Sunday, September 14, 2008

The moon is cruel...

I cannot change anything, and I try too fucking much to no avail.
Nothing is real.
Everything is real.

I think I have gone officially crazy. Rejoice, oh crowds. Where is my scepter and my crown? And what kind of army do I have under my command? To conquer which land of fancy do I march? To the death, to the death. Fantastic beasts curl at the legs of my bed at morning, watching over me while I sleep, exhausted from last night's pursuits. And my army has no men. Only willowy ladies who play the harp and dine with youth and beauty, leaving behind them senile men and wasted landscapes. Yes... It seems that my army run amok in this reality, hence its condition. Dry and humorless.

I went walking again last night. It is funny how my body from the waist down seems to belong to a different person. My legs guide me. I have no idea where. I just walk aimlessly. I pass trees and have this urge to punch them to make sure they are real.

I look at the moon and wonder how sick it must be from watching all this bullshit happening down here.
I look at the moon and see one of the female aspects of the divine. I call it 'mother'. Ha bloody ha.
I look at the moon and see dreams passing by from her face, like smoke in front of a window.
I look at the moon and see the earth's satellite, cold, lifeless and distant.
I look at the moon and shiver and sigh like a person in the grip of opium or malaria.

Nothing is real. Everything is real. You choose your dream, your interpretation, your reality. You choose your drug, your booze, your fix, your jail, your aspirations. You choose. Or that's what I think anyway. But choosing needs brain, some sort of mental activity going on between one's ears. *giggle*

Only death is real, expressed through absence. It is funny to consider how something as absolute as death is expressed through the negative of existence. Absence. It never fails to amuse me. Life in general, and myself, never cease to amuse me. I am a funny gal, it seems.

I feel like my very soul has left me. Went away silently, flying on transparent, velvety wings.

And A. is leaving for U.K. Go, my girl. Go. Leave this land of lunatics and idiots. Godspeed. There is nothing more for you to do here.

I dine with ink, pieces of paper and impossible wishes in the ruins.
I pray I will be granted the chance to follow.
The moon is cruel tonight...


Manolis said...

new music-related blog:


Angel Alucard said...

My beloved Elizabeth, we're going both too crazy... Officially! But who can tell us we're crazy? Who's normal enough to tell us we're going crazy? And who can define us the "normal concept"? We're, perhaps, the most normal people around, the ones with enlarged view, but that will only be seen when we die! Artists are always recognised when they die!

I have your letter ready to send, all packed up and sealed, with lots of fb's to be passed, but I am waiting for the fact of my money comes to me, when I get my job payment! :) So it'll be sent soon, ok?

By the way, I am going down to madness once again and I am wanting to taste a little piece more of my madness to create, to spread my wings and fly! I will try not to fall in any kind of self-mutilating again, not druigging myself with pilss or getting drunk... I am penuiless, that's a reason for I am not doing anything like that now! So, soon, my letter will hopefully arrive to your hands!!

Yours and forever yours,

Bruno Albuquerque