"You want to see the sky, just put a window in your eye" But your eye is liquid, I cannot breathe. That's perfect, languishing spanish ink with green and purple glints. I swim up to the surface, I am so wet, hallucinated, spanish glints sea, I'll never be the same. I cannot stay in the waters forever. On the bank fizzy fairies are dancing in the wind. So young, so fresh, bubbles smiles bubbles eyes, and I am young again, I'll never be the same again. What do you learn in school? School? What's that? Books? Heroes? Your book and your dreams, my fairy. Words, mooves, looks, and I am crazy.
Waking up, new light. I once was lost in that chinese austere and full-of-mysterious-expectations-and-coldness world. Tried to tell myself that there was nothing more. It broke my heart, felt in another dream, and I don't recognize my chinese faces anymore, they lost their charm (I mean, I forget...), they left it in some past faces, fixed forever, and that forever will end soon, where bubbles will pop again and my brain go crazy for it.
Love is never boring, but I am exhausted. I've traveled all around the world, where the sea tastes gum, metal, ink... Lost, found, lost, found, my explorers, endind in the pub of low imagination, or sleeping till inspiration comes back, at the edge of an hair, of a finger that is so soft it is creepy love. Creepy love, pudding, yaourt culmination. Creamy fairy, don't jump to hard, or if you do, take my hand. Even without seing each other, we are in the yaourt together and that's everything. Is everything that I say just getting you hungry? Well you don't have to open your eyes and look, it will burn. Just taste. Doudooudou, my raspberries! Little perfect worlds, you're not vessels? What really is moving? We usually ask the wrong questions, we are so wrong, I am the extraterrian laugher! Suffocating in my pudding! Stop, now there's just air, I don't understand... I have no consistancy, nothing, nothing... Now I don't believe in any form of body. The states are messing with me: air, liquid, gaz, all the same.
Thursday, September 15, 2005
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2 comments:
Delicious words, thank you.
A little smoke makes my life a symphony, that's wild... I hope not to give you indigestion soon.
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