Friday, December 31, 2010


Its morning. The first in 2011 and the birds are chirping. The little boy found a piece of paper in his hanged sock stating:

Snow White had lost her teeth,
She cannot bite poisoned apples anymore.

Bewildered, he took his heavy coat and head cover and headed to the job place. It was locked. A bare foot lady stands there. Her blue toes show their heads from her black rotten wet socks. She left another piece of paper for him and went shuffling her feet. The wet paper reads:

Esmeralda is demented,
believing she is a nun,
Is praying at night for her God,
Whom she calls: Bob Dylan:

"In The Name of My Bob,
Quasimodo of the top,
Had, at all (shakes her head), no job,
But ringing Bells.
Ballerinas and oranges,
For all those rapers,
Gathering on earth,
Eating hotdogs."

As she stands up, she suddenly goes back on her knees resisting a laugh:

"Show me mercy my Bob,
For I always forgot,
The ketchup and the salt,
For that man with the shining bald".

She stood up, she turned fast again to that corner and added:

"and a teeth made of gold"

She rolled her veil on her wrist and turned, now that she is at the door out:

".. and anything that you like".

Murmuring "just leave in peace" she headed for the kitchen and turned on "BLOWING IN THE WIND" on her dusty gramophone. Took a hotdog, cut it into 78 pieces, throw it in the trash bin and spat on it bitterly. Took a tomato up in her fist above her chin and squeezed it into drops down on her.

Sunday, December 05, 2010

Dreaming Soul


Primary school. The teacher says: "When we sleep, at night, our souls leave our bodies. Our souls go to where ever they like. That is why we see dreams." The first idea came to the mind was to meet the soul of that girl in a coming dream.


Chrystal balls carrying the destinies are going down the road, emitting some annoying sound of glass gliding on the wet pebbles of the street in that foggy night. Thunder. Lightening. Wind. Started raining. The sound is now of a wishshshsh.... a sound of a wish. The black Chrysler is sadly empty. The maroon Ford is cold and far. Cats are sleepy for dogs are calm. Rats, as opportunistic as they always are, find their chance to change lodgment.

Trees are deepening their green.

Dreams are growing in circles of yawning which are going round and round while the blanket is rolling around, and in between, the legs.

As the morning is approaching, the more calm and reassuring MEAAAA of that white peaceful sheep is replacing the annoying sharp cock cry and dreams are starting to go behind the deep purple curtain.

Coffee is fragrant. Croissant is sweet. Seal is singing soul with his scar in his cheek. Soul is returning to the body.