THE LOST TAPES Vol.22

   Today a new kind of lily bloomed.
   The little bud I left this morning with a kiss
   Is now a beautiful flower
   Unlike everything around it.
   Unlike all the hot colors Summer brought along,
   And the yellow dirt and the yellow Sun;
   Also different from the blue sky around the world.
   It's purple. Better yet, lilac. The color I hold dearest to my heart.
   I wonder what freakish accident of nature gave birth to such abnormality.
   Wonder if the disease will spread,
   If a new color is still to show, and then another,
   And then another
   And this way incessantly until I'm not there anymore to blow a breath of existence to their reality.
   Orange, lilac, brown.
   The beautiful garden of a poor man...
   — Not even mine —
   An unknown existence with a good taste for cheap flowers. 

***

bald lady at the window
this time I am the one to catch the other staring
she waves
I wave back 

***

   “Papa hits mama from time to time. Yesterday he gave her a black eye right in front of me,” says woman #1, in a french accent. “I don’t know what to do about it.”
   “Oh, that’s normal. My man also slaps me sometimes,” responds woman #2, in unsettling tone. “Ask mom if she wants you to do anything before you bother about it.”
   This was not the answer woman #1 wanted to hear, and just kept silent for the remainder of the trip, despite the last effort by woman #2 of repairing what she had said,
   “I’m not saying it’s good. Mom is miserable, but that’s just her life, you know?...” 

***

   Today the café closed a little earlier, even though we were all inside.
   Last night a friend died, the Allison Reynolds of our Breakfast Club, with no rhyme or reason, just like that, just died, out of nowhere.
   We all knew very well that she would never want the café to close because of her, so we came. Always afraid of being an inconvenience, she would spend the whole day sat in the corner, doing puzzles from this thousands of pages puzzle book that looked like two cinder blocks stacked together, and stayed here overnight because of the weight. But the book wasn’t over her table when I got here, Mme. Antoinette probably realized how bad it would feel for the rest of us to be constantly reminded of her absence like that, and tucked it under the counter.
   The rest of the day was of mourning. Little words said, many coffees drunk; people coming to look through the windows if anyone was inside, quickly giving up on the morning brew after witnessing the dark tone of our meeting.
   No one bothered to turn on the lights after sundown, and even Mme. Antoinette stopped polishing the china. The darkness on the outside was now the same color as inside our hearts, and it felt comforting at last[...]

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

THE LOST TAPES Vol.49: ruination in foreign terror

plucked rose petals laid in a little glass coffin a trapped soul forced to nature's course the soft aroma of a beautiful flower   *** marriage on sight expected pregnancy lulling her days rolling on the couch whore by nature but for what?   ***    In a small, protestant little church    Five congregants and a minimal band    Dad’s on guitar, she plays the drums set    Black hair, black eyes, black nails    Thin, black sweater under a pentagram charm    Her black lips sigh, begging for a smoke    It’s a cold, depressing Sunday night    But at least she’s getting paid   Tourists don’t come around here Smoking pot, sitting on dead leaves We’ve broken all the lamps It’s been two months, nobody noticed The new piercing, tattoos, scars A black eye waiting to happen Half a bible, rolling joints Throwing rocks at the sewer creek Not a sound in the streets downtown but the winds whistling through empty alleys and an occasional small splash because there are no big rocks left   You don’t wan
Read more

Just another special day

    A birthday like any other    as special as they come    Woke up with the flu    now I can’t do the laundry    Drink my tea, avoid coffee    Maybe roomie will come at noon -  Gotta clean all this poo    and pee, special Betsy    At least someone is happy to see me      Mom remembered, like every year    Gave me the same line as always    Same I’ve heard over 21 times now    Didn’t answer my call, nobody did    Nobody so far, to wake me up at midnight    shake my shoulders and say...    It’s 8a.m. on a Saturday and my bones hurt      Too weak for chores    too sick for ice cream    Dog ate the modem cord     “Lie in bed all day    cartoons will take you away    from this world of chest pains    and misery and oblivion”    But my back hurts, 1800 hours    Nobody else is home and I’m crying    Needed out of there    Went out to smell a cigar    and the cold winds of a wintry weekend    But the drunk kids were laughing at me    Sitting alone, at the empty park    My head hurts, my eyes
Read more

THE LOST TAPES Vol.50: nothing special

Memories can be so faulty When you are drunk all the time Month-long trip feels like it never happened What am I doing with my life? Booze and molly Snorting ashes of the deceased Throwing up bloody foam into the toilet What good is  this life? Pluck out the party stopper Let’s pee on somebody’s porch Rain terror upon this land Let us pull our brains out Kill the first breathing thing we see Break lamps and church windows Suck each other off in the middle of the street I don’t owe this place two fucks You shouldn’t either So, let’s seize the night Only the sun can stop us now But before then Our throats will be wide open   *** paracetamol cup noodles cachaça hoje tem   ***    A walk in the park    Dog socializes more than me    with the grumpy-looking men    sitting alone    on uncomfortable wooden benches   ***     “yeah, vivian, you ate two full plates of food” vivian said to herself   *** In a constantly changing reality and a city that so fearlessly advances what is a year when you
Read more