Rust

TO WEAKNESSES :

 may knell my sweatest hope in decays of storm's empty call
at sundown's darkly hours

it poured winter's grey

The graceless hand of DOOM

beneath its opened door

on great wheel - its chains

to lifeless may enthrone

their crimson fate

and anguish

to its trail of Death

may blossom violent prays

and tired of elder Child of Time

to  heartless cries of ashes

VELVET NOTES BY Maude

Ad urbis Speculae

Avant la lettre

Un calator anonim rescrie o poveste in scuarul inaripat ancorant in valsuri singulare, si fatalistul nu-si va mai frange bratele peste aleile hivernale, poleite de ganduri inghetate de timp.

O foaie rupta:

Orasul  fantoma  zace ,ancorat  de-a lungul colinelor frumos sculptate de un albastru viridian pulsand viata dintr-un minut in altul.

Umbrele celeste de gheata isi ingana unda nocturnelor  in sintezele geroase ale lui Ianus mediteraneean. Psihozele hivernale se ingana cu simfonia zambetelor  in bataia lampadarelor, pe strazile lungi,  pierdute  intre coloanele  infinitului amintind de imperialismul barbarilor cuceritori.Arcadele carbonizate  isi inmoaie tacerea peste valurile zbuciumate ale trecatorului contemporan. Strazile lui homo universalis sunt ansele seculare, un fapt inexistent in sine.

 Deasupra unui cer noros,caramizile de piatra strajuiesc o solemnitate aproape istorica, un palc de edificii umane, anonimi cu glasuri cubice.

Oamenii si cuvintele sunt viata orasului fantoma schitat prin cateva linii frumos trasate fascinant  peste  coastele  Adriaticii.

E iarna.Pustietatea eului liric strabate imensul traseu de metal a putinelor palcuri umane din jur.Linistea  devine un ecou exasperant , un manunchi de sperante adulmecate  de spiritus universalis  in mii si poate zeci de nume.

Gara e un templu al cunoasterii , o externalizare a infatuarii la modul absolut.

E asa de usori sa judeci fapte inexistente, ca si cum toate pacatele lumii stau atarnate de un mosor al orelor.Ce rol ingrat trebuie sa aiba omul, poate dincolo de valentele anhidirce se deschise o fanta numita viata.

Viata este un simulacru al tacerii.Trebuie sa fii mut pentru ca semnele sa fie distinse pe o scena deschisa unde aplauzele sunt ecouri frigide, iar teama macina si ultimul sambure de realitate.

Stam de veghe cu somnul, poate ca nu cautam suficient in caldaramul neajunsurilor cotidiene un semn ca nimic din ceea ce vedem e un fals marsav, un act de adanca lasitate?!Ne prefacem scrisul in taceri ale necuvintelor.

Manjim o bucata de viata   la timpul prezent, dincolo de albul zdrelit al onglinzilor din noi.

Si ce daca? Am insuma oare inadvertentele si le-am spanzura de o alegorie profana?!Am crede oare ca ireversibilul se va fi prosternat in fata destinului?!

Totul e posibil.

Alabastrul greu si mat al Adriaticii ii umbreste orice ramasita de realiate.Glasul marii e un monolog al animozitatilor de tot felul.Cerul isi uneste imensul albastru profund cu valurile de gheata ale unui necunoscut, intro dupa amiaza indisolubila.

Rescria un memorandum apartinand pubelei sociale, mai desuet ca nicicand. Umilinta de a fi isi desface sensurile absconse in contemporaneitate.

Un infinit al gandurilor atroce se zabat intro fierebere continua, o pastisa a carnii.

Punct si de la capat, isi repeta intrun an bivalent al propriei existente, ca si altii cred.Nu stiu daca a convins in vreun fel, macar si-a stors intrega convingere de A FI.

Da e un pas cel mult la fel de curajos ca si himera existentiala.Coexista dincolo de priviri discrete pierdute intro asteptare epocala.Desupra ferestrelor mari si groase scrie ‘’DIVIDE ET IMPERA’’ – un razboi de catifea cu tine insuti, insirand cuvinte mari si mici peste aleile insorite ale orasului. Cladirile isi dezgolesc trupurile in bataia adierilor mediteraneene.

O innecare solida de asceze esuate lamentabil in efervescente caleidoscopice.Palcurile de idei sunt o marginalia a infatuarii in care jurnalul ratacirii furibunde devine un laitmotiv in sine.Cine ar putea legifera jocul fatidic al hibridului uman?!

Nimeni.

Priveste in jur peste vibratiile umane , dincolo de forfota unui oras apus.Ochiul orb transpare in descatusarea eului.Perceptia este muta.

Ne ascundem umbrele in spatele apanajului cotidian, traim putin si repede. Un semn intors al convulsiei umane, un modus vivendi al miscarilor insalubre.

Ne mixam monotonia si nesigurantele IN ATEMPORALITATE;O VIA DOLORUM umana strabatuta de labiritul linistit al corvoadei de sine.

Am trait, candva, undeva s-a intamplat pur si simplu. Poate ca vocatia empirica sa transmita empatii diforme, rupte si un cuvant de peste zi  va fi fost numit manifest – cu aceeasi imperceptibilitate ca pana atunci.

O viata tributara  unui crez inexorabil!

A spune ca esti viu este echivalentul unor marionete cu plansuri sarcastice.

Timp.

Doar liniste universala peste nimic.

Inca nu am aruncat foaia, ci am creat un colaj insufletit de peisaje urbane.

Velvet Note 13 Black/White Commas

Motto : Did you know it before you’ve opened your eyes and looked around.Where?There?Shall I?

We do all negotiate policies of hunger, these days, might be so mean, who were they??!!Tricks may say to all.The unleashed  FORMICARIUM  ate the great suga-bones, jumped on war machines and gratified those burnt hearts…..The bloody line of death bloosomed  vermins  to terrify its disciples.This is the prophecy said the crow, it weeped for so long to perceive the dusty remebrance of golden distruction, purged a cavern called body as if the world wears stigmata on the age of egotism.

It feels like hunger.Nor expanded meanings for all those infatuated matters.It shouts at deaf ears: I am hungered.Although words hungered to be heard.Time’s speachless minutes passed so silent and rageous.The hours came along  to disgrace mankind for good.Where is beauty??Memoirs  of silence were written on dirty face of everyday’s life, on people’s faceless wishes and smoked dreams.Someone could make infinite laments to numbless requiered lashes, sleepless nights, though  have you thought of all, did you??I dared to believe , not now, not ever.

Your  exquisite squeeze of dust,  that’s all. The black crow’s curved skies are ravishing  from glass-boned to nowhere, continuously  revealing the same muddy chorus.Words might have the power to conceal fear, to convey the cutting edge of life’s ??!!

Shined once and for all the brick at golden dawn, the  fake prophecies sold out and labeled  by fear.It remained  to fear  by crushing your bones, scratching your laughs it hurts to see for  all. It extorts from despair, do you??Should be gone by now, it might be whisled and taciturn.

Did they have to send biophonic transmissions for free guided torture??!!How could they when all stands to explode in front of all.Clean up the boards  of  shame , someone would erase  debauchery, threachery, deceit…..A trial was triggered against  LIFE.

Reflections

When life is a cage of dreams, still burnt it's immaculate visions of to be at present tense. I don't like to picture life as being a ray of light, a sort of hope to mankind's !You know why?!Because nothing it lasts more than a life time, everything is limited by death and time, and it makes me feel angered and sad just because of it.
It may shed a tear for hanging out with hope, for how long I may say?!I don't no, I've never noticed anything in particular than hatred spreading its plague all over the place.
Why? It's simple because we've forgotten who we really are!!!!We've sold our dreams to nowhere!!!We were defeated by alienated thoughts!We've drown onto our own failures.Life is a failure by itself?!I dwell a possibility on the matter....
( working in progress)
The 30 of November 2012, Maude from the middle of nowhere

Breaking up to silence

I have found into an lighten corner those dreamless fears. Wonderful!? I have got frightened for no reasons. People like spirited hearts, laughing and sharing some of their joy with everyone round. It pouring like rain and it come closer to my heart by now. I have been longing for those silenced hours for all my life. I lay within the sky’s white clouds! I wished to be like cloud….It will be something in which I am drowning into. No I do not believe it. I wish! came out to my mouth.

I have carried away delirium and madness on my side all this time. I chilled out those foreshadowing echoes in front of yours. I have released  from fears long ago.  I dwell an possibility to flew away all my passion into the edge of madness……Yes it’s true from all! All those unwritten maps stand for red bricks, measuring the rainbow’s vibes and sunlight’s gleams.

Anotimp incandescent

Ploua, nu stiu daca e vremea de vina, poate  incerc sa desenez cu creta alba un cadran de metal in care timpul isi macina orele. O liniste de plumb mi se asterne peste pleoapele inecate de vise, am incercat sa visez, nu stiu daca am visat suficient, sau daca am visat cu adevarat.Oamenii viseaza?!Cand?!Nu teoria nihilista e o corvoada, sau poate ca nu, cine stie?!

Povestea este vie, fie ca vrei sa accepti sau nu, povestasul e si el  viu, poate ca anihileaza orice convulsie hibrida spre  a-si arunca angoasele in contingente  monocrome. 

06.03.2012

Velvet Notes: 11-th staircase

Was it so expensive to believe so? It were  burdens of hope to end up the circle of life and no other theory could deny it? It might be great to know it, she says, on the next moment, hour, minute when all shall spread its sculptured  wings and though it feels like a renewed nightmare crawling into hour’s catastrophic big ben.

Silence have locked meanings on the streets and people may cover up themselves by veils of illusions. It has killed passion of life into a chalice for good. She cannot admitted by all means, it were too heavy to cross the multiple faceted along with masks. She doesn’t need one, once she dreamed to wear it but now she has realized that it’s useless.

She has repeated constantly  to herself, life was a prison of deluded wishes confined  to hyphenate the atmosphere. A cloudy prison of life’s, she says, to reach out for the cage of dusty thoughts.

The stardust over a pair of blacked  hypertext  to frame the picture of life. Be gotten all those fairly misconception of people round, then it passed away the imagery fulfilled of  society’s unwillingness  and prejudices of any kind. She cannot change opinions to other’s exchanged dreams. Therefore thoughts rumbling faster and faster into her head to expire on the tickets to life. She has erased old principles because mentality is distorted all the time by daily events which may change your life for the best. This ideal of hers would never die amongst bunches of bone blossoming from above. To eradicate mentality and its cruel barter with life it means so much to her, likewise people have mirrored their souls into the window pane.

She imagined the life’s stages as being pyres of hope, it was not like she says. Never imagined it, she continues silence from all, the dead would be envious on me, will they? Her tiny  heart strikes the hours into minutes

Words were not as she thought like. Mere words, she repeated herself, people put the blame on words likewise it weren’t so capable to distinguish amongst the limitedness from all.

Wearing the mask of bigotry thus it were the great impact in front of all. The first and the last mask and nor have heard of claws to scratch the formicarium . She watches on the window, all those armours are floundering snowflakes over the sleepless hours to conjure TO BE  a foreign incantation to all those chambers of echoes beneath her soul. It will snow, she says, it will snow by dreams amongst this cradle of reality, forgotten  alphabets  of small world she’s been living in. She might noticed from all, but it should appear as rampant , nor hectic as it used to be once. This claw of life has dried up now, she thought of it too many times. Although  she have to move on following the golden brick path, an grey clouded shape to conceal all from the start. Move on, Move on, Move on  said a shadowy voice , though she has said that echoes are flawless. It were  like? She must notice a  paper cut dream from now on?!Smashed  it into pieces the corollary of life’s?!Nor it seemed to grow  within the hours passed. Obsession from all were designed to a spider’s web on the daily canvas.

She has repeated constantly  to herself, life was a prison of deluded wishes confined  to hyphenate the atmosphere. A cloudy prison of life’s, she says, to reach out for the cage of dusty thoughts.

Grey lines are covering the truth  beyond a perfect calligraphy  though, she has written about a cage of thoughtful emotions, otherwise it would cut off your hopes , nor mutual conversion of meanings might be repelled. She used to confess all this, I say it were thousands of hopes drown into wax figures of mankind’s , it can be  expressed by gloominess of daily life. It were so many delusions ever since, she says it would  turn on the clock for thousand time to number hours passed without any regard on the matter. Such a delightful  overview from all, afterwards  she may contemplate silence from all!

People  were cursed  by mirrors, she would say, searching with a glance into the chariots of clouds, it will take away her  cold thoughts by now. And the story is dead and gone. She doesn’t know what is it, as if she had ever knew, will you? She will never die for an damn idea, but she adores mankind to be like her own flesh dragged on the ground. She cannot speak, she writes on the walls all round everything she thought of. But she writes, even if she cannot speak . Again she is staring at the wall asking the dust,  finding up for merciful answers never be gotten . It stirs all your energy to conceive from all?!Yes and she said it were. She has found  another wall to write to, but she cannot speak at all. I can’t speak, she says. Women are contemporary metaphors, feathered  emotions within words, she would think. It has never existed a  story. It must be dreadful to know the story behind her eyes. You will never  shriek for it, she says. She was decided to write a letter to nowhere for thousands  of lost hours. 

Dear hour rampant/running deep within my …..No she cut off the lines, it’s not fair, she says, I should  find another vow, but I won’t write it as I wished it. Dear hour-less, hectic and headstrong I’m not indulged to such manner to believe so, she has to number less and  saved more energy. Beyond her glasses I remain silenced for years passed.

She vows always for life to be expelled by a prison of dust..........

Preview: Velvet Note 11

Was it so expensive to believe so? It were  burdens of hope to end up the circle of life and no other theory could deny it? It might be great to know it, she says, on the next moment, hour, minute when all shall spread its sculptured  wings and though it feels like a renewed nightmare crawling into hour’s catastrophic Big Ben.

People  were cursed  by mirrors, she would say, searching with a glance into the chariots of clouds, it will take away her  cold thoughts by now. And the story is dead and gone. She doesn’t know what is it, as if she had ever knew, will you? She will never die for an damn idea, but she adores mankind to be like her own flesh dragged on the ground. She cannot speak, she writes on the walls all round everything she thought of. But she writes, even if she cannot speak . Again she is staring at the wall asking the dust,  finding up for merciful answers never be gotten . It stirs all your energy to conceive from all?!Yes and she said it were. She has found  another wall to write to, but she cannot speak at all.I can’t speak, she says. Women are contemporary metaphors, feathered  emotions within words, she would think. It has never existed a  story. It must be dreadful to know the story behind her eyes. You will never  shriek for it, she says. She was decided to write a letter to nowhere for thousands  of lost hours.Dear hour rampant/running deep within my …..

To my dearest reader,

These days I am working on new texts, I am hoping you'll enjoy reading this preview.It's all about words all the time, this obssesion 'called words' scorched my emotions apart from glimpses of self-inspired thoughts.

Maude