Enter: Me

Clouds gathering,
Substance of life, real and imagined,
The feeling is the same.
It is not safety, because I resent that. And it isn't comfort.
I suppose it is the feeling thay I am doing things right
For once, this is the sensation?

Surrounded by possibility it's easy to hope
And that's it, really.
The feeling that you can confide in your hope.
When someone asks you: What do you contain?
and you answer: 'an unexploaded dream', knowing it is true.
It is right there, ready to blow when the time is right.
Insisting on its right to become.

As I do now.

The weight of the world, the weight of a dream

Maybe it is the tension between longing and aloneness that I need.
My own funicular railway, holding in balance the two things most likely to destroy me.

It is the excitement I crave.
The exhilaration of maybe, possibly, hopefully.
I need to know that perhaps it is written.
And I thought, for a second, that maybe, hopefully.
But every time a maybe is followed by a regret, the cost of possibility rises.

That point, where the opposing parties reconcile,
where a fight does not entail a goodbye and where a smile compensates for all the rest.
That is where my mind lingers. Be it real or not, I could not care less.
The heart writes its own story and it is rarely concerned with reality. Not mine.

All my pasts blend together until I no longer know what has been and what I hope will be.
Do I hope or do I pretend? Have I replaced dreams with fiction?
Can I create the place in which I wish I was and be happy there?
Does that free me? Is that wrong?

Or is that what we all do, all the time?
Close our eyes slightly, dream a little.
Et voilà.

Perhaps life is where imagination and action coexist?

You are only coming through in waves

your lips move, but I can't hear what you're saying.
Only, it is me.
My lips are moving and I know I am the one making noise,
but I still can't hear what I am saying.
Thoughts in the head are like words under water; distorted.

I do not let myself think my thoughts out loud.
There is no time and they are all meddled back in the junkyard of my mind,
unstructured, scattered and covered with a thin layer of doubt.
- what if I am wrong? If I am not true to myself? Am I not doing everything I can? What then?

So I tuck them back inside. And I perform, like I know I can. Like I know I always do.
I accomplish, I achieve and I succeed.
But is that it?

Spiced vanilla

I pick up the round jar, not without knowingly admire it with a faint smile.
As you might when recognizing someone that you don't really know.

I open it, scoop up some of the cream and strart rubbing it onto my palms.
Just for a split second, the scent throws me off and I remember him.
From a time when I always used to smell like this and always, incessantly thought of him.

Contemplating the mysterious ways in which the world works, I put the lid back on. My hands are a little softer now, even if I am not. And the scent will soon be gone again.

Challenge accepted.

- The easiest thing in the world is to wallpaper yourself from head to foot
and put an armchair in your stomach.

- Sounds very uncomfortable

- Oh, it's very comfortable. That is why people do it.

Worldly worries.

Lately I am worried.
By the hatred, the rising suspicion, the economic arguments and most of all by the sense of resignation.
We think everything is getting worse, and admittedly, it is an easy mistake to make.

Easy access information makes every crime known and magnified,
leading us to think criminality is booming.
The financial crisis is unintelligible to most people and so we blame the European Union,
because none of this happened before, right?
The international (but prominently American) war on drugs is causing more harm than good,
and we think there is nothing we can do, because fighting leads us nowhere.

Even on a more personal note, it is easy to get swept away by this current tsunami of pessimism,
so detrimental and so fundamentally counter-productive.

The truth is we live in a time considerably more characterized by peace and tolerance than any other.
Steven Pinker's research shows that, despite our perception, violence has declined.
He shows how reason trumps violence, just as Voltaire said that 'stupidity generates cruelty'.
In Europe, we seem to have forgotten the idea of the European unity. A collective mind.
When economy fails us, we do not blame the financial system, but the very idea of Europe.
Seventy years of peace cannot convince us, because we no longer remember what came before.
Centuries of wars, rewriting the European map before the ink had the time to dry.
Xenophobia and bancruptcy are serious problems,
but we must not let them take away our belief in a bigger context.
Our belief in Europe.

Today, in Colombia, Barack Obama claimed to be 'open to debating the US drug policy behind the Drug War.
And all over the world, leaders and experts are discussing drug policy from a new perspecting,
where the consequences are debated, rather than morality and good intentions.
People are aware.

We are better off, economically and health-wise, than ever before. 
Dictators are overthrown, opposition rises for the first time in decolonized countries,
youth activist believe in their own power to change and they use it.
How can we see all these things and not be optimistic?

I do not pretend that the world is simple. I don't want it to be.
But neither am I ready to give up on the world.
We are not there yet, but we are travelling.
The destination might be less important.

how many fantasies in an infinitesimal space?

Is it because I keep waiting for life that I write?
Every Saturday the same restlessness in the pit of my stomach,
causing me to sort through playlist unable to find the right song,
going back and forth to the bookshelf, unable to decide which book to read,
and, frankly, incapable of anything at all.

I browse the web, hoping the answer is somewhere
on my timeline, in my mentions, in my inbox.
Only to be reminded that I must make my own story instead of waiting around.
For what? for whom?
Always these questions and never a satisfying answer.

so a week later..
new songs, new books, new websites, and yet..
I accomplish nothing except a few new freckles as I sit resignated on the balcony,
leaning against the yellow, sunbathed wall, thinking "if not you, then who else?".

Everytime the same conclusion,
but for how will writing it be enough?

a long time coming

I'm trying to think of a metaphor.
Something to describe this feeling of being in between.
The feeling that every day is slowly, building up the setting,
leading up to something wonderful, to some sort of perfection.
I know, it sounds like pink fluff, but it is a very tangible sensation.

I am doing a puzzle and I know I am coming closer and closer to finishing it.
With each new piece I put in its place, I can feel it coming.
It's not destiny, it is just what I have been trying to find.
I can't say I know what it is, but I feel like I am searching for a name I once heard.
It is right there, in an old letter buried in a dusty drawer, but I know it is there.

I wish it would not take so long to remember.
But remembering something you never knew takes a lot of time.
Inexorably, I will get there.
I am so close.

and if I told you these are just 'a few of my favourite things'
would that scare you or please you?

OH, what do you know?


I said conclusive and I am sticking to my guns.
There will be no more sappy remarks or reminiscing here,
no more balconies, semi-opened doors or windows to the past.

That chapter is done. I put the last word in and sent it on its way, without me.
I say chapter, but I mean book, bible, encyclopedia.
Printed, stamped and sent.

There are many things on my mind.
Great dreams, almost impossible ideas and Weltschmerz enough for everybody.
It is only fair that I shed some light on some of that now.
The greatest love story that never took place will no longer fill this space.

I'm sure you won't mind.

I know, it looks like they're walking backwards, but it is an illusion.
Moving on.


I keep telling myself I don't really want to ride this storm out.
Now I am doing it anyway.
Sometime, cutting the cord is the easy part, no matter how hard it seems.
And actually dealing with things is what takes the breath out of you.
Here's to trying.
And to hoping that being brave brings betterness.

Ordo ad chaos

, n.
There are times when I doubt everything.
When I regret everything you've taken from me, everything I've given you,
and the waste of all the time I've spent on us.

, adj. and adv.
Will it ever get better?
it better
Will it ever get better?
it better.
Will it ever get better
it better.

, V.
I spent all this time building a relationship. Then one night I left the window open,and it started to rust.

David Leviathan uses dictionary entries to conjure the trajectory of a full blown love story.
From the stumbling beginning, to the affair that rips them apart and the doubt that follows.
There is no chronology, no storyline, no genders- only carefully chosen words.

With words and sentiments, less is more.
The blatantly mundane is found alongside the otherworldliness that is love.
Each moment has its explanation, its immediate thought and reaction.
And I know it is the only way to create order of my emotional chaos.

The answer to my questions that I keep hidden.
The reason why we keep coming back to this dead end.
We have no guidelines, no lexicon for what we created.
No dictionary to translate between our worlds.

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