Friday 1 July 2022

It always hits different after Almodóvar.


  I cheers to that, with a sakazuki cup warming my palms, in the middle of the night. I close my eyes and frown with the song in the background, while it's hitting me differently. My fists start clenching as soon as I hear "that very" flamenco guitar with the saddest female vocal, an old mezzo with the agonizing lament with the most tormenting lines you can ever imagine...  I catch a whiff of an exquisite rose, tend to wilt. Pause. And imagine. It is there deep in your subconscious, where your brain often tells you not to go. Judas's reflection looks at me and shrugs - tells me that everything's going to be alright and then gives me the purest kiss on my cheek. I instantly feel like I'm in Eden again. It feels like home, I know this place. I have been here before. I can stay here for a while, guilt free. 

This atmosphere is so warm and bracing, welcoming me with it's freshness, wants me to stay. I. know. 

I start laughing like crazy with joy over the feeling of how exhilarating and sublime it feels. Overdosing on this euphoric night. The minutes become liquid and join the inevitable  endless picture. 

Finally I come back, noticing that I have never left here in the first place. As I start hearing the second guitar answering my mere yearn for a sweet deceitful escape, with the counter melody. I shriek;

 "BLASPHEMY! NO MORE! I don't feel anymore. I don't ... like my valiant past and my present. LET ME BE!" I drink to this.


New memories, each and every other day, feels like the exact same memories. Venta black. On a film loop, dreadful like the cells from a mental asylum. The ones that I am not so proud of maybe, and the ones... the ones begging for some forgiveness and happiness. I always see the sky weeping, so pale, but this time, I smile and wink at it with a nod of acknowledgment as I disappear into the ocean, fading out from the scene slowly... Wearing this rusty old anonymous mask, for the rest of my life, not knowing if I am one of you.

 The moon shall not be in my presence tonight, for that we had an unfortunate disagreement. And then I continued;

 "It's pitch black and nothing in my sight. Only the smell of decaying roses..."

Sunday 13 February 2022

Holding Back the Bordeaux

Cheap Chanel perfumes and maybe imitation pearl necklace, smelling the finest wines but empty… you know… ladies night while talking shit about their boyfriends or husbands or whining about being single.

- you know…

Holding back for a while now… “the bordeaux”

I do not expect you to blend in. I keep writing and drafting. Till…