There is a world that surrounds us with a grotesque path that we glibly opt for since the very beginning of our lives.
It goes on as the grouchy trail of ticks slides down on the glossy sand of time.
Often a haunting experience and seldom the harmonious. Various paths come across, the choices are made and the lines are drawn.
The judicious atmosphere all around the orbits of juvenile occurrences where jumbled ones get to see the other side of the knotty axiom.
An endeavor of an exiled cloud to get the best out of nebulous reality repeatedly gets lost in a murky sky.
Directions aren’t getting solicited any longer by the omniscient individuals, obsequious society has secluded itself in the roomy chests of its drawers.
A parched wind is perpetually bleaching the skin of plastic’s wonderland while the entire system is squatting in those drawers,
All the quixotic ideologies quickly slipping away from red hands in the rigged chain of rotten laugh of society,
Tedious and tender generations taking their time to tangle the tangible tragedy with a voracious will to consume violently everything that comes with it,
Holding themselves unaccountable for an utterly unsightly fabricated reality that unnaturally they brought on the table,
The yielding youth with the yellow faces yummy marketplaces becoming walking billboards and hoarding all the loads of junk and years,
These zippy yankers tomorrow’s zonked generation, zealous about the future and sinking into inflations,
these soya beans futures will construct their own abomination.
Il Manifesto Meridionale
Bisogna essere assurdamente stupidi per fare quelli di destra e sinistra, quelli che pensano che la bilancia si aggiusta da solo e che il flusso monetario l’unica acqua che non si ferma e non tema le scoglie sociali o economici.
Bisogna essere follemente convinti d’aver ragione per credere che passando quasi tutta la vita in una valle che è sempre più vicino all’aria che si avvicina il padre-eterno, facendo un viaggio ogni tanto verso il sud del mondo, si può ridurre l’abisso tra due asse geografiche.
Bisogna essere crudelmente ciechi per non poter vedere la miseria che si trova dietro le quite della vita quotidiana dei medi-borghesi
che poi bisogna anche essere talmente tanto medi-borghesi da non doverci fare nulla.
Bisogna essere eccessivamente simpatizzanti per convincersi di aver risolto un mucchio di guai con un pizzico di dovizia e godersi i sentimenti della simpatia temporanea.
Bisogna essere anche un po’ giovani o i figli dei piccoli borghesi per credere nei cambiamenti costanti ; sostanziali o meno, tuffarsi nel pozzo delle gerontologia e fingersi di avere a consapevolezza i problemi del primo mondo.
Bisogna farsi trovare comodamente pronti ogni giorno e correre dietro le fantasmi di domani in una sistema kafkiano e credere negli obbiettivi convenzionalmente fondati per un domani favorevole.
Ma sopratutto bisogna essere.
Lettere Sospese
Avrei voluto scriverti una poesia. In cui avrei parlato dell’odore dei fiori appena strappati, delle goccioline di acqua che scorrono dai girasoli semi girati, della fragilità dei papaveri, la leggerezza dello zafferano, la schiuma di latte che corre verso il basso in una tazza di caffè, una poesia che avrebbe voluto parlare delle gioie date per scontato.
Ma non accetta le scuse questo mio inchiostro, ormai quasi secco questa aria con la sua spietatezza che non lo concede niente,
neanche una parola.
Questo cuore che vive in agonia, è soltanto un organo ausiliare che trascina verso l’abisso. questa bellezza mondana, io che la vedo come il pane all’olio e anche un po’ di sale.
Quanta quotidianità e quanta banalità,
che queste pagine non potranno testimoniare mai.
-Gordon
So long
A while back I passed by your street,
The trees were moving, the birds were on their feet.
The had frozen and my head caught some heat, everything was still except just, your street.
The day might never come when I’ll be back there, I’ve been a wanderer and my stay happened to be here.
I’m afraid I’ll be long gone and with little time I’ll fade,
We crafted few pieces moments but for each other we weren’t made.
I built a castel of sand and the eventuality came like a wave, it melted in front of my eyes and there wasn’t anything that i could save.
Now it’s gonna be a goodbye without any more greet, an adieu uncertain like those evenings spent in your street.
I’ll be long gone and lord knows when we will meet.
La leggenda dell’estate
C’è chi ha viaggiato la vita intera, chi ha visto tutto il mondo, mi racconta sue avventure sul suo moribondo.
C’è chi ha assaggiato ogni sapore esistente, corre come un pazzo verso i fiumi di sangue come se fosse un lavoro urgente.
C’è chi aspetta i miracoli ogni secondo, pregando al suo Dio personale mentre continua a dire una frase banale.
Uno che viene uno che va, un pensierino che scioglie il cuore ma la ragione suo cervello non gli dà, finirà male e finirà comunque male la testa di malinconico su cui l’ansia sale.
Arriva la fine, i torrenti delle sponde sono turbolenti, grande nuotatore ormai un morente mormorava mentre mi raccontò le sue avventure dal letto moribondo.
A Proposal
I’ll be your favorite clown, to make you cry to make you laugh,
I’ll be your favorite clown I’ll be something I’ll be someone you could rely on, you’ll be glad that I’m on your side I’ll send your tears to the tide, you won’t even have to hide your eyes tell me that you tried so hard.
I’ll be your favorite clown I’ll make you sad I’ll make you smile, I’ll be your curse I’ll be the cure, just lay on the surface and pour your heart.
I’ll be your favorite clown, I won’t ever let you down, though I got no idea what I’m about to do, this life is so repetitive that every day feels like just another Déjà vu.
I’ll be your enslaved clown, on my knees as you wear your preferred gown,
A glimpse into your eyes, enough to save a life, for your approval my dignity cried.
Your own personal clown whose poor soul died, his grief stories are written on leaves in pride, in pride of a man whose proposals in wind still moan, who wanted to be your favorite clown.
Television Sofa
Mainstream Chaos
I wonder why it has to be the way it is, so do you. In a life full of PAL systems why my NTSC VCR is stuck with blue lines. Every storm brings the different colors for my news channels and the same headlines for a hopeless reality. There’s no power button there are no channel skipping here, you just have to get through the whole show until you fall asleep indefinitely or an another storm tangle up the frequencies again. Who has the fortune to have everything under control is the one who has seen everything that they offer you to see. Life is too short not to skip the drama but at the same time you don’t the remote to console your surroundings. How would it feel to be stuck on a sofa and watch everything you don’t want to and see other watching everything you want to? A perfect metaphor for life, for those it isn’t, are the one who aren’t on that sofa anymore. But every chicken comes to roast one day, every coupon expires. In the end you’ll have to be on the melancholy sofa and watch it all and choose the right one with whom it’s gonna be worth with watching everything going downhill.
What if?
The life is like you hurry up then wait and don’t get pretty much anything done, if we talk about superpowers, everything makes life hard. I strongly believe so because it’s pretty simple or maybe it isn’t. We just keep forgetting things constantly like every single seconds, the things we forget can vary, for instance our dignity when we look at someone who we love insanely. Speaking of, I loved this little lady who used to be on passenger side everytime when the sun on weekends went down. Let me tell you about the sunrises we praised together staying awake all night and realizing that time is like the gust wind, like the movies, like the chew gum taste it lasts for almost an eye blink when it’s good. I used to count stars and every time I looked her in the eyes I added 2 more in the counted numbers, i even used to tell her that the only unique constellation I’ve ever seen is in her eyes. Eyes are the path soul after all, the poetry starts with eyes and the principals of love are based on eyes. I feel for the blind people but lucky them who never got to care about the aesthetics. It would’ve been amazing if the human species were not gifted with eyes. We could prevent a lot pain at least the one you feel when you’re seeing someone with someone else.
I don’t remember the last time when life treated us well. The hospitality faded with the joys of childhood. All we are can do is just try to get through it and some usually can’t and end up turning and fertilizer for mother earth. Fatality is a punishment for loved ones in any case.
Nothing really makes sense, nothing ever did. This was just to tell everyone that everything they’ve ever struggled for wasn’t ever worth it, the ultimate joke is that we live and we don’t deserve everything that we possess.
The love and affection are just devilish products, none ever cared what it meant, the spontaneous reactions of ones led him to certain consequences. Nothing really is planned the way it goes, the circumstances change every milliseconds and along with that every action comes up variable results. The human brain is too cynical despite the fact it changes itself every once in a while but you sometimes are sweetly forced to take decisions about how you should or shouldn’t make it through life. Everything has consequences, the time is like a thread, the different realities and different dimensions of it comes with diverse colors of them. We choose too look for certain colors and make the most exotic life out of it. Sad we never questioned ourselves or asked for more colours, maybe we are content with what little ever we have. Maybe we aren’t aware of the fact that bucket of life isn’t still full, the day it will be, it will become too heavy to carry. Maybe that’s what we are afraid of? The dilemmas will never come to an end, talk about the misery though. What has to come to an end never will and the life will pass like an amateur tailor who never seemed to be certain about sewing the correct edges. Aftermath isn’t always awful.
The Leveler
The glorious one will find a way,
It will carve the paths or it may,
The death will look me in the eyes,
All the strength and hard work won’t stay,
The glorious one would approach me day,
When the clocks will tick, I’ll be gone away.
Our ultimate leveler, reliever the revealer,
Offers anguish, agony and dolor,
I try to run and torment is more,
It’ll be too late to regret, to get the spell,
No need to deplore or curse to say,
Because I’ll be in the hell anyway .
No time will be left to pray,
I’ve said all what I had to say,
No dilemmas, no questions, left nothing to confuse,
Let a man go to sleep now,
Because a dead man isn’t much of a use.
I’ll be deaf to your words and phrases,
You’ll lost behind in world I’ll win the races,
An indefinite pause from your endless strives, I’ve seen your wrists and the blessed knives,
I’ll in hurry though I won’t have to say goodbye,
I promise, I’ll be back when the pigs will start to fly.
I am numb to your voices and screams,
What’s the point of continuance of this weeping,
Y’all should try to sleep as I’m sleeping,
One less to worry about, won the battle I fought,
I’ll be now celebrating this inner fire and urge,
Now this will be the time to play my dirge.
Take a Seat to Watch and See
Take a seat to watch and see,
Upon the window ledge we’ll be.
Two cities meet somewhere along,
The spark where you belong.
From here the light of down below,
You’ll face that bright and eerie glow.
For you will gaze the gold and red,
Fit the whole world in your head.
Can you feel the heavy song,
Of those who watch the silent long?
Take a seat to watch and see,
Resist to go on a killing spree.
Do dare to disturb the universe,
discover the secrets, abolish the curse.
Watch the darkness before the dawn,
There’s a reason why you were born.
So c’mon, get into that light,
Don’t be scared, take the flight.
Feel the wind gushing upon your face,
Every single soul you may trace.
Take a seat to watch and see,
Break the spell, get on your knee.
Pull up the sword, stab the crook,
Or make a bond within the look.
World will witness how you’ve grown,
In history, you’ll forever be known.
Wake up soldier, break the silence,
Be a winner without any violence.
Come back victorious, take a pledge,
Sitting with me on that window ledge.
Take a seat to watch and see,
With your mind enlightened, you’ll be free.
~Jayne_Manya
Gordon And Jayne 