Poetry

The Piano of Comte de Lautremont


***

Zafquel - A Dream

I was a Child
in the cradle of rattlesnakes
and vermin

A dream of another world
longing for love
wishes of Death

I drink the noblest and solemn wisdom
of sorrow
of pain
of bitternes
of hate
of humilitation
of despair
for it gives me a pleasure
I wish it never stops

Though I bring life not death
I bring joy and freedom
I bring Love
I bring

Isn't pervertion a kind of sweetest torture
For only sin is a punishment for sin
I don't mean by it a conscience
I mean the sin

I do not understand
But I follow
Someday
There will be nothing
But Light
Nobody knows when the Day will come

Empress
The beautifulest
The cruelest
The Holy Virgin
Heart of Thorns
Queen of Destroyers
Blessing of Teachers
The subtlest touch of Healers
Never fading furthrest of far Suns
Mother of gods
The ocean of knowledge and semen of all arts
The Mind
The Matter
The Indifference

As I die slowly and painful
The Dusk becomes so delicate
So tender as a ransom
A Hymn of a quantum schizophrenia
Where past and future is being sacralysed
Totally
By the deepest Nowness
Hollow space
Endlesness
Void
Abyss
Venom

A Dream
In wich there is no need to act
In wich there is no need to rest
Calmnes becomes one with fury
Sober become crazy

A Rose
Of wich bloom I see for a distance
As I sweep on a thorny blush
Wherever I look I see the empty gaze
Of Doom
It sounds as a glory
It sounds as a promise
It tastes as a kiss

For only I can excercise my Self
I know
I can bring the blessing
Prometheus cried upon the dust and clay
For that is what we are
Syzif was a fool who played with gods
Thantal is a model of all saints
The Archetype
For the space is made of closeness and a distance
Only to yearn
To become a god
And dance forever
With a shakesperean laugher on my mouth
With no disgrace
With no putridness or dirt
With no hidden intention
With no hypocrisy
With joy of an innocent clever and deceptive forest spirit
I will enter the Kindom
The Empire
I yearn

***

Praetorians

A new day
Bittersweet
Touch so deep
I see my people kneeling in the dark
In maligna and misfaith
Who will go through their fears and bring presence
Who will touch the lepper
Who will raise the fallen and devastated

I see myself in the eyes of an abandoned child
In his little passion of a question that will stay in him forever
I don't know
The broken light
Torn innoscence
Obsesion and melancholy
Building a wall
Cries at nights
Dies by days
Never sleeps
Never rests
Ask questions without answers
All alone
Grows in the wildest moors of the World as it is
Becomes a Rose
Becomes maker of crafts
Becomes what he becomes

It is just as it is
Someday he will understand
That there is no sence in asking the Question
He will see
That it is just as it is
That it always was like that
And alaways will be

I see God lying on the floor
Among the fish and creatures of the depths
He is looking at me
He is always looking at me
He looks straight into my eyes
What can I do
Eyes of stone
Cold
Still
Indifferent for a touch
Indifferent for a sigh
Indifferent for a tear
I don't know if He knows my presence
He just looks at me with the empty eyes of a widow
It persists as far as I remember
He always was there
He always will be
It is just like it is
There is no anwer to His question
I think He knows that
There is nothing to understand
There is nothing to do
Everyone goes through this road
This or that way
I don't know
Wound becomes scar by the time

Until now
I think I understood something
Alhough I don't ask for a long time
Who knows
Perhaps someday I will know everything
As far I think that man needs Beauty
And to serve the joy of his kins
In this specific harmony of opposites
That he must figure out by his own
Somehow
He needs some passion
He needs to be alive
He needs to see the Rose
He needs to love what kills him
That's what I understood until now

Perhaps someday I will know everything

***

First year in space

We live in the silence for years
That are the matters of language
Between all things uncertain
That mentle in a deviding brain
And live somehow
As I always say there is no perfect distinction
Between the Imagination and the Real
I'm not quite sure
If I loose my conscience
It's fine
I got used to it
But perhaps I should not speak anymore
As they will call me a wiseman
Go by my tracks
It is no good for anyone
Although
Anyhow
Everything happens in an endless nonsece
A nosence that sacralyzes itself from while to while
How it is to imangine a God
That dreams himself
A Houdini

Blank humour of all those fearful wisemen that told nothing to nobody
What is a difference if something happend
And if not
There is no way to escape the ground of will
It's some kind of eternall chess I suppose
Eternal boredom
That's why playful women doesn't care anymore
That's why we are designed to endlessly gain power
Because what harms gives you a lesson
And everything harms
Ergo everything gives a lesson

Downfolded folk looking for a sigh
Someone is searching a man by day
All he is certain is his own blindness
Fool should not be followed
Luckly
No one cares anymore
Perhaps that is the thing I wanted to say
Lucidly dreaming
Sculpting my own desingn of the Arc
Dealing with those that are good to deal
Talking with those that are good to talk

A kind of periodical kinship
I sweep from time to time
A play
With that minimal loyality
And irritation
Disguise majorly of myself
Celebrated naivity and that specific optimism of childish victim
Pretentional performance
Self-consicious youth
Not knowing my self the same as not knowing my kin
Humorous prison love
Vomit
Joke

All I want is to be free
But there is no way to escape from freedom
All I want is my Self
That is the case
I am a miraculous Child
There is a part of me that is a teenager
I think it's the source of my lie
A kind of old mask now useless and silly
Self-conscious hipocrysy
That I hate in my self

Everything changes
I was so funny because I was too young to be who I was
(That was a kind of anthropological experiment?)
I was so serious
Believing in Apocalypse
And in Love
And in wisemen
(Now I am one of them so I know)
I took those parts of my past
They are disguising
But I sweep them in a kind of pavement alchemy
(That was a kind of anthropological experiment?)
(I must know.)
(I must learn.)

That's what I like
That's what I call Indifference
That's what I call a Joke
It's a greater pleasure for me
And I think that there is nothing wrong with it
From a libertarian point of view

What I truly believe
The matter is to know
Not to fear
That's why I have gossip in deepest disdain

Live and let live
That's all the Science

***

No Name

I get all the sorrow of my land and men for it's to hard for them
And I am endless
I am the ever unknown Moses
The Weakest of All
I am present at their birth
I know their works
I swallow their dirt
For I got the dirtiest
I pray for them for they made me
Although I know they will suffer
Although I pray for them to understand
That they can grow in pain to become
Themselves
Even more than they are now
I bless their weddings and all the folk
I die with them
When we die
The Heaven dies too
I obey
Because it is just as it is

***

Pink Noise

(For Eris)

(I - The Mirror)

I need not to remember
For to loose is a pleasure
I'd kill myself just to see how it is
Although I'll die somday anyhow

There is no need for revolution also
Though there is no better or worse
In this abyssal in this labirynth
All states are equal

To believe in God
Is to make yourself a system
To gain what there always was
I'm serious

The endless Tradition
It's not so easy to break the DNA
They'll kill each other exactly for nothing
It looks as they like it

(II - The Humour)

Maybe I have a chip in my brain
It makes that I am always in the right place
Or maybe I'm just an optimist
And see it that way

All I need is to smoke
Dive in the Ocean with faces
Play with my fear
Kiss the Love that's never present

At now
I think we'll endlessly ask where and what we are
Is it a beggining of new faith
Or reign of all the Suns

Each star or stone can speak
Although they say precisely nothing
Or they say too much
Perhaps because there is nothing to understand at all

(V - The Smoker)

For Humankind is but a race of hi-tech rodents
We grasp ourselves in cheerish
Phenomenons flourish in nothingness
They are all pink

Why don't they show nothingness in TV
That would be true
We would all get visceral
And see what they say

There is something pretensional in being myself
To be a shitting clay demigod
To be a drunk teenage hierophant
To be an exihibitionist