for my effort, woman. Flip you over and play the A side…yep I am getting a song out of you now as you waken to the second assault on the distant white peaks…the rain is coming…
Things go better with coke – but the sex izz wi-I-I-LLLL- D!!!
I have made an important discovery: The one thing that you Stregas have in common with me, that drew us together. You have no fear of death because you demand so much from life. I think that the fear of death in other people, is similar to their resentment of life. You thought is was a game, I cant explain…so free and light. Until Jealosy came to wake you out of being comfortable and numb in a sort of suburban life.
(C’mon! Its time to go…Look at the show…I see your mouth moving but I cannot hera the words you say. I turn to look but its gone…)
Human resentment of life occurs because Life demands of them more than they have the imagination to demand of life. The more we ask of living, the less we fear dying. Like me, you would rather die than think about death.
Kelebek… The Butterfly Of Dreams::
I never feel solitude and you keep me smiling
With my first star at night
I will never loose my way home.
“Se você morrer - eu morro duas vezes”
“If you die – I will die twice”.
I say how hard it is to die
You say how hard it is to be free
The bed sheets isolate us from a past while we create a new future.
Ballet Caliente
I do not accept death
Not even with dignity – I will “rage against the dying of the Light”, as Yeats said
As I will never loose faith in you
If you die on me you will create a Void in the world.
A woman left alone will pull in anything to fill the void.
They have to fill their houses, their lives, their cunts, their handbags.
Nothing must be empty
I dream with out wanting to
Of you – my Purple Star Fish.
Tesekkur ederim!!
I have always sat here thinking of things NOT to write. I begun writing in my head when you were a horny little schoolgirl, sister…
Every School Boy Knows-
which is a diversion from the humdrum reality of This Real World of our Fore Fathers, though nothing one thinks up in advance ever really makes it to the page. And God knows what an effort it can be.
You've come a long way, since your last life.
It has been a terrible mistake to give up all my divine vices for which I pay dearly at the same time. None of it matters any more - the fact is that I could very well drink as much scotch as I damn well pleased, and I could get it on all night. But now almost every food like substance and/or semi-luxury item seems to be absolutely disgusting, appalling, revulsion-inducing. There are a few things that, if I even consider them with all…are worth my consideration. Not even your feminine peers.
It torments me endlessly.
This happened to me only once before. I was seven years old, home, sick with the flu, definitely with a fever, and I lay out on the back lawn trying to heat up in the sun…I was so cold… and I fantasized about a jelly the same color as the sky, and what its taste and texture would be like. It was good.
I just don't remember exactly, but I do remember the first time I touched your firm young summer girl bum, and kissed and gently bit the resilient musculature, I do remember that it was one of my first manifestations of an inner life that was not to be embraced by the world at large. Not much different from last Christmas. You have not changed.
Now, I am going to say something that may shock or disappoint some among you. But in a desire to be perfectly honest and to pull no punches, I must confess: It is absolutely no fun whatsoever to be a joker or a clown. Which brings merriment and fun to all I meet. If I was a woman I would surely live the life of a courtesan – and just share the pleasures of the flesh with one Just Like Me
The deluded and lying media and populace that I have had the opportunity to apprehend must be something to do with prolonging the time allotted on earth to this human race.
Maybe it will change.
I have not given up hope completely - note: hope is the wrong word in this context. I have no hope that it will ever be comfortable, enjoyable or emotionally/psychologically rewarding to be human forever. I am just trying to get through the day.
I think about her who must have announced she was pregnant to the world at large when she was going to give birth to the Apple of my Eye:
I loved her dearly, but I am forced to admit that she and her kind will inherit the earth. She will endure. I needed a wife like her? Who doesn't?
I need a wife who is like me.
The meek shall inherit the earth.
The rest of us will go to the stars
Sea and sand
Sun and sex
Down on the Beach with you
My favorite angel
The days of wine and song
And nights rolling like thunder in that big bed
Your champagne breath urging me on – relentless
Beading sweat all over my skin
I listen to you sing
The Body Electric
The taste of you on my tongue
You dance frenetic
The dance of Kali
Our passion drove us to seek each other out
And having found, to devour
And having satiated
To flee from each other
To hide from our heat
To conceal our hearts
To remember and to weep
Knowing how fragile we are.
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