Daymare

You are like a dream that won’t go away,
Even when my eyes are closed
and as the pendulum sways,
I look up and can’t really say…

Was it a mistake all along,
Was it a lie, was it wrong?
Was it real or was it fake?
Answer me, for christ’s sake!

Intangible nightmare trapping daydream,
Things are not what they seem, oh,
Mary-Go-Round, turn turn turn around
Because you won’t go away
But when I ask, you won’t stay.
And so I said and so I walk astray-
Thoughts you would never betray.
If you ever loved me you just have to say.

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.

Seven Feet Apart

The story is not yet final,
It is going to be okay,
Dry your eyes,
We’ll make it through with canddlelight…
Please…
Dry your eyes.

Please understand where we both stand
How far and how close
We are not one of them nor one of those.
Dry your eyes,
No more tears, no more lies.

Dry your eyes,
I’m still with you,
No more lies,
Far apart and near too.

My book is closed yours is not,
Keep writing with what you got
And dry your eyes.
Our memory never dies.

I rest in peace
So, rest, please.
Dry your eyes…
Dry your eyes…
I love you.

Twin-Tailed Whale

The old adage through the lips,
Slowly but surely creeps.
An ancient candle lights,
Our long lost future fights.

Living in a world inverted
With a life out of bed…
If I’m the complication
Remove me from your equation.

If I ever see you again,
The idea I might entertain.
But as we stand
We also strand.
Sense, I make none,
The last ship is by now,
gone.

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.

Heartless Trees

I hope everything goes sour,
A stale taste in your final hour
As you gasp for air
But it is not there.

They may believe but I don’t,
I can’t and I won’t.
Ignorance knows not my name
I’m no dog to be tame.

Blissful smile serenading lies,
Come close so I can sever the ties
Total lockdown is a damnation
I’ll end this relation.

You choose your path
So let me take a breath
Because mine is tough to climb
- I know you don’t mind.

It is so wrong but a scream
It was right but a dream
We end up in different homes
In the end, trees without pomes.

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.