The Wave

The rebellious bitterness. Creating in order to tame the wave that so insidiously grows and grows, darker and darker, heavy and threatening to crush me again. At blows with my life, my body and myself. No one is winning but everyone is getting hurt and damaged and scarred, and the grudge which is barely remembered is never forgiven. I can't let go. So just make it quiet again. Remind me of what matters, above us, above me, above God. Remind me of the way out, the escape, the only mercy. Starve me from this self-destructive taste and turn the knife away. You, the only hand I can ever stretch to myself to pull me out of the shadow of the mounting wave. Saved. Until the next tide.

 

"Mon plaisir à m'interdire le plaisir"

It's a fine line. That which divides most antipodes. My mind still struggles to recognize which one to love and which one to hate, which one to seek and which one to avoid. Autistic confusion or masochistic perversion? Bit of both but no matter. I welcome pain as medicine for the mind, enjoy loneliness as a way to feel more complete, embrace weakness as the crown of my glory.
I'm standing on the line. Staggering and hovering dizzily over the schism, ever surprised to see how similar both chasms look from here.
It's not easy to be good to oneself.
Some habits die hard.

Not again

Sitting in my bones
I can hear the buzzing of flies to come
Vulnerable
Beyond any comfort from touch or words
Vulnerable
In the hands of Time
Ever faster
Rocking my bones.

La Peau de Sisyphe

Le sang qui sonne sourd contre ces murs de rien
Aveugle qui tâtonne dans le noir
Cherche la poignée
Cherche le bouton de la lumière

Je ne désespère pas


Faire entrer le soleil, faire entrer le ciel
Faire entrer tout ce monde qui est moins grand que moi
Le mettre dans un coin
Ou sur une étagère
Le laisser prendre la poussière
Comme un cher souvenir

Car je n’y habite pas


Alors laisser tout s’écouler
Ouvrir les portes et les fenêtres
Mais l’espace est-il assez grand
Pour contenir tout mon néant?
Mais la lumière est-elle assez honnête

Pour tout montrer et pour tout voir?


Etirer les artères, des ongles dedans creusent
La fine peau qui nous sépare
Si peu
Si fragile
Et abîmé
Contenant et barrière

Ce qui empêche le miracle



Et Sisyphe toujours poussera son rocher.

11/05/2011