Wednesday, February 10, 2010


My brave new fake hope
in my cobwebbed mind
saw you 've returned again
thin voice like thunder
in all though vain
suppliant of continuity
in an unbearable life
common for all, diachronic liar
for all the modern stressed
full of thorns plants
training in a school of nothing
for a future of better intakes
financially of course.
Hope whore you annoy me
you 're a present disease
you walk around our streets
you paint everything in pink
while heaven awaits
six billion suicide victims...


I live by default only in two states.
Strength and disillusionment.
A strength that is healthy, selfish, oppressive,
some times reassuring but other times rabid.
But always a strength secure, natural, made out of
water and air, a piece compatible with
my existence and I adopt it in full harmony
inside my cry.

And then disappointment, a goddess forever
pointed bearing cold gifts.Feeding on people being social.
Out of a haunted world but redeeming,
made out of fire and frost,
far more real and honest than anything else,
incredibly persuasive and absolute.
I fancy welcoming her in all formalities
thus honoring her.
Knowing that she is the womb of all my ideas.