Sin City

They tried to chain me up and throw away the key. Enslave me and kill my spirit.
Bastards.

I choked them with the very chains they tried to use, peering into their lifeless eyes as the realized their situation, gasping for an air they could not have it. Maybe now this means I’m a criminal and seeing as how I feel no regret, I might even be considered a psychopath. So be it.

Living in a forsaken city such as this one doesn’t really entice fighting for what is right nor for freedom and when crooks are the lawmakers, is abiding by the law right at all?

All I know is that I had scores to settle and someone was going down tonight and it was either me or him. I’m sure as hell that it will be him.

Is Anybody There?

If we know it is all an illusion, why do we believe in magic? It is because we want to. Maybe it is a way to see the world through a different point of view, one that allows a sliver of fantasy to permeate the air and make us wonder “How did he do that?”. Maybe we are so appalled by our own frail and fallible existence that we want to believe there is something… more, something magical.

When you experience magic, you are not truly witnessing an illusion but a different thing altogether. You are staring death in the face and saying that you will live through it, you are telling yourself that loved ones that have passed away are still with you, you are telling yourself that there is, simple as that, magic.
After taking a look at life can we really say that there is no magic out there?

Sometimes life presents to us strangers that we will hate only to love after and then hate again, or maybe it will introduce us to people we seem to think are shallow only to find that, in reality, they are like us, all too human and too afraid, maybe they need to see more magic, maybe they need to witness a bit of the wonder of the illusion and laugh a little at life – and death. To understand that we are not a single piece on a lone puzzle but all part of an intricate and elaborate chain, we are the links to our past and, as the Iroquois would have it, we are the ones who must attend our children’s land until they can attend that of their own kids.

We are not a single person. We are young, we are old, we embrace the arcane and the cutting-edge. We are naive and jaded, we live by contradictions trying to find home, trying to give life meaning, trying to find for ourselves the right trick so that one might look back in life with no regrets. We will cry, we will laugh, we will change opinions, we will sway – some more, some less – as life whims it. And as those before us have it, so will we, as will those that come after us.

Maybe I’m a silly bugger for knowingly embracing the magic act but I’ll be damned if life isn’t all about making connections or rather, the human connection. At the end of the day, when asking myself to an empty room “Is Anybody There?”, I know that no answer will come because the room is empty and all it can tell me is that there is no such things as ghosts and magic. But if I shout it through my window… an angry neighbor will most definitely reply and we will both know we are not alone and that our actions… they carry on like ripples on a lake.
Seeing the power every choice we make carries, can anyone really say that there is no such thing as magic?

The Young Baroness

She tried to find the exit sign but oh, there was no sign of it, anywhere. She expected to be sure and reassured but oh, it was all for naught. He knew her all too well and, while she might have eluded others, he could see right through her veiled secrets. She was so tired of never letting go, it had been a long year since she had last put her head on the pillows to actually get some sleep.

She wondered if he was just a hallucination caused by the lack of sleep but again, she knew it was for naught because he was all too real. She screamed and ran trying to get out but there was nowhere to go – trapped in a daydream inside her own mind, alone with him.

Lord listen to love, she is losing life, the alliteration of all the things she won’t, wouldn’t and didn’t.
She won’t listen, she wouldn’t love and she didn’t live. And for this we are all forever afflicted.

Bravado

The sand runs down on my worn out clothes. Rugged hands, leather gloves. I stare into the horizon to face my enemy, he stares back in disdain. The town is quiet with speechless folks staring at a true horror show, the debacle of human condition, soon to be forgotten. This was not just a firefight, this was the end of an era.

Our glances met before we could withdraw the firearms and we knew, we knew it was too late. The dust would corroborate our history but not this moment, not our glory. That would be left alone for the bystanders, for all there that did not dare to take action and just stood… gazing into a scene that was over all too soon.

We fell apart, exposing our human condition as we bleed to death on the dirt, the Sun burning the skin on our bones. But midnight would come and we would rise to fight again. It was the ballad of the Western Night, it was our way to fight the good fight. And as each speckle of dust flew, so did the story. As candle-light burnt, so did our glory.
We were real characters of fiction.

Burn Alive

The rain poured from the skies, the grass once dry was now drowning in irony. The Dark Horseman came riding towards the Widow, climbing down from his mount only to bow before her in a quick and formal manner. He stood up and looked straight into her eyes and, without faltering, said:

-I made a promise to come back here today, so, you see, I had to come back here. Today, not a day later.

-But that was a promise you made when we were just kids, surely you mustn’t hold onto it.

-I know what you are going to say, I see the ring in your hand, I know what happened. But I… I made a promise and even if I fail, I will not be the one to break it.

-… Why so much commitment to words you ushered so long ago?

-Because… man have grow to learn that words have no meaning, that love is merely a game of deception and that the truth is best kept safe fully hidden. They have masked their actions while belittling those of us who keep our words. There was a time when a man’s word was proof enough but now… people know words dissipate into thin air and that memories become hazy with time. The only thing they fail to realize is that… my dear… we are only as eternal as we last.

-But… are you sure?

-As sure as one can be.

They kissed, a tender kiss that had waited aeons to happen. And it was only that, a kiss. They knew they would never see each other again. He would die in the war, she would die within the motherland. They were never to see each other ever again, he was never to smell her sweet perfume nor would she ever slide her hand on the back of his neck.
This was goodbye and yet… they didn’t cry, it was raining so much… That it seemed a waste that the last thing they would ever do together would be crying.
They died with that kiss still on their lips and even if the story goes about unheard and untold… that moment, that face of human reality – It was there. And I’ll never forget as long as I last.

Watch my World Dissolve

I woke up dazed by my dreams. They spoke to me directly, knowingly bringing subjects about which I had just thought. The dreams didn’t want to let me forget, forgive, they brought memories and feelings I can only loosely describe as scary. What follows is the tale I dreamt of.

In what seemed to be a preparation for a party, a group of people gathered in my apartment. Some where in the kitchen, preparing a cake, woven from wide chocolate stripes, being prepared just like woven baskets are. It was symbolizing a horse and I know there was a rider in the imagery but I get confused and cannot recall exactly where the rider was. A college friend was there, someone whose friend I developed a crush on. As I moved deeper into my apartment, I saw that girl for whom I had a crush, let’s call her A. The one that makes your heart race and your head spin. That kind of girl. She knew how to push my buttons but I moved towards her to end things. I sat with her and another girl nearby, whom I will call J, and wrote a goodbye letter. And a love letter. To her, it was the goodbye letter, to the other girl in the room, it was the love letter. I printed it out and tried to give it to her but J took it from my hands. As I tried to speak, to break up with A, she started to try and tell me of her affection, showing me a hand-sewed bag, adorned with images and mementos in my honor. They spoke of wolfs, birth, motherhood, love and war. It moved me and I don’t even know precisely why, because one should not need a bag with painting decals to make the other know what the hell is going on. As she showed me this, J, who I’ve always liked, stared at me, jealous. She looked very different from what I know she looks like but… it was her. I took the letter out of her hands, worried that that would ruin my relationship with A. I ripped the letter apart, asking J how far had she read it and she only replied “As far as the other name appears.”. I knew she had read the title of the love letter that I wrote for herself. I continued tearing the paper apart, taking it to a trash bin… and all the time, J stared at me. There she was, in the hallways, looking at me. Hiding secrets. Girl A was nowhere to be found after that and I looked at the ripped letter in my hands, it had turned into dough, as in, pizza dough. I looked around trying to understand what was happening but… there was no sense to be made out of it.
The more I think of it, the less I like this dream. It remembers me of funerals, as if I was the one dying. Or were I already dead?

I can’t shake the feeling of this dream away and how awful I feel right now. I feel betrayed, lost in a maze of shadows. I feel… a bit dead. And I have yet to see someone understand that.

The Florist

I always found it funny that girls can’t give boys flowers. People found it funny, that I didn’s see why things were that way. Sure, as a gentleman, I understand the concept of gifts, I like giving them, I like the smiles I see. Still… why would it ever be wrong for a girl to give me flowers? I have no doubt some bitter folks would snicker behind my back, making claims about my manhood and social status. The fact remains that the status quo has not changed, I’m still the same old young man working in the shop. Why is it then, that girls can’t give boys flowers? Because I know a lady who gave me flowers, her name was Cecilia, she had a long hair as dark as the night, her lips were scarlet red, her eyes spoke a different language, they told me it was all ok. Her eyes told me it was ok for men to receive flowers, it was ok to love and be loved.
Even for a guy, like me.

How to Create the Holocaust

Another night ridden with insomnia, another dream that tells fantastic tales.
It showed me the terror under the roof I lived, with maggots coming through the floorboards on a house that knows no affection, a house nobody wants. A house so consumed by an amoral pest that it had to be shutdown, closed forever, leaving my guardian dog inside, on his own. I cried for him but I still walked away. I heard him bark and snarl. But I just… walked away, waiting for the cars to clear the path on the crossroads so that I could walk away.
(more…)

Gloom

I remember when I was young, I’d enjoy the nights doing my geeky activities, reading books until my eyes couldn’t stay open… and, as much as I don’t miss those times I find myself currently stuck in a rather terrifying situation. The nights I once loved for the silence and peace now come back to haunt me… they remind me of how alone I am, of how far everyone is, of how much I miss being hugged or having someone care for me. They truly make me realize that I’m all by myself and… I am afraid. Afraid of knowing that I can have a great future, afraid of not accomplishing it, afraid of so much, having so little.
Gosh… I miss human contact… I’m stuck in this block of concrete, within 4 walls that know all my secrets, my bed is a mess, my mind is clear. I know what is wrong and yet, I go and just write a song.
On the other hand, I don’t want to sleep. My dreams have been… beautiful, as of late, and as much as it shouldn’t, it is scary that I wake up and want to go back to the dream, live it instead of the reality that surrounds me. Is my life that dull? Is the lack of female companionship that great? Is the lack of laughs so overwhelming? Is the loneliness so terrible? Yes, it is.
I try a Placebo, but that is no cure…and The Cure is not working. The girl? The girl was never there. And I’m lost in a forest.

Memóir

The weird part in all of it is that, despite the lack of lights and the lack of windows, the room was as bright as it could have been. Children laughter filled it up, writting tales on the walls, tales of all things fantastic. They built a world in that room, lit by the dim twilight and heart’s desires. They knew something new was starting, they just didn’t know what.
They knew why though and, maybe, that is all that matters. They knew why. Love carried their hearts with wings, not making them prisioners, but making them… attached, knowing that there was a place on God’s green Earth for them – a place where they were accepted and could be themselves; kids, playing around in a room.

Today I stand here staring at the crumbling walls of that old room, can’t help but fill a sense of doom and gloom. Doesn’t feel like home anymore, the peeling paint makes our drawings torn, shreded mementos of our long lost home. God… this place brings so much memories to mind, it is almost as if my body was imersed in a daydream…
I hear the circus drums as they parade through the main avenue, the song echoes in my heart and plays my strings, I smile and I see her eyes smile back.
A kiss.

Lost such a long time ago, where she is now, I don’t know.
Wish I knew, but she became a mere memory.
God knows I’ve been forgetting things lately.
How can I find someone else when I don’t know myself?
This is all I have, fragments of a life long gone, sometimes it feels as if it even was not my own, I mean, how can it be mine if I don’t recall the events, if I can’t claim ownership on past acts?
I guess I’m stuck daydreaming, I wish I was stuck living.

A Dream I just Had – Literally

I remember a camp, seemed like it belonged to the army – but not a regular division. We were young in there, we were nothing but teenagers, ours worries and our hearts did not lay with the training we were given. We were tasked to perform maneuvers with perfection, quite a few of us however would coreograph artsy dances and present it to our capitan, a stocky middle age lady who I’ve almost never seen smile. In the yard were we performed, there were a few buildings grouped together, almost an army-slum. There was a japanese man in one of them whom I’ve met – he was blind and while I can’t recall the exact reason, which is as odd as it can be, given the impact he had on my life, I knew that simply being near him saddened me a great deal. That man had experienced great losses and still lived, somehow I felt shame of myself for how I dealed with things.
There was a woman who lived in the nested building, she had curly hair and seemed to be in her mid twenties, maybe her thirties. She was pretty but had also suffered a great deal.
One day I was talking with the blind man about things of the world and she came to us and gave him a doll, a memóir from her childhood.
Like a knife cutting through my heart and making me tremble, my eyes filled with tears. The blind man touched the doll’s face, saying it was a pretty doll… he turns to her and asks “But what is this on her face?”
Tears.
Who had made a doll with tears? I don’t know, but by now my own tears rolled down my face. I had to get out, I had to not go through both of these.
I made a run for it – and became a deserter.

I wasn’t alone in my escape, a close friend, a special lady, joined with me – she knew how to give me new life and… I’ll be honest, I have no idea why she would do that, go to so many great lengths and sacrifice her own life for mine… but I was glad. Glad to have someone nearby, to be able to fall asleep in the car knowing that I would wake up to find her still there. It was as bittersweet as it could have been.

As we travelled, I remembered of events of the past as if they were happening right now – silly things, like trying to get someone a present… I remember going into a store, seeing things with a huge discount and phoning home, it was up to 90% off. I relived playing with friends – but it felt very lonely. I remembered an event that seemed important, the reason for me being a desertor… we were invited into a radio station, me, my folks and others. I was scoffed by the people there though as a mere ‘spectator’ and that I shouldn’t speak. I was angry, but more than that I was saddened – why did I keep getting that feeling that I simply don’t belong? I remember exiting the radio station and entering a shack in which I once studied. Took a look at the work laying there, grades were better than mine. I opened it only to film mind blowing drawings, strong reds and dark ink, just how I like it. It was a noir tale too. The characters are now vague figures in my imagination, but I’ll never forget the colors…

As we went from town to town, we discovered that every plan has flaws. We made a stop – a final stop, with this car at least. We ditched it in a parking lot, I took off my military helmet, finally rid of it, broke a piece of it a nibbled, as if chewing bubblegum. We walked the ramp out of that parking lot, avoiding the cameras. As we walked, we reached a side-door in an immense building, we heard incoming voices and panicked, pressing the doorbell button. As quickly as we pressed, we were taken inside – not in a hostile manner, but as if applicants for jobs. We were asked for different names than our birth-given ones and we nodded, those would be our new names then. We took an elevator with the two man who made us panick in the first place. Upon reaching the floor, we saw what apparently was an industry all by itself, making metallic parts, welding and all things concerned. I applied for a job as a welder, having had some former practice and knowing the geist, I could probably get through it. The place had an open-sky… I remember she hugged me, clutching her legs around mine as I spined her in the air – I’ll never forget her smile.
A young and very cute lady came to talk to me about the welder job, asking if I was there just passing by or to stay…
Turns out that place was more of a community than an industry. Things were not perfect, we would see giant rims and tubes, people pass on by train tracks – but damn it… it was better than the military – it felt like, more or less, I belonged.

Random Eloquence

Drumsticks on your street, we go and we fly for that beat, we make it, make it so wherever we go.
Oh the beat, the song of joy, this isn’t just a ploy, so, please, don’t conspire when I say that you do indeed inspire
- great things, among chimeras and dreams, you build better illusions it seems.
I’ve lost my way only to find it in your chest, taken down the path of a deep breath, reaching a short sob but never stalled.

I stand my ground until this day, where I wait for you, only you know the way,
To break the shackles and set me free, to let me be with whom I want to be,
Running gooses and flying speed trains, acid artichokes and plasma grains,
Making no sense in this dream that you made me write.

Rally all the troops and strike for every right, we ought to take a bite,
Vampires in love we suck the blood out of what we’ve got.
Don’t be upset that I love that I hate that I spelt it all right.
God, how can you make the days so bright?