Friday, 2 July 2010

17.

Nick wrote sth beautiful, he wrote “Let’s be flowers for a while.”

And I want to be a flower, I’ve tried to be a flower, wanted to bloom in the remotest garden or forest in the world, or outside this world, a flower in heaven, or even in hell, I didn’t even want to be a beautiful flower, an orchid, a poppy, a sunflower, I could just as well be wild weeds springing from the death roiling and roasting beneath the layers of earth and dirt and soil; or grass, tall fucking grass behind which a scared child could hide, or a happy one, excited, heart boom-boom-booming in its chest with joy, to sneak up on the unaware friend or parent or sibling and give them the scare of their lives. The mother will take the impish little kid in her arms and whisper:"you had me worried sick".

And I could be a flower, cut, but still undisturbed in its marbled vessel upon the father’s grave, where it’s silent and peaceful, and there’s only the buzzing of summer insects and the chirping and lovemaking of birds, upon tombstones etched with names and dates, and in the winter, gypsies and beggars, palm out for a dime, a crushed cigarette butt, framed pictures of beloved ones rusting away in the rain, candles sizzling to the touch of a raindrop or tear.

Or be a flower that comes to rest above coffin, thrown as a last farewell or due respect, and get buried there amidst the wood, a guardian of the decayed, hidden under shovelfuls of earth, “ashes to ashes, dust to dust, an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth”, lost flowers, kissed by worms exuded and given birth to by rotting flesh, where it’s the most quiet and the murmurs of the busy world above are barred or filtered into a song.

Or even a flower covering a shallow grave, skinny naked mangled body underneath, my body dragged there in screams and laughter, died there in bursts of blood and slashed skin and steel blades, excited, crazed by young blood rushing out of huge cuts now resembling mouths, in which the filth of the earth shall inhabit, and grow fungi and moss spitting out of eyes, pores, ears, nostrils, a tune playing in my dying head, it’s Beethoven, I recognize it, can play it by heart, last drops gushing at the elegiac melody, sad, beautiful, sad, beautiful, each touch of the piano key, falling, falling, towards death, bye-bye at last, and the shouts of the world are slowly covered, and dirt fills my eyes, and sun fills my ears, what a beautiful day to die, all nature delirious for you, it wants you more than people ever did amidst them, and the flowers they will embrace you, and the worms they will embrace you, and the earth will cover you soft like the mother all children should have, to cover your ears from the screams of the world, to cover your eyes from its ugliness,

I wanna be that flower.

16 comments:

  1. I love both the beauty and savagry of this piece.
    Flowers make for the coolest metaphors.
    Nick X

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  2. I don't know who you are, but this -
    http://yourdogboy.blogspot.com/2010/06/02.html

    Wow. Just wow. This just has to be one of the most beautiful things that I've ever read, online and in general. I like your blog. Keep on writing.

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  3. did you ever watch this japanese tv series called 'multiple personality detective psycho'? it's based on some manga & directed by Takeshi Miike, i love most of his work a lot. The first episode, i think, deals mainly with turning people into repositories for flowers in some typically fucked up,dreamy way. you might like it, i don't know.

    i was thinking of you & i hoped your absence didn't mean you weren't ok?
    m-c x

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  4. whoa...you might..i think...be a more interesting writer than him. I am sorry. I like you both very much. take care.

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  5. Nick, i wouldn't have written this without your valuable input and words. So, thank you. I guess they do.

    XXX

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  6. Shira, I don't know who i am either, this blog is prolly a way to find out. I'm so glad you liked that. Bless thee.

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  7. Wildernesschic, u think so? thank u, I like your writing too. XX

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  8. Changeling,

    naaah, i was on a wee vacation. I'm leaving again for Spain on Monday. I hate planes. I've dreamt it will go down, so these might be the last words i ever write.

    I don't know the series ur talking of but it sounds mighty beautiful. If i survive, i will look around for it.

    Actually, i'm teetering on the edge of ultimate paranoia, i think. But am ok. thnaks for asking, hope the same goes for you? I will read your new post which i printed during my siesta.

    XXX to you, sir.

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  9. Killer Luka, were u "talking" to me or Changeling? Sorry. And an official welcome to thee. Be well!
    XX

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  10. kILLER LUKA, in this case, and every case, i thank you.
    Take care, yeah?
    XXX

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  11. Killer Luca
    I don't wanna get in a row with you but your comments are incredibly irriting to me. Why must you compare, is there any value in me saying your work is not as good as say Oscar B's. No I don't think so, art should not immitate macho, hetrosexual bullshit paradigms, it should exist in itself, it has it's own force, from that place you make your mind up but to compare is just dumb as I said.
    Nick X

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  12. true. i don't know why i said that. i'm sorry.

    but I'll happily admit my work sucks.
    art school even said so.

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  13. killer luka
    my experience is art schools say many things, people everywhere say many things, most of what they say is drivel. I would happily accept your work for any book I might get published in the future.
    Nick

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  14. Oh lord, Nick, Killer Luka...i don't know if i have any part or say in this, from my own perspective it was all kind of vague, i didn't take it as a comparison to begin with, i mean i don't even know the artist mentioned, even though i don't know if this makes any difference. Hope everything is cool. For what it's worth, i'm sorry if i have initiated sth i shoiuldn't have.

    Take care y all

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