Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Posts Tagged ‘city’

Are you familiar with the expression spring neurosis? I wouldn’t think so… I want to believe that I somehow coined or invented the phrase, although I’m pretty sure a certain symbolistic poet may have used it, or at leat suggest it (got it?) somewhere down the line, so it might be just a subconscious impulse and nothing that great… This only grows the neurosis…

Anyway, the spring neurosis is a very common “affection”, or so I believe. It’s that anxiety that hits you every spring, mostly because the big changes that you encounter all over the place, but that’s only a mere pretext. A spring neurosis comes from the spring changes, but it’s mostly a psychological and emotional strain those changes puts on you and like any other illness, you have to fight it and eventually overcome it

As for me, it hits me every spring. It hits me more often than that, but never like this. This spring I had to move out from the apartment I lived in for almost 4 years, a place to be called home, to another apartment a couple of blocks away. The motifs are above me and not to be debated. Anyway, this was the pretext, along the spring which brings a whole new perspective over the world. I can’t just shut my eyes and ignore everything… and maybe that’s not a particular wrong thing, but maybe it’s also a defect…

To give you an idea of what I’m going through, it’s like this anxiety that comes and goes, sometimes fear, sometimes hate, sometimes simple boredom… and it’s very hard if you ask me, but I know there are people who are having worse than that and I wish them all the best, because every spring neurosis eventually heals, leaving room for some other, more complicated emotional, psychological issues…

Advertisements

Read Full Post »

image

I got out last night. The sun was hidden beyond the heavy clouds. He was waiting for his shift to end. The moon, at a throw of a stick, around the corner of the sky, was waiting for its turn to enlighten the world.

The rain finished. I could still smell that fresh and gloomy perfume in the air. You would think the rain had scoured all the filth and all the scum, out of the street. You wouldn’t be more wrong! The dark creatures, the hour of transgression and decadence, all of them were slowly coming alive, alive like they never were, alive like a thirst of the water that had just been spilled.

The psychedelic mixture of colours, the glaring neon lights and the shadows of the night…what a creepy picture! The harsh sound of the horns and the dreadful shrieks…what a dreary symphony!

The hunters are waiting. The dreams live no more. The hell moved out there. The steam of the sewers heralds the purifying fires of the underground, ready to burn and clean the misery of the above. The rain felt from the upper…it washed away, but haven’t cleaned the filth. It can never do. The condition from above can never help the one from downstairs. It’s the nature.

Fire. Purifying fire. Almighty fire. Apocalyptic fire.

In a corner of the street, under the light, a humble man stays. He’s watching. The hell looks like heaven to him, the shrieks sound like symphonies, the devil seems to be an angel. He feels a different way than me. He is happy, he is content, he is drunk, drunk of that beauty he sees on surface, drunk of a lie. He is blind.

I, on the other side, see straight open. There is no beauty in anything. There is nothing to enjoy…just the ugliness, the pain and the nonsense. A futile picture of minds, living in bad constructed dreams, lying themselves, being death as they’re alive.

It all started with the rain. The filth, the scum. It starts raining again. It starts all over. The same tragedy. The fire might be extinguish, the fire that burns in my heart…I don’t like it at all. I just love it more and more…

Read Full Post »

image

I got down in the street today. The lights just went on…how beautiful the dusk is, probably the most beautiful time of the day. No. Not probably. For sure.

The clouds lay heavily above. I could smell the rain. I was waiting for the rain to burst out of the sky, counting the minutes, keeping in touch with all my senses. Minutes? Maybe hours have passed. Time was a just a relativity…

A waterdrop, two, three, hundreds…it all began in a flash of a second and it will all end in a moment.

The street quickly cleared out. I was alone, me and the rain. A fellow was passing now and then, rushing towards a certain point, towards his goal. What a waste of time! Why didn’t we enjow the small and segnificant moments like this beautiful rain?

Stood there…don’t know how long. I was charmed by the soft symphony of the rain. Got back at home.

Here I am now, writing a line. The rain is still falling, I am still living. For how long? Only time will tell. As long as the rain goes on, I will be here writing for you. The rain is fading away…

Here, your humble and futile fellow, ’til the next time, Sorry.

Read Full Post »

Futility

"Futility of futilities, all is futile"

Sorry

"Live to the point of tears"