A Wild Happiness

VANITY

Stoicism, sarcasm, inability to feel, an overwhelming need to cry and shout, insanity, the grey fire, fire in the head, fire of the mind, fire in the blood, rage, ashes, grey ashes, detail, meticulosity, lucidity, drunkenness, champagne, distance, paths, arches, stairs, marble, piano, a deep voice, lies, mirrors, grey suits, blue suits, black suits, ties, white hair, walking sticks, a waltz, a military march, the surname Acevedo, the eternal allusion, the omnipresent reference, indulgences, guilty indulgences, male friends, lovers, mothers, others, melancholy, minutes, hours, books, dust, a briefcase, a living anachronism, enduring intense emotions, intense heat, words you don’t say, repressed hungers, passive confrontations, good sense, temperance, solitude, tired eyes, old men, young men, laconism, brevity, shadows, shadow play, contorting bodies covered with elegant clothes, circumspection, falling in love with ghosts, with dreams, necrophilia, the subway, walks through unknown cities, the cities of the dead, a eternal journey in a boat, green eyes, killer glances, ein augenblick, the face of salvation, a void in the insides, betrayal, musical notes like tears, a submarine sonar, divine ratios, golden cages, rotating spirals, snapshots, the yearning of being found within motionless rooms, static walls, endless corridors, melancholy flowing trough the windows in the form of light…

Forgive me

Forgive me if I’m rude.

I’m just struggling to understand.

Your face is so fucking trite

(I didn’t draw this ^ I just wrote that v; just in case you were wondering)

Slowly, eventually, like a snail, I’ve defectively learned all the tricks they got, I decoded and I memorized the broken messages they sent me trough the screen (because that’s how we read now) and I’ve left my trace. I became visible to the invisibles by doing that, I became a fucking clown in their eyes. I became a weird man in the eyes of those who sleep.

I fell in the trap of a world, a Sephira I’m not even familiarized with, I’m speaking and spelling in a language I’m not even familiarized with, I see a face in the mirror and I say: “how can I be so fucking trite?”. In a loop, that’s all you can think of. Inside a strong personality, you’re trapped. You got to be weak, you got to stop thinking straight, you gotta hurt your brain and your mind, you gotta hit your head against the wall, again and again, and see the fuckers laugh.

So this guy likes wine? Well, the deep clarity and sapience that Dionysus gives you in exchange for enduring a eternal drunkenness is actually a hangover. When you say just one stupid thing He fucks you up. So we’re all already fucked anyway.

(Notice his glasses; he’s a funny guy nonetheless)

This other guy is very serious; he doesn’t like to laugh, doesn’t like to drink, doesn’t like to fuck. But then he meets any dull woman and he suffers and he writes the most beautiful stories. He listens to a stoically depressing tango (or was it depressingly stoic?), and he moves from side to side like a mannequin and he looks so ridiculous in the end.

(But just look at how much pussy he’s getting)

Everything is that fucking trite, YOUR face is so fucking trite.

THAT TIME WHEN I FELL IN LOVE WITH A LESBIAN

When I decided to marry that tomboy I was actually following orders from a Greater Being. I was in Its frequency; I was being dipped like a French fry in a sea of blackness by It. I was living dead; light was poison and it was dripping from the windows as I sat alone in my bedroom. I was weak so It took control over me; It led my life for me.

The girl looked a lot like me. If you would have shaved our heads we’d look exactly the same. She was a doppelgänger, she was me with long hair. That’s why everyone in the class was so freaked out by my constant attempts to seduce her. They used to tell me she wasn’t feminine enough. I didn’t care, I was eager to fulfill the commands from above.

I used to think that it was at a certain degree impossible to please a god because gods don’t care about practicality, they want things to be just perfect. Even some gods of Chaos have clockwork methods. Many of them don’t even have compassion towards us. I felt I was compelled to synthesize two human beings into one. Such attempt bears a relation with the fact that both love and procreation pose a big philosophic dilemma. Are we turning the world into a complex place or a simple one? My mission was to simplify our universe, to reverse the inertia caused by the Big-Bang and bring everything together again. A titanic labor, but I did my best playing my part. I managed to avoid and overcome many obstacles, I drew her attention to me and then I gained her sympathy. I accomplished the impossible. I did well, I really think I did.

So I made plans for the both of us. I was going to get breast implants and I was going to wear make-up and women’s clothing everyday. She didn’t need to change a lot because she had both masculine and feminine traits. So in the end it was me who was going to sacrifice the most. I didn’t care about that either, I consider myself a very good-looking person but I’m very detached from the outer appearances. Besides, I was going to be the same beautiful person, only a lot more feminine. It was still going to be me after all. Just me.

We finally married and I was back on track. I regained my life, I was happy again, I was comfortable. We were dead ringers; we had the same hair color, the same nose, the same eyes, the same skin color, the same complexion, we wore the same make-up, the same shoes, the same jeans, the same shirts… Everything was going right as planned, and then, she died from a heart attack a few months later.

I was left alone with the life I built for two. All the sacrifices I made, wasted. It was just me again. It was a cruel joke. Did we merge into one being? Did I absorb her? Is this world a better place now or was it a sardonic deity who command me? I try to talk to her everyday but a deep cold voice echoes as an answer.

This is the love story of Genesis P-Orridge as I imagined it before reading what really happened. It’s what would have happened if I were him. I’m also aware I made some grammatical errors but I don’t know exactly where, So it would be nice if someone could highlight them.

FORGOTTEN OFFSPRING OF A SNAKE

The heart aches so
because it was born defective,
not to endure
such hardships and suffering.

The throat is a knot
because we all lack something
long gone and lost
the day we chose to be apart.

This poem is also woefully called “goodbye constipation”.

Follow my other blog where I post more often as a curator.

Tempted by a pack of fags

Try to recall the feeling of hangover
or the oppression that will come
after breathing too much smoke
after hearing too much noise

How would it feel
to live sick like this forever?
to bear a lifetime hangover
the hangover you’ll pay after a lifetime?

A dreadful thought
a thought that brings you
hand in hand
to solitude

Anteroom to endless struggle
an end to your Idyll
Cyrillic subtitles and captions
of the end of your times

And when there’s no time left
you’ll try to recall the face
the memory of another little dream
and all of your desires.

In convalescence
I will someday pay the price
of the martyrdom of living
I do fear the time of death.

(Source: awildhappiness)