This train rode only at night
It had no windows and it had no doors
It had no load but the dreams of passangers
it never carried in it darkened hull
Its cargo laden with the absent bodies
of the travellers it never held.
This train bore no speed and no direction
conveyed no desire but that of indiference
This train was hitched to nothing but itself
and carried onwards through night’s thick shadows
for no more reason than the rails were there
and no more conscience than the rails themselves.
This was not a train of meaning or destiny
It was a train of accident, mere chance
This train just happened and will happen again,
and every time it will not mean a thing.
On every time its nightly darkened shadow
will seem to us a message or a curse
I wait for you to save me
but it is all in vain
You gaze upon the waters
ignoring my outstreched hand
lost in thought, your eyes
fixed upon the furious sea
do not see my sinking boat
You shove aside my hanging body
for better fruits in the same tree
I wait for you and die
over and over again
waiting is my only life
and yet I mind ending it now?
Our Celluloid Life
I like the part where we meet: so funny and yet so full of romance; although I am not crazy about all the coming and goings until we finally get together – all the little bits that showcase our fierce rivalry and one-upmanship that suddenly evaporates into naught when love comes to ring the bell at our doors.
I also like the part where I save you. Although I cringe a bit thinking about the imminent danger you were put in by my recklessness/my commitment to a cause/our sense of adventure/our life in the wrong side of the law/the bad guy dislike of me-you-us etc…
But I like the most the part where we kiss. You bend your head up and half open your willing lips and I lean over you and just take them in mine – discreetly, gentlemanly… the spotlight centers on us making a ring of light and leaving everything outside it in complete darkness. And we remain frozen this way, kissing forever, outside of the world, time, petty life and entropy.
There’s Something to talk about!
Well, it seems to me right and proper to start at the beginning…. The beginning, of course, is an arbitrary point just like any other… but is also the best way to call the idea of immersing oneself in a story at once – and the beginning was…
… most likely it was when Alice dropped by for a cup of coffee – I’d just leaned that the cute bronze pot with the wooden handle was actually called an Ibrik and this awaken a thereto dormant passion for Turkish Coffee – she dropped by, I was saying, bringing the exciting but hopelessly mistaken news: I was dead
Needless to say, I immediately made sure the opposite was actually true and, stirring the foam in and pulling the IBRIK out of the flame for a brief moment to allow the coffee grinds to settle, I begin to wonder what item from my rather scarce wardrobe would be adequate for the extraordinary circumstances… Alice was ecstatic. The black satin dress she bought when his mother died was still unused, courtesy of his cataleptic mother’s revival. Here at last she’d found the awaited occasion to wear it.
Truth be told, I did not stray too far out of my way to convince her I was alive – or that even in the event of my death, our relationship was not of such depth as to require mourning garments. I knew her well enough to know that nothing could dampen her enthusiasm, so the Ibrik returned to the stove and I started seriously considering about the bonanza of happy secondary effects my timely death should entail.
In the beginning there was the Verb.
And the verb was such that it shall not be pronounced in the company of children and women. Let us just say loosely that the Verb described an attempt at reproduction that while not often successful was nevertheless fun.