Words

Genre:Antinovel

Rating: G

Status: Complete

I find myself writing those words and I wonder why? What reason lend me to this domain? What wind helped my ship sail? An already unstable ship that is, on the seas of our times but to be more accurate, on the currents of our evolution. To be splitted in lots of different, almost parellel entities. To wear a mask every moment, to think before you act...this is the way I characterise a certain percentage of our world. The people that surround me, they lose their reason and they let their feelings to dominate. I cannot say that I fit into those patterns, thus my evolution is one under the mark of entropy but what could I say, I like to make myself the victim and I guess you already knew. Lieing has it's own aesthetics, even more using it is the wonderful art of sweet words spelt with sharp teeth. But let's talk less about me, I'd rather write about me. The difference is that the secondary choice fullfills me while the first one, talking about it,would depleate me of the calm and the silence, I barely gathered, and which I keep with difficulty.

I shall make my own wish come true. The true wisdom of the ideas are reflected in writing, thus I shall not talk about myself but write about myself. As I already said many times; a soul, a pen and some ink would ensure life to many. This would ensure their existence but not in my case. What kind of self centred person would I be if my way of thinking was illuminated, well I guess, I wouldn't be. We shall meditate on the words I just wrote, not said but wrote. The perfectionistic side of mine is steadly saying it's an opinion, "empty". I totally agree that my words are empty then they neither shade nor colour. They haven't the shape I wanted them to have. Please then let's delete everything I just said, let's start yet again with this chapter without a beginning and whos ending is at the middle part.

The chaos of my writing is the only sound, sweet enough to reward my egoism. It's the only thing to do and to endear my own endearment. But by making yourself the victim, it has got it's own good sides, just as I said before. The sin is also an art via unethical methods but it's accepted in society. Misleadment also, it has got it's own place somewhere, in the upper side of the lower side of morality. The theatric rhymes of this scenery is just like a man burning, it's painful, but a great sight.

I might have been impolite and I haven't presented myself but there is no need for that. Everyone got their own identity and it's essence with it's own and anyone with it's own words. Even the crow can remeber it's name, what would we be if we didn't know our name? The crow is such an intelligent, creative and inspiring being because some of us forget our own name. It's hard to exist as a human, to be split into so many personalities and to make yourself the victim with such a sweet motivation. I think I'd be easier if I were a machine which writes...and write...and writes...but doesn't talk. Without emotions, what could I write? The man knows when it's time, but he doesn't know his own hand. The hand itself is a tool of the soul, an extension which easily gets through mind, through spirit and through the body. It's the expression of our feelings and it's the treachery of our thoughts. The hand is the soul's output, the eye is the input. Therefore I don't even blink, I just have my eyes opened. The poor entrance of my soul, if only I could lock it.

Well, we got the light of our eyes (and other related structures) but what do we know about darkness? I know I am going off topic, but this is the way it should be, making an idea amalgam, pulling a thread and everything is ordered yet again.

Back to my question, what do we know about darkness? Is it the fear itself, which waits for us and stalks our every move? Is it the nothingness, the empty space inside us all? Is it a sanctuary which defends us from the light and which defends us from the horrible pain we call "Light"? Is it maybe, the blasphemy of thought itself? Is it good or bad? Is it ordered or chaotic? No... Then what is it? Let's just presume it's the only thing stable... or is it the only thing unstable? But I won't limit my point of view to a heavenly or demonic perspective. Darkness is just raw data. I've defined the darkness, now's the time to define light, or is it? No, just because I don't feel anything related to light. I have lots of concepts to say, but not to write. I cannot bear hearing my own voice, that's why I avoid this topic. One thing is sure though...light is not silent.

Here I am writing yet again..... and thinking. I wonder, how many allegations have I directed? Let me say it in a fancier, how many destinies have I written? How many pages have I painted? How many thrilling sounds have I played with my soul's rusty violin? Am I the only one who can here the sadistic rhythm, the only one capable to express those infernal tones? No... Now I really want a piano, playing in the background, the piano shall have the role of The Silence. It shall make me admire the wonderful vibrations of silence...Silence is the music of life itself after all.

I got a saying,"beatus vir qui suffet tentationem' one who is happy is the one who resist temptation. What kind of purity would one need to understand those latin words? I got no clue, just because there is need of a greater wisdom than mine. But if I could give that advice, I would give it to myself, thus I should have won the virtue of patience I waited for And also, the talent of talking, not only writing.

Et lingua eius loquestur inidicum", and his tongue shall speak..... justice. Don't I deserve mercy? Why do I have to hear about this word constantly? Only "talking" and "saying", I want the silence of unspoken thoughts. I want to live their thrills. I still dream about the emptyness of the inside. The paradox is that I also want a greater empathy. Just as I said earlier, it's hard to exist as a human but if I weren't one, I won't have the pleasure of writing...Actually I wouldn't even have a conscience.

This night is quite cold and it's past midnight. Although the sky is still lighted, from an observer's perspective, we would see that we live in a dance of lights and, shadows. We live in great stone buildings, in a forest of unprocessed metal But outside is chilling, and inside is also quite cold. The sky behind a window may be lighted by our ideal technology but I see no moon. I guess it's a problem of the weather, although I stopped believing in it long time before this moment. Nothing is a conscious you see, everything is just a possibiliy which happened but not an event. Even the clouds have their own reasons for being up there in the sky.

I am here and alone alongside my words, listening to the same lullaby sung by the same rusty violin. The same resonance...again and yet again. I turn my head a few times, vertically, in a swift movement. I still can hear it. Who does those rhymic whispers? and who do these blasphemic symphonies belong to? I won't to know their source. It's cold in here, it's dark, and it's quiet...It was quiet, but is the thing I hear silence, is it an ordered rhythm or a chaotic one maybe? It is entirely, no...in essence...it's aleatory. It's a free style of a random melody which is not random but, only in my head.

My thumbs are numb...I am exhausted, the sleep made me tired. I feel the need of dreaming reality and to have my feet on the ground once more, an unstable ground that is. No sound can be heard, it's a paralyzing silence. It gives my neck cramps...it's the end or is it the storm before the calm, as opposed to the saying? This atmosphere is empty, is just the nightmare before the purity of the noise which will macabrely scream? Oh, what sublime yet deaf sounds, scandalous, it got class...The taste of words is so sour.

I haven't seen beatiful eyes which cry blood. Rather eyes of blood which cry their own shade, eyes which still haunt me. Those eyes, lines angerly skecthed with the darkest Crayon with tears of rose-like colour, superbly thrown by the pen's sharpness. How sublime, how abstract. It's so frightening, yet sublime. An image well suited to the tones of this divine song which has it's own resonance heard in my head. My bones crack and make sounds, just because the are happy. They are also waiting.

I wait...and wait, and wait yet again. I wait using the patience, I never got. It's quiet...such wonderful news, what I hated the most, now it's gone and I miss it! Order is not a thing to follow, I'd rather follow the chaos, the entropy, the degeneration in time and void and the bleeding of the soul...They surely are arts which need to be learned by heart. As long as I got the destiny in front of me, I bite it, I'll drink it's unsure vitality and I'll let the future's corpse float through it's own patheticism of it's own existence.

Wasn't I the one crying about the place I live? About lights and shades? About writings and such? No, of course not, you really got some guts to even think about it! What kind of victim would I be if I were so sincere. Everything is so dim and I feel so numb. Am I already asleep? I won't think so, those of my kin aren't limited by neither day, nor night. No we aren't limited neither by life nor death. Ha! Those are petty forces! The only things that limits us are you, because you stay in front of us. Although we are polite enough to negotiate the path.

What kind of eyes was I referring to? Whose eyes are that red and black and that deep? Not mine, but Fate's. Though that we already let Fate's corpse to sink into Abyss, or am I wrong? How sublime...The wonderful song, my personal musical Box of Pandora, where is your locket's key? Through how many spikes, chains and fangs do I have to get? This is a lullaby indeed, but I wonder, whos life does this lullaby end? What existence has lost it's meaning in that deep eyes, curse their beauty. I am just asking for a name. I hear no sound, and yet this silence is the sound that shakes my feelings. It's....empty, just like me, but without a souls. At least let's hope I got one. Why are you looking at me with that red eyes and with that chilling gaze?! Why won't you stop it?! Why don't you even blink!? Why don't you leave me ...alone? All this time you totured me with your stunning melodies which you were playing, without voice, with the same old rusty violin that haunts me. The same tonalities, the same frequency, the same resonance... and now it's gone..No...Why? Why have you poured salt upon my wounds? Why have you finished your sublime masterpiece? I don't want to hear anymore the haunting sillence. I don't want to hear anymore the same dumb quietness. Leave me now...why? I just ask a simple question...why? Just out of my purest curiosity...why?

Every sound, every movement...every scream, it would just wake me up suddenly from this state...I am afraid, I don't want to hear anything. I don't want to see anything...I want to stay like this forever...I want to stay neither dead nor alive...I just want just to stare passively, constantly to lose my gift of consciousness, to forget myself. I want to forget that I exist. I beg, I beg...I want this chapter to end.