Strange days know me well...
When loosing the horizon
the weight of the body and soul
is deeply felt and lucid eyes
create monumental demons.
Those demons that yesterday
created a civilization
in my head, are now on their own,
destroying my sanity and familiarity
with life and others.
No little thing is inspiration
cause the ways of invention
need force, guidance and orientation.
Without, there is only confusion
my dear friend.
No life felt only submerse feeling
of nothingness and no imagination
or looking forward for tomorrow.
When I go down I just go
cause I get tired of my own head
and soul.
Life is too much sometimes,
the need to invent some death where
to lie your dreams and fears
and be reborn, fully lightened
by that motherly beautiful rest.
And no reason have I to feel so low,
it's only repetition and not knowing
how to deal with some negative conditions
of the head, body and soul.
Going away soon,
going away for to be felt life
again deeply inside me.
Going away to where I'm not known,
to where I can be and feel and see
exactly what I am in that precise moment.
I'm so away of the living that all of that
is going to make me mad,
but that is, that needs to be, the cure for me.
It has been always like that for me.
Challenging myself in the world
alone and unknown makes me forgive
the world, others, life and my own self.
So much rage inside, so much tension
and violence, despair and disdain for some
creatures of this world.
So much of nothingness,
so much of unproductive thought.
I serve forces that really do not have patience
for human sensibility and weakness.
I do this to myself because I carve myself
with some wrong doing and go down with it.
At the same time I always know that this is
a consequence of not changing,
not obligating myself to evolve and
put myself in absolute discomfort
for life to rush me in solutions.
Even today I went to the streets and felt
life greeting me, pushing me towards her.
But I'm too tired and heavy, I can't give more now,
I need to receive new light, new information,
new creation, thoughts and magic.
My vision needs new stuff,
I live from killing, dissecting life,
beautiful life felt in the past.
That's why I run myself to this
horrible coffins sometimes
- my life is only asking for more life,
nothing more to dissect, nothing more to kill.
Art is not a kind thing to the one
who chooses to be one of its ministries.
Or it is kind but it needs extreme care
for life to be felt and art to be done.
No creation, just trying to get a bit out
of my glooming mind, life.