There could be music techno, lasers, a hellish noise. The wind which rises, rain which falls on the ground. A large mess, strong shakings. A disorder in the balance of the movements. Sat on the throne, holding a raptor, a solidified dog, obeying. Gray sky darkening. Spots of light making up your manners. From another time. The glance posed with height of your feet. To observe them, embrace them? Is it necessary to be lowered so that you condescend to look at us? Music on your body running out in waves. Profaning your image at a stretch scraping-knife. Without broken heart. Nor torn off tears. Just eyes directed towards the distance. Where stretch themselves your hours without end. Can I touch you your hand? To know if you are cold. In do I have the right? A temptation, a heresy, a madness. In this night, where there could be music techno, lasers, a hellish noise. Dirty manners. Bodies dancing with your feet. Refusing you to look at them. One evening wild imagined to smash itself. One evening of festival in your castle on its paving stones. The dog which cannot bark. The raptor not managing to fly away. You, in a contracted installation. I want to tear off you with your past. Living only in the pages of history. That one reads only the evening. Let enter the day of the night. Look at this yesterday which flees. Catching the wire of a new life. Dressed in new clothes. I want to believe that if you could do it. You would forget your proud glance. Jumping on the paving stones, launching to the sky the raptor of a fugacious gesture. To find these dancers who aggravate you. Erasing the charm that you cursed. Of an exposure without life.
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
