Me and my dog
Me and my dog we were mislaid. In the too broad city with the streets traced like trenches. Lit with us to plug some. We plunged in apnea. Sliding ring, digressing at the point to mislay us. On bank on the bad side. Running, panting to stumble about it, we bickered. Without us to look at. I intended it to grumble. It had so many things to reproach me. In leaves attached, me with the other irritated end. Tie, being able to strangle it. It chose to stop. In the middle of the bridge in stop. Wanting to show me. The way, to be mistaken more. The city was empty abandoned. I had not noticed it. Blown, the thrown into a panic knocking heart. I had not taken the time to listen. The deafening silence which wrapped us. On bank on the bad side. Where to go? My dog had the idea to cross. He wanted to draw me, to involve me. On the bridge towards the other end. Did I hesitate, the fear of the danger? The rain was put to fall. We plunged in apnea. Not to wet us. We ran, digressed, wandered at the point to mislay us. After turnhaving turned many times. We found ourselves on the abandoned bridge. Without chart to locate us. On the rails of the tram. Being Able to make us crush. Silence wrapped us. Wanting to protect us. One could have heard the birds fly, the cats to miaow. Sometimes one has ideas. Tired my dog lay down with my feet. Waiting until I would have decided. To cross other side. I took the first step to launch me. My dog prevented me. The alarm clock had just sounded. It was the hour to rise. The bridge became animated. The bicycles, the trams passed. We deviated. Going to walk us. Waiting until the day went away. That the night and the bridge were illuminated. Our shades amalgamated. In all intimacy. On the rails of a combined wandering. Further that black. Running up against the borders of the nightmare.
Lire la suiteThere are no more colors on the walls
There are no more colors on the walls, nor on the cars. Weigh this cold which one endures before falling like a fruit wall. Vagueness with the heart carried by the waves of a time which lasts. I like this feeling which intertwines me, aggravates me. I like this shiver stronger than of reason. Insatiable, animal, one nothing fatal. Music of your whispered words. Their honey taste to the sweetened pearls. Crunched without the least regret. On the jerked rhythm of a raucous voice fleeing of a glaucous bar. Carrying the made drunk body of the chance. Drunk to be itself stray too late. On the rails of an abandoned life. Strewn with grass pushing between the gravels. I like this feeling which intertwines me, aggravates me. To be still living even if I lie myself. Thinking that all will be like front. Manufacturing our world with bricks of our bodies loving us. Being reinforced tyrannical temptations carrying us. I like this shiver stronger than of reason. Evaporating higher than the planes plane. Your glance for radar. Your body for semaphore. Without another flight plan that a sea. Blue with the milky reflections. For happy plays. There are no more colors on the walls, nor on the cars. Weigh this cold which one endures before falling like a fruit wall. Remain the dream, I am sure. It belongs to us that it lasts. Also far the memories of this feeling pile up which intertwines me, twists me, aggravates me. In my body with the long-lived tentacles. Small triviums of our last feasts. In crumbs crash to pieces themselves then are erased not leaving a trace. I like this shiver stronger than of reason. Without turning in round. Without project, house where to pile up our abandonments. For the first time, there is no more law. Just right to be you and me. Removed from what encumbered us. In freedom all to throw. Without regretting, nor to cry. Just to be delighted that will come from other memories. At the moment when the chance will involve us on the station platform.
Lire la suiteI remember
I remember the sound of the drums, of the deaf echo. Involving us on wild pulsations. I remember the sound of the drums, of the heavy air. Us enveloping made up smoke. Disaggregated stars falling crumbled. In this evening of end of the world where the room gathered the uneven ones, broken, crashed to pieces. Sprinkling the ultimate evening by drinking with mouthfuls poisoned nectar. Vitiated vapors tonic of awaked volcanos. I remember all and nothing. Forgetting us on the heady rhythm. I remember all and especially tomorrow. Projecting us in an asphyxiating future. No future. You shouted the closed eyes. Dancing the last anthem with clearness. No future . The wine ran with flood on your mouth and your body. Marking of red blood your gold loops. I remember you undulating. Tightening us on the music involving itself. I remember you murmuring. Pointing out these soft moments to us. The breath of the wind come from nowhere or besides. Bringing the softness of the first heats. In the meadow, along the river in silence. Our steps trailing on grass gently. Drawing aside the arms while flying to the grounds of an imaginary world. I remember that there exist angels. Protecting Us by pushing back the evil. I remember that there exists an archangel. Drawing aside us from the fatal moment. When the disaggregated stars fall from the sky crumbled. With one in an infernal noise. Like this evening in the set ablaze room. By the sound rises of drums brewing the heavy air around. I remember your mouth seeking the air. Holding us not to fall. I remember your mouth murmuring a prayer. Hanging to us not to sink. In the alcoholic vapors of an end of the world adulterated. Falling drop by drop in acidified rain. On you and me, burning slowly. Succumbing while whirling. Before us to break down, consumed. I remember this nightmare. Carrying Us with the doors of an end of the world. I remember now or perhaps later. Leaving us drunk carried by the wave on banks of another world.
Lire la suiteThe dead tears of your body
Eyes lost without being able to hide this face which could not be considering. Post yourself your vis-a-vis double faces with the black traces like a devastation. Run in you the hatred of a wild beast which is maintained to appear wise. To be maintained, be held, without acting, reacting, not to suffer. With crying about it, howling about it in the limbs of martyrdom. That you did not want. Who puts to you with naked. The day at night in the center of the place, on the pilori. Solidified in an installation all in reserve. Ooze on your skin water of rainy days. Who one day will cause your moult. Making up of young tone waxy face. Too much blackened to appear old about it. I dare to believe that dance in you of the happy days. That your life is frozen only outside. What burns in your body a fire able to protect you from death. I like to think that you live behind this shield. Listening to beat knocking time as this heart of which you are private. I want to imagine that you could speak. Of what you hear, of all these words released with your feet. Taking your ice-cold installation for a rigid absence. Of that which one does not return. Immortal, obliging you to remain there. Eyes lost without being able to hide this face which could not be considering. Post yourself your vis-a-vis double faces with the black traces like a devastation. You awake the night in stroke. Emerging from the nightmare, arms tended towards the sky. So that he comes you to the rescue, that he hears your call. Vain because there is never the least spark. Bringing the hope to you to take off your nightshirt of despair. Soldier of misfortune, posed in the middle of the city to celebrate its good fortune. Placed there to remain there. He returns to you to make good figure, the eyes lost without being able to hide this face which could not be considering. Post yourself your vis-a-vis double faces with the black traces like a devastation. The dead tears of your body leaving you in an ultimate insult evaporate.
Lire la suiteThe country of Alice.
As a caramel flaring odor escaping from an oven which heated too much. Honey and the milk ingredients run which you would like to lick if you could it. You have only imagination to enchant yourself, the dream to be satisfied. In front of the grids of a dark morning to the moon without a future. Cash on its round fingers these days which turn in round. Vibrate in you the call to escape through images flights. With the memory, pinched with the safe of less remorses. Evaporating until this happiness consumed to play with the forgery and truth. To enjoy some then to be satisfied some with passion exceeding the limits with the reason. Pushing back the grids, by twisting them, reducing the interdicts by crushing them. You like this caramel flaring odor escaping from an oven which heated too much. Honey and the milk ingredients run which you can lick. Because, now, beyond the grids all is allowed to you. On your fingers the cream and the leg of the cake of your delights drip. That you eat in this strange voyage at the end of your whims. Making imaginary world a ground which does not have anything any more factitious. The grasses and the mirages of your next voyages push. In one morning the fresh air twisting with the sun like a puppet. With the members held by pieces of string, prisoner of the cycle of the daybreak, its to sleep in a great ball for always. On the frantic rate of drums. The desire and the love pitch on a caramel flaring odor escaping from an oven which heated too much. Honey and the milk ingredients run which you enjoyed. While making fresh starts of the books of fairy tales. Where nothing can stop, nor never to arrive, at the end of so many artifices. Awake, the dream does not exist, nobody does not believe in the wonders of the country of Alice.
Lire la suiteYour lips soft and were sweetened
The door was closed again by scraping the ground. Letting filter the lighting sun this insane idea. To kiss you in the hot air of this end of morning. Passed to stroll while wishing to skim you. In one small hour the fresh odor. With this light wind which made us good. We walked, we dreamed with in me the desire for taking your hand. Solidified by this fear of too quickly posing the point of the end. The risk to do everything to miss. The bet to launch out. In me, this desire burned for attracting you. Without knowing if you did feel it? Until the moment to penetrate in the abandoned vault. The door was closed again by scraping the ground. Letting filter the lighting sun this insane idea. To kiss you in the hot air of this end of morning. Your lips soft and were sweetened. With the taste of these honey drops which we had divided. Other memories were added. Extinguishing little by little the sun without similar of this beautiful day. The winter succeeding the summer without managing to sweep. This magic moment where you stuck yourself. In the given up vault, I am turned over. The door was closed again by scraping the ground. Letting filter the lighting sun this insane idea. What steals in this place the heart of our happy day.
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
