Headlights burning in daylight

“(…) that the assassins are sick, I will admit, and that the Father-Image is also sick, I will also admit. I’m also told by the God-fearing that I have sinned because I was born a human being and once upon a time human beings did something to one Jesus Christ. I neither killed Christ or Kennedy and neither did Gov. Reagan. that makes us even, not him one up. I see no reason to lose any judicial or spiritual freedoms, small as these may be now. who is bullshitting who? if a man dies in bed while fucking, must the rest of us stop copulating? if one non-citizen is a madman must all citizens be treated as madmen? if somebody killed God, did I want to kill God? if somebody killed Kennedy, did I want to kill Kennedy? what makes the governor, himself, so right and the rest of us so wrong? speech-writers, and not very good ones at that.
(…)
I too have worked for dismal wages while some fat boy has raped fourteen-year-old virgins in Beverly Hills. I’ve seen men fired for taking five minutes too long in the crapper. I’ve seen things I don’t even want to talk about. but before you kill something make sure you have something better to replace it with; (…) as yet, I have seen nothing but this emotional and romantic yen for Revolution; I’ve seen no solid leader or no realistic platform to insure AGAINST the betrayal that has always, so far, followed. if I am going to kill a man I don’t want to see him replaced by a carbon copy of the same man and the same way. we have wasted history like a bunch of drunks shooting dice back in the men’s crapper of the local bar.
(…)
the boys screaming for your sacrifice in the public parks are usually the furthest away when the shooting begins. they want to live to write their memoirs.
(…)
if there is a battle, and I believe that there is, always has been, and that’s what has made Van Goghs and Mahlers as well as Dizzy Gillespies and Charley Parkers, then please be careful of your leaders, for there are many in your ranks who would rather be president of General Motors than burn down the Shell Oil station around the corner. but since they can’t have one, they take the other. these are the human rats of the centuries who have kept us where we are.
(…)
I’m not saying give up. I’m for the true human spirit wherever it is, wherever it has been hiding, whatever it is.
(…)
I am ashamed to be a member of the human race but I don’t want to add any more to that shame, I want to scrape a little of it off.”

- Charles Bukowski

Into starlight.

Motionless

I sit by the window and
motionless
I watch petty little days go by
as petty little people
sing about petty little triumphs

And I watch the petty little people
hovering around
their stench disguised only
by this salty wind
The last breath of an ocean
at the hands of a merciless sun

And I think of
Inverted Cycles of Nature
of butterflies turning into larvae
humming their petty little songs

And I pity the ocean

Into twilight.

The dance

Back from holiday, slowly falling down from daydream...

From a sun too bright and colours too lively to be real, from contrasts and details too remarkable to be elsewhere than on an Impressionist canvas, from a heartland where cats sleep peacefully under trees, in streets where the burning sunlight is tamed by old yellow walls, not far from an ocean that swings from deep blue to pale emerald through moods of a sun that rules everything.

I long for its colours and shades, with impressions engraved in my mind of an amazing dance between the sun, the ocean and the tones of the land.

Maybe we'll meet again someday...

Into starlight.