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New Stage
חיפוש בבמה

שם משתמש או מספר
סיסמתך
[ אני רוצה משתמש! ]
[ איבדתי סיסמה ): ]


מדורי במה







מרטין גיא
/ Dead Tree

I had a friend. He used to sit in front of his house and
look forward. All dayand night long. He just sat there and
looked in front of himself, sat there on white chair, white
table next to him, and on the table he had his ashtray, blue
glass ashtray and a red lighter and green cigarettes,
nothing else. He smoked, looked straight, talked to me less
and less.
I was trying to figure out where he's looking. What does he
see? I was too shy to ask him, perhaps I thought he went
crazy, I dont know, I just secretly followed his look, what
does he see?

Your nose is like a ball and you laugh hysterically,
loudly, inside the songs of  love and forgivness, shit, what
a fake fish in an aquarium turned upside down from that.
The water is dirty.

After all he was over eighty already. Secretly I watched
his look, I didnt see anything. I sat with him and through a
black net, which was separating his patio from yard, where
chicken walked with some importance, I like chicken, I saw
just one naked, dead tree and the sky. Sometimes blue like
the ashtray, sometimes black, it was night, and sometimes
colored the way my undoubtly excellent writing skills are
unable and uncapable to describe.

The armchair is comfortable and wide, therefore I don't
float over it like I do over my belt, the fish are somehow
lazy and a blackhaired girl sitting next to me smokes. I do
too, and I can't breath very well. She's looking someplace I
can't see, I don't feel like turning my head, twist my neck.
The silence is unbearable...
"You're leaving?"
I nodded.
"Where to?"
"Czechia."
"For good?"
"Yep."
"That's a pitty."
"You don't know me. How can you say that?"
I'm a perfect gentleman. Friendly and outgoing person.
Right, right.
That silence is unbearable.

I tracked his look for many days, weeks, like a dog, I
sniffed and didn't get what can be so interesting on the
dead tree and multicolored shy, he didn't blink. Sometimes I
was attacked by that feeling that he's dead as well, but in
such a moment he raised his hand with green cigarette and
took a long breath...

She's one of the prophets, it seams.
"A pitty you don't talk much..."
"I have nothing to say. I'm empty."
"That's not true. You have a lot to say. You're not empty.
People who have a lot to say keep quiet, because they don't
know where to begin."
"Or they're scared to begin."

I am a poser. All I do is a pose. Even my goddamn feelings.
I actually don't feel them, I just behave like if I feel
them. I miss them. I don't have them. I don't have feelings.
I don't.

No, she's not a prophet. She just can see through one of my
walls, the one which covers created dream of deep thought
and complexity. But she cannot know what only I know, she
doesn't see that the thing behind the first wall, behind
unsmiling face, is just another wall covering my real me,
that worm, white and fat, with twisted body, scared of light
and world and exposure, my real me, the liar, traitor,
sadist, that emptiness, that vacuum.
All I do is empty, I just pretend it is not...
Even this fucked up writting is nothing but unfruitfull
onany, booze, to help me for a while and then... I'll feel
even worse, emptier...

I looked in front of me and sniffed. I watched.

People sing, I don't, I just murmur melodies and few
sentimental words, words alone can be put together to their
own melodies and then, when you combine them... You can make
melody false and then you find out beauty is hidden in it,
it seems, deeper meaning. But it is just a pose.

Hurt me, please, hurt me, so that I'll have a reason.

Otherwise I'll hurt you.

I can't stand the silence, I drive my bike and cars buzz
around me, I lie in bed and TV's barking and all is so
silent, I'm going crazy.

Touch me...

No one talks, the only voice in my head is my voice and it
has nothing to say. I wants to talk, but only sounds and
words without meaning are coming out.
Like from my hand.

And he still watches nothing and that nothing is the dead
tree...







loading...
חוות דעת על היצירה באופן פומבי ויתכן שגם ישירות ליוצר

לשלוח את היצירה למישהו להדפיס את היצירה
היצירה לעיל הנה בדיונית וכל קשר בינה ובין
המציאות הנו מקרי בהחלט. אין צוות האתר ו/או
הנהלת האתר אחראים לנזק, אבדן, אי נוחות, עגמת
נפש וכיו''ב תוצאות, ישירות או עקיפות, שייגרמו
לך או לכל צד שלישי בשל מסרים שיפורסמו
ביצירות, שהנם באחריות היוצר בלבד.
אני פה עוד מאז
שקראו לדפיוצר
דפאישי.






צרצר, מחזיק
מעצמו וותיק.


תרומה לבמה




בבמה מאז 24/3/04 22:28
האתר מכיל תכנים שיתכנו כבלתי הולמים או בלתי חינוכיים לאנשים מסויימים.
אין הנהלת האתר אחראית לכל נזק העלול להגרם כתוצאה מחשיפה לתכנים אלו.
אחריות זו מוטלת על יוצרי התכנים. הגיל המומלץ לגלישה באתר הינו מעל ל-18.
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