duminică, 12 octombrie 2014

speaking of which

And then I said, regardless how perfect the quality of the photo might be, regardless how loyal it is to what it represents, it will never show what my inner eye sees. 

And regardless how deep the paths in the nature might be, the same things will show up on my mental map.

Each footstep existing on the forest ground will lead me to think it might be yours
Each footstep that I hear behind my back makes me refuse to turn around so that I cannot be proven that they are not yours
Each bald head staring at the lakes creates shivers down my spine
Each sarcastic comment that travels through the air

And then I stop and think how authentic this solitude might be, since it is never entirely mine
They say self discipline leads to a better control of your mind and I know
The paths.
I usually choose lead me further from myself

But then again how could it be any other way?
Because being close to nature does not implicitly mean that I am close to natural
That used to be so natural now seem a distant scream for a mental freedom that cannot be gathered in certain places.
Because it was natural. By all means it was what all the artists would crave for.
And artists are only children of their time’s art
Art is the child of history
And history is the creation of imagination combined with various other (historical) definitions.
“tell me” the pages scream for my pen, whereas the barer in my mind stops my hand from going any further.
It was.
It was so natural for us to do those things
It was so natural; laying in bed with your breath on my neck while you slip a finger inside my vagina in the heart of the night
So natural to buy theatre tickets and on the way out to tear my pantyhose giving in for desire
So natural to spend the nights thinking of old movie titles while having nick cave in the background (with a bottle of dry wine)
So natural to argue about religion and hypocrisy while practicing it at its best

Natural to pick me up from the toilet seat after heavy crying
Natural to forget about my birthday
Natural to bring me strawberries when unable to get out
Natural to read Faust while mentally creating criticism
Natural to keep company on the hospital bed when everyone else faded

So how could it be natural again to be alone with some thoughts that are not even authentically mine any more
Invaded with your presence and your pieces of mentality and broken ideas
They will come back, they said.
But we both know they won’t.
Sticking the pillar that tears our path apart; ignorance is strength

But my melancholy whore
You are.

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