The sentence
The vacuum. Its infinite. A call. At the edge of which your steps go. Nothing to retain you. The panic fear to remain about it there. To Rock. To Fall before dying. That all is finished. The complaint of a wolf tearing the sky. Sharp-edged Dagger plunged to deepest of your entrails. Pain without similar. Making spout out your last drops of life. Tears of blood. On snow lying. Being spread out in transitory traces. With the bitter taste. Frosted branches. To which to hang up again you. Not to fall. To flee. To react. To wander. Intoxication. In the middle of the forest. Howl of the animal maltreating you. Irritated by the moon leaving the clouds. Illuminant your hesitant steps. Posting your distress. Your weakness. Blade image. Te to tighten the hand to support you. To retain you. While being unable to reach that point. You do not see me any more. Do not hear me any more. To run. After memories. To capture. To seize. Grains of sand engulfing itself. In the sand glass of time. to Flirt with the vacuum to contain them. To think that to play with all will be regulated. Which error. I cannot shout it to you. Nor even to advise you. I was erased. Presently. When we separated. Broken by the howl of the animal. Entered our heads. Pointing out our differences. Our wanderings. Like a sentence. With for capital punishment, the vacuum. With each one. Without a future.
Lire la suiteLa sentence
Le vide. Son infini. Un appel. Au bord duquel marchent tes pas. Rien pour te retenir. La peur panique d’en rester là. Basculer. Tomber avant de mourir. Que tout soit fini. La plainte d’un loup déchirant le ciel. Poignard acéré plongé au plus profond de tes entrailles. Douleur sans pareil. Faisant jaillir tes dernières gouttes de vie. Larmes de sang. Sur la neige gisant. S’étalant en traces éphémères. Au goût amer. Des branches givrées. Auxquelles te raccrocher. Pour ne pas tomber. Fuir. Réagir. Errer. Ivresse. Au cœur de la forêt. Le hurlement de la bête te brutalisant. Énervée par la lune sortant des nuages. Éclairant tes pas hésitants. Affichant ta détresse. Ta faiblesse. Pale image. Te tendre la main pour te soutenir. Te retenir. En étant incapable d’y parvenir. Tu ne me vois plus. Ne m’entends plus. Courir. Après des souvenirs. Les capturer. Les saisir. Grains de sable s’engouffrant. Dans le sablier du temps. Flirter avec le vide pour les contenir. Penser qu’à jouer avec tout sera réglé. Quelle erreur. Je ne peux te le crier. Ni même te conseiller. Je me suis effacé. Tout à l’heure. Quand nous nous sommes séparés. Brisés par le hurlement de la bête. Entré dans nos têtes. Rappelant nos différences. Nos errances. Comme une sentence. Avec pour peine capitale, le vide. A chacun. Sans lendemain.
Lire la suiteAnd, so only you existed…
Your smiles. Your love of life. Your charm. Some winks. A desire for knowing you. Better. More. I thought so much of it. Perhaps too? Idealizing. Dreaming. Manufacturing a reality. Imagined. Drawn. Mine. Holds it ? The fault with your smiles. Your love of life. I scribbled some share in my memory. Like a hope.Your number. Your street. I never came there. However, I have the feeling to know it. To find you there. Te speech. To look at you. To see You moving. I arrived. Precipitate. Blown. Not to miss you. To live this privileged moment. I fantasized it, colored. Carried by your smiles. Your love of life. Your charm. Which, I succumbed. Without you to show it. Not all to distort. Now, I hesitate. Our meeting. Your house. Its height. Its forms. All my fears call. In me things Awake so much. An unsoundable wall against which I so often knocked myself. Broken. Still, I do not dare. To approach me. The shroud hiding this emaciated body. The slow step. Men the bearing one. Go after walk in the large staircase. Me, the fussy one. Impotent. Overpowered. Prostrate. This vision haunts me. Why now ? Such a long time ago. This dream which I believed immured. With deepest of my secrecies. You awoke it. Your smiles. Your love of life. Your charm. That I imagined. To release me. Of these bonds which blocked me. Do not have enough force yet to protect me. And, so only you existed…
Lire la suiteEt, si seulement tu existais…
Tes sourires. Ta joie de vivre. Ton charme. Quelques clins d’œil. Une envie de te connaître. Mieux. Plus. J’y ai tellement pensé. Peut-être trop ? Idéalisant. Rêvant. Fabriquant une réalité. Imaginée. Dessinée. La mienne. La tienne ? La faute à tes sourires. Ta joie de vivre. J’ai griffonné quelque part dans ma mémoire. Comme un espoir.Ton numéro. Ta rue. Je n’y suis jamais venu. Pourtant, j’ai l’impression de la connaître. T’y retrouver. Te parler. Te regarder. Te voir bouger. Je suis arrivé. Précipité. Essoufflé. Pour ne pas te manquer. Vivre ce moment privilégié. Je l’ai fantasmé, colorié. Porté par tes sourires. Ta joie de vivre. Ton charme. Auquel, j’ai succombé. Sans te le montrer. Pour ne pas tout fausser. Maintenant, j’hésite. Notre rencontre. Ta maison. Sa hauteur. Ses formes. Appellent toutes mes peurs. Réveillent en moi tant de choses. Un mur insondable contre le quel je me suis si souvent cogné. Brisé. Encore, je n’ose. M’en approcher. Le linceul cachant ce corps décharné. Le pas lent. D’hommes le portant. Marche après marche dans le grand escalier. Moi, le regardant. Impuissant. Accablé. Prostré. Cette vision me hante. Pourquoi maintenant ? Il y a si longtemps. Ce rêve que je croyais emmuré. Au plus profond de mes secrets. Tu l’as réveillé. Tes sourires. Ta joie de vivre. Ton charme. Que j’ai imaginés. Pour me libérer. De ces liens qui m’entravaient. N’ont pas encore assez de force pour me protéger. Et, si seulement tu existais…
Lire la suite
By where to start?
There is with far this repetition throbbing from the beat of time. Against the carcass of an engraved bell which is not wearied. To be struck, reasoning of agreements distorted the settee of the years. It there with far, the complaint of a call which sounds, resounds. This absence of reaction which astonishes. Just slashed of the flash of a storm which thunders. There is with far these clouds crumbling on the peak from the horizon. Erasing, red the one day old blood which dies. There is around us the rustle of the wind. Carrying us, whirling. In a dance without reference mark. The insane head, light legs. On a sand of seaside. Wet feet. Waves stretched to yawn about it. In a languorous torpor. You and me, only with our fears. Not to know at what time. For us the bell of time Will Sound. There is with far, the murmur of the wind. Carrying. Jerked blows. Of a disproportionate echo. Giants striking the course of the years violently. Wrinkles stretching itself. On our tired faces. Marked by the spray of a life where the tears dug the furrows of these feelings. Who today live us. Nourishing the direction of our passion. With for single reason refusing the projection of time. Who gets busy to separate us. There is with far this small voice. Who speaks to us. With you. With me. To dispatch us, to tighten us, to love us. Us statement these words which conceal our secrecies. And quickly to start.
Lire la suite
J'aime ce qui est gothique, ce qui est romantique, je vous présente mes textes et mes photos. I like what is gothic, what is romantic, I present my texts and photos Steffan Urell
