samedi 27 juin 2009

Priceless Princess Prints…

A high ceiling room … she lay on the back, eyes lost in the space above...

She is all alone to face the visages parading the walk of memory...

They have been thousand drumming at her door and the sound still echoes...

A high ceiling mind giving space to those hunters hanging at her soul...

And she draws them as many colourful arabesques on the canvas...

Life is a dream and she floats like the boat sails the wild waters...

A high ceiling fear she called heaven before to hear what heaven sings...

Before to see what heaven can print on her face...

When night falls down and silence fills her domain...

A high ceiling musing at her fantasy adjusted...

Just to make of this life nothing more than a holy scene...

And a mark on the endless book of the eternity...

A high ceiling room in turn heaven or hell...

Depending on who comes ringing at her mind...

Depending on how strong is her faith...

A high ceiling consciousness above the city's humming...

When all believers invoke God for a shelter...

As she knows it should be vain to pray with them...

A high ceiling loneliness so much deeply a soul is hard to fill...

When night enlightens the sleepless time...

And filled is the day of blinding realities...

A high ceiling life with two gauge levels...

One is the first and there, all is lies and rawness...

One is the second level where all is reversed...

And the Priceless Princess prints on the walls

Coloured pictures of her good or bad dreams,

As to flee by taking steps on the rainbow out of the rain...

vendredi 26 juin 2009

The Moon, the Sun and the Silence

At the edge of the day
I heard some noises.
It was some voices
Vociferating over the mountain.
I decided to walk there
To see by myself the reason
Of such a sudden trouble.
And what have been my surprise
When I saw the moon and the sun
Fighting for owning the silence.

"The silence is mine!"
Was saying the Sun.
"Only my heat can make
All being to settle it.
"The silence is mine!"
The Moon was answering.
"Only my presence can make
All being to sleep in it."
The battle was so intense
That days and nights
Have been running out,
So much that at the end,
One month have been wasted.

I decided to introduce myself
To this nonsense discussion.
"Miss Moon and mister Sun,
I am sitting here since a long while,
Listening to both arguments.
But through all your words
I haven't heard a single one
That pushed the truth to the light.
On the contrary,
Your quarrel have let the world
In a permanent disorder.
No more day.
No more night.
Everything alive
On this planet is dying.
And the scream covers the land
Of a sinister pandemonium.
Silence is no more
And nobody yet own it
Your quarrel have no more object."
And so I turned my back
And went back to my mountain.

Since this day
The sun and the moon
Try to not cross each other path.
But when it happens,
A great silence
Cover the land...

jeudi 25 juin 2009

Red, Black and Christ

Dark Angels are rushing at me as for a piece of meat...

Some flesh to satisfy human's need and sexual misery...

Where I lend my hand I get fangs' bite for reduction...

I have a heart, I have a brain, I have emotions...

Who cares? I am just a sexy piece of meat...

The tender angels put on me their seduction...

And I swear, I beg, I implore to give me another role...

No way, the movie is a scary one...

There must be some blood, some rotted sentiments...

And a victim to give a relief of a true story...

In red and black, the babies dance around the fire of the betrayal...

And Jesus died for that..?

Dark angels are in competition. Who's gonna be the one...

That will hold the poor guy's bollocks, as the trophy of the year...?

And red and black are my tears, pouring out of my window...

I remember, Jesus cried too, of red and dark...

Just a piece of misery as the skin of a rotted flesh...

Who cares? Not you. So I don't too...

Flesh is to die, meat to be roasted, and my heart to bleed...

The dark angels have rushed on the land of my kindness...

And now, I am dressed in Red and Black...

As his tears...

But who cares............................................................?

Not me anymore.

mardi 23 juin 2009


Have you ever seen a wild horse, riding madly the land?

His grace only equal his savagery, and the smallest breath

Makes him to kick the clouds and whinny at God.

With patience, you can hope some attention,

But never wait from him any surrender,

Otherwise he will turn to the stupidest mule...

He is like the air, flowing, delicate at the azure of your dream.

But just put on him the pressure of the injustice,

And the cool breeze turns onto a hurricane

Nobody would like to ride...

His clogs slashing your heart of his panic...

He is like the sea, immensity of a healing mystery.

But just shake his water with the propeller of the incertitude,

And the soft undulation turns onto destructive waves

No ships would like to sail...

His clogs trampling on your heart of his anger...

He is like the flame, fragile light in your darkness.

But just overturn this candle by clumsiness,

And the light turns onto an unstoppable blaze

No one would warm oneself at...

And his clogs burning out your heart of his blindness...

If you've ever seen a wild horse...

So you know my heart.

My love is wild as the horse,


but so fragile...


but so easily beaten...


but so able to die

at the smallest betrayal...

My name is Wild Horse.

lundi 22 juin 2009

"Ordinary People"

Two out of work models and a fashion slave try to dance away the Piccolo night.
The bartender poured herself another drink, while two drunks were watchin' the fight.
The champ went down, then he got up again, then he went out like a light,
Fightin' for the people.
But his timing wasn't right, the high rollin' people.
Takin' limos in the neon light, Las Vegas people.
Who came to see a Las Vegas fight, fightin' for the people.

There's a man in the window with a big cigar, says everything's for sale.
He had a house and a boat and a railroad car, the owner's gotta go to jail.
He acquired these things from a life of crime, now he's selling them to make bail.
He was rippin' off the people.
Sellin' guns to the underground, livin' off the people.
Skimmin' the top when there was no one around, tryin' to help the people.
Lose their ass for a piece of ground, a patch o' ground people.

He was dealing antiques in a hardware store but he sure had a lot to hide.
He had a back room full of the guns of war and a ton of ammunition besides.
Well, he walked with a cane, kept a bolt on the door with five pit bulls inside,
Just a warning to the people.
In case they might try to break in at night, protection from the people.
Selling safety in the darkest night, tryin' to help the people.
Get the drugs to the street all right, tryin' to help the people.

Well, it's hard to say where a man goes wrong, might be here and it might be there.
What starts out weak might get too strong, if you can't tell foul from fair.
But it's hard to judge from an angry throng of hands stretched up in the air,
The vigilante people.
Takin' the law into their own hands, the conscientious people. Hey.
Crackin' down on the drug lord and his bands, government people. Hey.
Confiscatin' all the dealer's land, the patch-of-ground people. Yay, yeah.

And then a new Rolls Royce and a company car they were racin' down the street.
Each one tryin' to make it to the gate before employees manned the fleet.
The trucks full of products for the modern home, were set to roll out into the street
Of ordinary people.
Tryin' to make their way to work, the downtown people.
Some are saints, and some are jerks, (that's me) everyday people.
Stoppin' for a drink on their way to work, alcoholic people.
Yay, Yeah, takin' it one day at a time!

Down on the assembly line, they keep puttin' the same things out.
The people today, they just ain't buyin', nobody can figure it out.
They try like hell to build a quality in, they're workin' hard without a doubt,
Ordinary people.
But the dollar's what it's all about, Lee Iacocca people.
But the customers are walkin' out, the nose-to-the-stone people.
Yeah, they look but they just don't buy, the patch o' ground people. Hey, hey, hey.

In a dusty town the clock struck high noon, two men stood face to face.
One wore black and one wore white, but of fear there wasn't a trace.
A hundred and eighty years later two hot rods drag through the very same place,
A half a million people
They moved in to pick up the pace, a factory full of people.
Makin' parts to go to outer space, a train load of people.
They were leavin' for another place, out of town people. Yeah, yeah.

Down at the factory, they're puttin' new windows in.
The vandals made a mess of things and the homeless just walked right in.
Well, they worked here once and they live here now, but they might work here again,
The ordinary people.
Because they're livin' in a dream, hard workin' people.
Just-don't-know-what-it-means-to-give-up people.
They're just like they used to be, patch o' ground people. Hey, hey.

Out on the railroad track, they're cleanin' ol' number nine.
They're scrubbin' the boiler down, she really is lookin' fine. (a beauty, that number nine)
Times'll be different soon, they're gonna bring her back on line,
Ordinary people.
They're gonna bring the good things back, hard workin' people.
They put the business back on track, the everyday people.
I got faith in the regular kind, patch o' ground people. Yeah, yeah.

Song By Neil Young

dimanche 21 juin 2009

Surrogates of Eternity

Batraciens de l’oublie
A cheval sur le néant
Vous parlez aux bohémiens
De l’ère du future
Comme s’il leur appartenait
De vociférer le cœur
L’âme et le destin.
Vous sans cesse quémandez
D’être vu plus que vous n’êtes,
Et cette quête vous perd…
Vous perdra…
Vous l’êtes déjà en partie.
Mais rien ne vous soulage,
Et de désert en désert,
Vous visitez les cœurs perdus
Pour y trouver le vrai amour…
Et pas un seul jour ne s’écoule
Sans que viennent s’amonceler
Vos nouvelles conquêtes,
Vos nouveaux amants lecteurs…
Vos succédanés d’éternité.

Mais l’éternité était à vos pieds
Et vous lui marchez dessus….

Batrachians of the forgetting
Straddling on the nothingness
You speak to the Bohemians
Of the future’s era,
As if it was up to them
to shout out the heart
The soul and the fate.
You ceaselessly beg
To be seen more than you are,
And this collection loses you …
Will lose you …
You are so already partially.
But nothing relieves you,
And of desert in desert,
You visit lost hearts to find
The true love there …
And not a single day passes by
Without that come to accumulate
Your new conquests,
Your new lovers readers …
Your surrogates of eternity.

But the eternity was at your feet
And you walk it above.

Dedicated to all internet addicted...