2009.04.14, 18-19 HELLen

In nebula temporum viridissimae meae animae


And that was how it started:
Back in the mist of my young heart,
I invite you on my magic carpet
Once, when I'm at your window
To kidnap you to my Universe you once loved.
Once...

Now I tell her: 'Miss,
Ain't you moody for a kiss Iasi,
On the red carpet 14 apr 2009
I call you to step on?' 8:32 pm

'Maybe' -
The only word
That can define my feelings:
Presuming all day long
Is all I've done so far.

I'm the blind in the haze,
I check with my stick
Whether I caught a feeling in my net
That rots if I don't fuel it.

I'm at a crossroad of my neurons
I let myself led far and far
I'm at a crossroad of my neurons
And I got to a corner of my mind.

I'm intricate and tangled
Annihilate me from your angle,
Some find theirselves superior
Based on their pure truth.

I am barely a slave
To what's been written,
Humanity's thoughts are carried to the grave
After they're caged and hidden.

I've paid my tribute to myself,
I've chiselled words on my paved destiny.
We're universes farther deep
Than what we think.

It just happens at times,
Coincidence makes it,
To fill our everlasting loneliness
With another's spark.
We only have to lit the torch sometimes.

My lyric can be all you want to hear,
Or nothing.
There's been no judge to art, to souls.
I guess not even God can do that;
God knows if God exists.

I know love is retarded,
We all know it. I feel
We find somehow each other
In the same lost childhood.

Just you don't like admitting
You can lose it completely,
I see you drowning, sinking,
Forever not returning.

You could only accuse me
I cannot look objectively
To what your soul encages;
You too can't feel effectively.

Maybe I liked your open way,
Maybe your open heart.
Maybe an image did obsess me, I could say
Maybe a cold ghoul from body apart
Or maybe it is only lips that froze.

I also could name it
A half-fulfilled obsession,
Or, as you say by now,
Just a 'springtime obsession'.

I'm out of time, kept still,
(La donna è mobile, l'uomo immobile?)
Our times are dusk, a crumbled day,
Desyncronised I feel us. 20/04/2009 1:20 AM

After these years, Bumbata,
Two years 18->19 apr 2009
Of loving one through another... 11:20 pm
That's really been a theory

And just like the dog 19 apr, ~ 23.00...
Which bites the hand that fed him
You now call it an error.
I'd tell her:
Assume your lust!
'Cause the two sexes have two different ways
Of saying 'All I want's not sex'.


You've been counting the days
To see your Prince Charming.

Tragedy is the most painful
When you get it drop by drop:
Why don't we find out earlier
That our beloved is gone?

Why do we have to bear
Pain by pain - nightmare,
Little by little, drop by drop,
Days and not instants? 22/04/2009 12:10 AM

So fulfilment of the pain becomes concentration of the pain, a new ideal, instead of dripping it; we should have no pain lost into drops. Why doesn't it come into higher amounts?
Half a year ago I was myself; I was enjoying life. Now it's vanity. It's like I were trying to fill this cannion with a grain of sand, of hope, of happiness; filling the blackness with the green - it just blackens all the tries, it nullifies them (apparently). The grain means this little group of people who care, want to care or pretend to care and make my life happier, willingly or unwillingly, and also those who are to come to fill it on; the cannion is this hole which started half a year ago, that enlarged almost day by day; it would be an exageration to consider it was only void; but it mainly led to this void...
And why do we try to describe the affects by matterial terms? Do we feel more pragmatic?
Anyway, this is what I now call vanity. It all depends on the effort of the cannion, which is not considerable - in balance with that of the drop of happiness that has to be at least the void's size; and it can't be. 22/04/2009 12:15-12:27 AM