The Fourth Letter

‘’………..consuming precious energy to explore the unkown up to unreliable dreams’’ (scraps from diary pages, 2010, Wakefield, Yorkshire, GB)

       

       The butcher will strike again, she was mad of this obsession roaming into her head, like an old chorus that we all knew from the start.It difers from one individual to another, speed some fear and your heart may pump from your chest, already.This endless battle within yourself shall never find an escape,  like a foolish game about losers and winners, an open debate too.It feels like an unruly anger possess your spirit, though all you have to do is move on.

*

         Is it true, isn’t it?!As if people would know something about truth, it’s too much hypocrisy in the world, though truth shall never be found.Definetly, it’s true.D. was distraught and felt that she had been followed by a dark shadow above her head.The encouter with Sam have left a icy grim on her face, though she felt that all have fallen apart.She was frightened by his ugliness and treachery.As we all have known that deceit’s omnipresence might be very intriguing , it doesn’t mean anything to anyone if you are complaining  yourself all the time, you must stay strong and think clear.The same question which gives you headaches and a painful desire to escape. Is not all that you’ve dreamt for, it’s just another world whose principles are not like yours and people become strangers, stearing at you as if you were a culprit, why do she have to care much of those invisible eyes looking at her, but she wouldn’t be so mean to say all these.Poor soul, she has never imagined that people like Sam can be mad and cruel to her.To cruelty is never enough, the more it tortures your body the more you may get insaine, and you’re saying that it’s unfair.She declined Sam’s proposals of anykind, saying that she came to his house to work.Most of the young women would accept the compromise to have an affair to  this terrible individual, she won’t.Never accept  compromises  to none,  you may feel miserable because of it.Compromises would make you weak and you may behave like a coward, too.She have thought of it and she promised it won’t be so.She was afraid of him, lurking like a fiend for the next victim.Why do I have to be polite to him, she thought, and kind too, you must be out of your witts.Yes, you have to be polite even to those who may hate you from the buttom of their guts.

         She reminded of those old scenarios about young maids strangled by their masters and lost onto the mists of time.How horrible might be?!You must learn to play master and servant even if you like it or not.D. went into the kitchen to finish her households, and she had a hot cup of tea with milk.She have heard footsteps and moans on the stairs.Who might be?!She never cared of what was going on around her, though she has gone to her bedroom trying to fall asleep.Suddenly, the silence was broken by the sound of the door as if someone pushed to enter into the bedroom.A cold mist approached to her little bed,she felt like a doll  trapped into her box. What if the presence may destroy her paintings near her bed?!D. heard a growl whispered into her ear then a cold voice shouting ‘’poison, poison, poison, my child, muder, run, run, run , muder….’’.You cannot think of anything when you feel that something is moving around you but you cannot see cleary in pitch dark. You may get petrified by fear, though you feel your heart beating faster and faster, like pumping out of your chest.She felt suffocated and dreadfull.She thought she will be lost forever, disappear for good from the world, into an unknown place, a horrifying beadroom from a manor house whose name shall never be known.The wardrobe’s doors were opened violently by an invisible force followed by strange noises and whisles.A cloaked shape was rising from the dark and the smell of poison into her nostrils.The rageous invisible force became stronger, she wished to scream but she cannot move her mandibula.It’s like a feeling that someone is mocking you with no reason.She felt badly, she thought she was becoming mad, her skeptycism vanished for good.

          On the next morning she woke up early, went into the kitchen and saw through the window two nuns walking in the courtyard, then vanishing like it were never been there.She came upstairs to dust the stairways and heard  loud footsteps.She felt that the stairs became warm, but it was nobody there.She felt pushed away from the stairs and heard chattings into the living room.She ran to the living and heard voices and laughings, again she felt trapped because it was nobody there.She was certain that manor is haunted.She came outside and asked a neighbour about what happened to her and she said that the old maid have left the house screaming and full of fear in the middle of the night.

         West rejects the East by all means, she knew from the start.Soon after this creepy experience she left the manor and went to the railway station to buy a ticket for no return.At Wakefield West Gate all is into deep silence, like ghosts are wandering into the living world.She became a ghost like those in Sam’s manor.That was the ultimate encounter with fear.She defeated her fear, though she felt better.You don’t know where she will go, if she go to some safe place.She wished to flock on the streets of Wakefield until early in the morning.

       What could you buy with few pounds?She wished to conquer the world, but she 

defeated her fears instead of all.

Welcome to England!

The Gates of Proudness were broken for good.Now, she felt no barriers, no Eastern traces, just silence to cover up the secrets.

The Third Letter

It was for silence to keep apart anything she imagined to.(Monochrome thought)

           

It is a story that must be told, it’s about people engaged to trivial matters of reality.It rained too much these days, she almost forgot all about she may fortell.D. spent hours contemplating change and her daily requirements from it.It’s uncomfortable to think for all.She has left the green hills and wild forests for a life on an island.It’s unbelieveable, it took centuries to all of us to declare ourselves satisfied of all we’ve gone through.It’s lie to believe so, she thinks.

She slapped the Destiny’s face and move further.D. might have thought that brilliant minds where missunderstood all the time, though great purposes will become ashes for good.

Human being must learn all the time from its own failure, though she did so.It has to be so, it will always be this way.Denial is the coward’s sword.

Nothing could chain your heart or pervert your spirit, though heavy pillars on your shoulders won’t be unbearable to none as long as she never give up, do you?Your crippled expectations must be removed from the start, she would say, you must look up and move further to a better sky above your bow.Englishness shan’t devour your nature at all.It’s about mixture and experience with multiculturalism.

People appeared coloured today.It’s beautiful!D. enjoyed every minute passed on the island, she though to build up a ship and travel all round.It’s a marvellous experience, you can’t miss it!

She sees throught the window wild footsteps on the city’s alleys, Marston Green have never been so whimsical as you thought it might be.

True minds never fake it.Strange world to belive so.D. strives every day for a reason, it keeps her going.She is lost for words.

Decode the world by words might be the hardest path to follow to, but she could find some beauty onto it,  could you? She thought that freedom must be a malevolent reason to be alive.She packed few clothes when the clock strikes midnight and ran out from the masion.She sneaked to the Oguego’s back yard and escaped.D. have defeated fear, all that she needed was to take care of perfect strangers on her way.It might be dangerous for a young woman to flock on the streets of Birmingham at midnight.

The railway station was deep onto silence, when she arrived tired and hungered, sick and dissapointed.She found a red bench to sit and think clearly what she has to do.She lightened a cigarette given by a kind gentleman who was supervising the station at that time.She appeared thanfully to him, but he couldn’t read her mind.

D. took a deep breath and started to think , though she fallen asleep on a red bench.The bench have served as shelter at that night.She has to prove all her best and continue her undefined journey to nowhere.She thought that she’s was sent for sale like a fish on the market.

Emptyness descends from dissapointment, D. have thought so, none will ever know what she felt in those moments.A poisoned heart is more fiercefull than an empty soul.

Morning

D. has received a message from a gentleman in Manchester who was looking for someone to handle with households for 200 pounds, monthly.She has considered herself lucky at that moment.She became a character trapped to a story of her own.

Everything happened so fast to her, she felt pressure to each level, though she wouldn’t say anything about living on the edge of dellussion.None have told her about risks on the matter.Life’s  shades might became pale from time to time, travelling for a job to Manchester may sound surreal to you, but to her was an escape from misfortune.

It started to rain, again.She thought of  many things on he way to Manchester.She changed the train from platform 5, in Birmingham.

The city of Manchester is  more beautiful than cloudy streets of Birmingham’s.D. stopped for a coffee into a pub nearby Manchester Piccadily Station.She received a call from Sir Sam who said that he waits for her in Dewsbury.She have started to wonder again, what she must do to get the things right and to end up this useless trip to nowhere.She wished to take a long walk into the city’s large and brightfull streets, but she realised that time is short, too short to dream with eyes wide opened.

She was longing for the beauty of the landscapes where she grew up, it has never been too harsh as here, she thought, as if Eastern shakes the hands of the West.It’s impossible!

 It wasn’t so for a headstrong woman to get the best from her life.When you’re young you may get lost onto foolish reasons and move further without a real purpose to do it.She would consider from all and learn.

You’ll never be lost, that’s for sure, even if you have to walk along the dark times of the 21^-st  century.It will follow an appointment with a hideous creature whose request were under expectations, she have nourished herself to worries all the time.Sir Sam reminded to her of the scariest spirits of Vrancea’s woods, The Darkned Dwarf  who may haunt you for the rest of your life.It’s like a curse of death upon yourself.Be strong!

D. was too scared to have any reactions at the moment when she saw him.She remained outspoken and thought to ran out for the second time.She was afraid of him, because of his gloomy appearance.Reality have mocked her expectations, though she be quiet and listen.

A dreaful feeling is sneaking under her skin, she’s stoned and muted.No words, just silence.The butcher may come for tonight.

Move and flow by the wind.The West devoured the East.

            

The Second Letter

            

           There must be a choice matter to someone’s actions you’re about to write  to; a resonance of flesh as if she may try the flight onto time’s wings. D. wished to wear her wings to bridle the sky without clouds. She has to re-define herself on a lonely road, that’s the road of change, to keep her spirits high around stangers.Estranged , though she felt for so many years and pushed to unknown rainbows.The scapegoat of dictatorship is haunting her thoughts all over the place, like a fiend shrieking for some fresh food to be devoured to.

            The fish shaped country’s borders is sinking like a boat onto waters of change, where Iron Curtain never fall.We should forget all about by a simple laughter, it won’t be easy to wear a postcard on your face, it’s hard to remember something these days when people put a black shroud to cover up their secrets.And people have secrets untold too, that’s the world’s mechanism.You don’t need a heart anymore, you must buy a loaded gun to courtesy war into your own piece of land, though it may took centuries to grow on this path.

            Silence may keep hearts apart, then; there is no pulse left to this world.All should begin to once upon a time when beauties around were described by colorful sights of yours, right?Romania was never enough, far from being great  to some of you, where benevolence was forbidden to all. People have never suffered from weaknesses until bloody December 1989.But Time was a fool to these people.Drama accompanied youth onto the grave and its red crosses to justify their wasted life for a defeated cause.It was no freedom of thought as all have dreamt of , the audience must be convinced, it  has to be a pendullum?

            A question have opened the Gates of Silence sticked to an unwritten scenario- where the neverending thurst cannot be cut down by self doubts, can you?

            D. cannot sink her dreams to a grey scale reality, will you? Nor Birmingham’s silent  pavements may cope to herself, nor even dare to endanger her frail frolic rebirth under the empty stairs of knowledge. She must be felt the Victorian Age to its Dwarf Monument like Deceit conquering Truth. She has to re-build  the puzzle with red bricks from the buildings. The world is up to her theory of deconstruction, she has all those broken pieces to polish the smiles from passengers to New Street.It’s charming to walk to Chamberlain Street, like a fresh spell  to Four Winds.Reality has to be locked into a box and its keys eaten.The great Opera Mirabillis  must be a blizzard of Fire to Eastern World, where time diminished  blessings onto people. Laughter was perceived as an act of foolishness, though Freedom may appear from pitch dark under the crowd’s footsteps.The echo is running faster than light , it might had been locked into four walls of an wretched spirit.The laughter will never be heard , she thought amongst new world which flourished to her eyes.

The Eastern naïve thought cannot be compared to Western civilization.It may follow, though a night full of wonders, questions without answers, the cynism and a door it had never been opened to her.

Gaiety have started to fickle in the middle of nowhere by sixty- seven pounds, every week.The world’s weight more than that?!to one single meal…..

She was obsessed by starvation, she wished to be so mean until hatred will be erased for good.

Never doubt, it’s better than ex-communication!

Deliberately, you may lose your temper to look at mixtured features of world’s.

Culture and Art go on the street, along by  people preparing for a jazz performance to the marbled icy stairs of the Museum.It was about to begin in half an hour.It’s July 19^-th 2010 A.D.

D. enchanted her sights by fire-works blooming into the dark shapes of the sky and felt smooth raindrops washing her muddy face.It might felt to be imprisioned by so many lights, the first signs of misfortunes and dellusions.

*

            The stamps on postcards were cheap enough to be from Eastern World, she thought of….

It had never been this way, it’s another easy path to be followed to.She came across the coffee shop , looking at people inside like a dog barking at the Moon.Time must be taken measure by measure to every drop, whereas morality and perserverance were hanged by wrong matters.

There was nobody.

The door was pushed away.

Letters to the Western Wind

The First Letter

I am M., though you may call me D. it's the initial used when I was seven years old, it's a cat's name written on the walls of my memories, it might told everything about me. I am a story-teller, mama told me dozens in my childhood. Too young I would say, just twenty-seven roses fallen deep within a brilliant mind.

What a beautiful name? This must be the right purpose to replace freedom  onto glorious chains of Totalitarian regime. I've got so many remembrances and I keep it onto colorful boxes, though I should have known that people have secrets to be told ever since. In the greatness of all humanity may appear as the everlasting love.

I was walking to Victoria's Square, in Birmingham, it's the next stop from where I live to,Crescent Road. in Marston Green. I work as an au-pair for a blackish family here, though I have noticed that people may be colorful to anyone of us.

The first footsteps to freedom and people were looked like pigeons rambling from the fourth corners of the square's, making lark all over onto a bright sunny morning of May. The ageless view to mankind's have turned into a continuous fascination before my eyes. The grey sound of the clock's bell was silent for my taste.

Welcome to the Western Gates of Proudness filled by great credos and unfaithful features, though the stairways to heaven were stained blue-navy, it will rain, I say. I've rushed over the square  to catch a ticket to visit Birmingham Museum.

I've tried to embrace the unseen hands of the western civilization, it poured with many thoughts into my head. 

My patroness would say that people from Eastern communities were filthy and blackened .D. is nothing than a filthy creature from the Eastern part of Europe, where sun never shines as everybody dreamt of, wearing her ginger hair into the winds of change. She knows better how to clean up the dust from people's faces, praising for the best.

Thoughtfull D., though her day off is full of white and smooth clouds crossing Victoria's Square, clearing the handfull of bones and the bell's loud sounds.She sees the world though a dark pair of glasses. How she hates it!All should be forgotten, the square, the city, the New Street full of laughs and shouts  with colorful yougsters walking by, contemplating a day or two into her ruined desires of the western world.

All this labyrith of life  was far from her beliefs about it, astray of the East sweaters and grims.Too many times you have to ponder and think of what it might be the next step into your own path, but there is none to listen to you because people are too deaf and proud of themselves.She writes letters to the an unknown addresser, hoping that one day all those will be read in the end, though rainbow shall appear brightful than ever.Words looked like a baptizer into the infinite, she knows what she has to do, even if there were times when none plays the fool for thousand time, though she may feel the rebel of the East, ageless and hopeful.

The primal fear would begin at the entrance hall from Birmingham Museum, her eyes were astonished by the figure of an Iron Angel and his  wings  wide opened,her fascinations turned into an amnesiac nightmare.

A world full of signs who needed to push the decode button to see more, to feel more and to belive that all you visualize it's for real.The walls were decorated by wonderful paitings remembering of an Age when CATHARSIS have existed beyond evil look of the critics.She stops for a while in front of an old Verocchio sculpture memorizing the image of Madonna with Child, the begining and the end of mankind's hipocrisy of an absent God.

She sighs all the time, the world is an hole of fire she repeated to herself where time is the opposite meaning to infinity.

She was praising  to the holy powers to give her clues to decode this Western manufactured world, and thoughts became so real echoing to her ears some unknown words taken from nowhere.It's pretty odd, though she thought, but people's deafness  is far to be heard to these black parts of the country.She wished to preach some of her inner thoughts, she has stated for a moment  into a long hall surrounded by white walls crumbling into an earthly flood, raging inside like a sinister tempest to reality. In spite of all, she loves  these human-pigeons and their larks all round.She became obsessed to color up the world with some Eastern cries.She cannot imagine a life without stains of bright colors , she would feel mad and deeply sad. She wouldn't give a damn for Eastern Age of Selfishness.She left the foggy walls of solitude and she put her hopes into prison for an uncertain future.

Future will take you to nowhere!

They will say always that a story-teller has time on here side, not mankind, not Truth, but Time must ponder to a bunch of bones and out numbered breaths.She watched around for infinite hours into a bath tub full of name less masterpieces until it became dark outside.

She was torturing herself by thinking  to return to blackish's mansion.

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.