15 Minutes

Everything and nothing can happen in 15 Minutes.

15 Minutes fell of the clock,
as azilE was waiting for the lonely bus.
15 Minutes, of torture and despair.
15 Minutes, so long, its not fair.
Find a spot, take a seat,
I know its cold, just act sleek.
14 Minutes, time passes so slow, feel like a film from 1904.
One car, two cars, please let this be a dream....
I cannot wait that much standing here still.
A man in trainers and headphones shakes his head to the beat,
his feet move, his body swings,
I think he's gonna sing!
13 times for the clock to move its arms around,
this chair is hard, its way too high
I think I'll rather sit on the ground.
12 Minutes, anyway, what's time? I hope this place is real
The fog curls,
into lollipops,
and when was my last meal?
a guy on a bike with a Mexican hat
gives me evil eyes.
11 Minutes, oh not tonight! let that not be him...
he seems distressed, he's half undressed
he has no memory.
The conversation goes in circles
'Was it really that bad?' 'Oh yeah, you better leave'
I think they are coming for him...
10 Minutes the night is young, let's find something to stare at,
the gate and the park look like a goth story's graveyard.
9 Minutes is less than 10 but long enough to freeze.
There are no stars, where is my card? where are head, phone and keys?
8 Minutes. Will there ever be rest? oh no, there he comes again.
'Comes with me' 'No.' 'No?' 'No.'
7 Minutes he stumbles away and falls on top of a bin.
he gets up, fixes his hair, he thinks he's always lean.
azilE's eyes can't hold the tears, this is fun but here comes the fear.
6 Minutes I think I'm scared,
why is that car stopping there?
5 Minutes and more people arrive,
Asian girls in colourful tights.
I hope they don't know what is going on. Let the night hide me.
I give them a smile, they do it back,
its all here, its all in our eyes.
4 Minutes not long before,
getting the bus to the underworld.
Everyone has pointy ears here. Make them go. Hold your feet close.
3 times sixty,
I hope you don't miss it.
Make up and clothes,
music and drugs.
2 Minutes I cannot believe I made it.
what did you think? that 15 Minutes were eternity?
1 Minute, no sign of the long red car,
Its called a bus, come on, play the part.
oh really? I should have guessed so...
Here it comes, it breaks the fog, it's lights so bright and yellow.
A double Decker red is messing with my head.
Get your money out and pray.

The ride was fun, but with no minutes to count
who wants even keep writing.

azilE.

Far away...

Being young they say, is the best time to have fun. Lately, now that I'm Far Away and I'm having fun, I'm starting to think that being young is the best time to load your head with knowledge, facts, ideas, ideals and other 'solid' things. From building up to that point you can live the rest of your life with foundations, easy. Many of us have been told all these things among other things in our childhood or through experience, previous experience. I just think that I'm wasting my time here, in this place.

I feel as if I should be exercising my brain rather than destroying it, like I am at the moment. Alcohol has become my enemy and so has people. Don't get me wrong, I love people, but I'm a carer and I care, which now a days is a disadvantage. I dont even know what Im saying but Im made of rubber, not steel. I don't want to be tough and heartless, do you?

Today selling Socialist news papers ofr seemingly no reason, I saw it so clearly that it was painful. Everyone is scared. The minority looked happy and everyone looked as if they were in the search of something or other. Then talking to two policemen (who were acting like elements of the public forces but were soft inside their uniform), it occurred to me that, everyone is searching for their lost humanity. Their tenderness, their right to be soft even. Completely ignorant of being in this search, people keep searching. No one allows their true thoughts to come up and show and shine.

I know it. The world is changing.

alize

Back to the Lab

Back to the lab, not as in I am back to my old settings but as, back to the lab of my head. Even though at the same time, I am in new surroundings. I just started British University student life. Basically, I live in a room in some student flats in South London, there are 3 or 4 locks between my room and the outside world. Locks are confusing when you come back from the several nights of intoxicating your brain, which in this new place, are often.

~Back in the lab of my brain, my head, my mind, my soul even. I am alone but not lonely and I feel lucky. The other people who inhabit my flat are all seemingly understanding so far. Sensitve even. Its strange, a new life, new people, new colours. Its a new world for me, and Im feeling. All In South America, where I grew up, everything was undone and hard, in England, everything is delivered to you if you can be bothered to actually do it. I am bothered, I will spread the word, the world is out there for us all to go and grab it. There must be something for everyone out there. We are all equal, what is the difference between you and me?

I feel so dead and so alive every 5 minutes, I want to be surrounded by people, I want to be all alone. Its everything. Its myself which is changing too. In this dangerously explosive lab.

Student life consists in trying hard to sell yourself, but its all about only choosing the people you want to surround yourself with. I feel safe in this environment. I like it. At the same time, I want to drop it all and live on the streets. I need to record it all. I will try to.

see you when Im sober

x

Alize

His name is Product

Broken verses for broken hearts, straight from my unfastened guttural pain.
Waves of selfishness dance around the room, no one thinks of anything but themselves, except for that fraction of a second when they offer you their world in one look. One fraction of a second when the shell opens and smiles, just to quickly bounce back to its closed rock-like state.
I walked past, waiting for my own doors to open, occasionally entering the wrong one. His eyes were so intense, I couldn't even tell which colour they were. Images of the past and present turn black and white. People's thoughts appear up in bubbles floating above their shaking heads. Memories jumped out of my head and re-acted themselves right in front of my face. 'I swear I've seen this before.. I swear I've been here before' I said. All these places look the same. Bricks. The only thing that seemed real was the intangible reality of my drunken emotions.
It was cold but I didn't care. 'You are somewhere' I thought, I had to get there. I started walking. My feet didn't want to touch the floor. 'It's OK feet, its just the pavement' I couldn't calm down. 'There's people around' someone shouted, 'I can tell from the way they smell'. What have you been doing?. I heard people running way. Silence crossed time and space and found us in our little world. I stopped. you stopped, him and her stopped too. We were trapped. Silence. Everyone was too overwhelmed to move. I sank in memories of my childhood... jumping backwards and forwards the stream, the water was brown. Realistic, not romantic. Beautiful. Join us. 'Fresh air, please' I thought. I tried to breath but it hurt. You know, when you try to breath but you can't because there is a lump in your throat and your chest is too filled up with love and feelings and things like that and you just can't breath.
There was a girl standing in the corner, holding to the lamp post. She was tying up her shoelaces, it took a while, her boots went all the way up to her thighs. She looked up at me and we gave each other a broken smile. Secrets. Everyone and their secrets.
An old man shouted 'Get out of here' through his crooked teeth. I went back to the room, you know the room where no one knows anyone.

azile
x

Some days

Another of my moon stories, because like perhaps I've said before, its better to shock than to bore your audience.

Transcription from a piece of paper dated Wednesday 17/18th August 2009.

I'm not completely sure about the date because I can't see. I can't see a calendar or my phone. Everything is blurry but my vision has improved since last night and the hallucinations are almost gone.

Yesterday, out of boredom and feeling lame and in the need of something different, I decided to use a present I received a couple of years ago. Two flowers. They were meant to be used in a tea. My handwriting is massive, I know, but my vision is so cloudy and... that thing was crazy. I got the flowers as a good bye present from friend that recently survived cancer. In Ecuadorian slang they're called Dormideras (sleepy flowers), after some research I found out that they are called 'Floripondio'. I also found out that they're used to develop a drug used to steal and rob people, the drug makes them loose their capabilities, will and memory.

My vision is weird. I want it back. After I made myself the tea and drank it all alone (I thought they weren't going to do anything other than calm me down) The tea started to kick in and it was weird. First my pupils grew and covered my whole iris. I saw the process in front of a mirror and it was fascinatingly scary. I saw many things that weren't there but mainly, I was unable to communicate. Talking to a friend in Skype was the weirdest thing ever. He was blurry and my little image in the corner was, well, red and had no eyes. I was home. My mom was there and we were supposed to eat dinner together. How on Earth? I couldn't hide and let the effect wither off. I wanted to through up but I couldn't walk to the bathroom.

When my step dad arrived I was tripping harder than ever. The random weird acts started. I was talking in Spanish to my British step dad and in English to my Ecuadorian mom. I tried to clean the toilet with my naked hands. I wanted to take pictures of everything. To be honest, I don't have many memories of that period of time. My step dad got so worried, I think they phoned all my friends and my boyfriend, then they phoned the Hospital. They wouldn't believe me that it was only 'a flower tea' that had done 'that' to me.

I was crazy. I still am a bit. Then, I was forced to through up but all I wanted to was to clean my sick or clean my teeth. So they took me to Hospital. I made myself sick another couple of times, loads of times. I didn't want my stomach washed. My mom had to dress me, it was embarrassing. They asked me what had happened, then the date, then the year, the month etc.. I couldn't answer to any of the questions. I was lost. Being in that state at Hospital is one scary experience. I felt better after puking, so I could answer questions like 'what month are we in?' they kept asking me those question, to keep me focused and awake and to know if my brain was fucking working. I'm so scared. My pupils were gigantic, they still are and that's what is making my vision so bad.

A bit of the effect was gone, so they started the tests. They took blood samples, my pressure, measured my heartbeat and whatever. I had like a million things plugged to my chest and fingers. They kept us there till almost 4:30 am. The results finally came and they found out that indeed, I just have had a 'flower tea' I was intoxicated and I'm anemic, they found out. They brought an old lady to the cubicle right in front of mine. She was stubbornly refusing to have a bag of fluid plugged to her arm. She was so obstinate, she said straight to the nurse's face 'I refuse'. They also brought some people from a car crash, all covered in blood. One of them was screaming constantly, rhythmically. I was suffering from dehydration and short term memory loss so I couldn't follow threads of conversation, my doctors were patient, and talked to me slowly and took notes I think. I was so mad at myself. They kept asking the same basic questions over and over. Whats the date today? Month? Year? Who is our Prime Minister? I knew the answers, someone laughed, I said something witty I guess...

My eyes had a life of their own, which looked scary to other people and was annoying for me because I was looking for water. So, they phoned the department of toxicology at the Guy Hospital in London. I was scared and feeling so bad for my parents, I've never seen them so scared. I don't remember where I left my watch, I couldn't see the letters on my Ipod thus I couldn't listen to music since I begun tripping, I couldn't see my phone's screen thus I couldn't phone or text anyone. I asked my step dad to text my boyfriend and tell him I'm OK. I wanted to leave, they wanted to leave... we were waiting for even more results. The doctor finally came in again and said 'we found... nothing more! besides the fact that she's anemic, but you already knew that.' I'm a vegetarian, what did you expect?. My two main doctors were female, the first one was specially pretty and kept saying 'OK, Alright' in a patronizing-I'm getting nothing out of this-but I'm sweet way. A black fat guy started dancing in front of my bed (which in all fairness, was a corridor and his mom was having an operation very near to where we were). They doctor gave me two yellowish pills in one of those tiny plastic glasses, that plus the weird robe (which I affirmed several times that my grandma would have liked) made me feel like a mental patient. Insane.

So we left. I couldn't stop crying, I was like so depressed. I still am. I feel the worst for my step dad and mom. They were so nice. After we got home, they said 'Let's pretend this never happened, just tell us when you get your vision back'. I just didn't think that thing was going to be so potent. I can't remember much but I do know that I wasn't in control at all. I only want to feel good again. Have normal eyes again and feel less insane.

New light makes... new people?

People change, that's a given. I think I change faster than most people though. Its kind of worrying me. Things that I wouldn't do yesterday, I probably would do tomorrow. My morals are riding this really fast and curvy roller coaster. It is that simple sometimes. I like to think of it as my 'evolution process'. As if I was mutating into something greater that this, that I am at the moment. I'm realizing the mistakes I make, by the minute. My ratio is quite high, but my ratio of realizing the crappy stuff I used to do before, under the light of new minute enlightenment period is higher.(its not that I don't like myself, I do, it has a lot of potential it just needs to... evolve) This sometimes happens by the minute. After finding out a new piece of information, my whole outlook is modified, let me explain. Today I read this whole blog about "unattractive celebrities" that this guy found attractive, like the ugly best friend of the main character or ageing actresses or breakfast TV presenters. After reading what seemed like the secret thoughts of a ten year old, I have a new way of seeing people. Of finding people charming and somehow, I now know, that everyone has some sort of tick to them.

http://idontcareifyouwouldntiwould.blogspot.com/?zx=2cd92b331cab8294

Most people who work in the celebrity business though, will discard a whole person if the shape of their ears made them less attractive. Unless you have personality to compensate or you just can't be ugly. This people will also build a temple of solid gold for anyone who crossed the line of average. That fucks up the beauty concepts and conduct of normal people, the majority of the population that has TV and rights, do care about celebrities in a weird almost religious way (i.e. build their lives trying to imitate that of the famous). I personally, don't know much if anything about celebrities... I prefer simple, anonymous people who will care about my feelings too. It is this people, whom I'll be seeing under a new light. Its kind of exciting. I might find some charm in myself too, you never know. Its sad, but one can judge people too quick too easily too harshly and this happens too often. I want to stop that. I want to find the mojo of people you would consider boring. I want Mr. boring to be my best friend. I think I haven't got much more to add except 'never judge a book by its cover' blah blah and sometimes, don't judge a book by its reviews either. Read it yourself.
your constantly evolving (hopefully...) friend,

x
azile

Actually

Pure actuality is to me, the hardest thing to achieve. Artists of all kinds and informants (journalists, etc) yearn it. Try to trap it or capture it, there's no use. Actuality escapes, slides away at its fastest speed, when you're trying your hardest to grab it and hold it. Seconds run past so quick that we loose count and start counting minutes, till minutes flow past so fast that we have to count hours and so on. obvious, yes. but what is actuality then? is it the lame little thing you're doing right this second? is actuality reading this words? is that your actual present (ie whatever is going on currently in your life in long term terms 'work' 'study' 'holiday')? or is actuality the historical context? the 2009 moment-era. this time period with all its characteristics (Obama, global warming, facebook why not, blogs, skinny people)wait! because this zeitgeist will be gone in yes, no time. because presidents of rich countries change (not as fast as presidents of poorer ones, check out Ecuador's presidential record) and the weather changes... it has been happening for thousands of years, what makes you think that it has to stay like this? The surface might change to give place to a better-more efficient- newer actual race of beings. With technology, the changes are even faster... I can see something overpowering facebook coming from the same people who brought you the ipod and iphone and ibook and the i cantbefunnyenough to invent something, soon.
So, I can say that I lived in time when skinny people were regarded as beautiful but the obesity rates were at their highest. That was my actual time. this is actuality then? when is music actual? When does it become obsolete? When is 'its' time to come back again? who creates the guidelines?
Who is this wizard that decides what is 'actually'? I might just be craving answers to questions that are relative to age/occupation/place where you're residing but have not definite answer, whatsoever. The sun not only shines for the cool. Different peoples persive things differently. Things are actual for a longer time for the old. A business man calculates time in paying checks that come and go, a runner in split seconds, a quantum scientists in another even smaller denomination, a bass player in tempos. So actually, only defines what is true in the exact moment when you formulate the words, for others, for yourself, once its said, its gone.
Just like that amazing holiday that is not actual anymore. but hey! after the actual come the memories. and the next actual moment, and then the memories again and then its all retro. etc. x

FIRE!!!!

I walked out to my roof like every night... This time, it was different. There was a fire in the distance. A real high-flamed fire. With smoke and spirits and more flames. I knew, I knew my body was weak that day and I felt dizzy with the first puff. Vomity. I shacked, my leg did, out of control. I went out for a second time, this time with my camera. It only captured red shadows and night. Stupid amateur quality camera. I re-entered my room and light a candle. My Yankee candle reminds me of my step-grandparents step-love and it's smell... it's smell. London's burning in the distance I thought. Like the song. No, it was not London. It must have been an empty field, London is further away. I thought of the other two times when I've seen fires, one of them was in London, Camden was burning mercilessly. People gathered in the nearby park to watch, so did my friends and I, we even got to talk to some of the firemen. Some guy was smoking inside his flat, he fell asleep, they said. Everything is close and near in London, a fire like that could have consumed the whole borough.

The other fire I've seen was longer ago, before Camden, even before England. It happened in my little forest house in a valley back in Ecuador. I had a happy day that day, it was so happy that I fell asleep with excited exhaustion, holding his photograph with one hand and covering my eyes from the 3 o'clock Equatorial sun with the other. When I woke up, my house was flooded with dense smoke. I went outside and saw our four trees burning in a hellish fire. Fiercely. One of them fell over the wall that separated our house from the abandoned property next door. We had no hose. Only tiny useless buckets. I ran down the road and borrowed a hose from the neighbours and called the emergency number, then a fire engine. There was no access, from anywhere, to that bit of the forest, I've always lived in the edge between a town and a forest, I don't know why, it just happens. Forests come with a lot of spirits and stories.

I was incharged of the borrowed hose and of checking on the firemen that had to get to the fire through our garden. The more water they sprayed, the bigger the flames, the bigger the fire. My brother took the car and went to buy a bigger hose. I swear it took him what it felt like forever. I cannot also remember how long it took the firemen to put down the fire... maybe four hours... but I do remember that late that night, my brother, my friend Taya and I sat high up in the leftovers of the wall that once was (the one that the tree fell on), which by then had cooled down a little and was pleasant to sit on (not for extended periods of time though). We ended up that night putting down burnings ashes, little fires as we smoked cigarettes on the wall, trying to be one with the fire and taking turns with the brand-new-long-green hose.

It was a clear night besides the pink smokey cluds that we were creating, we could see the stars. The smell of burnt forrest that we liked so much at first began to make us sick. No on knew what will happen on the next day. One thing we did know, and that was that we did not have our four extremely tall trees anymore. That made my grandma happy, she thinks fire is Always a good thing and that those trees were threatening with falling on top of the actual house (which would have been completely crushed by even just one of them). We used to have five, one of them fell on another wall. It was such a mess. I don't remember having seen my mother at all that day, later on she told me how she she thought someone had started that fire on purpose and that she knew who it was. Someone who didn't like her and had access to that bit of the forrest, it made sense. Then we feared. She feared for Kanito our dog, who hungs out in the garden most of the time. She is always worrying about the dogs.

The candle has stolen all the air in my room. My body feels all weak again. I really need some sleep. I really do. Good night.

Failed Success

People are by nature, creatures in search of freedom. Choices make us. We choose, we decide and when we are constrained, we complain. Easy.
It stroke me when everything turned into the intense colour of reality. I walked past St. John's Square, to my interview... in the headquarters office, still wrapped in the bubble of hope. I looked at my watch, 3:15, late. I got slightly lost in the way there and asked one or too people for directions, both of them were builders taking a break, having a smoke, incredibly polite as they spoke knowingly of the roads of London. I got there, the clean office, one lonely guard, I know... I was late. He said he couldn't let me in, that's when it stroke me, reality. He told me to arrange another meeting and I left, he and a lady that had entered the building soon after I did, looked at me with sad eyes, as if they cared... I felt awful. I entered the room as a worthy human being in search of being productive, I left the building as a tourist, or even worst, a shopper, a consumer. I was too late to be one of those business people, and too early to be a Londoner, which I'm not, I'm a tourist. I walked away trying to get lost, I took the most random roads, crossed the streets when I shouldn't have had I did all the wrongs turnings, still, I ended up in the freaking tube stop.
In the way, there were several interesting views and characters. An office composed by a series of tiny white cubicles with a sign saying 'we provide space for individuality', more like 'boxes for individuality' I'll say... ha. Business people smoking outside they're offices, mums with babies, five colourful women in saris exchanging laughs, a smartly dressed lady walking really fast and drinking a beer, really fast, a girl all dressed in pink with an almost shaved head and a scary look in her eyes... some boys all dressed in black with a different kind of scary look in their eyes. Old people, young people. Everyone.
There's no use, I can't get lost. I reluctantly entered the station, a pretty girl handed me a flayer, it distracted me and I fell, a pretty boy lifted me up, up till that moment, besides the disappointment, everything felt somehow pretty, the sun was shinning. The sun is my friend, the rain is too, summer and winter are my home.
Down at the platform, out of boredom I started reading the posters on the walls, one advertised a book titled 'What would humanity do if God existed?' I thought about it for a minute, the thought was unpleasant, if God existed then someone, or a group of people would have to be right... the Christians, the Muslims, the Deists... someone. God lays in the human confusion, in the human heart. End of the discussion for me today.
There was a curly haired guy chatting up girls with stories about his trip to Mexico City, the girls looked at him with an unimpressed stare, but then looked at each other and giggled, girls...
My own train of thought got interrupted by a 'Costumers Announcement', a female voice announced that: delays in the service are due to a person under a train in Hammer Smiths. Suddenly, everyone thought about death. You could tell. Suicide. Others worried about being late, the news will get them later. The curly haired guy didn't quite get it and when the girls explained him what happened, he said: 'once in Mexico City...' basically, the same thing.
I struggled to enter the train, twas extremely overcrowded... I wasn't even sure where I was going... after all, the purpose of my whole being there was the interview.
The train took me to Piccadilly Circus, yeah, why not.
I walked up the escalators even though I had no rush... a song came to my head 'no body knows where you are... just how near or how far... shine on you craaazy diamond...'. No one knows anyone in London. I wore my sun glasses and hid behind purple frames. Perfect, I wanted to be the observer. As I walked out of the Station, the first thing I saw was a guy standing on a step, a megaphone in his one hand, a fist with the other. As I walked, trying to follow the busy-fast flow of Piccadilly Circus, I tried to read his t-shirt, it said: 'no matter how much you jog, you are still going to die'. There was a crowd around him, he said something about people rushing to Mc Donald's... Was he stopping them? encouraging them? why does he care anyways, he is going to die too. Does it really matter? What matters? The present. The present matters. The future does too, and the past does.
Places like this are usually good spots for people-watching, although you run the risk of getting people-sick. I was up for some people watching, but I didn't want people to watch me.
There were two hobos right in front of me. Under different circumstances, they would have never been friends... but their un-kept beards, hobo coats and unlucky circumstances have made them friends... one of them smoked, the other one smiled... I wondered, what do they talk about? their loyal little dogs, alcohol? their life stories... they made each other less lonely. I kept walking, I knew where I could go, I had a gift card for this shop in Carnaby Street. I got it almost a year ago... Would it still work?
The walk was the same that I had already had started, good. I almost collided with this kid, he was around twelve but tall as a lamp post, he was surrounded by a bubble of money and parental care, he held a Hamleys bag in his hand. But he didn't smile, he had that cocky expression that rich people wear when they go out. A Friend of mine would have called him a phony, all of them: PHONIES, he would have said. People passed, I met them for a fraction of a second, a fraction of a smile sometimes... A little girl dressed like her mum stopped and took a picture of a street-sweeper and a post box, they do make a good photo. The scene kept me smiling for a good five minutes. I remembered little primary school secrets: when someone touches his hair, he wants to talk to you, when a person looks away, he doesn't, when people have their hands in their pockets, they're hiding something. Who makes those things up? They are like an ear bug in my head sometimes...
I was reaching Carnaby Street, I could smell the stylish owners of the garmetes of the week and the tourists, of course. What? was that music that I was hearing? Of course, the Carnaby Krishna lovers approached me with their singing pace, bells, drums, saris, I hoped they didn't talk to me. I wanted to tell them that Krishna won't come... but hey, he might do, I don't really know. After all, what would humanity do if God existed?
They walked past, too into their chants to notice the world around. One of them, a woman, had stopped in a book shop and with the new book in her hands, she accelerated her pace to reach her rhythmic colleagues.
There I was, Carnaby, oh, wait, one more... a guy with big grey eyes (part of the strategy, this charity people do know what they're doing!) stopped me. He asked 'May I ask you where arefrom and how old are you? If I'm not too forward' Yes, I was surprised. I haven't had spoken to anyone since I spoke to the guard in the building of my failed interview, did I still remember words? I did. I told him my age, he looked disappointed and said that he's charity that looks after hobos is only interested in over-twenty-ones. That was OK. I wasn't up for charity-ing anyway. He still asked where I am from, 'Its a long story' I said, 'I'm English but I speak weird' then I walked away. He said 'take care'. A couple of extremely orange guys repeated 'take care' after him and laughed. I Didn't look back, I could tell the way they looked by their voices, they looked gay.
The place looked somehow familiar... yes, I knew why... it was were Phorm is. Phorm, form, phorm, shape, phorm, form. The word danced in my head. Suddenly, the city looked even more lonely. An invisible needle ached. I miss someone from Phorm I met... A gypsy that is now in California. How I miss him, how i miss that gypsy.
I could see the shop where my gift card belonged to from there. Carnaby will still feed and shatter egos, and make you feel as if you had it all, until you look at a shop window.

x
Azile

Today...

Today the wind blows so strong in England that it seems that its going to break all the windows and blow all the trees away... I think spirits use strong winds like this to travel around. The wind transports their invisible beings and then both transparent friends carry stories along the long distances of time, through the ears and skins of whoever happens to pass by.

Today the wind blows so strong, that it makes you feel small, fragile, helpless, cold, alive. Your hair rushes to your face and there is nothing you can do to stop it and to stop the wind. The wind always carries news. Birds, flowers, pollen and news. I got a phone call from the wind. You can worry as much as you want, but at the end of the day, the unexpected will be worse (or better) than any of the things you imagined or worried about.

Today the wind blows and brings and takes and feels like a curtain of invisible ice.
Today the wind rushes you to look for shelter. run, hide, seek, dance.

Where will you end up if you go just to where the wind blows?

Theneverendinglifecycle

Its been long since I've written poetry,
but at the same time,
I've never stopped.

No one ever stops.
A night of sleep doesn't mean you're stopping, a holiday doesn't either.
You never stop being,
you never stop poetry.

Life is a continuous cycle of mornings, nights, twilight and dawns
of creating yourself, again and again
a restless struggle with time
of adjusting your dreams to meeting deadlines.

luckily, not always.

Luckily you'll find some time,
to look at the moon
some time to wonder
some time to feel,
and some time to sleep without thinking of today or tomorrow.

Perhaps you'll find yourself doing
something you love and enjoy so much
that it wont mean any effort at all.

and perhaps this life cycle of never ending moons and suns
will not consume you
and you will stop racing and start looking at the things
that you walked past before
because you were in a rush.

and perhaps,
the fire that chases you from behind your feet
will cool off
and let you rest
and let you sleep
and let you be.

azile
x

D is for Dreams

I've been running, unable to stop, since I can remember.
From the very first moment when I knew the place where I was born, was not my place.
To the moment when I longed for something further than the Earth and even the stars.
From caging my thoughts in words,
To freeing myself in love.
From the corner of an abandoned dusty road, with cows grassing by my side,
To a grey place that I can now call home, at least for a while.
From a world of confusion in which I thought I could never wake up,
to the safety of a warm bed and an arm to hold me.
From the nightmare, to the dream.
Yet again, I can't stay, I must run.
And when I think I can stop, that's when I get be pushed harder,
to the limit,
always to the limit, always to the extreme.
Just kissing the edge of the cliff.
Licking the frontiers of madness.
For that I keep my scars.
Keeping myself here with you,
in subtle, gentle balance
that keeps me from falling and keeps me running.

His Struggle to find the light Switch

The tyres squeaked violently as the car accelerated away from his drive. They had dropped him feeling absolutely clueless in front of his own doorstep. But on his current condition, he could not recognise the same doorstep he crossed two years ago, when he fell in love with the house, or when he showed it to his second wife Nora; he couldn't even remember picking up the newspaper from that very doorstep, every morning. No, he rang the bell and waited, as any stranger would have done. Slowly he realized that no one would open the door for him anymore. The uncomfortable weight that he had to carry around all night in his pocket, were the keys to that door. The third key, after the chain and the hotel logo was the front door key. He leaned on the door and counted: one, tow, three... It worked! as the door opened he lost support and when it was fully open, he fell straight over the green carpet, like an old tree over the grass. An old tree he was. The carpet smelt of the detergent Nora used to like. He stayed there, in that position for a while, remembering and then avoiding the painful spot in his memory and thinking 'I'm going to be sick any minute'. He battled to take off his coat, laying on the floor, like a fish out of water. One arm off. The room was dark and packed with useless old furniture, inherited from ancient pretencious unknown relatives. From memory, if he stretched his left arm he should reach the light switch next to flower pot. A little stretch and... on! The light was overwhelming. It inundated the whole room and drowned him in a sea of guilt. He could barely drag himself up to the sofa, but no, he could not face his life under full bright light, no, not tonight. Darkness and sweet dreams awaited for this broken prince.

Moon Stories

Life runs from the generals to the particulars, that is, everything happens to everyone, but it is how YOU experience it what makes it different, unique.
Everybody, well, almost everybody falls in love (or at least believes so...) how it happens has inspired a million of films, novels, songs, art...
Love and life can be told in short stories, short stories of people who experienced them with intensity, people who at least for that moment, felt trully alive.
These are, my moon stories.