lust 1.0

Once white tiles on the walls and floor are now gray and molded. Fluorescent lights hanging on the ceiling…most of them out or broken….one flickering with an eerie sound in the distance. The sound of water slowly dripping in a rusted metal sink behind me reminds me of a scene from a horror film I once saw as a child. I don’t remember much of it….a man in his mid 40s sitting on a torn brown sofa, wearing a blood stained wife-beater. His face in his hands, crying. The same sound was on the background. Flashbacks of a young boy stabbing his mother with a pair of scissors in the bathroom. Quiet…..only drops of water echoing in the background….he screams…

How did I get here? What is this place? Last thing I remember is me and you drinking pinot-noir on my terrace…..ohhh…..and the apple flavored hookah. You used to love that. Every night we’d do the same thing but every night it would be diferent…more intense, more serene….

I’m wearing vertical stripe white and beige pajamas….I don’t even own something like this…..I don’t even wear pajamas…

“Turn around” ….someone whispers. I jump up. There’s noone behind me….just the old metal sink and what’s left of a corroded mirror on the wall above it. I try to look in the mirror but the lights go out. A sharp woman’s scream, almost metallic scares me into running. I can’t see anything but I keep on running. A door. Behind it a large room with four pools of water. Two of them completely dry. One is full of black water….almost tar like…looks as if it’s boiling.

I head over to the fourth…

Intentions, fire, reflexion, 23

You asked me to stay for coffee…I just asked you to stay.

My hand clenched in your hair, my tongue going up your neck and your feet around my waist. You let out a subtle moan….I smile. Your breath smells of mint and years past and your lower lip makes me forget everything. Our tongues waltzing to a 75-year-old Buddhist’s chants and our bodies like a stream of water around a boulder in its path.

Why did you stop?

“You broke your promise”…whisper…”No I didn’t” …grin.

My hand moving as a painter’s brush on your curved back, your chest, your thighs. “This feels so right” Tonight you are my canvas…but my colors fade away… A patch of dark red is all that remains. Shamefully you try to hide it….erase it…..as you do with all hurtful memories.  Worry not for it too will fade. Look at it…is it hideous or beautiful? Does it make you sick or does it make your legs weak? Is it purple now?

Neither of us stayed…

Inside-out

Words….mine, yours, mine and yours….but never ours.

Black screen of the television, dozen of shriveled up roses falling apart and the guitar in the corner…..they’re all staring back at me and I’m…..not. I’m inside my head swimming in a soup of ill conceived thoughts, alcohol and words. Smoke fills my lungs and everything goes dark. I lay down under my own weight and feel the words  dissipating…..seeping into every cell. A petal falls and hits the E string. It makes no sound.

I close my eyes.  A familiar face at the other end of my mind. What is your name? I know you…..who are you? NO…..don’t leave! Your hand, that ring, that scar…red velvet. Is that who you are? Your lips blistered from the cold and your dress torn and stained with regret. The sound of a tear going down your pale face ….. like an out of tune violin. It tastes of  wine.

I can’t feel my arms. I’m shivering. Did you come for me? Did you come back? I can’t hear you! Your words are…mine. It’s only me…..and my words.

Open your eyes. Open them up and see…nothing….just words…

RealitY….?

The plot: You get to pick her. You get to choose the method and the place. You get to decide how long it goes and the way it ends…..as long as it does.

The catch: You take her place.

YOU?!?

Cyanide

The carpet was velvet red with golden lining. It looked untouched as if nobody ever walked on it except for your still fresh footprints through the middle of it. I lift my eyes up searching… The corridor was long. The floor was brown marble with white stripes through it….I felt cold.  The thick wooden frame windows were all open and the white semi-transparent silk curtains were blowing in the soft midnight breeze and whispering to me. I couldn’t make out what. It didn’t matter. It never does.

I hear an old door open behind me. I don’t turn around.

In the pale redish moonlight I catch a glimpse of you at the end of the corridor. You’re facing the other way. I try to say your name but nothing comes out. I try shouting. I can’t hear myself. I can only hear the soft constant whisper of the curtains dancing in front of me. I try to walk but it’s not fast enough. Each step I take puts me two steps back. The corridor is getting longer. The carpet is getting deeper. The whispers become screams.

I try to run but I trip. I look up to find you. You’re still not looking back.

Your footprints are fading away…..

Eyes…

…blue, brown, green, then blue again. It’s there, behind them….behind the clarity, the light, the obscurity and the darkness….it’s always there. It’s always there staring right at you, spiting you as if it enjoys it. But IT cannot. IT is inanimate, indiscriminative, unmerciful, UNNATURAL (or maybe it’s the most natural of all) and sometimes, just sometimes…imaginary. And then silence. ..

Is it a crack, or a gaping hole? Do you have enough glue?….Do you WANT to have enough glue?

Cigarettes and alcohol…more silence.

Let’s play

She came back last night. This time there was no need for me to let her in. She was one the other part of the glass door, at the corner of my bed…staring like she used to when I was a child. Something was different. She did not have the same look on her face. Sadness…that’s what it was. Her white night gown was dirty and torn; her teddy-bear was missing an eye and looked like something had been clawing at it. She was weeping… I could see a teardrop going down her face, over the fresh cut she had on her right cheek. There was no sound. She was sobbing heavily but I heard nothing.

She reached out. Her cold hand gave me chills as it was going through my hair and down my face. I could feel the smell of murky water on her skin. I look outside. It wasn’t raining.

I awoke to a letter on the floor where she stood. It was signed Katherine…

Courtesy of my cousin Cristi….thanks :P

Tylenol and things that go bump in the night

I can’t sleep. I’m all drugged up on cold medicine and still my bed feels like it’s sprinkled with breadcrumbs and slithering critters. I kept waking up to weird noises. Last night it rained heavily. A few times I thought there was a little girl in a white night gown scratching on the glass door to my terrace. It was cold outside. I wanted to let her in. She reminded me of the little girl in my grandmothers’ bedroom when I was a child. She was always on the chair in the corner and used to watch me sleep. Her feet wouldn’t touch the ground. She had blond curly hair and always seemed happy to see me. Never spoke….just stared and played with her teddy-bear. God I wish I had a Valium.

I can’t write. Every sentence I get down on paper makes no sense and feels like it was written by someone else. I go out for a smoke. It stopped raining but it’s still cold. It feels like there’s nobody else around. The little girl left. I light up one of my last two cigarettes from a pack someone had forgotten at my place on Saturday. I hate this brand. The ashtray is full of water and cigarette buds are floating around in it. Blast…

What do you do…

…when you’ve got a 40 pager to work on and no inspiration or feel like writing anything for that matter? Put on some punk-rock and start cleaning your apartment of course. Oh….and when you’re done with that maybe you could write something in that blog you “started” like three weeks bask. Yeah, that’s the one…..where you said you wanted to rant about nothing and everything you thought was wrong with your surroundings and you thought would look completely and utterly senseless to someone that didn’t know you. The same blog you posted on facebook under your personal web-page link and that got 57 views so far without ANY posts in it.  You’re such a slacker….always starting stuff and not finishing anything. You should be ashamed of yourself.

That went well…..now back to my thesis.