Remember this flash of a moment when you thought it matters?…The time when you felt something, something grand, so fragile and subtle, so empowering yet frightening?… Yes, it doesn’t mean a thing, it means nothing at all, nothing at all…

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Photo by Bob Lang, from a recent photo-shoot

 

I remember walking away from the funeral of love

On my scarred tippy toes

It all happened in a state of

deep belated insomnia – or narcolepsy perhaps, this part

I cannot recall.

 

There is no formula

For tormenting

And obsessing

And grieving

But I believe that

Phantasmagoric flickers of lights

Are the only reality we can grasp until

favilla et cinere pulvis in terram aligns itself to

The finality of dreams.

 

I’m so scared of misjudging

Of rushing too quick: towards you, perhaps towards

The wrong direction.

Neither of us know ourselves,

We are little la la, happy-go-lucky children lost in the forest of magick.

One caprice after another,

One bitter joke after another…

 

Now you also know that

I’m scared of new beginnings and even more terrified by old endings.

Right after being struck with your ethereal affection,

I turn into a frantic escapee.

 

Just rejoice the phantasmagoric flickers of lights,

Bathe yourself in the glory of their grandiose illusion.

Soon enough

I will put on my Black Madonna heels,

March towards eternal forgiveness,

Conquer oblivion

And take you there

With me.