If I’m living through the code

I must deal with the fall

 

 

 

Failed Alchemy

 

Midnight Roses play strings in the alleys of my mind

Waves. Sound waves, that are no more than wind going through

A popping bubble made of the ideas that I sometimes pretend

Not to be mine.

 

And the bubbles travel through the air, it touches the ground

It lands on Midnight Roses leaves

It’s the negative space within the dream

 

The dream that I’ve laid claim to

Sometimes not as bravely as I should

 

And the more about the others I tried to make, the more about me it became

 

I looked at the Midnight Roses and the sound 

Waves blurring the hologram around them

Because I’m a terrible singer and my jazz had a tone of blues

I couldn’t translate the wind and birds were singing

So I let them sing and I saw colours

I needed to raise the Violet flame

That is there but not here

And it doesn’t make sense and my last lover

Had just gone away and I’m afraid

He will never come back

 

I can’t be violet without a twin flame

 

So I projected the memories and visions on the other

I killed the Midnight Roses in an attempt to extract purples

Without relying on the contemporary layers

Distrustful, muddy and meaningless 

 

The flowers became dark and the pigment didn’t show

 

That’s what happens when you cross the barrier of time

That’s what happens when you project love in the matter

It splits in black and white

 

In good and evil

 

In you and me

 

And we

We have another fight

 

​

​

 

Useless Maxisms

 

Time will teach you

It emerged from knowledge itself

It knows all answers 

To everything

 

Space is a concept made of time, divided by

Deceived by the lie

 

That we exist alone

 

But we do, lastly

 

Everything is the same

That’s why in an attempt to show it through 

I repeat and requote myself so much 

Often, requoting the old enlightened ones right after

 

The artist is a channel 

A work of art is only complete after the artist’s original concept comes to light

Then, you’ll have the expectant eye’s conception added to it

And the piece will be complete

 

If the artist’s idea has never made its way out of the darkness

Even for themselves

That must happen first

 

Or all we would have are rumours fragmented in a Blank State

 

That’s what happened to existence itself

And that’s what it’s repeated aeon after aeon

When the artist thinks himself infinitesimal 

 

It’s time and everything within it is petite

We have all - and by all, I mean the collective -

Been here for two seconds so far

That’s human kind

 

The artist, though, has been here ever since by itself

And since all is so small, why do we have to lose?

 

The idols are dead

And they were the only ones

Who could access the architect

 

So they words remain

For us to quote the art

Over and over again

 

Until the architect

Becomes us

 

I’m riding this ride because I’m lucky enough to know 

The matters about matter

 

And breaking the barrier of the sound

I tried to reach the future, but I

Only got tired from time

 

So I’ve came here and decided to write a maxim that required no much thought

For wires

To seed 

Instead of birds and parchment face the storm

That would wash the ink

And make my thoughts get lost

Forever

 

The billboard for zeitgeist ephemeral contentment in the alleys of my mind said

 

Be happy today

Or be happy tomorrow

You can’t have both

 

And sadness will always be in the meantime

 

Time

 

This time I decided not to sound

Not because I saw that was the best option

Just to be better heard

 

And I just threw all the concepts I had written in a

Travel notebook that I have carried around for years

 

Because I expect someone to find Noetics in it

 

Because I’m tired of squared textbooks texts

I’m tired of the synthesis

I want to start a longueur and freeze time

 

So the other, who is me, lastly

Will listen to it in the back of their mind

 

And we will go back to the start

 

From where we should have never tried

To scape

 

And I will awake

Late for coffee

And nothing will have happened

This time

A line

 

Aligned

​

 

 

 

Dodged Reflexion

 

 

Numbers, patterns, colours, a sound we can’t hear

But it’s there

 

The pain isn’t real

It’s just a reflection of the elusive separation

Which isn’t real

 

And what is real?

 

Your reflection, of course

 

You must try your best to keep 

Your reflection 

In your own mirror

Not to be attracted to the reflection 

The other designed for you 

In their mirror, where they keep magnets

 

Otherwise, you’ll end up letting them

Dream for you

 

You’ll be just grass in someone else’s garden

You’ll be muddy red pigment

That you can find anywhere

 

The ocean won’t be wine-looking in your eyes

 

And you won’t see the patterns

The rhythm in old French 

You won’t notice that music has lost melody

And naught is there to dodge

 

Your thoughts will evade from your mind

Because you won’t see the veil that connects

You

With everything else

 

I wish I could explain to you why God doesn’t care if you don’t care

But you wouldn’t understand once you’re too immersed in being apart

From yourself

 

Just be careful with your reflection

It is all you have left from the grandeur you once were

Keep your mirror hidden

 

And do not sent it through wires

The magnets may usurp it

 

 

 

 

Wicked Antidote

 

My people 

And my generation 

Have plenty on tragedies

Kept in a Pandora box about to explode

 

And I’m no more than a wilting orange 

Hanging on top of a tropeless Tropico

 

Extracting purples 

From the mud of pigments 

That fused way too soon

 

And the birds are dancing the dance of life

Above water, to bring it higher 

Because the architect think they can’t 

Understand love

 

And I can’t either

 

The major glitch about and contained in the knowledge 

Is that it seizes the sheer innocent joy of the process

Once everything becomes too obvious

The illusion of colours and sounds 

Falls in demise 

 

What comes before and then becomes just a point of view

 

And I just was induced to write poetry

Because I knew about the past and knew it would repeat

 

A poet will always handcraft the future 

 

And the present

The present becomes a burden

Too obvious

Deliquescing

 

It fades to black

It fades to silence

 

It fades