Telling tales

“Something begins in order to end: an adventure doesn’t let itself be extended; it achieves significance only through its death. Towards this death, which may also be my own, I am drawn irrevocably. Each moment appears only to bring on the moments after. To each moment I cling with all my heart: I know that it is unique, irreplaceable – and yet I would not lift a finger to prevent it from being annihilated.
(…)
This is what I have been thinking: for the most commonplace event to become an adventure, you must – and this is all that is necessary – start recounting it. This is what fools people: a man is always a teller of tales, he lives surrounded by his stories and the stories of others, he sees everything that happens to him through them; and he tries to live his life as if he were recounting it.
But you have to choose: to live or to recount.”

- Jean-Paul Sartre

Into starlight.

All the world is green

he stood in the
grass
thankful for that
warm hazy
afternoon
he had a
green silk
robe and slippers

a parasol
rested
on his shoulder
and so he remained
dignified
in the shade of
the statue as
victory
freedom
enterprise
or whatever
smashed open
the concrete slabs
of tyranny
or other
and soared
into the sky

the heat was
vicious
keeping eyes
low and crazed
and none around
to call him
mad
and so he
strolled on
his slippers carefully
circling what was left
of tyranny
even as he couldn't
care less
about revolution

he kept on smiling
gently
and in awe
to those imposing bronze
nipples
40 feet
above him
and the concrete slabs
of tyranny

Into twilight.

The stage sets collapse

“Life can be magnificent and overwhelming — That is its whole tragedy. Without beauty, love, or danger it would almost be easy to live.
(…)
If something worth living for is worth dying for, what about something not worth dying for?
(…)
Nobody realizes that some people expend tremendous energy merely to be normal.
(…)
At any street corner the feeling of absurdity can strike any man in the face.
(…)
It happens that the stage sets collapse. Rising, streetcar, four hours in the office or the factory, meal, streetcar, four hours of work, meal, sleep and Monday Tuesday Wednesday Thursday Friday and Saturday according to the same rhythm — this path is easily followed most of the time. But one day the "why" arises and everything begins in that weariness tinged with amazement.
(…)
Everything considered, a determined soul will always manage.”

- Albert Camus

Into twilight.

All the stones

all the stones in this
patio
speak to me
in whispers
and they all remember
you
in a spring
afternoon

you danced
and I held my breath
and my dreams
at large

you danced
and at last
your feet
made you proud
as I backed down
into the solace
of your wonder
fearing
the dusk
and the night
with its cold comfort
and dizzying spells
of toxic joy

but she cradled me
in her arms
at the edge of a broken cliff
and with
drunken smiles
the whipping wind
died down
beaten
by a hunger for mad
promises and the
vastness of the
ocean
below

the stones know this
too
yet pitifully
their whispers
subside

the ocean is a silent mirror
now
humming in
the background
and that
for me is enough
as I close my eyes
and face
the sun

Into starlight.