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Collateral damage

              'Sometimes, the hardest thing in life is to know which bridge to cross and which to burn.

               I'm the one you burn.'

Jarmilka

                          If you ever carry me home, keep in mind that I tend to be

                                                                    a cripple

                                                                    a maniac

                                                                deaf or mute

                                          perfectly covered in Wednesday's ashes

                                sizzling and sinister, as your Monday morning coffee.

                                                          You take your pick.

                                                                Thank you.

                                             I'll secretly find my desolute return.

My Penny

                                                                   M.

                                           I lost my penny, one devilish night,

                                           On the floor, outside your door,

                                           A poor penny I lost.

                         As a small boy, and a small girl, 

                         We diminished the world, our sinfully loud nights.

                         Me smiling, you gliding...

                                You liked to listen, I liked to talk,

                                You made me bloom, I made you stalk,

                                There was never bloody enough to make us stop.

                        You never forgot my T-shirt, I always see your smirk,

                        Passing each other's window,

                        I know, we'll continue to lurk.

Почему?

                   Want to meet the prostitute Bijou, from the Bar de la Lune, Montmartre, Paris, whose photo was taken in 1933, by Gyula Halász, the artist also known as Brassai. I want to feel completely deserted on the streets and quarters of the city which changed my life in so many ways; the city that I see over and over again, in my dreams, at night and when the sun is up and shining...

                   Want to meet Don Ygnacio de Alfaro y Duenas, the second marquis of Casalduero, from Garcia Marquez's novel, Del amor y otros demonios. The man with a sullen face, with lily-white skin, since bats satiate on his blood each and every night. The picture of this man also haunts my dreams and visits me at night...

                   Bonne nuit, mes amis, bonne nuit... 

Coalitions

        Roll your sleeves up and raise your head high...

        I have been walking 500 laps every second, because while I walk, and walk, and yes, walk, I sink, and sink, and yes, sink of course, while reflecting or dreaming or smiling. I find this truly amazing, even though most times, it's always related to waiting, which requires patience, something I truly lack. But still... there's a secret deep down in how I choose to project what I'm concerned of,  and also, how I manage to hold my horses, only play with the object of my desires. You know the feeling when in your mind you hear Yes! Yes!, but at the same time, your head is shaking No!. That's what I usually mean by 'yesyesno'. Before, it used to be 'bygones', but I try to keep cynicism deep deep deep down. Why? That's what P. asked, because he says I am a cynic, and I even embrace it (too) many times. But, we keep what is most dear to us to ourselves mostly, non est volentis, I presume. Again, this is demure in so many ways. But yesyesno, even if in the same time it's harder to breathe and I can't shake my thoughts; until that magical epiphany, the yes after which the no from the end of the expression is smaller and smaller and smaller and it's gone, yupppi. 

       Next step, literally, walk on, walk on... New projection? Naturlich... YesYesNo? Hmm:) There is a war between us, that always binds us. I recognise no end, I already forgot the beginning. As I should. I don't need the battles, I want them. 

Hello, stranger.

                            'Love is an accident...

                                                          waiting to happen.

                            Desire is a stranger...

                                                         you think you know.

                           Intimacy is a lie...

                                                         we tell ourselves.

                           Truth is a game...

                                                         you play to win.'

             This is not a review. These are simple impressions of a not-so-simple story. Watching Closer, I jumped lightyears ahead, and it was one step towards maturity. Something like reading The unbearable lightness of being. Don't misunderstand, I do not claim I reached the prime of my life just with a movie and a Kundera's philosophy:), it would be too easy that way.

            I watched Closer more than 20 times, had it on my computer for more than 20 months, contemplated watching it for more than 20 minutes and was dazzled immediately. I fell in love with Natalie Portman's character, with Alice Eyres slash Jane Jones; and with Clive Owen's  raw sexual magnetism fullstop.

            Larry: There's a girl out there who calls herself Venus, what's her real name? 
            Alice:   Pluto.

            Larry: Christ. When I was in flares, you were in nappies.
            Alice:   My nappies were flared.

            Larry: I'll pay you. 
            Alice:   I don't need your money. 
            Larry: You have my money. 
            Alice:   Thank you.

         'Finally a love-story for adults.'  This is the  tagline of Closer. And there is only one prevailing song and two melodies playing throughout the movie.

         I'm breathing out my memories of these characters, the plot, words, situations,  Damien Rice's  haunting song and its lyrics...then I breathe them back again.

         My finish, inspired by Alice's words, the only way to say goodbye:

                                   I don't love you anymore. Goodbye. 

 

Choose your seconds

       Someone once told me, the worst thing that could happen to me was to live the wrong moment of a two-second story. It never leaves my thoughts. In matter of fact, it intertwined with a song most dear to me and some of its words, 'Everything you think you know baby, is wrong.../ And everything you think you had baby, is gone...' I choose my seconds since then, and I choose them well.:)