Parmi les chandelles
Je me sens de flanelle
Montant, montant
De souffle chaud grimpant
30 March 2014
Dear Future Self,
I hope all is well.
Everything is fine on my end,
I suppose you already know that.
Well, maybe not.
Maybe you’ve forgotten,
Maybe it’s changed your thought.
Memory’s like mist,
It clouds and blinds
Twists if we insist.
The land was barren when the ancestors had come. The Sun glared and the hot earth hissed. The boiling wind tore at the flesh. It was an inhospitable place. The natural order of things here was antagonistic to these common men. What seemed like unshakable forces ruled over them, and made their short lives difficult.
(more…)
Time had dawned on the World, but its rays had not yet pierced the skull of thinking creatures. It was still dark where thought would one-day shine bright to blind and to enlighten. Blissfully the creatures slept in ignorance.
This bliss was not to last.
Like innumerable other planets around innumerable stars this World had bred fertile minds. For thought to bloom however there would be need for light, and the egg of animal consciousness would have to crack to let it in.
A catalyst was required.
Divinely charged emissaries streaked into the atmospheric palace, emerging from the starry filament. They burned, consumed with the intensity of their message. Some eyes followed these celestial dignitaries, but their gazes were devoid of understanding. The message was not for them.
So it went that these patient visitors, with a brief parading flash through the skies, ended their eon long journeys in pocked craters on the surface of the Earth. Under the dome of heaven in the bosom of the virgin Gaia, in fields, in forests, in oceans, the meteors glowed red hot. None were there to receive the messages, not yet. But they would come, and they would know. It could not not be so; it had all been planned.
Will of the Universe be done.
This is the spectrum of colours. All humans can see it. However, we do not all see it the same way. Reading as you are the English words of this article, then its likely that you automatically divide this spectrum as: Violet, Indigo, Blue, Green, Yellow, Orange, and Red. Each colour clearly ends and is divided in another. This is a truth of the universe is it not?
Well, actually it isn’t. (more…)
The past can be a dangerous thing, and so can the future. There is a peculiar gloom that comes with the thought that things used to be better, and that you are going downhill. Conversely, there is a peculiarly elevating feeling from the thought that things are “getting better all the time” as the Beatles say. That’s pretty simple. Most people would probably agree that its better to feel like things are getting better than that things are getting worse (regardless of if they are). However, neither is good, so by default then neither can be bad. Let me explain. (more…)
There was a thatched hut. No one knew who built it, or when. It had always been there. (more…)
Should one of the creatures with the ability to decipher these very written words visit the place in which the following story unfolds they would surely find nothing spectacular. The bland tranquil openness would most likely be of little interest, and the upon digestion of the scene the spectator might condense it in the rather unexciting verbal epitome of “Yard.” However, for the seeing eye the area was buzzing with life, and the colours blended in spectacular tapestry. The other senses were tickled with the odours mixing in perfumed fragrance, and the humming of a beautiful symphony played by a cross section of instruments of Nature that filled the space. “Preposterous!” the reading and speaking creature might exclaim, but one mustn’t speak too soon, for it is not Nature who is mute but Man who is deaf. Unfortunately, for the Yard even a slight sensibility to listening would make no difference here, for every time Man came to the Yard he came with such a being-penetrating, air-shaking, ground-rattling, and roaring companion that nothing could be heard at all. (more…)
En voyant ses yeux,
J’aperçu un reflet des cieux
Quelle est cette étincelle, ce feu
Qui s’échauffe en mon creux?
–
Elle de famille brisée
Enfance envolée
Ange insultée droguée
Maintenant découvrant sa félicité
–
Moi toujours d’amours empoisonnés
Qui ont mon cœur emprisonné
Assoiffé en vain d’un seul baiser
Suis-je? Je le suis finalement libéré
–
Chemins tortueux qui ont pour fin
Heureux hasard, croisée des destins
Dirent nos cœur: la joie! Finit la faim
Marchons ensemble, on se tient la main?
–
En contemplant ses yeux
Je lisais la main de Dieu
Qui écrit vous voilà les deux
Trouvez ensemble le bonheur un peu!
–
Deux âmes qui
Après tant d’épreuves si
Mutuellement trouvait répit
Un Dieu? Surement oui
–
Dans mes rêves on rit
Nouvelle gêne on fuit
Amour jeune on se dit
Passé noir tant pis!
–
Mais rupture à l’aurore!
Pour mon rêve quel cruel sort
Technologie à faute à tort!
Mon seul lien à son âme et son corps
–
Victime d’un cruel jeu
Au coeur le pieux de l’adieu
En mon sein brule un feu
Moins saint c’est un aveu
–
J’extirpe avec douleur
de ma plume sa douceur
Un résidu de ce bonheur
Que beauté sorte du malheur
–
Car sur cette page se meurt
Les mots d’un cœur
L’espoir de cette heure
Déjà perdant sa lueur
–
Que cette feuille soit
Comme une étoffe de soie
Soyeuse pour moi et pour toi
Souvenir diffus de la joie
–
Car à genou sous les cieux
Je blasphème un Dieu
Pour qui j’ai cru comme on peu
À un bonheur périlleux
It was a nice sunny Wednesday afternoon, and I was walking through a park downtown. The breeze was blowing, ducks were quacking, and up ahead a man was lying down on the path not moving. Some people walked on by without a second glance, some began to gather around, as did I, but all kept their distances. I heard some people say that he was sleeping, others that he was drunk. However, by simply moving around to see his face I clearly saw that he wasn’t sleeping. Blood stained his hair and a red streak was leaking from his open and glassy eye. We huddled around un-assuredly, and someone called 911. (more…)