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 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 suiteBy 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 suiteTo us, you. You, so near to me.
Don’t I know if it is the best place to remember? I have suddenly to think of you. This refrain which you hummed. By seeing the sea, the moor, the tide. The sea which advanced. To us, you. You, so near to me. Wind, salted rain. Coming to wet us. Pearls on our lips which one wiped. Amused. By long kisses. Intertwined. Refrigerated. Wet feet. By the tide. To us, you. You, so near to me. One liked. Coming to walk. On the paths. Until sleeping. Free, filled with wonder. With the one day idea to fly away. Up There or elsewhere all the two tight ones. To protect itself. To Advance. Until where the tide will go. To us, you. You, so near to me. It was believed. Until the day when you mowed our nice ideas. To escape to you. With someone else worms of new regions. He delivering our secrecies. Those which one had sworn. To preserve. Further that the tide. To us, you. You, so near to me. The tears of rain are always salted. Running on my face sunny days. Without cloud to plunge into mourning them. Carrying the salt of your abandonment, my carbonized dreams. I come on the moor to walk. In our paths. To recall me. Incompetent to bury. Our idea. With bursting some. To Go until the tide. To us, you. You, so far from me.
Lire la suiteTo flee? To go where?
To flee? To go where? You will not pass the ditch of the castle. And if you reached that point, you would be blocked with the large tower which keeps the garden. To flee? To do what? To live without me? Does not imagine it. I do not think of it. You are with me. For always. Without love. And then? Us is it necessary some to make seeming? One learned how to lie itself. I let you look by the window. To believe that elsewhere it is better, that here it is worse. To imagine, to make you good, to be. What you never were of alive tone. Now, you have all the time. Centuries, years. To trail in rooms, living rooms, bandaged eyes. Locked up in this castle where we are immured. Forever. You can haunt it. To frighten those which dare to visit it. Your game is unhealthy. It makes you good. To be only. To make the mouth. To look behind the window the world to turn. It will not move. For us, it is fixed. You would make better throw you in my arms. Coiled very against me. To choke our fear. Of this eternal life. Who bewitches us. We reveals. One vis-a-vis the other. That which killed the love. In the terrible repetition of each day. Where each night, is similar at each morning. To flee? To go where? To seek the answers to our mystery. Who made that we remained on ground. Some say that we like too much. That we could not separate us to make the great jump. I would like that they are right.
Lire la suiteAnd I believe you …
You say that there is no more music in your head. That your life is stretched without end beyond your memories. That your heart is wearied to beat to the rhythm of meanders of your existence. I listen to you. To only hear you in this long corridor of your absences. There are sometimes so many silences. Who have the weight of sentences. Carrying in them the cold of this frozen sun which shines all over there. In the big room of ball. There, where you liked to whirl. There, where I met you. In your bluish dress. It is this memory which I took along. Who carries me, makes me pitch. Avoiding drowning me. In the black colours of your glances. But it is too late. To believe that this sun which is stretched on the parquet floor. Is our last summer. A long time ago that it was deleted. Making us beings without future and past. Evaporated that nobody sees passing. We, we speak without us to touch. Without remembering. Heat, of its softness, its effects. On our stuck skins. That makes you cry. I cannot prevent you from pouring these tears. That nobody sees. It is our drama. Poor phantoms. You say that there is no more music in your head. And, I believe you.
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
