Laugh Calvin (beta)

The Necklace pt.2

2009-05-03T20:34:00.000+02:00

I'm looking at that photograph of yours, the one that contains

a) half of your face, a distasteful position, like when one looks at a painting out in the flee market stall, obscenely kitsch, but one goes "ew" still
b) fingers of your left hand spread unevenly, one finger rubbing your eyebag in a circular motion that is not captured
c) and your ugly x-mas necklace, imperfectly round-shaped, an imitation of the lipid tissue stuck under the dermis of your belly.

i throw some push-ups on a rigged carpet.

all in all i conclude.
i wanna tongue the roof of your mouth. i wanna pierce your benign anima with a straw and suck the leftovers aloud.

I will carry my shampoo back and forth to your shower because I don't want you to use it for masturbatory purposes when I'm not around.
And then I will come back to your house, sit at your desk and touch the mouse of your desktop computer; realize it's vaseline sticky. Gotcha, I will say.
I will just start documenting the life of my little brother so I can put out a documentary about fathers' lives from childhood to death.

It's hard to understand why a girl would like a titjob.
I often find myself on the couch imagining myself talking to the mirror.

There are things you can't find by searching.

tundra

2008-12-29T15:38:00.000+01:00

and your next is a tundra

and there are wolves wandering

the frozen ground

and they see me as you speak

so I try to run

so I ran, say, to myself mostly

through the blood on their

fur around the tar-like

black lips, long and slimy

and this I say to you

so this I tried to do

I ran I

ran away.

Winter

2008-11-04T00:21:00.002+01:00

sometimes ice doesn't melt, i

spit a warm breath and let it

run in the park, between

slides, my zeal

likes orange juice, cigarettes and

big cities

he runs across the dead leaves, it's

still bright, even from here

i can hear coffee;

holding a sandbag on my chest with

my elbow beneath a sense of time until, i

spot you standing beside a tree

holding and stroking a

tabby with your left arm and wrist and hand,

smoking

menthol cigarette ends, your

shirt is unbuttoned

and i can watch your spirit

sticking out like

related bones,

out of a tiny eye

i walk closer and touch

a certain place between your breasts and

above your dots,

blue buttons undo in echo

and pop one

by one

then you smile, a

piece of your face dissolves

on the husk of the oak tree behind,

it almost clouds the haunted soil of a forest

helping it remain

together, this golden hair

it melts, leaving a glossy trace

on the white walls

of your private carpark.

during the day, i

take a drag of breath for

a walk in the city, i show him

around, winter is already

here for a week, it asked me

your name, so i reinvented these things and

said

in a couple of years' time

for a grey, wounded sunday afternoon

she will make cups of tea

she will think of the last place she had

seen me

taping a banana skin

patiently together;

'cause i was faking a

vertical fruit.

untitled

2008-10-28T00:56:00.000+01:00

what's the difference between one and two

"well the first one is only you"

and i damn well know what she

means, talking in ghoulish ways

it's that grey face again

and a pack of ice

on her ankle, followed her home

she's sore from dancing long

well i'm messing my

hair, a cigarette holder in my

left hand, i'm not feeling

too great, eh.

what do clever people know

2008-09-18T09:15:00.003+02:00

'tis great he jumps and

i don't use modern anymore says he

i unscrewed the plugs and plugged a canary's beak in screwholes

i look surprised, do

yeah yeah and i lit candles next to my bed

why my arm, that's

and the woman i love is burnt and

of no use anymore, says

but i see his lips are stuck..burnt, stuck

together, now i say 'tis a clever people's question

and i'm not good at first five impressions,

there are many things i can't do and make, alas

that's another bottle's problem; now listen

i can't hear

him, for his mouth is not a mouth

but it's burnt at the same time, so what happened before..next?

before sure,

so these answers seldom have one question

and it means as little as many as you ask

really do then go ahead, but if you

so if my mouth has burnt, and i'm talking too much

'tis great listen, if i'm talking too much

of all the memories in meat mincers,

of bottled tear in liqour store lower shelves (rarely purchased)

better, or even

so if my eyelids have fallen sick, a finger hole in between my lips

and my nostrils merged

and with all the breath i have to take in and give out

'tis great listen, if i'm better than happy as a word itself

for my looks are a cemetary

but i sing at the same time, so what do you know on what happened

before, what will happen

next, 'tis great he faints

i put sun lotion on his mouth

as i call the cops.

adventure

2008-09-18T09:15:00.001+02:00

there are many things i'd like to say

when i miss Eleanor

and there is even more to speak

when you're absent

and i adventure

so i'll jealousy with a smiling cow on

or chimpanzees cracking walnuts

on stones, with stones

there are even more things to talk

when i farmlands

if you know

how many i women

only then i laughter

or i could satellite

when i cents, alas

talking is all about

making meaningful sounds

and i don't mean well honey

so it's the only thing i'll motion

i'll silence

with eyes wide open

of someone

2008-09-12T12:38:00.004+02:00

sometimes i'm filled with a desire to kiss the soft necks of people i donot know or know
a little, in public, passionately
you too, and i'm where you've been twice
and i see your ghost around
tying all the loose ends

hhhhh

2008-06-18T12:06:00.002+02:00

fingers tweeze professionally in aluminium
and grab a stick of life ) ) ) )
( ( ( ( ggloowiing ) ) ) )

screen shine summer on veins
break squeeze and tear it apart
…
you wearing green, in -i have this dream
and lighting a cigarettebud, bigtits heroine
you turns on the radio, i start-bite-clothes
the side-my own hand, kissing the correct dots
pinkies and toes and black hair that blooms
empty bedhead, numeric afternoons (too cats with dark glooms)
that sound a perfume machine does
like a watermelon latenight surprise
hhhhh
…

yellow tanktop, sunny streets
round nipples cascade retreat
earthquake crack, golden tambourine
snowflake cake, wounds recovering
…

jackpot jealousy, dancer dispenser
i love your sounds that go very far

but it’s like i have this cancer
break squeeze and tear it apart

the disappearing of the walls

2008-06-11T12:20:00.006+02:00

who we would about to like talk
on this spectacular lady-chatterley afternoon
surrounded by gardens of tea,
and an unstable fullestmoon,
you gives me a century old wink
when i’d like to call you something
best______, a dear of mine, my dear __________oh ma-mine.

hey ye!
we’ll suffocate as we dine,
and then will ye kiss mee

*where do these porcelains head after we have too much*
*to chuckle until we die*, but to snort coffee revive*
*do they start to dance, spin madly go merry
is it the neverending sadness of not being
_____________what you think it’d be?*

soo telllmee,___is it
a cardbox with a windowpane on the head
is it a kid turning around and around
choking on the sheets of momma’s bed?
was it a bright early sunday morning
is that when your dad left? hey,

take a breath boy.

so tell,__________who’d we like to talk about
on this mid-desert driveinn night
a milkshake with a cherry on top
i’d like to have _______i like i might
next gasstation is kilometermiles up up

and away.

tonight,
where do redheads sleep;

where do their hands creep

is it the curiosity;_______ the known-before
but not to you
or is it not being good at nothing else too?

is it

a life with wind across your hair—and sand in it
or a wasted one for sure, but more vivid?
and could you leave still,
do you want to take my hug
keep it as a song in your head if you can’t find
anyone to go with
put a spark in your palms, build fires out of me

keep it lit boy.

so babe, who’d we like to talk about
champagne bubbles rise along
in this bathtub very far
i be’s sitting beside your tongue
take my good and dislocate
take it off and bring it home
you know that it’s never late
when the rest just carry on
please bite the cold out
out when our nature calls
when the time ticks viciously,
the disappearing of the walls
tell me who’d you like to talk
'bout a life that you would hurl
and tell me what’d you talk about
when you talk about me girl.

lucky you

2008-05-26T13:43:00.002+02:00

what do you do________(and)
how do you do it
and where are you, no _______really
my tummy has ________ gone sour after you
i told it not to go and follow you
whoever really listened to me ever _______ that it’d
listenthanhear, processthanobey, think. and then highfive
everythings-a-chillin’ …like lucky you ______ and the maylife
the summerlife, the flies in rooms and rooms in houses
in, in, (no, with) stairs at the entrance, red coats on the
hanger, milk in the fridge and cats in the storage;
mud in the bathtub*, _______ *around it
lotions in the mirror, and oh… oh shit
what had made me forget?

and who’d listen to that, no really.
what are you doing?
how do you scratch? , how many fingers do you own
on your own?
and how many others are stolen from lingering touches, ____ …do you just grab
and run without farewells,
or are you bold enough to come back and make amends
do you –perhaps- say nothing, heave a lungful
and let me see a bubble escape in cold weathers:
your soul
ah or or, maybe you say goodbye, but just not in my
reality, my dictionary______________…a fix in my eye
that watch kids on wheels, my ear on lucky you. lucky you.

my mouth twisting to smile at the funny names of the people I meet on the street
my fingers breaking when i send messages that i have to more than once repeat

and how_______how do you fit in this moment exactly? how long do you plan to stay? d’you
wish to smoke a cigarette, or have a sip of water,
or take the next bus with me
and see that shade of blue (yes, that), in the early morning between A and B
there: the place I thought I wasn’t born in,
where everyone’s happy and noone’s ever mourning
i don’t hate you, the streets covered with smashed white berries
and the way you mash your head with slipping on other cherries
and lies that we’ve
told thinking we’re so smart,
like i’ve hit the bullseye innumerable times with a dart
haven’t we, my friends with more eyes and I with the shades,
the constant wish to chase an ice and strawberry milkshakes
childhood, very small, so happy,
I’ve finally found a way to look at you and not get caught.

Water burns my throat today
but it’s truly just like any other day
I in the interviews, says, yes
it was the first time I turned my back
to anything really,
no really.
Abstractism, run over this fucking reality!

and why exactly am i seeing chocolate
in your dreams,___________is it warm enough
do i sweat a bit more than fiction, more than a wet surfer,
do tattoos swell,
are they a bit more than you’ve always sought?

and I had it for that one naked second
tell me you’ve seen what just happened
or was it alonely me
staring out of the window
to white balls of blue snow
wishing school was cancelled
just to see one more nipple
no really._________i do that
that is what i do when i do it,
and i do it the most.

orange medicine

2008-04-15T11:27:00.003+02:00

Pulse, ------------------pulse
------------Pulse ------------- pulse
Pulse, a vein on my headright goes
Up ____Up
and downdown
a bone, says hi,
it’s dry, what’d you come for
sticking out of my rightwrist
it’s a humorous twist, my hand
wrapped hot with a headband
Nonono sir,
i took no medicine with oranges.
so what’d you come for
this pulse is a whore, it’s a
Pulse, _____________pulsepulse
shakes the vein on my righthead

is it a rule; did you made this up, god, huh
why can’t I call anyone at double-oh thirrrtyfoour
Alas, this pulse is a whore; ____it’s a
phoney role_____ of an agnostic god
Crash, ______________crashboom
Crash, ___________a god on my headlight goes,
djinns run laughing upup and dodown

i’ll kill someoneday if you let me
i’ll push him on his peak, way up on carpetcoveredredstairs that go
down on choice and up on must
i’m a form polygons of your limbs, fucker
crack, _________________crackboom
crack, ___________a skull turns to dust
i’m a form murders of your laughter,
you son of a bitch, i’ll murmur
veins on my headright will jump
UP ___UP
AND downdowndown.

M T everest or______ S T georges
bothills on different continents,
every hill doesnot force me to make a choice
I’d prefer wherever is the most moist
and has coffees in cafés
i’m a run playing guitar on the streets
singing the pop tunes i think i like (but not quite sure i do)
sing of metal bars on public transport (especially the ones you hang on to)
and sun resting on your curves, (like breasts)
or the button of your belly, it tickles where my ribs collide
--- with an index finger, shaking back and forth)))
tick, _________ticktickboom
giggle, _____________my heart turns to dust
i’ll die now, look away if you must
because i tried to swallow my throat,
and i failed and I threw up a whole apple
eat the forbidden fruit it won’t go downdowndown

so i thought i wanted to cry, and you saw it in my eyes
did not you misunderstand, i again changed my mind
life’s a short-story i’ve read in an inappropriate anthology, thus I
cannot wait to sleep
my dreams they scare but I don’t
yell, ________yellscream, scream
aah, _____________the cold sweat shed
it’s a success.

i love a girl, i love every girl is a pearl
and the fire in my eye, it ain’t the truth
i might lie the mighty lie but i never said
we’re together in this cruise
day’ll come when you’ll close aneye
and stare at me for some time
me ________________2D
will not entice, your heart won’t
pulse _____________pulsepulse,
pulse, ________pulse
upupupup and
down

complete irrelevance achieved under a minute
it’s a success.
ah, the cold sweat shed,
dripdroptickboom
to hell i took those pillss with orangess
it killss and i retain no courage
my name iss unknown and i very like chaoss
click __________clickclick
crash jump follow fall break

poems look better
like perfume, on paper
anyway.

I

2008-03-31T12:36:00.002+02:00

I’m not sorry for seeking catastrophes to kick start a whirling disgust in my stomach that climbs up and meets the internal tears just to make that sound of a hot pan under cold rushing tap water with unbelievable amounts of chloride which would wash the entire misbehaving bacteria off the world in a heart beat that madly reminds me of premature babies falling off from skies and hitting the ground, lifting up a cloud of dust to indicate they’ve made exactly the same noise of a useless blood pumping organ placed inside us by some god that seems to teach nothing to any mammal race and in all probability laughs aloud from up above where babies fall to achieve cartoon effects on a barren, deserted continent of this planet and even soil longs to reach the sun, eroding day after day without giving notice like a snake hanging down from a coconut tree or a backstabbing friend misleading your sight to a stage entertainment, some kind of a children’s play with clowns and jugglers whom I used to adore when I was a kid at the age of five, running after bugs to burn them under the looking glass and the same sun that drops babies off the clouds shading the peaches on trees and poker playing grandmothers under a first floor’s balcony that belonged to someone who breathed the same combination of elements as us once, several years ago, even when crisps with chicken flavour existed and football was on TV as well as decade specials of an afternoon to remind you of all the worst feelings that took over earth since homo sapiens invented the alphabet but called it something else.

A girl with blushed cheeks run fearlessly towards me but I punch her in the mouth as I laugh and grab her by the hair to drag her around the neighbourhood before I bring her back to my place and first break her heart, then her hip to make a nice breakfast for two.

Why am I not surprised to see you flee so quickly when you sense trouble?
Cunt.

Films

2008-03-19T13:10:00.000+01:00

As I’ve told you she’d never return
Your death, it seemed over certain
I’ve left you lying by the glass, and
You’d never have drawn the curtain

In your mind, funerals arrived at films alone
And tragedies they were light-years away
Please tell me what marred your kindliness
And start at once your big decay

You’ve won the battle; the war is mine
Backstabbing, I’ve not yet outgrown
But would you still be the foolish kid
To think mothers died in films alone.

Dream #2

2008-03-17T18:20:00.005+01:00

On the stairs, before the rain she asked
Would you prefer Troy to Helen?
She knew the answer beforehand, and she rode a watermelon
How far could she go skating, reporters ran behind her
I’ve gone deaf on heartbreak

Before I hastily turned on my eyes

I’ve woken up with the scorching sun
And realized its long dead and gone
I closed’em back to have it undone
And time passed, and have I cried some

I blurred the walls in a colour soup
But, how I wish I could be so good
Particularly in this afternoon
Baby, with what you call
Creepy secret text is hereto dye goodbyes.

mystery of the left hands

2008-03-16T15:00:00.002+01:00

A vivid spring day I grabbed my cardigan and stepped out of my small room to enjoy a long walk outside. I entered the nearby park at its North West entrance and made my way slowly to the exit that lead to the crowded bazaar with its loud merchants, and the boulevard surrounded by flamboyant cafés.
A vague film of plans that played in my brain’s projector starred a cup of latte, but was interrupted by a small paper-boy; say, nine or maybe ten years old at the most. He asked if I’d like to buy the paper he’d written -and photocopied at the office where his mom worked. Usually I’d make up an excuse and walk away, as I did the other day: A hobo, who was missing a hand, came up to me speaking in a language that I do not understand or care to do in the least, and asked for some change. Although it was crystal clear what he begged for, I told him that I do not speak his language and started looking the other way. Then, instinctively yet still carefully, he had chosen the following words in the language I’ve spoken since the day I’ve learned how to: “Would you like to give me something so I can sleep and eat?”

Anyway, I gave some coins to the boy and walked away with the hand-written paper rolled in my back pocket. I placed myself in a café, right under the rays of sun that shivered with the abating wind. I wasted time looking at the girls that passed around; walking their dogs, chattering, some even held hands, walking down the pavements of the boulevard – so wide that you could land a small jet. Then I remembered to read the single page newspaper I had. I checked the “Weekly News from Mars” a couple of lines was scratched above a giant photograph of a glove that covered two thirds of the whole page. It read something like this:

“Dear citizens,
You probably have noticed the gloves dropped on bike lanes and pavements. It is NOT because people are so clumsy, but this incident solely serves one purpose. To punish bad people! If you are one of them, beware.”

I laughed and laughed. Of course I had noticed the gloves; they were everywhere for quite some time, especially those on bike lanes. People were dropping it, just one. However it never occurred to me why I’d begun seeing less and less people every other day. Was it because they were ashamed to go out?
What happened next? I couldn’t pay the bill at the café. My left hand disappeared, leaving a soft oval ending to my wrist. I left running.
I lost my job as a model-ship builder. Had no other skills; kicked out of my house after two months… Every relative was dead, and friends were supremely convinced that I possessed something evil to attract such tragedy. Now begging full time, I get the same answer every time I ask for some change; the same I answer I gave that man a couple of years ago from now: “I need my coins, but perhaps I could give you a hug?”

I smile and walk away, knowing that they won’t be around for a while.

the cocktail

2008-03-14T15:14:00.001+01:00

It took me half a bottle of scotch to realize that at this cocktail - where I was surrounded by people racing to laugh the loudest laughter- empty glasses were taken back to the kitchen by the help of friendly small pigs.
They were first taken (impatiently, half-full almost each time) on a plate by waiters in wrinkled tuxedos and they were put on what looked like a table to me at first glance. I followed one to the end of the big ball-room decorated with exquisite crystal chandeliers and covered in gloomy green wallpaper, completely. Band played swing, and there was too much of a distraction for me to get noticed sneaking in.
The pigs were dragged into the kitchen and there stood big wheels that giant hamsters (almost as big as mid-sized ponies) spun unconsciously; all trying to get a bite from a heap of lettuce leaves placed right in front of’em. They were turning the wheels clockwise in order to make a cycle of buckets attached to them rotate the opposite way. The buckets gathered clean soapy water from a small wooden pool, and as they turned upside down, water was no longer able to resist gravity, and was filling the adjacent pool which was placed right beside the same wheel. Dishwashers stood there, their job made easier by the help of these poor fellows; they were dipping glasses in the pool and putting them aside on a metal plate that blew water vapour from numerous holes. At every turn, waiters collected the dried glasses and placed them back on the pigs; and slapped them back in to the dance floor. I watched this shocking (but equally fascinating) incident, until one of the waiters came and asked if I was doing OK.
You could easily see how dirty those glasses were, so I especially demanded that they refill the same glass I’ve used, and I marked it with my wife’s lipstick, just to make sure.
No one, of course, had the slightest clue of what’d been going on back in there; I didn’t even tell my wife, let alone my friends. I was afraid that they wouldn’t believe me, but I mainly wanted to keep the excitement of knowing something that nobody else did. They did a good job keeping this situation undercover, a straight piece of wood was strapped to their bellies and long black table clothes were fixed on top, so they really looked like wheeled tables. But they couldn’t fool these eyes. I knew they were pigs.

today

2008-03-13T12:36:00.010+01:00

Today, I’ve eaten my father-in-law.
I could’ve settled with just killing him; but not only have I fiercely chewed his old, saggy flesh in the living room, I’ve also gone through his bones like butter and only left his guts and heart sitting on the armchair in front of the fireplace. Unplanned massacres often come with a soothing irresponsibility. You do not care in the least to clean the remains.
Since the day I married my wife, there have been four major nightmares that busied my mind and left me absolutely no desire to breathe in this big house that we’ve been living in with her family.
I feared my wife immensely (that’s one), her parents (three), and her cousin; who was the buffest lad alive, strolling in the house, unemployed, living off his rich auntie’s possessions and bullying the shit out of me every time he had the energy to bother. Her dad, who was brought up in the streets (and seemingly so proud of it), dedicated the rest of his life to mention “what a useless piece of scum” I am, at least ten times while we sat having dinner, every night for five years. My wife was quite harmless, and I’d still like to believe that she once loved me, but sexual frustration that arrived like a wedding gift on our first night (and every other night until then) made her cranky to the bone. After a year and a half, we made subtle noises and nodded slightly when we saw each other, and nothing more; however I always feared the idea of having to talk to her again. As a result, I was constantly running away from everyone.
There were other people in the house, a servant couple. The lady prepared the food and other brought it to the table and cleaned after us. They didn’t speak our language, and I didn’t bother to teach them, since they were not my servants. Yet we got along pretty well with the guy; we often went out to hunt hares, although I have to say that I was mostly responsible for collecting the dead animals, since I didn’t know how to shoot and he was exceptionally good at that. The only joyful moments I’ve had in past five years were these; until today.

If there was something even worse than her father and cousin, something possibly more hideous than anything in the entire world; it was her mother, that evil bitch. And it literally made me cry every time I had to come back home to her. She never held herself back from saying the most horrid things to me or my parents (on how badly they must’ve raised me), but she actually had her prime-time when she found out that I was having an affair (different one, every spring) and told it to my wife, without wasting a second. My wife asked for a divorce but her father strongly opposed to the idea, with such fear of the gossip that it would set off, and dark clouds it would bring over the family business. I was offered huge sums of money not to fuck around again, and I happily accepted.
Her mother sat all day by the window since the day she was born, three of her limbs paralyzed; sipped a cup of milk and looked at leafs on lemon trees that shivered in the constant breeze of the countryside. She secretly dreamt of stepping on that beautiful short grass of the massive backyard and actually being able to feel it. She never got out. Nobody ever got out (but me and the male servant). They were greatly afraid of making her even crankier, and a silent agreement was made after my wife’s birth. They all lived between four walls, obeying the unspoken desires of this selfish bitch. My dad commented on this awkward situation (after his first - and last - visit to this house), by whispering in my ear on the doorstep: “Leave anything in the same place for just enough time; sooner or later, it shall stink.”
Though I hated my mother-in-law the most, it was her husband whom I’ve killed after he gave me the same look he usually gave before he made a comment on how awful I look or how big of a burden I am to their family. I must’ve blacked out.
Next thing I remember was the sour taste of his warm blood as my teeth penetrated the fragile fur around his neck. He couldn’t make a sound, and his only effort of defending himself was by putting his left paw on my face; however, his muscles loosened as he lost blood. Bastard couldn’t get one claw out. Burning with hatred and a strong lust for vengeance for all the humiliation I’ve endured through years, I took my time to eat (and even digest) him, piece by piece, by the fireplace; while others were upstairs, lost in their own unexcited worlds. I left a goodbye note; I took a crap on the sofa and covered it with the remains, therefore proudly confessing the crime I’ve committed. I left, as fast as an unleashed dog, and dived right into the lemon gardens. Whilst I walked hastily, I swore to settle down with a nice lady of my type if I were to ever get married again.
And I should’ve known better, when my mum said “it’s never a good idea for a dog to marry a cat.”

snow

2008-03-12T18:56:00.000+01:00

I can’t really tell how much I have been sitting on this chair, but hell, for a long time, I think… It came with the snow. One day it started snowing, mildly – like confetti poured over a crowd in a charity concert; and I was sitting on this very chair, changing my socks, getting ready to go out and see the game with a couple of mates. It started snowing already in the afternoon -but believe me- it went ballistic as time passed. The city was buried knee-deep in snow by the time night fell, and I thought of leaving the car in the garage, take the bus, because I might’ve drunk a bit while I was watching the game and I really didn’t want to drive on thin ice when I was pissed y’know. I was to take the bus earlier and settle down in a pub while I’d be waiting for my friends to come ‘n kick-start the night.
And I am still here, after three years five months and twenty four days. I know I said I didn’t know, but when you’ve got nothing to do, time kinda stands still y’know. Oh boy, we never get hungry. Fact. Or never need to take a shit for instance. Hell, we all crave for a juicy burger though, y’know what I mean?

Come here, c’mere, do you see that brat with a snowball in his hand? He’s the same. We all are the same. We don’t age. Collective body of humanity in this region has stopped functioning with this tragedy. That day, when it snowed so frigging much, every living thing was frozen where they were. Cats took a nap in front of mice; dogs behind’em. The doorman is in between the third and fourth floor, holding a mop, for as long as I’m motionless. We can still talk and yell and everything, but we just can’t move y’know. These neighbours I have are the only family I own now. We talk of all kinds of shit. Philosophy, politics, football… But not religion; not yet at least, it still manages to offend. Oh boy, doom has arrived. We all thought world would end in a day, didn’t we? But ain’t the term day, something humankind made up anyway? It will end in a decade, that’s what we’d like to hope. Fingers crossed, brother. You think you and other wise-asses from the press will keep coming here to shoot documentaries…conduct interviews? I’m not saying you won’t want to. But you’ll stare at the steering wheel as peaceful as Hindu cows. Your limbs will weaken. People -as exactly you do now- will interview you…in your car.

Oh and let me tell you a funny thing, the guy upstairs has been showering since.

Can you turn the TV on for me please?

the line

2008-03-11T02:42:00.000+01:00

The night was falling hard on the city. On the way to the library (to satisfy his literary needs and a certain craving for routines), although he was amongst a bunch of people who were retreating to their houses in such tiredness, out of reason, he started talking aloud.

“Now it’s almost 6 o’clock in the afternoon, we are the happy citizens of this kingdom in an extremely bright, cloudless winter day. The wide pavement under us, the widest pavement ever put together by humankind, it changed five colours in five minutes; and just before the whole city gets sucked in darkness -- as if you’d drop a filming video camera to the quicksand –it will turn pale. For a full fifteen seconds, with the last heroic effort of sunlight, every single stone that forms this pavement will turn white. We’re walking on one giant tooth that had been brushed with carbonate for centuries! It’s as if it snowed heavily for a quarter minute! It’s as white as a dove’s wing my friend! The best moments of my day; between sunset and moonrise… I wish you could see it as well.”

And when they came to the end of it, just before he continued to the library, he changed his path. He grabbed this man’s other arm, the one that’s not holding a walking stick, and helped this blind fellow cross the road in safety. When they were on the other side, he took the walking stick and drew a line on the dust between them. “And this,” he said, to the seemingly scared guy, “is the line between good and evil.”