So many tears and screams and words and actions and moments that fill us with anger. It's everywhere.
Il faut que j'écrive. Que je m'écrie. La glace offre cette sensation si particulière. Tu peux y glisser et perdre l'équilibre sans savoir pourquoi, et la morsure du froid est vive et résonne, mais si tu as de la chance tu dérives en riant. Lorsque tu l'apprivoise elle se carve sous tes pas. Tu la dessines à l'image de tes mouvements, elle bouge, se plie, s'ouvre. Tout repose sur cette fine ligne, ce petit bout de lame en metal accroché à tes pieds. Le moindre faux mouvement et la ligne se casse.
Don't worry, you haven't forgotten, it hasn't left you, yet. It won't ever. Or maybe it will. But it's still there. Nulla dies sine linea. It's funny to think that this sentence sounds just the same in Latin and in Finnish. Les arbres et les druides. Le sorbier, l'orme. Heloise is in love. I think she is, very very much in love. I am falling in liking. Again I picked a dark one. I like them to my image, even when they couldn't be more further away, more different. I like them with the black light inside, the impulsiveness and in the anger that turns them into monsters, of different scales. Maybe it makes my monstrosity look ok. Or even good. They make me feel alive. It's always about that tingling pain. We're not dreaming. You say you like me and I say I like you too. But really I'm scared, really I think you're not there. Images and ideas, reflections and how we can shape the way we see and appreciate people, how we can convince ourselves, feel ourselves with unconditional love and beliefs. I meant fill. Automatic writing always got the best out of me.
Ridiculously drunk, systematically puking and leaving big giant black holes in my scattered brain.
Laughing like it's 2005 and it's my first time. Over ten years ago, don't feel more grown up or mature, still the same shit and mistakes, the same hilarious situations, just a whole lot more pain and memories, a lot of more miles.
I'm all about those ideas, those concepts, how they dance around and sometimes reach out for me, hit me in the chest like gorgeous arrows of faith. But really we all know, I'm all about those muscles, those eyes, those hands, those perfect teeth. Those hips trusting against the barbell and those legs running fast, those shoulder hits between smooth strides on the ice, those perfect saves and timely hit on the bat, the noise it makes. The sweat on your stomachs and the smell after those long days of being and moving. I'm just like that, just vain and envious. Filthy and dirty and. Lust and flirty.
Anything to make me feel more alive. More real. Living, breathing, aching. Flesh addiction, stronger than any of the others. Maybe because it doesn't leave any stink or headaches.
So I just defer, I follow, I even smile and bite my lips when you're so directive and frown your eyebrows. It's always weird how it all begins. It's always with weird electric and static feels. Thinking the worse of them at first is what brings me to them. Mean, dangerous, dirty, ugly, skinny. They have that vibe that draws my attention, no matter how discrete and silent they may be. I looked at you and thought how hard and even ugly you looked, how pale, they're always so pale and almost transparent. I didn't think about you, I couldn't even remember if you had said a word. But then again later, I had to go and look in there. See what was happening. Was there any curiosity to pick. Would you react to being poked and messed around with. You were surprisingly soft and still fascinating despite everything separating us. Weeks past and only now you start to really pick my interest. Harder, secretive. I don't know yet how honest. I think of myself when you just won't bend to any request or directives from outside. The drive, it has to come from within. Nothing less or else. The rage. It doesn't spill much but it's always there. You laugh like a hyena and smile backward. You're juvenile and as old as the world all at once. You look so confident in a way that you hope nobody is going to look at you. I don't even think you observe, I think you are just being, and we better let you be. You just don't want to be bothered.