trying trying

but not quite making it.

i've been distracted, recently. and i am tired. so i have no poetry in my head. i read levine, a couple of times, top of my lungs, and i shed a few tears. but still no rythm. still no images. i come here, to warm up. but i only have like... one hour left? i want to see the debate. i try to relax. hint. invite.

o brother where are thou?

i know you're around, your shyness is cute, but now i need you, mr dark side. we have some work to do. bring on the images. i am willing to type them down. minutes pass. this is not working. i used to have this vibration in my head, where did that go? where did that go, once more? when will it return? okay okay, i will wait.

i lit my cigarrette and do the waiting.

***

Is God willing to prevent evil, but not able?
Then he is not omnipotent.
Is he able, but not willing?
Then he is malevolent.
Is God both able and willing?
Then whence cometh evil?
Is he neither able nor willing?
Then why call him God?

Epicurus

...and Dreams.

back.

home.

it's cold and i'm envolved by Darkness. it's the right set up for Dreams.

Dreams, it's part 2. part 2, it's paris. paris, it's hell. and hell, that's where my Dreams are put down, like a wild dog. but somehow they manage to reborn, and so does part 2, paris, hell, the wheel is moving and i can't make it stop. in this vortex, my Dreams already dead, i'm just a journalist, reporting, from hell. i've become what writers become, which is, life, it doesn't really happen until it's all written down, plain and to the point, and whatever it's thrown at me, i sit, munch, stamp on paper, shrug it off. it's the writer condition. in words it shall live on.

look at us. a month and a half and so grown already. so whole. we're doing a good job.

the day ends now.

curtaincall.

happy valentine, m'sieur.

Dreams (cont)

my dear, i am tired and it's a month and a half before we finish the project, this is gonna end me.

other than a very stressful period at work, i'm doing fine, fighting the urges to take off, hit the road, change. 9 months here and i'm already bored. i hope this feeling is due to my work situation cos the alternative is having to accept that i just need to hop on, town to town, on town at a time. like there's no end. forever. ah well. there's worse things i guess.

i'm verseful, that is all. you know what it does, in my head. the words won't let me sleep tight. then in the light, i can't seem to focus.

wait a sec. brb.

if my Dreams are closer,

it just means my mind has been pushed away.

i'm seeing dark spots. there's someone at the corner, in the shadows. i see you.

happy valentine, m'sieur.

i acknowledge you. you've always been there for me, and i appreciate it. you're a good friend. you bring on fantastic moods. you've pushed me to my best, that's priceless, and timeless.

you remind me of what's important: intensity. be reasured, i'll hold my ground.

a toast, to us.

This Be The Verse

They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.

But they were fucked up in their turn
By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
And half at one another's throats.

Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
And don't have any kids yourself.

Philip Larkin

twenty

We were twenty
for such a short time and always in
the wrong clothes, crusted with dirt
and sweat. I think now we were never twenty.

Philip Levine