Isabel

Izolarea e un privilegiu.
Un tablou in care vise zac precum flori in vaze
asteptand ca timpul sa le rapeasca
culoarea si ulterior viata.
Cartea despre umanitatea care vrea
sa-si auda povestea ridicola spusa.
Cat de avizi suntem, eu si tu,
sa fim nemuritori in memoria cuiva!
Obisnuiam sa ascult atat de mult,
pana am surzit si odata cu sunetul
omenirea a murit in uitare.

Izolarea e o lectie de anatomie.
Iti arata cum inima nu mai e mangaiata
de muschi si os.
Acum se-ascunde dupa alte materiale.
Noptile tin pulsul armatelor invinse,
in timp ce te fixeaza din spatele sticlei,
dupa o zi de munca amortitoare.

The Ever Changing Face of Lamentation

"I wish I knew you in another life where you could talk about yourself."
What is there to talk about?
I am the boy with his face ever painted in the blood of a recent wound. My eyes, quick typewriters, sending frantic messages from beneath a german hair-cut. I smile and laugh. Always humming a Travka piece on my lips and concealing a girl in the back of my mind. The song always changes and sometimes even the girl. All according to the stirrings of the heart. This mind is a radio set on the frequency of madness. Plugged in to the electrical joy of its soul. I have little time for lamentation, yet somehow I am fairly patient with the people that fill their time with it.
I am a child. Selfish and insecure. I crave for affection like a caged animals yearns for freedom. It is my illumination. It is my curse.
I sleep for hours on end in front of a mirror. Young and proud, I walk the sidewalks of the continent just as I was born. Just as I will die. Smiling, but alone.

The Empty Promise

The fish drinks. The bird sings. I fuck. I've beein doing it for a while now and each time I do it, I get better. An elegant monster feeding off the libido of the world. At a point I got so good that I began nurturing the delusion that I am natures gift to women. But in truth, I only get better because each time, I take less and less joy in it. It has become a wild idea of sport. A way to compliment a woman when I reach the limit of my words. To impress her. To obtain a vague sense of validation. I have become something strange and hollow. Most of the time, I'm not even there. Ever since I reached sexual maturity I only met one girl that made this body shake and crumble into an abyss of pleasant forgetfulness. 
And it used to be such a wonderful thing. The divine melody of moans. The slow curling of toes. All that violent poetry of pleasure. An addiction worth having. But our empty bodies are always looking for the ultimate high somehow. And in my refusal to deprive myself of anything, I became depraved. Ordinary. Simple. Mechanical. Stuck in a cell with the door wide open. Slave to habit. I need to be changed. Into something else. This is how the dead live.

Metamorphosis

I have drunk so much for my health,
that I became sick.
Days were counted in glasses of wine,
as time would be, sand in an hourglass.
There was nothing to do in those days.
No girl to miss, no drive to create,
no higher purpose to be drawn to.
I was a serpent drifting aimlessly
along the rivers.
I still am sometimes. Some days.
When the winter cold
keeps my blood indifferent.
When I smoke on a pair of stair,
beneath the enveloping darkness.

I don't drink that much these days though,
Now I just sit in cafes, in buses,
in unfamiliar apartments,
staring out the windows,
in a dead and blank way.
I used to be a serpent, you know,
but now I'm just a pet lizard.

The Death of the Child Emperor.

I am at times discouraged by the fuse-like nature of our existence. Once lit, it goes out rapidly towards the end of the line. It matters little what you do. It just burns away little by little and you don't get much out of it.
It doesn't make much difference if you chew your meat with neglected teeth or no teeth at all. It is all a calm  chaos at the gates of endless possibility. A painting filling a canvas. Leaving no blank space. A piece of music that we carelessly orchestrate. And all that is gradually forgotten with the rapid passing of time.
So I do nothing but smile, with cracked lips, gazing alone at autumn night skies swallowed by fog. The questions remain there in my head, like school children, patiently waiting in their spots.
Where will I be tomorrow? Toasting champagne in the heart of high society or sharing plastic bottled beer on the sidewalks of the world? Munchen or Medeea?
All I lived and loved will peacefully subside into oblivion. Away from humanity's collective conscience. All our dreams of immortality are but chapters in an amnesic childs play. So why not make life a pleasant heartbeat for the soul of an ever dying planet? Why not boil and cool in the pleasures of our diminishing youth? Why not muse the sentient world around as? Why shouldn't we be the divine inspiration that this terrible world seems to hunger for? A flicker of good in this avalanche of nonsense. Fathers and mothers, lovers and friends! Let us ride into the lazy days and be the flesh of the mad gods that roam freely across the universe!

Affliction

I no longer listen,
to the howling winds of doubt,
for I have nothing to hope for.

Only Cold feet.
From walking barefoot
on the frozen marble of souls.

Beating the simptomless heart to health
is proving to be
the hardest challenge in my life.

The Void

This is a desert on the threshold of death. I think it's somewhere underground - but not deep. And around it - emptiness.
You see how cold and still it is here, how desolate. But this is not yet your death. That awaits below, in the cold, when the last drop of color leaves your soul. We call it Absolute Death. Remember this always - here in the Void, nothing is more precious than Color. Color is life. It is our food, our strenght, our hope. It is the Essence and meaning of our suffering. And now yours. To tame color you must transform it through a beating heart. A spirit must fill his hearts with collected color to support life within himself. As time passes in the Void, Color will grow and flow into you. You can use this color to touch the world around you, because here it is Color that gives life. Take some Color from your memory, and fill your heart with it.